Fortune (45 page)

C
hance went to the Astor Street mansion. He rang the bell, then too impatient to wait, pounded on the door. The housekeeper answered, looking annoyed.

Her expression softened a bit when she recognized him. “Hello, Mr. McCo—”

“Where's Mr. Monarch?”

“Mr. Adam's in his study, but Griffen's not—”

Chance slipped past her and into the foyer. “Which way?”

“You can't—” She scurried after him. “I'll announce you, if you'll just wait—”

“Fuck that.” Chance spun to face her. “Which way?”

She pointed, obviously frightened.

“Thank you.” He strode in the direction she indicated. Finding the study, he let himself in. Adam sat behind his desk, studying some papers.

“Where's Skye?”

Adam looked up, scowling. “Who let you in?”

The housekeeper appeared at the study door. “I'm sorry, Mr. Monarch. He pushed past me.”

“Is she with Griffen?” Chance demanded, ignoring them both. “Is she?”

Adam excused the housekeeper, then got heavily to his feet. He came around the desk to face him. “I know what you're up to, boy. Griffen told me about you, about how you tried to steal Skye from him.”

“This isn't about some damned imaginary competition. I think she's in danger.”

“From my grandson?” Adam gave a hoot of laughter. “Give it up, McCord. The best man won. Now, get the hell out of here before I call the police.”

“I think calling the police is a good idea. But before you do, how does Griffen know Claire Dearborn?”

Adam paled. “Who did you say?”

“Skye's mother. I got home today to find a message from Claire on my recorder. She sounded hysterical. She mentioned Griffen's name and that Skye was in danger.”

“Sure you did.” Adam made a sound of disgust. “You're pathetic.”

“Claire's dead now, Adam. Murdered in her hotel suite at the Knickerbocker. This afternoon.”

“That's a lie.”

“I wish it were.” Chance went to the desk and picked up Adam's phone. He held it out to the older man. “Call the police, find out if I'm lying.”

For one moment, the older man simply stared at him, his expression blank. Then he seemed to crumble before Chance's eyes. He took a step backward, fumbling behind him for a chair, then sank onto it. He dropped his head into his hands.

“So, you did know Claire Dearborn,” Chance said, his tone harsh, having zero pity for the man.

Adam lifted his head, meeting Chance's gaze. He nodded. “But you don't understand. You have no idea how much we…needed her.”

“Who?” Chance searched Adam's expression. “Who did you need?”

“It was Griffen's idea. His plan. We all agreed.” He brought his head to his hands again, and Chance had to struggle to decipher what he said. “Me, Dorothy and Griffen. The three of us. We needed her.”

A sick sensation settled in the pit of Chance's stomach. He closed the distance between him and the older man, stopping before him. “What plan? What did you decide?”

He lifted his gaze; the old man's eyes were bright, as with fever. “You see, Madeline stole her away from us. Just like that. But she was the one with the gift, I saw it even when she was only five. We needed her, Chance. We had to have her.” Adam balled his hands into fists. “Everything was falling apart, don't you see? This was the only way, the perfect way.”

“No, dammit! I don't see. Who was Claire Dearborn to Griffen?”

“His stepmother.”

“His step—” This time it was Chance who took the involuntary step backward, Chance who made a sound of disbelief. “But that would mean that Griffen and Skye…”

He let the words trail off, but they hung unspoken between them.

Griffen and Skye were brother and sister.

Now Chance knew what had bothered him about Skye and Griffen as a couple, about the picture they made. Somehow, deep down, he had known. He had seen the familial resemblance. It made him sick to think of it.

“You son of a bitch! You knew. All along, you knew.” Chance grabbed the front of Adam's shirt and lifted him to his feet, quaking with fury. “You not only knew Griffen's unholy intentions, you condoned them. How could you do that to her! She's your granddaughter, for Christ's sake! I ought to beat the hell out of you, you old bastard.”

Adam began to tremble. “You don't understand. Griffen was all I had. I had to go along with him. We needed Skye, it seemed so right. Everything was as it was supposed to be. A brother and a sister together, running Monarch's. But Dorothy—” He choked on the words, overcome with emotion.

“What about Dorothy?” Chance shook him. “What about her?”

