Stolen (20 page)

B
EHIND THE WHEEL OF HER
Mini Cooper, Molly surveyed her rearview mirrors hopefully. Rain relentlessly pounded Blackpool's streets, creating miniature waves across the cobblestones. There was no sign of Paddington's police escort.

Syn sat in the rear with her pistol. Iris sat in the passenger seat.

“What are you going to do with Chloe Sterling when we find her?” Molly cut her gaze to Syn in the mirror, amazed at how calm the young woman was.

“Offer her sanctuary, of course. I doubt Bartholomew Sterling would do the same.”

Remembering the big man she'd encountered at Audrey Cloverfield's flat, Molly knew that was the truth. Bartholomew Sterling was a desperate man.

“How is protecting Chloe Sterling going to benefit you?”

“I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. After all, I'm in the position to make her a very wealthy woman. No matter what, she's going to need a top-flight legal team to fight for the Sterling fortune. I can provide that.”

Molly couldn't help imagining Syn simply handing Chloe over to Bartholomew Sterling for a finder's fee. The possibility made her sick.

“Don't worry about that woman's safety.” Syn waved
her pistol nonchalantly. “You should be more concerned with keeping Mrs. Dunstead and yourself alive.”

Iris remained calm, her hands in her lap. “Do you really think you could get away with shooting us?”

“If I have to, yes. I do hope it doesn't come to that.”

Molly didn't trust Syn. She didn't see any way out of the situation that would let Iris and her emerge unscathed. She only prayed that their destination would offer a chance for escape.

 

D
RIVING THROUGH
B
LACKPOOL
, Michael grew frustrated. He'd rung Molly's mobile and the house phone, then Iris's mobile. Finally he'd reached Irwin. From the sound of his voice, Michael assumed the man was in the manor house garage.

“Where's Molly?”

Irwin answered factually. “I'm not certain, sir. She and Mrs. Dunstead left with Miss Roderick a while ago. She didn't say where they were going or when they might be back. Is something wrong?”

Michael sped through the streets, narrowly avoiding pedestrians and bicyclists. Thankfully the rain had cleared most people from the town. His tires shrieked against the wet stones as he cut the corners tightly. The transmission protested as he shifted again and again.

“Yes. I don't have time to go into it now. Go out to the marina. Find Syn Roderick's boat. See if Molly is there. Then call me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Glancing at his phone again, Michael punched in the number for the Blackpool Police Department and got a dispatcher. He identified himself and asked to be forwarded to DCI Paddington.

“Mr. Graham?” Paddington sounded quiet and controlled. “Where are you?”

Michael powered through an intersection and barely missed a cyclist and a group of students hurrying toward a pub. “My wife is missing. She and Iris Dunstead left the house with Syn Roderick. I don't think Molly left by her own choice.”

“Calm down, Mr. Graham. We'll get to the bottom of this. I need you to come here, to the police department. We can discuss it.”

“Not till I find my wife. There's more going on than what you're aware of.”

“Perhaps you could fill me in.”

“Chloe Sterling is still alive, Inspector.” Michael stomped on his brakes and skidded for a moment, giving a panicked cyclist just enough time to get clear of the intersection. Then he applied his foot to the accelerator and the Land Rover once more gained speed. “Audrey Cloverfield identified another dead girl as Chloe Sterling.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Edward Sterling, the baby's uncle, was greedy. He knew the train was going to be robbed. Maybe he decided to seize the opportunity to get rid of Chloe and take control of the family fortune. Miss Cloverfield must have known this and protected the child as best as she was able. So she identified another orphaned child during all the confusion.”

“Edward Sterling was behind the train robbery?”

“He was one of the men behind it. Victor Starkweather and Philip Crowe were also involved.”

“Can you prove any of this?”

“That's not my job, Inspector. I've got some evidence. You'll have to talk to a prosecutor to figure out if it's worth showing in court. In the meantime, I have to find my wife.”

