Sooner or Later (41 page)

The fresh air began to revive her. Her blood was circulating
again and she was in an agony of pins and needles.
But she was alive.

The convertible lurched from side to side as they swung down a steep mountain road. He was driving dangerously fast. Suddenly, he swung the wheel all the way to the right. The car went into a spin, tires shrieking.

Ellie screamed, her head reeled; and for the second time in her life, she saw herself hurtling from a car, spinning through the air, crashing down the mountainside.

The car stopped, its wheels quivering on the brink of the ravine. Buck turned and looked at her. His dark eyes were malicious. “Recognize this place, Ellie?”

And suddenly, the memory that had lain dormant in the back of Ellie’s mind for more than twenty years, was dormant no longer.

T
HE LAST TIME SHE HAD LOOKED INTO THOSE EYES SHE
was five years old and
he was crouched over the hood of her father’s white Bentley, parked in the shade of the tall pepper trees. There was something in his hands, a tool of some kind. She had asked him, interestedly, what he was doing, and he’d quickly slammed down the hood. He’d put his finger to his lips, smiling at her.

“Shhh, it’s a secret,” he whispered, glancing cautiously around to see if anyone was coming. He took her by the hand and walked rapidly away from the parked car. “It’s a surprise for your mother. Now don’t you go telling on me and spoiling it, will you?”

He stared menacingly down at her. Frightened, she turned her face away, shuffled her feet. “Oh, no,” she muttered.

“You do know how to keep a secret, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” she retorted, upset. “I kept my Christmas presents secret, even though I was bursting to tell.”

“Well, this is the same. Only now we both have to keep the secret. Okay?”

“Okay.” She pulled her hand away from his tight, hot grip.

“Promise.”

“Promise,” she repeated, reluctantly.

“Cross your heart and hope to die.”

She crossed her heart and said she hoped to die, and he burst out laughing at some joke she didn’t understand.

“Goodbye then, Ellie.” He let go of her hand and she turned and ran from the shady pepper trees, down the hot sandy lane, back to her mother.

She remembered it all now, clear as day. Her father was holding up his glass in a toast. She could see the sunlight gleaming through the amber-colored beer, sending off little sparkles that dazzled her sun-struck eyes. He was singing, of course, “Come Back to Sorrento,” one of his Italian favorites. Ellie followed his gaze to her mother, saw the love in their smiling-linked eyes. They were so happy, it was just the two of them, and she felt suddenly excluded from their magic world.

Jumping down under the table, she crawled past rows of feet until she came to her mother’s expensive little white lizardskin cowboy boots. Winding her arms around her mother’s legs, she wriggled upward like a worm.

Romany lifted the red-checkered tablecloth, peeked down at her. “So that’s where you are,” she said, smiling. “I missed you.”

And then everything was all right in Ellie’s world again.

Until an hour later, when everything had changed.

“Y
OU KILLED THEM
,” E
LLIE SAID.
“Y
OU FIXED THE
brakes on their car.”

Buck nodded, smiling lazily. He had her now.

“Who are you?”

“You don’t know? Then let me introduce myself. I’m Buck Duveen, your half brother.”

Ellie’s mind went blank with shock. She had known Rory had been married before, but she hadn’t known he had a son, never knew he existed.

“Rory was my father too. He had everything, and I had nothing.” Buck shrugged. “With them out of the way, I stood to inherit their fortune. And with you out of the way, I would be the sole remaining heir. Unfortunately, I’ve had to wait more than twenty years to complete my task.”

Ellie closed her eyes, unable to look at the cold evil in his. He had smiled at her just like that, in the library that night, when she had seen him trying to kill her grandmother. Sickened, she knew he had finally completed that task.

Buck’s expression changed. He looked longingly at her. “There’s no need for you to die, Ellie. You know I love you. I’d look after you, you would be my own perfect princess. We could have such a wonderful life together. All you need do is say the word.”

She lifted her eyes. “And what word is that, Buck?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Murderer.” She
spat the filthy word at him.

