Forster, Suzanne (36 page)

Now every reflex was primed for action as he waited and listened. He'd been the subject of professional surveillance for days. Someone had been following his van and undoubtedly monitoring his car phone, but several clues told him tonight's surveillance wasn't by a pro any more than the search of his room had been. Whoever was following him had taken care to hide their footsteps but not their breathing. What he'd picked up was someone's hushed and excited respiration. More important, a professional knew how to avoid throwing shadows.

As the seconds ticked by, Jack realized the tail must have been alerted, probably by Jack's disappearance. The odds were that he'd backed off, possibly even left the room. If Jack was going to catch him, he would have to act immediately.

He moved to the end of the alcove wall, ducked down, and made a quick visual search of the gallery proper. Once he was reasonably certain the cavernous room was empty, he crept silently across the hardwood floor toward the doorway. Save the ski mask, he was dressed in the same black overalls and crepe-soled commando boots he'd worn to kidnap Gus. The color absorbed light like a sponge, and the boots were virtually noiseless.

He approached the open doorway, hesitating as something white ghosted through his field of vision. It had resembled a disembodied scarf or a veil floating down the hallway outside the door. He caught another trace of it, sparkling and wispy white, as iridescent as fancy tissue paper, and then it was gone.

By the time he reached the doorway, the tissue paper had darted toward one of the staircases that arched up to the second-floor bedrooms. But it hadn't gone up the stairway; it had ducked around underneath.

Jack followed cautiously, but couldn't see where the elusive thing had gone. There were only two escape routes beyond the front entrance, a hallway running the breadth of the house that led to the kitchen on the east side and to an exit door in the west wing. The latter would take him to the parking garage, but something told him to try the kitchen first.

A hushed sound, like laughter, spun him around. In the shallow alcove created by the stairway, he spotted his tissue-paper stalker. Lurking in the gloom was a miniature person in a fluffy white tutu with a feathery tail-like object attached to her backside. Fortunately, his senses had always been acutely attuned to the darkness, and now they were telling him that she had the face of a pint-size angel and the moxie of a New York cabbie. She also smelled faintly of bubble gum and bath powder.

"Bridget?"

"I'm not Bridget, " she said in a whispery voice that barely hid her exasperation. "I'm a swan maiden under the enchantment of an evil magician. By day I live as a swan, but at night I'm released to haunt this house. Haven't you ever seen a ghost?"

Her tiny features were perfectly serious, even in the darkness, and her tilted head drew his attention to the curve of her pursed lips. The baby brat, true to form, he thought. How could you not love a kid like this? Her presence also answered several questions, including the mysterious disappearance of Blush. Clearly she hadn't taken the painting, which meant that Lake had probably stashed it somewhere for safekeeping.

"Good try, " Jack said. "I don't believe in ghosts. "

A smile flashed unexpectedly. "Not even the one standing behind you with a huge, bloody knife?"

Humoring her, Jack glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing behind him but a shadowy hallway that led to the kitchen and a ghastly piece of nude sculpture that he'd heard someone at the Featherstone's last party call the nursing mother. "I guess it vanished, " he said.

But when he turned back, she'd vanished, too. Vanished into thin air, which was the way any self-respecting magician would have described it. She couldn't have known that she was dealing with another evil magician in him, or that he was impressed by her disappearing act. His eyes had only been off her for an instant. She couldn't possibly have made a run for it without his having seen her.

He turned in a circle, visually inspecting the sculpture, the stairway, the closed gallery doors and all the other doorways on the hall. All of his senses had quickened, mobilizing to pick up any signal, but there were none to pick up. Yet, when he came back around, she was there again, beaming at him.

"Good trick, huh?"

"How'd you do that?" By now he'd figured out how she'd done it, but he didn't want to steal her thunder.

"My secret," she said.

