The Secret of the Villa Mimosa (51 page)

“I was going to leave tomorrow,” she said, edging toward the steps. “But I think it’s better if I go now.”

His cold, bitter laugh followed her as she hurried
down the steps, freezing the blood in her veins. She started to run. She heard Brad shout a command, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Kill,” he cried again. And then she saw the Doberman, a fleet black arrow in the stormy darkness, racing toward her. She screamed and flung up her arms as the powerful dog launched itself at her. She felt a searing pain as its jaws clamped down on her arm. Then she heard Wong shout.

“Down, Makana,” he yelled at the dog, and ran toward her. “Drop it. Down, you bastard dog.”

The dog let go on command, and Wong flung himself between her and the animal.

“Kill,” Brad yelled again, running toward them through the dark and rain with the shotgun in his hands.

The Doberman grabbed the old Chinese man by the throat and sank its teeth deep into him.

“Oh, God, oh, God,” Marie-Laure screamed. The old man was on the ground, and the dog was tearing his face to pieces. There was blood everywhere, spurting from the big artery in his neck. A shot rang out, and the dog lifted its bloody mouth from the old man. It stared for a moment at her, then gave a thin, unearthly wail. Its burning red-brown eyes glazed over, its legs crumpled, and it slid in slow motion to the ground, beside Wong’s body.

Fear lent wings to Marie-Laure’s feet, and she took off down the slippery path, waiting for the shot that she knew would send her into eternity, too. Nothing happened, and she glanced back over her shoulder. Brad was standing in the pouring rain over the two bodies. She saw him throw the shotgun aside and kneel beside them. “Oh, God,” she heard his anguished cry, “look what they have done now.” He raised his head to the sky, howling his agony.

She fled down the path toward the house. She had to get out of here as fast as she could … she would go to the police … tell them her story … tell
them he was a madman…. Even as she thought it, she knew it would not work. They would look at Brad Kane, the gentleman rancher who owned a good part of the islands, whose family had lived here for generations. And they would look at her, a hysterical young woman with some wild story about an attack, and she knew whose side they would take.

She started running down the drive to the gates; then she remembered that her money and her credit cards were in her room. She dithered helplessly; she could not get far without them.

She looked back toward the house and saw the servants running, heard their cries of distress and guessed she had a few minutes’ grace. She ran to her room, grabbed her pocketbook, and fled back through the gardens down to the gates. The guard had heard the shot. He had run to see what the trouble was, leaving the gates unguarded. She pressed the electronic device that opened them and slid through. Then she began to run down the hill, jogging steadily in the rain, her heart thudding in her throat.

It seemed ages before she saw a gas station, and she began to slow down. She checked her watch. She had been running for twenty minutes. He wouldn’t dare come after her in a public place, she thought, fumbling in her bag for a coin.

She went to the pay phone and called a cab. Then she went into the washroom and cleaned herself up. Her arm was bleeding, and she washed it, then took off her T-shirt and wrapped it around the wound. She put on a light sweater to hold the improvised bandage in place. She rinsed her face with cold water and combed her wet hair and then went back outside to wait for the cab.

Her throat was parched from running, and she got a Coke from the machine and sipped it, still trembling inside. She thought of Brad’s grieving face as he looked down at Wong and his wild, agonized howl.

And she remembered the dying dog, its eyes glazing over, sliding in slow motion to the ground. She knew that Wong had saved her life, and because of him, Brad would not be coming after her. Not yet.

The cab circled into the court, and she ran toward it. She climbed in thankfully and leaned back against the cushions.

The next United flight left in two hours. Two hours! It stretched in front of her like eternity. She bought a ticket and hurried from the counter, hiding herself in the crowd, watching, waiting. But there was still no sign of Brad Kane when at last her flight was called.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally boarded the plane and took her seat. Now she was safe.

And then she arrived in San Francisco. And Brad was there, waiting for her.