“I just got a phone call from DCI Smollet in London. They arrested the man that attacked Mrs. Graham at Miss Cloverfield's flat. He was still marked by the pepper spray when they brought him in. He's talking to Smollet, saying he was hired by Hershel Conway.”

“Sterling's muscle.”

“Yes. The man Smollet has in custody is also talking about Conway running down another fellow named Byron Kirkwell in London a week ago. Do you know anything about that?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Kirkwell was the forger Philip Crowe used to replicate the paintings he stole.”

“I was about to contact you and your wife when you called. You should come here.”

“Molly first.”

Michael broke the connection and thought about the seven—no,
six
—survivors from the train wreck who lived in Blackpool. Two were male. One was Iris. That left three women. He thought fiercely, trying to remember their backgrounds.

You're looking for someone that was adopted. Someone whose parents died in London.

Then the name came to him. He called Information, gave the name, and asked for her address. When he had it, he punched it into the GPS program on his iPhone, his foot pushing down on the accelerator even harder than before.

 

T
HE HOUSE SAT BACK IN
the woods outside Blackpool. Under the eaves of the heavy oak and elm trees, the single-story bungalow looked rustic and almost a part of the forest surrounding it. A narrow driveway trailed between trees and brush.

The ruins of Ravenhearst Manor lay only a couple miles
away. Most of the townsfolk avoided the area because it was overgrown and one of the local cemeteries was nearby. Teens often came out to the graveyard to drink and scare each other, and stories had sprung up regarding the ghosts of Emma Ravenhearst and Charles Dalimar, both of whom were said to still walk the manor house grounds.

“Pull up to the house and get out.” Syn met Molly's eyes in the rearview mirror. “If you try anything, I will shoot you.”

“Won't that be hard to explain?” During the drive, Molly had boxed away some of the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

“You won't be here to care.”

Molly eased her car into the drive in front of the house and switched off the engine when Syn instructed her to.

“The keys.” Syn held out a hand and wiggled her fingers.

With a show of reluctance, Molly handed over the keys. She kept a spare under the rear wheel well, and though she hadn't checked it in months, she believed the magnetic keycase would still be there.

But even if she got away, bringing the other two women with her would be difficult.

Syn put the keys in her jacket pocket and motioned with the pistol. “Let's go meet Richard Sterling's legitimate heir.”

With true reluctance and a feeling that she'd betrayed the woman, Molly climbed out of the car. At Syn's command, she halted at the front of the vehicle and waited for Iris to join her. Together, they headed toward the door.

Before they reached the house, the door opened and Rachel Donner stepped out, an apron tied around her. She dried her hands with a paper towel and looked uncertainly from Molly to Iris.

“Good afternoon. Did I forget you were dropping by?”

Molly shook her head. “Not at all, Rachel. Something came up that we needed to talk to you about.”

“It would be better if we could discuss it inside.” Syn stepped up to Molly's side and jammed the pistol into her back.

“Of course.” Rachel retreated into the house.

Once inside, Syn moved away from Molly and revealed the pistol.

“What's going on?” Rachel's eyes grew round with shock. “Molly?”

“Sit down.” Syn pointed at the chair and sofa in the modest living room. A soap opera played at low volume on the small television in the corner of the room. “I don't have a lot of time here.”

Molly sat on the couch and was joined by Iris. Without taking her eyes off of Syn, Molly spoke calmly to Rachel. “You let Abigail Whiteshire borrow the rose pendant for the photo shoot for the documentary.”

“Yes,” Rachel said. “That pendant was one of Abigail's favorites. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“That pendant belonged to Constance Sterling, Richard Sterling's wife and Chloe Sterling's mother.”

“Chloe was one of the children who died during the train wreck.”

“Only she
didn't
die that day.” Molly kept her voice neutral, wondering what Syn was going to do.

The young woman scanned the living room, then walked toward the curtains. Keeping the women covered with her pistol, she tugged at the cords and yanked them free. She tossed one to Molly. “Tie your legs together at the ankles.”