He nodded, playing along. There was, after all, honor among magicians, and clearly she had the instincts. He'd also realized he might have in her the perfect assistant for some of the tricks he had planned. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit and smiled at her. "I'll bet this house is full of secrets, isn't it. "

"Yeah," she said, her eyes suddenly sparkling bright, even in the dimness. In a conspiratorial whisper she added, "I think there's a hidden passageway in my room. "

"What makes you think that?" Jack didn't have to pretend to be interested. His plan was to search the entire house. He'd already gone over the third-floor wing where his bedroom was located and discovered the stairway that led to the library. He assumed it had originally been intended for the servants' use. Backstairs and hallways weren't uncommon in houses as large and old as this one, but Jack hadn't been looking for secret passageways. He'd been looking for a vaultlike room, probably combination locked, temperature controlled, and otherwise outfitted for the storage of fine art and antiquities. If such a room existed, he would find it, perhaps with a little assist from the swan here.

Her tail swished in the darkness, creating that ghostly iridescent effect Jack had seen before. "Our housekeeper always shows up when I'm reading a new Sweet Valley High, " she was explaining. "She and Gus don't exactly approve of them for someone my age, or anyway, that's what Frances says. "

Her huge eyes rolled at the provincialism of some adults. "Trouble is she can be pretty sneaky about it when she wants to. Most of the time I don't even hear her come into the room. "

"So... what are you saying? You think she's spying on you, like through the eyes of some picture on the wall?"

An eager nod. "I can't prove it, though. " She gazed at him for several long, blinking moments. "What do you think?"

"Do you have any idea where the passage is?" She shook her head, entranced.

"You could sprinkle powder on the floor around the perimeter of the room. "

"Prim-at-her?"

"The outside edges of the room, along the molding. "

"Oh, okay, " she agreed instantly, then wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Why should I do that?"

"Because if there is a hidden panel, the person will have to step in the powder on the way in or out of it, and you'll see the footprints. "

"Oh, cool! Like bath powder? I have lots of that. "

He already knew that. She reeked sweetly of it, possibly from having doused herself after her bedtime bath. "Baking powder or flour might work better. They're not scented. And use very little, make it look like a coating of house-dust. "

"I'm going to try it tonight!" Breathless, she clapped her hand over her mouth as if there were no other way to contain her excitement, and her feathery parts bobbed and sparkled with her movements.

Jack laughed softly. It was fun to see her acting like a kid instead of a tiny, imperious adult, but it had also created a strange constriction in his heart. She was a reminder of his losses, and they were unendurable. If he were smart, he would try to avoid her, no matter what secrets she might be able to tell him about this house. Emotion made you sloppy, and whatever pleasure she brought him would always be edged with pain. Which was not unlike the situation with her aunt, he reminded himself ironically. Only that wasn't an edge, that was an ax blade.

Floorboards creaked from somewhere down the hallway, and in the quiet of the night, it sounded like fingernails raking on a chalkboard.

"Someone's coming," Bridget said, yanking on his sleeve. "Come with me. " She pressed the heel of her satin ballet slipper against the floor molding, stepped down, and a panel slid open. They both ducked inside as the footsteps neared.

Jack held the panel open a crack and saw a slender figure materialize in the hallway and walk toward them. She was wearing cotton boxers and a ribbed tank top, but nothing else. Her long legs gleamed in the thin light, and the tank's paper-thin material was hard-pressed to conceal anything, especially the firm bounce of her breasts. Jack's stomach dropped and so did his heart. Why the hell couldn't he control himself around this woman?

"It's Gus," he whispered. "Shall we scare her?"

Bridget's tiny gasp of laughter was all the incentive Jack needed. "We might give her a heart attack, " the little girl cautioned.

Nothing less than she deserves, Jack thought. She's given me one or two. "Nah, she's tough, " he said. "She'll think it's a great joke. "

As Gus walked by them, Jack slid the panel open farther, snaked out a hand, and snagged her. Her startled scream forced him to move quickly. He hooked an arm around her waist, clamped a hand over her mouth, and lifted her right up off the ground.

She didn't make it easy. Apparently he'd scared the holy shit out of her, because much to his perverse satisfaction she struggled with the wrath of a hellcat. She twisted and thrashed and swung at him, not letting up for a second, even once he'd wrestled her inside the passageway. He could feel her bared teeth against his fingers and realized she was trying to bite him. "Easy!" he hissed.