His eyes glittered angrily, then he turned away, gazing across the ravine, his fists clenched, his face an expressionless mask. And Ellie knew she had signed her own death warrant.

Oh, Daddy
, she prayed,
I hope you are waiting for me, out there. I hope you can send God to punish your evil son.

She thought, despairingly, of Dan, who she would never see again.
Dan
, she said, in her heart, I
know I never told you this, but I hope you’ll understand. I do love you. I was just too busy, too determined to succeed, too set in my priorities even to allow love into my life. Oh, I hope you will know, I hope you will think, “Well, you know, she really did love me.” Oh Dan, Dan, my friend …

Buck switched on the ignition, and Ellie opened her eyes for her last glimpse of blue sky, her last look at life.

Then the car swerved back onto the road, and they were heading, too fast, down the mountain again, skidding round the bends, tires screaming.

She was not dead because Buck Duveen had another plan for them.

D
AN LOOKED AT
P
IATOWSKY.
“L
ET
’
S WALK.”

It was cool and moonless, but Santa Monica’s Third Street Mall was still crowded with young people, dining at cafes, window-shopping, or just hanging out. Their eyes scanned the crowd with the cop’s automatic reaction, but their minds were on Buck Duveen.

Leaving Third Street, they walked to, Ocean Avenue and strolled along the seafront, among the palm trees and the homeless. Dan didn’t even see them and for once he was indifferent to their pain. His own was too great.

Piatowsky walked silently beside him. He understood what Dan was going through and he had no words of encouragement. The outlook was bleak.

In his mind, Dan was running through everything he knew about Buck Duveen and his connection with Ellie. Buck had wanted revenge, he’d wanted Journey’s End. And he was just crazy enough to take her back there….

“Let’s go,” he said abruptly.

Piatowsky stared wearily after him. “Where now?” he called.

“Journey’s End.” Dan was running. “Where it all began.”

W
HEN HE REACHED THE FOOTHILLS
, B
UCK STOPPED THE
car and got out. He dragged Ellie from the backseat, opened the trunk and flung her in.

Ellie turned her head away, refusing to give him the pleasure of her pain, and fear.

Without a word, he slammed down the lid.

Claustrophobia hit her again.
She was trapped. It was hot, dark, cramped. She couldn’t breathe.
Sweat soaked her hair, her back. She closed her eyes tightly, she must get a grip.
She must think.

He was speeding again, flinging her from side to side as he took the bends. She felt a sudden sharp pain, blood trickling down her arm. She wondered hazily how badly she was hurt, then realized it no longer mattered.
She was going to die anyway.

Anger rocketed through her. I
don’t want to die. I refuse to die.
She was screaming now, surely someone would hear her, there was just a chance if he stopped at a light. But in minutes her voice was reduced to a rasping whisper.

She moaned, wearily. All these years she had prided herself on being a strong independent woman.
And look at me now.
Reduced to nothing. She couldn’t even scream.

But I will not die, I will not die….
She kicked her feet, angrily twisting them against the rope until her flesh was raw.

She paused, panting. Blood still oozed slowly down her arm, and she recalled the sharp edge that had inflicted the gash. Shuffling round, she felt for it with her fingers. She was bent over in a cramped V and the pain was unbearable, but she had to try.
She wasn’t going to die….

Her fingers explored the object behind her. It was a spade.
The spade with which he meant to bury her.

Sobbing, she pushed her bound hands back and forth over the sharp edge, not caring if she slashed her wrists … better to die that way than to feel his hands on her throat, strangling her, raping her…. The pain in her shoulders was intolerable, but she pressed harder.

Suddenly, the cord snapped. She slumped forward, tears of relief flowing down her face, massaging her burning wrists.

Hunched over, she wriggled round some more, grabbed the spade and began to saw at the cord binding her ankles. Sweat dripped into her eyes, she could see nothing, only feel. The car kept on swerving round the bends, making it difficult to keep the sharp edge on the cord. Oh God, it would never break, never…. She chopped savagely at it, harder, harder, until the blood ran over her feet.
At last, she was free.

