The President's Daughter (30 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“They make this look so damned easy on TV.”

All of Dina’s fingers bore nicks and slices, and it took all of her concentration to hold on to the piece of glass that was now slippery with blood. All the while, she listened for the sound of tires on the drive.

She’d been working at the rope for what had seemed to be forever, her efforts slowed by the fact that she kept dropping the glass and would have to relocate it again each time. But finally, she had made enough of a cut to loosen the ties and slip free.

“Hallelujah!”

She rubbed her wrists with bloody fingers and bloody hands, hoping to speed up the return of circulation.

“Guess you critters will have to party without me tonight,” she said as she went to the door and attempted to open it.

The door was bolted from the outside. No amount of pounding or jiggling on the doorknob made a bit of difference.

“Oh, damn!” Angered and frustrated, Dina kicked at the door, her patience at last exhausted.

Commanding herself not to give in to the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, Dina looked around for an alternative way out.

Without something upon which to stand, the window was too far beyond her reach. The hole in the siding was far too narrow for Dina to fit through.

Dina almost missed it, the sound was so faint, but there, she heard it again. The sound of tires crunching on stone, a car door slamming. Footsteps on dried earth. Had her captor returned? Or had someone else come along? Dina stood stock-still, weighing her options. Should she yell for help? Or should she wait to see where the footsteps led?

The footsteps came nearer.

As quietly as possible, Dina slipped into the corner opposite the door. Perhaps if she stayed silent, her captor would be inclined to unlock the door to check on her.

One could only hope. . . .

“How was your night? I trust you had lots of friends to keep you company?” The voice was light and cheery. “Nothing quite like a good party, is there, Dina?” She paused, then called, “Dina?”

Open the door. Come on, open the door. I’ll take you
down in a heartbeat. . . .

There was no answer from within.

“Dina, for heaven’s sake, I know you’re in there, and you know that I know you’re in there. So stop playing games. We’ve things to talk about, you and I.”

But still, there was no response.

Open it. You know you want to. . . .

“You’re really trying my patience; you know that, don’t you?”

Silence.

“Look, you can stay in there until you rot for all I care.”

Tentative footsteps made their way around the shed, as Dina’s captor seemed to be circling the small building and studying it as if it were a puzzle.

Hesitation. Confusion.

The footsteps retreated.

“Well, that was effective,” Dina muttered. “I guess I showed her, all right. . . .”

Dina processed the little information that she had. Her captor was apparently a small woman, judging by her light step. Though hungry and thirsty, Dina was otherwise strong and in excellent physical condition. Adrenaline made her stronger still. She felt confident that she could take her captor one-on-one. Unless, of course, she was armed. . . .

Was she armed?

Dina heard the sound of a car engine, tires squealing as if making a tight U-turn.

Then, nothing.

Silence had apparently been the wrong approach.

Dina paced the small room, rubbing her wrists with hands from which the blood still ran in places and dripped onto the floor. The air was close and stale, and the temperature was beginning to rise.

She looked around for something she could use to break out another pane of glass to permit more fresh air into the dusty confines of the shed, but there was nothing. She took off one shoe and jumped up to bang it against the glass, then tried to shield her face from the splinters that rained down.

“Damn,” she muttered, gingerly shaking glass from her hair. “If I keep this up, I won’t have to worry about what weapons she might have. I’ll just bleed to death.”

With the end of her T-shirt Dina mopped up the blood from several slices on her right cheek that had been made by falling glass.

“All in all, worth it,” she said aloud as she examined the shirt. “At least now there’s a little more air in here.”

Dina jumped up again at the window, hoping to break out at least one of the upper panes, but found them beyond her reach. She put her shoe back on, then went back to the window to look out.

The window itself was set high in the wall, too high for Dina to see much beyond the trees that bordered the fields. She knew the property only by reputation but knew it was a very large tract. The house had been empty for at least six months, and it was unlikely anyone would be making a social call anytime soon.

Dina gritted her teeth and kicked at what appeared to be a soft spot in the wood. The clapboard bent softly but did not break.

Okay, maybe over here where the boards were broken . . .

But even her most ferocious kicking left the boards intact.

Damn.

What she wouldn’t give for that bottle of Deer Park spring water that sat in her bag in the Jeep.

Dina tilted her head, listened, and smiled. The car had come back.
A
car, anyway. Too bad the window looked out over the field instead of the road. She’d just have to wait to see.

But yes, the footsteps drew closer. Her captor had returned.

“Okay, Dina. Here’s how it’s going to be. I’m going to give you one last chance—that was
one
—to tell me where Jude is. I suggest that you speak up.”

The woman’s voice paused. When Dina did not respond, she asked slyly, “Don’t you want to know the ‘or else’ part?”

“Sure. What’s the ‘or else’?”

“I knew you couldn’t resist.” There was a soft chuckle. “The ‘or else’ is or else I’m going to set fire to your little home.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to let me out before you strike the match?”

“I don’t suppose I will.”

“What could you possibly want with Jude?”

“She’s the last big piece of the puzzle. After you, of course. And that pesky reporter, but first things first. And as things turned out, you would be first.” The voice held an undercurrent that was both smug and sure.

“What’s the puzzle?”

“A puzzle that can never be put together.”

“Oh, wait, you mean this whole Blythe Pierce/Graham Hayward thing?” Dina forced a touch of derision.

The woman on the other side of the door fell silent.