It took more than a little force to subdue her, and he took more than a little pleasure in using it. It was dead black in the hidden compartment, and he used Gus's disorientation to his full advantage, knowing that Bridget couldn't see anything he was doing. The quicker he got her under control the better, he told himself. He didn't want to frighten the kid, after all.

But Gus didn't seem to care about his noble concerns. She twisted and squirmed in his grip and those firm, bouncing breasts of hers were all over the place as he forced her to the wall, hoping to use the surface as leverage. It amazed him to think he could ever have responded to Lily with this one around. She brought several pithy
F
words to mind, and she brought them to mind all at once.
Fire
and
fear, female
and the holiest of holies,
fuck.
As in great.

If there hadn't been a little kid sharing this pitch-black space with them, Jack would have been tempted mightily by the idea of a religious experience. But maybe it was fortunate that he couldn't, because like alcohol, she'd damned near killed him when he'd succumbed before. If being with any female was painful, being with this one was agony. Besides, there
was
a little kid sharing this pitch-black space with them, and she'd suddenly gone very quiet.

"Gus, it's just me, " he told her. "It's Jack. Take it easy. "

"Take it easy!" she gasped as he freed her mouth. "You sonovabit—"

He muzzled her again and glanced down at Bridget, whose white feathers were the only thing that could be seen in the darkness. "I think we scared her pretty good. "

Bridget's giggle was a little nervous this time.

"It's a joke, Gus," Jack said, struggling to hold her still while he spoke to her soothingly. "Bridget and I were just having some fun."

"Bridget?" she mumbled through his fingers.

"Yeah, it's me, Gus-buster," the little girl said. "I'm in here, too. Jack and I were playing a joke. "

Jack lifted his hand off Gus's mouth, ready to clamp down again if he had to. She didn't scream, but he could hear the anger flaring in her breathing. He was surprised he couldn't see fire coming through her nostrils. The tiny room smelled of fear and steam heat and bath powder. It was filled with the essence of two females, both of them brats, and both of them doing their damndest to steal his heart.

"Just having some fun," he repeated.

"We were trying to scare you, " Bridget explained, apparently much less certain of her plan now.

"Really?" Gus's voice was considerably strained. "Well, you did a good job. Now, if no one minds, could we get
out
of this mummy case?"

Jack was quick to acquiesce. He released her, slid the panel open, and stood back, letting the two of them pile out into the relative light of the alcove, where Gus set about to huff and puff and straighten her clothing. Bridget simply stared at her aunt thoughtfully, as if she were learning something new about women, and maybe even about life. When Gus had accomplished all she could, she crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at both of them.

"What are you two doing up at this time of night?"

"I couldn't sleep," Jack explained, perhaps not very convincingly. "I was hunting for the kitchen to fix myself a snack, some of that great lasagna Frances served for dinner. Too bad you weren't there, " he added, hoping to push her guilt button and distract her. He knew she didn't like being away from Bridget, but the business meetings for her magazine had kept her away until well after the child's bedtime.

"Yeah, Gus," Bridget chimed in. "Jack and I both had two helpings. "

"Really, did you?" She smiled at Bridget, but her gaze darted back to Jack quickly enough to let him know she wasn't happy with him. Not one bit.

For his part, Jack was wondering whether or not Bridget was going to play along. He had no idea how long the little girl had been stalking him tonight, but surely she'd seen some of what he'd been doing. If so, she could blow his cover with a couple of words.

He looked down at her just as she glanced up, wide-eyed.

"Did you know, " she said softly, "that Gelsey fought with Misha all the time, but it was mostly because she was

 in love with him and was afraid he didn't love her back? Did you know that, Jack?"

"Gelsey?" Jack said, confused.

"Bridget
—" Gus's voice held an ominous warning. "Back to bed," she said, holding out her hand to her niece. "Come on now. "

The look Gus flashed him held a warning, too. Don't encourage her, it said. She's a romantic child, in love with love, the romance of the ballet, and silly childish things.
Don't encourage her.