“What if I don't?”

“Then I'll shoot you and ask Mrs. Dunstead to tie her ankles together.”

Tires crunched on fallen branches and loose rock out in the driveway. Syn peered out the window and cursed. Through the sliver between the curtains, Molly spotted a luxury sedan pulling to a stop beside her Mini Cooper. Car doors opened, then closed, and footsteps sounded on the porch in front of the house.

Hershel Conway, Bartholomew Sterling's bodyguard, stepped into the room with a large gun in his very large fist. He glared at Syn as she wheeled on him with the pistol. Despite the gun aimed at him, he grinned.

“Gotta warn you. I don't have a problem shooting women.” Conway pointed his weapon squarely at Syn.

At his side, another man Molly didn't recognize stepped into the room. He also pointed a pistol.

“Syn, I do believe you're outgunned, and in the interest of lessening the possibility of harm coming to anyone here, please reconsider what you're doing.” Cautiously, Bartholomew Sterling eased into the living room, but he made certain he stood behind his bodyguards. “Do we have an agreement? I'd hate to have you killed.”

Cornered and fearful, Syn backed away and aimed her pistol at Rachel Donner. “Don't take another step, Sterling. If you do, I swear I'll kill her.”

W
HEN HE SAW THE LUXURY SEDAN
parked in front of Rachel Donner's house, Michael cursed and drove another fifty yards down the road. That distance put him around a bend in the road and out of sight from the house. He pulled off to the side, left the keys in the ignition and the engine running, and went to the trunk of the Land Rover. He opened the rear compartment, then felt inside the tool box until he found a tire tool. He expected to hear the crash and thunder of gunfire at any moment.

Turning, he raced back toward Rachel Donner's house, trying to stay out of sight. His brain spun as he figured out what he was going to do. So many people were inside the house, and there was no room for error.

In seconds, heart pounding from adrenaline as well as the exertion of running, keeping to the edge of the forest, Michael made his way to the front of the house. He spotted Bartholomew Sterling standing behind two men. One of them he recognized from their earlier meetings.

Trotting to the side of the house, Michael noticed that the curtains had been yanked from one of the windows. He flattened against the house and peered through the window. Molly and Iris and another woman sat on the couch. Syn Roderick had a small pistol pointed at Rachel Donner.

Staying out of sight of the two armed men and Syn, Michael waved at Molly and caught her attention. For a
moment he thought she was going to give him away, then she caught herself.

Go to the rear of the house
. Michael mouthed the words twice and watched as Molly gave him a slight nod. Heart thumping at the back of his throat, he crept around to the front of the house.

“Don't take another step, Sterling,” Syn threatened in a loud voice. “If you do, I swear I'll kill her.”

Michael got a fresh grip on the tire iron, rounded the corner, and stepped lightly onto the porch.

“Go ahead, Syn. Shoot her. It will save me the trouble. If I'd had any luck at all, the first woman I'd have killed would have been the right one. Better still, Audrey Cloverfield wouldn't have hidden the fact that Chloe was alive. My father had paid Audrey to make sure Chloe died on the train. But she betrayed him and hid Chloe in Blackpool. Only she couldn't go to my uncle with what she knew. Richard Sterling was too caught up in his grief over losing his precious wife. He depended on my father, but Richard was going to leave all his wealth to his daughter. My father wasn't going to let that happen. Now, thanks to Mrs. Graham, I have found the real Chloe Sterling and can put an end to any threat to my possessing the Sterling fortune.” Bartholomew Sterling laughed. “That would have probably made an even better story for you, Mrs. Graham.”

Dry-mouthed and scared, Michael swung around the corner with the tire tool. At the same time, Syn pointed her weapon at Sterling and started shooting. A rapid
pop-pop-pop-pop
split the air. One of the bodyguards sagged but Hershel Conway aimed his weapon and fired three quick shots.