“She was always soft, always ruled by her emotions. She cared too much for Skye. Even if I had known, I couldn't have stopped him.”

“What are you saying?” Chance gazed at the other man, realization dawning, horror with it. “My God, are you saying Griffen…that he had something to do with Dorothy's death?”

“She wasn't part of the plan!” Adam cried. “I didn't give him permission to do that.” He looked beseechingly at Chance. “She was my sister. She was a Monarch.”

“What about Claire?” Chance shook the old man again, so hard his teeth rattled. “Was she part of the plan?”

“I didn't know anything about her! I didn't!”

Chance released the man, and he fell back to the chair, breathing heavily, cheeks wet with tears. “I knew there were things that…things that weren't quite right about Griffen. But I didn't think he could…and then, when I knew…I was frightened. Don't you see? He was all I had. I needed him. Monarch's needed him. I couldn't send him…away. I couldn't.” Adam began to cry again, deep racking sobs of despair.

Chance watched him, unmoved. Adam was as crazy as his grandson. Obsessed with the family and his own twisted beliefs. He hadn't even expressed remorse for what they had done to Skye.

“Where are they, Adam?” Chance squatted in front of the man. “Skye's in danger. I know she is.”

“He wouldn't hurt her, I know he wouldn't.”

“Listen to me, old man. Griffen told me if he couldn't have Skye, nobody would. He meant that. You know he did. I know he did. He's murdered two people to keep them quiet. But this time he's going to be caught, and he knows it. And when they take him away, he won't have Skye.”

Adam met Chance's gaze, the truth of his words registering in the terror that crossed his features.

“Where are they, Adam?”

“Wisconsin,” he whispered, his voice thin, broken. “They went to our retreat at Horizon's End.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Ask the housekeeper, she'll give you directions.”

Chance straightened and started for the door. “Call the police. Tell them everything. I'm going after her.”

H
orizon's End had recently been blanketed in a thick layer of fresh snow. Although well after dark, the light from the full moon reflected off the white world, turning the landscape almost eerily bright, like noontime gone haywire.

The town looked deserted, dark and closed up tight. Skye huddled deeper into the Porsche's bucket seat. “Doesn't anyone live here?” she asked, shivering.

Griffen didn't answer. He didn't glance her way. It was as if he hadn't even heard her. Skye caught her bottom lip between her teeth, longing to arrive, longing to see Adam and Moo. Longing to be anywhere but on this desolate road, alone with Griffen.

His behavior had been more than odd, alternating between brooding and kinetic, between frenzied rambling and suspicious silence. At times, when he'd been rambling, she had wondered if he even remembered she was here.

Skye turned her face to the window, thinking about Chance, remembering the things he had said about Griffen. Now she understood what he had meant, now she understood why he had called Griffen unbalanced. She understood why he had been frightened for her. But surely she wasn't in danger? Surely Griffen wouldn't harm her?

“We're almost there.”

Startled, she swung to look at him. He was flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed straight ahead, a secretive smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“It's all worked out so perfectly, don't you think?”

“Pardon?”

“Everything. The way it worked out. For you and me. For Monarch's.” He shook his head and continued, not waiting for a response. “Of course, there were little annoyances I had to take care of along the way, but that's to be expected. The important thing is, we're together now.”

He sighed. “I suppose the hardest was Dorothy. Sweet Dorothy, she was just so weak. I despise weakness, you know.” He looked sadly at Skye. “I loved her very much nonetheless. I hated that she had to go. That really hurt me.”

Had to go? What did he mean by that? Skye shuddered and inched closer to the car door. He meant it was a shame that she had passed away. Of course that was what he meant. What else could he have meant?

“Father, on the other hand, didn't hurt a bit. In fact, Father was rather fun. He was a nasty little prick. It's good you didn't know him, you wouldn't have liked him.” Griffen drew his eyebrows together in thought, then bobbed his head, as if coming to a conclusion. “Yup, he deserved to die.”

Fear made her light-headed.
Two Monarchs had died in the past twelve months. Somehow, Griffen had been involved in both deaths.

He smiled at her. “Sometimes I even surprise myself. I mean, getting you that apartment was pure genius.”

“Pure genius,” she whispered. “Why?”