By now, the air was thick, dense, moist. Each breath was a gasp that failed to fill her burning lungs. She knew she didn’t have much time left.

She shuffled round in the cramped space until she was
kneeling, the spade gripped in both hands.
“I’m not going to die, I’m not going to die, I’m not going to die.
…” She repeated the reassuring mantra over and over, hoping that he would stop soon, and that her strength would hold out.

The Explorer ate up the miles, but Dan was aware of every minute ticking away. He had to find her, it was up to him, she trusted him….

Piatowsky sat silently next to him, wondering if the Highway Patrol was around. The Explorer wasn’t technically a police vehicle, but he could always claim he’d commandeered it. Anyhow, he didn’t have the heart to stop Dan from speeding.

Dan was on the cell phone, telling Carlos what was happening. “Get the key to Journey’s End from the drawer in the office, the one in the table. Meet me there”—he checked the clock on the dash—“in half an hour. Park halfway up the drive. And Carlos, leave your lights off.”

Piatowsky glanced at him. “You really believe she’s there?”

“Where else would he take her? Besides, I feel in my gut he’ll return to the scene of his crime. Journey’s End, and all it means, is what he really wants. I’ll be he’s dreamed of it, all those long years in Hudson.” He shrugged wearily. “It’s our only chance.”

Ellie was counting the minutes. Finally, the car rolled to a stop. She heard the engine idling, smelled gas fumes, guessed they were at a stoplight. The car pulled away again, drove smoothly to the next light, and the next. They must be passing through a town.

Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, she listened for the sound of other cars. Maybe she
could bang on the trunk with the spade, attract their attention. But she could hear no other cars. Then they made a left turn and began to climb a hill. She lifted her head, alert.

She knew every bend in that road. Now she knew where he was taking her.

The tires crunched on the gravel, then the car stopped. She heard him get out, heard the door slam, his footsteps coming closer. The trunk lid swung slowly up.

Screaming, she slammed the spade into his face. He was clutching his head, yelling with pain, his lace a mask of fury and blood. She fell from the trunk, scrambled quickly to her feet. He was coming at her, powerful arms outstretched.

Oh, God, oh God, help me, phase….
She swung the spade again, it crunched sickeningly against his skull, and this time he dropped to the ground.

The adrenaline of fear gave, her legs wings. She was running for her life. But she was weak, her muscles leaden from the hours in the cramped space. She couldn’t keep up this pace for long, she would have to hide.

“Bitch,” he was screaming. “Bitch, like your whore of a mother … rich bitch like your whore of a grandmother …
you are dead.”

She veered off the drive, weaving her way through the trees, stumbling over exposed roots. Her breath was coming in short, hard gasps, her heart thudded somewhere in her throat …
she was not going to die …

She stopped, waited, listening for him. It was pitch-dark and she slipped deeper into the copse, wincing when a fallen branch cracked loudly under her stumbling feet. She leaned back against a tree, her heart thundering, lips pressed tightly together so he wouldn’t hear her breathing.

He grabbed her by the throat.

Buck was buzzing with that electric surge of power. Even wounded, he was indomitable. She was pathetic to think she could beat him, he was smarter than she was. Smarter than all of them.

Ellie could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek, the cold steel of the knife at her throat, his blood trickling stickily down her neck.

“You are dead, Ellie Parrish Duveen,”
he whispered, pressing the knife deeper.

She closed her eyes, waiting …

“Walk,” he commanded.

She stumbled in front of him to the house, stood trembling while he fumbled with the kitchen door. Then he pushed her inside and locked it behind them.

There were no lights, but Ellie knew her old home so well, she could have walked through it blindfolded without bumping into a single piece of furniture. The silence of the familiar rooms felt soothing. She was exhausted, wounded, frightened. There was no fight left in her. If I’m going to die, she thought, wearily, I’d rather it was here, where my good memories are. Where I began.

Buck hustled her in front of him into the library. He switched on a lamp, his dark eyes glittered icily as he looked at her.