Desperate, Michael hit Sterling from behind and knocked him into the wounded bodyguard. Both of them fell, sprawl
ing to the floor. Blood leaked from the bodyguard and Sterling squalled for help.

Syn bounced off the wall behind her, then fell forward onto the floor as Hershel Conway swung around and pointed his pistol at Michael.

 

M
OLLY YANKED
I
RIS AND
R
ACHEL
to their feet as soon as Syn changed her target to Sterling. Both women moved with astounding alacrity toward the rear of the house.

“The back door!” Molly followed as gunshots crashed behind her. She fully expected to feel bullets ripping through her body at any moment. But they didn't. She followed Rachel Donner through the kitchen and into the utility room, then out the rear door.

Behind the house, a short yard had been carved from the wilderness. Molly ran after Iris and Rachel as gunfire blasted behind her.

Michael!

 

C
ONWAY'S HASTE SAVED
M
ICHAEL
. The first couple rounds tore through the doorjamb a few inches over his head, splintering wood and filling his ears with cottony numbness. Then he recovered from his temporary paralysis and threw himself from the porch.

Frantic, Michael ran into the woods after the women, spotting them through the trees. He reached them in seconds.

“Keep going. They'll be coming.”

“My car is there. I have a spare key.” Molly touched his face, making certain he was all right. Her fingertips came away wet with blood and Michael guessed that the splinters had found a target after all. Thankfully nothing had hit him in the eyes.

“No.” Michael pointed through the woods toward the
road where he'd parked. “That way. My car's already waiting. The keys are in the ignition. Get Iris and Mrs. Donner up there.”

“Michael—”

They were still close enough to the house that Michael heard Sterling yelling invectives inside. “Find them! I want them dead, Hershel! Do you hear me!”

“We don't have time, love.” Desperation surged within him. “Get them to the car. I'll be along.”

“You'd better be, Michael Graham.” Molly headed off with the other women, guiding them through the forest until they disappeared in the trees and brush.

Good girl.
Michael tried to pretend that his heart wasn't ready to explode from his chest. He found a tree large enough to conceal him just as Hershel Conway burst through the back door of the house with the big pistol in hand. A flush of renewed fear chilled Michael.

“Have you got them yet?” Sterling staggered through the doorway after Conway.

“No. Where's Harry?”

“Dead. Syn was a much better shot than I anticipated.”

The big man growled and spat a curse. “Well, she won't be shooting anybody else.”

Sterling pulled a handgun from inside his jacket. “We've got to find them, then we've got some cleaning up to do here.”

“What about the police? They could be here any minute. It might be better if we cut our losses.”

“No. I won't be cheated out of my inheritance. We will track them down and we will kill them. If the police had been called, they would have been here by now.”

Michael silently cursed, realizing he'd missed his op
portunity to alert Inspector Paddington. The only thing he'd been able to focus on was getting to Molly.

Brush cracked in the direction that Molly and the women had gone. The sound drew Sterling and Conway's attention immediately and the two men set off.

Quietly, Michael shifted through the forest on an intercept course. He couldn't believe what he was doing. Reflexes honed on paintball courses, soccer fields and rugby games lent him grace and speed. In seconds he reached a point ahead of Sterling and Conway.

Conway was in the lead, swiping to clear branches and brush from his path. Mustering all his strength, Michael swung the tire iron sideways and whipped it into the big man's ribcage. Bone cracked and a savage jolt traveled up his arm from the impact. He cried out himself from the pain and shock.

Conway went down, the breath driven momentarily from his lungs. Sterling pulled up in alarm, staring down at his fallen companion.

Mercilessly, Michael swung again, striking Sterling's gun arm and sending the pistol flying from his grasp. A pained yelp escaped the man as he staggered backward. Driven by fear and rage, thinking of what Sterling had planned for Molly, Michael went after him. The muddy ground tore loose underfoot and nearly sent him into a tumble. It did save his life, though, because Conway recovered.