“Why?” he chided. “Because I own the building, silly. Remember?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to keep a grip on her fear. She recalled the times she had looked at a stack of magazines, or the books on her shelf, or even the contents of her dresser drawers, and thought they had been moved slightly. She had told herself she was imagining things. She had thought she was losing her mind.

She hadn't been.

Griffen had had a key to her apartment. He had been able to come and go whenever he wanted. He had touched her belongings, her private things, ones meant for no one's eyes and hands but her own.

Griffen no doubt had a key to the courtyard, as well. He could have been the one who poisoned her dog. He probably was. She could picture him, slipping in with the coffee can of antifreeze, then slipping out. No wonder he had called later that night; he had wanted to hear her distress. He had wanted to find out if he had done the job.

The son of a bitch. The bastard.
She fisted her fingers, outraged and angry, longing to confront him and demand the truth. Skye held her tongue. She didn't know Griffen Monarch at all, she realized. He just might be capable of anything.

“Here we are.”

Griffen turned onto a narrow, unmarked driveway, bordered on both sides by thick, white forest. His headlights sliced across the snow-covered roadway, scaring a rabbit and sending it scurrying for cover. The tires made a crunching sound as they cut a path through the virgin snow.

Almost there, Skye thought, relieved. Thank God. In a moment, Adam would be giving her a big hug, and Moo would be barking and running around her in excited circles.

Adam would know what to do. She would pull him aside as soon as she could. He would be able to calm Griffen.

Only, Adam wasn't there. The house was pitch-black, sealed up tight, like a coffin. She should have realized Adam and Moo weren't here from the snowy driveway. She hadn't been paying attention; she had been too busy thinking about how Adam would help her.

With a sinking sensation in the pit of her gut, she acknowledged the possibility that Adam might not be coming at all. If that was the case, she was on her own. Starting now, she noticed everything.

Skye stood on the front porch, teeth chattering while she waited for Griffen to unlock the door. “You said Adam would meet us here.”

“He must have stopped to see friends. He knows a lot of people in the area.” He smiled at her. “You'll feel better once we get the place warmed up. Let's take the bags upstairs, then I'll get a fire going. They'll probably be here just in time to roast marshmallows.”

When they weren't, Griffen made a show of calling the state police “just to make sure Adam hadn't been involved in an accident,” and the Astor Street house, talking to the housekeeper.

A show, Skye was convinced, because Adam wasn't coming. She was certain of it. Just as she was certain that Adam didn't have Moo. Griffen had done something with him.

“See, sweetheart,” Griffen said, hanging up the phone. “He's visiting with friends along the way. Just like I said. Everything's fine.”

Skye sat in front of the fire, huddled under a blanket, fighting to get a grip on her rising panic, worrying about her dog and what Griffen had done with him. Worrying what he planned to do with her.

Coming with him had been a mistake, she saw that now. Something about this whole thing was wrong, and not just with this trip—with Griffen's courtship, his feelings for her, the way he had known so much about her. It all rang false. Terri had seen it and had tried to warn her. So had Chance.

Skye drew her knees to her chest and stared into the fire, watching as it consumed everything it touched. She thought of her headaches and nightmares, her sudden bouts of claustrophobia. She had known, too. She had just refused to see.

Because she had wanted her dream of perfect love, a love that came without risk.

He's obsessed with you, Skye. He said if he couldn't have you, nobody would. I think he meant it.

Skye worked at the edge of the afghan, fraying it. Maybe Griffen had figured out that she meant to break off their engagement. Maybe he had decided to make good on his words to Chance.

“Sweetheart? Are you all right?”

A squeak of surprise, of terror, slipped past her lips. She looked up at Griffen, forcing herself to act as if nothing was wrong. As if she wasn't about to crawl out of her skin. “I'm a little tired, that's all. I'm getting one of my headaches.”

“Poor baby. Why don't you lie down for a while? I'll make us something to eat.”

She had seen a phone in the upstairs hallway. She could call 911. They would send someone.

She smiled, feeling as though her cheeks were going to crack. “Thank you, Griffen. If you really don't mind, I think I will.”

He helped her to her feet, then drew her against his chest, holding her possessively. A scent clung to him, something bitter and bad, something like death. She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart racing. She had to get to that phone; she had to get help.