“You think that
Jude
is the last person who knows the truth about that? Ha!” Dina taunted her. “Surely you can’t think that you can get away with killing everyone who knows about their love affair.”

“It wasn’t a love affair! It was just a fling for him. He never loved her. Blythe Pierce was nothing more than a young tramp who tempted him because she wanted to be able to tell her friends that she’d slept with the President.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Dina said softly. “We both know he was in love with her. Deeply in love with her. Enough that he was willing to give up everything—even being President—to be with her.”

“It’s not true! It isn’t. He wasn’t in love with her,” the voice insisted, somewhat more shrilly. “Don’t dare say that he was. He did not love her.”

“He loved her so much that he was going to leave his wife—”

“
No!
He never would have left my mother! Never! He loved my mother! He loved me!”

Ah!
Dina smiled in spite of her predicament. At last she knew who her captor was.

“Sarah, you know he was going to leave—”

“No. No.
He
said he was going to leave her, but my father never would have done it. Never.
He
was lying.”

“Who was lying?”

“Miles. He told me, told me that I should talk to my father. That he’d listen to me. He’d listen. He’d forget about her if I asked him to. Miles said he would. . . .”

“So you talked to your father about Blythe?”

“Are you crazy? I just wanted her gone. Then things could be the way they were supposed to be again.”

“So you killed her.”

“I told Miles I’d call Daddy, but I called her instead. It was easy enough to get her number. I told her I needed to see her. That maybe if I met her I wouldn’t be as confused about things. I asked her not to tell my father because I just wasn’t ready to have that conversation with him just yet.”

“Laid it on real thick, did you?”

“You betcha. She bought every word. I told her I’d pick her up across the street from her apartment.”

“That’s why she was crossing the street,” Dina said almost imperceptibly.

“. . . and she was so easy to kill. She never even saw it coming. Not like you. You ran like a jackrabbit.”

“How could you have done that? How could you have taken her life—”

“She was a problem. When you have a problem, you find a way to deal with it and move on.”

Dina’s stomach churned at the callousness of the words, but still she had to ask.

“Did you know about me then?”

“Do you think I would have let you live? I didn’t have a clue. Not until Miles told me. Stupid Miles. Told that stupid reporter. Well, I couldn’t let him tell anyone else. I’m sure that even you can understand that.”

There was the sound of paper being torn, then silence. Then the smell of something that Dina couldn’t quite put her finger on. . . .

“What is that?” Dina leaned against the door.

“Lighter fluid.”

The footsteps were moving around the shed.

Seconds later, brittle laughter faded with the footsteps.

The dry grass outside the shed caught quickly. Within minutes, smoke began to seep through the wall and the floor. The rotted wood smoldered, then took to flame as it dried with the heat. Trapped, Dina dropped to her knees, frantically looking for a way out. Coughing, seeking air, she crawled to the door and pounded on it. Flames licked at her arms and her feet as the floor began to burn.

“I’m not going to die like this,” Dina said through clenched teeth. “I will not . . .”

She ran at the door and hit it with her shoulder. The bolt held. Again. And again, the bolt held. Once more. Nothing.

The flames were too close to the door now. She felt the intense heat and smelled the pungent smell of burnt hair. She reached up and felt the singed strands on the left side of her head. Back onto her knees, Dina watched the flames lick at the door.

Just another minute,
she told herself as she lowered her face to the floor to seek out any pockets of fresh air that might still linger.
Just another minute and the
frame that the bolt is attached to should be burned
through. . . .

A piece of ceiling fell, and Dina knew she could wait no longer.

She sprang forward, using all of her remaining strength to charge the door.

Mercifully, it gave way. Her lungs tortured by acrid smoke and her head pounding from effort and lack of oxygen, Dina crawled forward from where she landed when she’d blown through the burning door, then lay in the grass, gasping for fresh air, until the buzzing in her head subsided. She pulled herself up, stood on shaking legs, and looked back as the shed fell in upon itself.

“Why can’t you just die?” The question was presented softly, matter-of-factly, with a touch of curiosity but absolutely no emotion.

Dina turned to look upon the face of her captor.

Her half sister.

Sarah stood less than six feet from Dina, a small handgun in her right hand, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she slowly raised the hand holding the gun.

Driven by sheer instinct and the will to survive, Dina lowered her head and drove into the woman, who, on contact, was thrown backward. She landed on the ground with Dina astride, stunned, the wind knocked from her lungs. Dina grabbed the woman’s wrist, searching for the gun, but it was gone, apparently thrown into the high brush.

Dina sprang to her feet, her thoughts on reaching the Jeep. It was farther away than she’d remembered, and she prayed with every step that the keys were still there.

Breath coming in ragged spurts, sweat running in dark streaks down her sooty face, Dina ran on shaking legs without looking back.

The first shot took her completely by surprise.

The second grazed her left shoulder with startling sharpness and left a trail of heat in its wake.

But still Dina ran. A third shot hit the ground to her right; a fourth pinged loudly off the Jeep’s front bumper.

Dina reached the Jeep and pulled herself into the driver’s seat, her right hand seeking the keys in her purse even as it shook almost uncontrollably, but yes! There they were. She need only start the engine.

Clutch,
she reminded herself.
Remember the
clutch. . . .

The car jerked ahead and stalled.

Another shot struck the passenger-side door. Dina ducked, wondering just how many bullets had been in that small gun. . . .