Now, sitting on the terrace of her family’s beautiful old farm in Provence, Bea wondered how she could have ever thought she would be safe again. Brad Kane was obsessed with the Lecontes. He was crazy. She had not realized how fast he would act. And how silently. She had not known that he was in the Gulfstream and on his way to San Francisco before she had even boarded her United flight. She could not have known that he was a man who could buy anything he wanted and that he would know where to go to get what he needed—the syringe with the fast-acting anesthetic that would safely put her out for hours, for instance—so he could kill her and make it look like an accident. And then the Kanoi Ranch would finally be only his.

She felt his presence before she saw him. There had been no sound; he was just suddenly there, a deeper shadow against the blackness. She saw the glow of his cigarette as he put it to his lips.

“So, Marie-Laure,” he said in that quiet, flat tone, “we meet again.”

Poochie bristled and lurched to his feet. He growled and showed his teeth warningly.

Brad laughed. “I hope you haven’t brought that mutt here to defend you. Somehow I don’t think he’s the right breed.”

“Where are the children?” Bea asked quickly. She was amazed that her voice sounded so calm. Now that she was seeing her killer face-to-face, she felt a hatred so intense it shocked her. But she had to keep a veneer of calm if she was to win. She had to know he had kept his word and they were all right.

“I kept my promise,” he said. “They are in a taxi en route to the Villa Mimosa.”

She peered warily into the dark, tracking his hand with the cigarette. “How do I know that’s true?”

He shrugged indifferently. “I guess you will just have to trust me, Marie-Laure.”

She saw him crush out the cigarette, and then he walked toward her. She put her hand in her pocket, gripping the sharp little kitchen knife. The sweat of fear stuck her hair to her head, and she trembled with hate for him and for Jack and Archer. They had gotten away with their crimes, but she wasn’t going to allow Brad to get away with his. Not again. She would kill him first. She sobbed as she realized what she was thinking. Brad Kane was turning her into a killer, a murderer. No better than all the Kanes.

Then she saw the gun in his hand. Poochie gave another deeper growl. She could see his bared fangs gleaming, and she gripped his collar more tightly.

“We are going for a short ride, Marie-Laure,” Brad said, ignoring the dog. “A little sight-seeing. Pity it’s so dark, but then you must know these roads like the back of your hand.” He took her arm and marched her to her car. He held the door open and indicated with the gun for her to get into the driver’s seat. Poochie got in next to her, whining, not understanding.

Brad climbed into the back and said, “Okay, start
driving. Make a left at the T junction. You remember, where it begins to climb steeply.”

Marie-Laure sensed the gun leveled at her head. She started the car and did as he said. Of course, she knew the place he meant. It was a lookout point where she had spent many a lazy afternoon, scanning the peaceful valley hundreds of feet below, watching the cars crawling like ants up the steep roads to the beautiful
village perché
on the opposite side; listening to the summer sounds of the birds and the crickets; feeling the sun-warmed rocks beneath her as she lay there, admiring the poppy fields spread like a red carpet that changed with the months to acres of lavender or sunflowers, and vines ripening under the hot sun, readying for the fall harvest. The lookout point was an even more precipitous drop than Mitchell’s Ravine.

Her hands shook as she drove slowly up the hill, casting around wildly for a way to escape. She still had the knife, but it was no match for his gun. Goddammit, she told herself savagely, she wasn’t drugged this time; she would fight for her life…. She was not just going to let him push her over the edge again…. He would have to shoot her first….

It suddenly occurred to her that Brad could have shot her just now on the terrace, if he had wanted to. She had been a sitting duck. He could have saved himself all this trouble. But he had not. He didn’t want to shoot her. That’s why he’d had the Doberman attack her and why he had pushed her over Mitchell’s Ravine. Because he didn’t want it to look like murder. He still wanted it to look like an accident.

She stopped the car at the top of the road. “Drive to the edge,” he commanded. She did as he said, then switched off the engine, waiting. Brad did not make a move, did not say a word. The silence was deafening. She imagined the gun pointing at her head, but now she was sure he did not want to use it. The familiar night sounds began to penetrate her consciousness:
the croak of tree frogs; the scurrying of nocturnal animals; the startled whir of disturbed birds. Somewhere, in the valley far below, she saw a car’s headlights. She watched hopefully as they flickered, then disappeared. And then nothing. She was alone with Brad Kane.