“I couldn't live without you, you know that, Skye? Life would be meaningless.” He kissed her then, rubbing his lips against hers, groaning. She curled her fingers into his sweater, feeling sick, praying he didn't try to take the kiss any further, not knowing what she would do. His light caress was already almost more than she could bear.

Her prayers were answered. He ended the kiss and released her. Though she wanted to run, she climbed the stairs slowly, careful not to arouse his suspicion. She counted each step, picturing the phone, focusing on that instead of her fear.

When she reached the top landing, she glanced back at him. He still watched her, though his gaze was unnaturally blank. As if he had somehow managed to leave his body behind.

She started down the hall, heart thundering, gaze fixed on the phone, there at the end of the hall. When she reached it, she nearly cried out with relief. After taking one last glance behind her to make sure Griffen hadn't followed her up, she lifted the receiver and brought it to her ear.

The phone was dead. She jiggled the plunger, then checked to make sure the jack was plugged into the wall. It was.

She jiggled the plunger again. Still nothing.

Griffen had lied about Adam and Moo. He had lied about making those calls. What else had he lied about? Why had he lured her up here?

He meant to hurt her.

Maybe even to kill her.

She brought a hand to her mouth, really and truly afraid for the first time. She had been worried before. Nervous. But she hadn't seriously thought that he would harm her.

She did now.

She had to get out of here as soon as possible.

She dropped the receiver onto the cradle, momentarily forgetting stealth. She ran to the bedroom where their suitcases were, closing and locking the door behind her.

Think. Think. What to do?
She moved her gaze around the room, looking for an answer. She stopped on the window. She ran to it and peered out, seeing a short drop to another section of roof, then a bigger drop to the snowy yard.

The snow would cushion her landing. She could do it.

She whirled back around. Her gaze landed on Griffen's coat, tossed with hers across the bed. The car keys, of course.

She crossed to the bed, a desperate prayer playing in her head. That she would find the keys. That she would get out in time, before he came for her. For he would come for her.

She searched Griffen's coat. His keys weren't there. She went to his suitcase then, shoving aside her own coat and the box containing her new gloves. She opened his case and as slowly and as carefully as she could, began searching for an extra key. Nothing. She found nothing.

She would have to escape on foot. She glanced back at the window, thinking of how desolate, how deserted Horizon's End had seemed. But surely someone lived here year-round. The streets had been plowed; she had seen several stores in town, a service station and a café. She would find someone who would help her. At the least, she would find a phone and call for help. She had to. This was her only chance.

She went to her suitcase and opened it. Luckily, Griffen had packed her things—a pair of jeans and a pair of sweats, a couple pair of woolen socks, a turtleneck and her heavy old cardigan. She would layer them; they would have to do.

A floorboard creaked. Skye froze, her gaze going to the bottom of the door and the strip of light flooding through from the hallway. A shadow moved across it, and her breath caught. Griffen was out there. Just standing in front of her door; she could hear his breathing. She brought her fist to her mouth to keep from whimpering. Moments became like hours, minutes an eternity.

Then, as suddenly as he had come, he was gone.

For several moments she didn't move, afraid he was still there, that he was trying to trick her into believing he had gone. Finally, gathering together her courage, she tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against it.

She heard the faint strains of music, then what sounded like the clatter of pans from the kitchen. Reassured, she stripped out of her work clothes and into the ones Griffen had brought for her, layering them. She wished for her lined boots, the warm ones she had bought for a ski trip a couple of years ago, trying to decide between the low-heeled boots she had worn to work and her Nikes. The athletic shoes won, though she knew her feet would be cold and wet within minutes. Better, she thought, than breaking an ankle in her heels.

Her gloves. Thank goodness they had come.

Skye grabbed the box and tore it open. Not gloves, she realized, surprised, drawing out a strange-looking necklace. She held it up, wondering what it was and who had sent it, turning it over in her hands. It was a vessel of some sort. A container. It was filled with something.

She found the safety and clasp and snapped them open.

Gems spilled into her hands—diamonds and rubies and sapphires.

She was sitting on the floor while her mother packed their suitcases. Her mommy was upset about something, she knew, though she tried to pretend she wasn't. They were going away on a trip. Just the two of them. Her mommy said they were going to have such fun.