The big man rolled onto his side with a pained grimace and fired. Rolling thunder reverberated throughout the forest and bullets ripped leaves and branches from the trees. Michael threw himself to the ground, losing the tire iron in the process, then turned and dived through the brush.

Fire seared Michael's leg, signaling that the last tumble
had badly sprained or torn something in his hip. His leg moved sluggishly and slowed him down. Panting for breath, he hurled himself through the trees as Conway continued to fire. Thankfully the pistol ran dry.

Glancing back, Michael spotted Sterling just as he found his pistol and resumed the chase. Struggling to stay on his feet, Conway switched out magazines in his gun and matched his employer step for step.

The tree trunk under Michael's hand shivered as a bullet rocketed into it. Splinters of white bark erupted in a sudden spray. Michael turned and ducked, feeling the pain in his leg pull at him, causing him to cry out. Then he pushed himself for as much speed as he could manage.

He hoped Molly and the women had reached the Land Rover by now. Surely they'd had time. And surely Molly wouldn't make the mistake of trying to wait for him.

Three more bullets cracked limbs overhead. Another dug at his heels and ripped a clod of muddy earth free of the ground. Then the trees started to thin as he neared the road.

He risked a look over his shoulder and saw that Sterling and Conway had both gained on him. The damage to his leg was holding him off his best speed. Michael cursed and tried to force his body to go faster. But it wouldn't.

Another pair of bullets whizzed by Michael's head. The road was just ahead of him now, but he couldn't see the Land Rover. A green Jaguar flashed by. The brake lights flared to life, then a powerful engine shifted into Reverse.

Seconds later, when Michael was only thirty yards from the road's edge, the Jaguar came to a stop in front of him.

Anxiety whipped through Michael. Was the car's driver
another of Sterling's men? Then, incredibly, Aleister Crowe opened the door and stepped out, a pistol in his fist.

“Get down, Michael. Now!”

Almost overcome by pain and knowing he couldn't have gone on much longer, Michael threw himself to the ground. Bullets cracked around him. The driver's side window on the Jaguar suddenly exploded and glass rained down onto the muddy ground.

Calmly, as if it were something he did every day, Aleister Crowe set himself, one arm under his pistol barrel as he faced the two men. Then he squeezed off shots in rapid fire.

Jerking his head around, Michael spotted Conway lying still on the ground. Sterling had two blood-red roses blossoming on his white shirt as he leaned against a tree for support. Then his knees went out from under him and he flopped to the ground.

Without expression, without pause, Aleister Crowe strode forward to the two men and kicked their weapons away. Conway lay on his back, his eyes open and sightless. Sterling moaned in pain and terror.

“Please. You've got to get a doctor for me.”

“You'll get one sooner than you deserve.” Crowe gazed down at the man without mercy. “And you'll probably bloody well live.”

Struggling, Michael pushed himself up, surprised that he was still alive. His leg burned from the movement. He stared at Crowe. “Thank you.”

Crowe nodded. “You're welcome.”

“How did you find us?”

Crowe smiled and made no effort to put his pistol away. He held it easily in his black gloved hands. “I followed you. While you were running back to your Land Rover at the train station, I waited in my car. You were rather difficult
to stay behind at times, but I managed.” He eyed the two men on the ground. “Otherwise I don't think this would have ended as well as it did.”

Before Michael could respond, sirens pierced the air. He leaned heavily against a tree, then spotted Molly sprinting through the forest toward him. She wrapped herself around him, eliciting a cry of pain, then struggled to support him.

“This is going to require a lot of explaining, love.” Michael grinned at her despite the pain and kissed her forehead.

“That's all right,” Molly said. “Between us, we have most of the story. Inspector Paddington might even give us a medal.”

Judging by the inspector's stony face as he stepped out of his car into the rain, Michael shook his head. “I seriously doubt that, love. We're going to be lucky if the inspector doesn't decide to lock us up on general principle.”

“I'm here because I was kidnapped at gunpoint,” she protested. “That's hardly my fault.”

Michael wasn't convinced the inspector would see it that way.