She heard Poochie whine as Brad got out of the car. In the glimmering darkness she could just make out the outline of the gun, pointed at her.

“Why are you doing this?” she screamed, suddenly needing to understand. “I told you I don’t want the ranch. I don’t want the money. I don’t want anything you’ve got—”

“You still don’t see it, do you?” he said. “All his life Jack was waiting for the Monkey to come back and steal his land, to take his birthright from him. I’m only protecting my interests, keeping Kanoi for the Kanes. I cannot allow you or any future Lecontes to jeopardize that. It is, my dear Marie-Laure, time to redress the balance of things.

“I think this is the best way,” he said, and she could see he was smiling at her. “We have to make sure this time, don’t we?”

He opened the car door. He reached in and released the hand brake, started the engine, and put it in gear. Brad held her back with one arm as he reached for the accelerator. With a terrified scream Marie-Laure suddenly wrenched herself free. She hurled herself out the other door and Poochie leaped out after her, barking frantically. She lay stunned on the rough stony grass as the car lurched toward the precipice. It teetered for a few seconds on the edge, then slid over gently. She heard the terrible shattering of glass and the great rending of steel as it bounced from rock to rock down the steep slope—and then the huge explosion as it burst into flames. She would have been in that inferno if Brad had had his way.

Fear brought her to her feet, but Brad grabbed her from behind. He locked his arms around her and
forced her toward the edge of the precipice. She screamed, endless throat-tearing screams, digging in her heels, clinging to the thorny branches in their path, scrabbling for a foothold on the loose stones. She had to get the knife, it was her only chance. She had to kill him before he could kill her. She heard Poochie’s wild snarl and saw his black silhouette against the red glow of the inferno as the big dog hurled himself at her attacker, taking Brad by surprise and knocking both of them to the ground.

Marie-Laure rolled away and scrambled quickly to her feet. She saw Brad put the gun to the dog’s side, and she kicked it out of his hand. She reached down to grab it, but he was too quick for her. He snatched it, then smashed it savagely down on the dog’s head. Poochie gave a high-pitched yelp and fell back. Marie-Laure cried out with fear and anger as Brad grabbed her foot and dragged her once more toward the edge.

She kicked out at him and rolled away, but he was on top of her in a second. Then he was banging her head against the stones. The pain was intense, and she knew it was never going to stop. She was slipping away into unconsciousness, and she fought it She couldn’t let him win; she
would not
…. Somewhere in the back of her brain, over the noise of her own screams, she became aware of a new sound. Then suddenly there were lights and other people.

Brad was up on his feet in a minute, pulling her with him, holding her in front of him as a shield. Groggily she made out the half circle of gendarmes. Their guns were aimed at them, and dimly she heard Nick’s voice shouting to her to “hold on.” And then she slid backward down the familiar black tunnel into unconsciousness.

“Brad,” Phyl called softly. “Brad, it’s me.” He peered into the lights, puzzled. “Rebecca,” he said in a harsh whisper. “What are you doing here? I
thought you were waiting for me in San Francisco. We were going to Kalani. Remember?”

Phyl’s numb heart felt as though it were no longer part of her body as she looked at him. This was not the charming lover she had known. It was not the urbane man of the world, the rich, handsome rancher, who had it all. She was looking at a stranger.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into the circle of light created by the cars’ headlights. Brad was still holding Bea’s limp body, and she could not tell if she was dead or alive.

“Let her go, Brad,” she said softly, close to him.

His pale eyes searched hers as he said, “I had to do it. You know that, don’t you? You, of all people, must understand.”

“I do, Brad. I understand. But I think I know a better way.”

She was shaking with terror. All it would take was one quick thrust and Bea would be over the edge.

Brad looked at the surrounding gendarmes. He seemed suddenly to come to reality. “It’s too late now, isn’t it?” he asked, looking at her searchingly.

She nodded, unable to speak. He was changing in front of her eyes, from the cold-blooded, mad hunter with his prey back to the easy, charming man she had known.

“And too late for us,” he added softly. “If I hurt you, I’m sorry, Phyl. You were the only woman I might have loved.”