“LOCKWOOD?” CONFUSION SHOWED for just a moment on Aleister Crowe’s face, but it immediately cleared, and Molly knew that he was quickly catching up to what was going on. “What are you doing here?”
Nightingale clasped his hands behind his back. “Clearing up the mess left by your ancestor, I’m afraid.”
“Draghici works for you.”
“No, but Mr. Darrow did manage to convince one of Stefan’s vagabonds to leak information to us. I’m not happy with his performance at this juncture, but we were fortunate that you got a hold of the mobile Mr. Darrow gave to him so he could stay in touch with us. There will be reprisals.” Nightingale nodded toward the phone in Michael’s hand. “We were tracking a GPS on the mobile. We’d discovered it was here, somewhere at Crowe’s Nest, but we didn’t know exactly where. So I decided to give it a ring.” He smiled coldly. “And here you are.”
“What do you want?”
Sighing theatrically, Nightingale looked put out. “Must we really go through this?” He stamped his foot impatiently. “The game is over, Aleister, and you have lost. I was hired by people who will be implicated in the scandal Graham started. They’re royally upset that you didn’t handle this matter yourself.”
Michael turned to face Nightingale and his two coconspirators, keeping his hands at his sides. His shirt covered the pistol tucked into his waistband. “You were sent here by at least some of those people to watch the situation.”
“True. With all the problems Aleister and Blackpool have had of late, my clients were concerned that their ancestors’ little financial indiscretions were going to come back to haunt them. After Mr. Graham’s friend started poking his nose into things, they wanted me to take care of it.” Nightingale brought his hands forward and turned them palms-up. “So here I am.”
“Not exactly for the visit you claimed, then, is it?” Crowe seemed unnaturally calm in the face of everything. That made Molly even more afraid.
“Not even close. I hired Mr. Darrow and his group to help me clean up the rubbish. Including that idiot Graham nearly ran down at the hospital.” Nightingale flexed his fingers inside his gloves. “Surrender your pistol, Aleister. Let’s make this as painless as possible.”
Crowe smirked, and Molly thought the expression made the man look more devilish than ever. Aleister Crowe was a cruel man and could be cold, but in a lot of ways, he was like Michael. Both of them were games-men; they just pursued different theaters of operation. “Why don’t you have your men put down their weapons, Lockwood?”
“Because that’s not going to happen.”
“I figured as much, but I thought I’d give you the courtesy.” Without hesitation, Crowe fired. The muzzle flash leaped out at least a foot from his weapon.
On the other side of the room, Lockwood Nightingale fell backward. In almost the same instant, Crowe shifted his aim and fired three more rapid shots at Darrow. He staggered back and returned fire, but the bullets went into the ceiling. Chunks of broken rock tumbled down.
Molly ducked behind one of the benches. Only a few steps over, Michael grabbed Lydia and yanked her from harm’s way as bullets thudded into the portrait of Charles Crowe, ripping the canvas and chipping the wall. Michael took cover behind the stone podium.
The thunder battered Molly’s skull. She gritted her teeth and tried to manage the fear that vibrated through her. Bullets chopped into the stone bench and chiseled out chips that flew in all directions.
Incredibly, Crowe was still on his feet. Darrow was down, but the other man was still firing while running toward the shelter of a bench. Crowe’s gun clicked and Molly guessed it had fired dry. He whirled, his long coat flying, and dropped to one knee behind the stone bench parallel with the one where Molly hid.
Crowe replaced the magazine in his weapon and glanced at her, his dark hair falling down across his face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Stay down. This will be over in a moment.” Crowe twisted and pointed his gun around the corner of the bench. He aimed and let the bullets fly.
A few feet away, Michael reached into the backpack and took out the flare gun. He had one of his two captured pistols in his other hand. He shot Molly a glance as he laid the pistol on the ground. He took the mobile from his pocket and sent it skidding across the stone floor to her.
Reaching out, Molly pinned the mobile to the floor with her palm.
“Call Paddington as soon as we’re outside.” Michael picked up the pistol again. He held the flare gun in his other hand and exchanged a look with Aleister. The other man smiled. To Molly, Michael said, “Cover your eyes, then get ready to run through the window.”
She nodded and rolled up till she squatted on the balls of her feet. Her thumb pressed the buttons for the Blackpool police department and hovered over Send.
Michael leaned out around the podium and pointed the flare gun at the other end of the room. He squeezed the trigger and the flare took flight. The humming scream ripped loose above the sharp punctuations of the barking pistols.
The flare struck the wall just below the ceiling and exploded into a wreath of red fire. Michael had his eyes tightly closed, but the bright illumination seeped through anyway. A heartbeat later, certain that Nightingale’s bully boy must have been blinded, he opened his eyes and lifted the pistol.
Taking quick aim, he pointed at the window behind Molly and fired. Michael’s rounds cored through the window, shattering the latticework and smashing the stained-glass panes. He didn’t stop firing till the pistol cycled dry, then he threw it down and grabbed Lydia’s wrist.
Curbing his fear, he pushed himself to his feet and dragged the young woman after him. “Let’s go!” But he was talking to Molly. Lydia had no choice but to follow him like the tail on a kite.
They covered the short distance to the window. The frame struck Michael at midthigh. He lifted his boot and broke out the remnants, clearing the way. Then he half-lifted Lydia through the window.
“Head to the main house!”
Lydia stumbled and nearly fell, then she got her feet under her and ran toward the big house in the distance. In seconds, she’d disappeared into one of the outlying gardens.
Molly leaped through the window and turned back to Michael. “C’mon.”
Reaching into the bag, Michael took out one of the spare flares, popped open the Very pistol’s breech and fed the fat cartridge in. The one man who hadn’t been shot was starting to regain his bearings. Michael aimed the flare at him and fired.
The flare detonated and filled the open space with hellish red fire again. None of it would hurt anyone, not truly, but it would give them time to escape—including Aleister, whom he couldn’t see. He fled after Molly, already feeding another cartridge into the pistol.
Outside the mausoleum, the landscape was dotted with trees, flowerbeds, topiaries and statuary. Michael had been there only once before and was glad that the estate had a number of hiding places.
Molly dropped behind a sundial nearly as big as a compact car. She had the mobile pressed to the side of her head and was talking rapidly.
Michael slid into cover beside her, then reached into the rucksack and brought out the other pistol he’d picked up from the crushed gypsy. This one had the minitorch and it flashed on when he touched the trigger. He shifted his finger from the trigger immediately. Anybody still after them would use it to track him down.
“Paddington’s on his way.” Molly watched the mausoleum.
“How far is he?”
“He said only minutes.”
Michael shook his head. “That’s too long. We could be dead by then. Or Nightingale and his people could be gone.”
Harsh cracks continued blasting inside the mausoleum.
“Sounds like Aleister is still holding his own.”
Molly nodded. “I think he was covering us.”
“Lydia, maybe.” Michael wasn’t gracious enough to believe that Crowe would care what happened to them. Well, maybe Molly. “How many guns does he have?”
“I only saw the one, but he carried at least one spare reload.”
“He has to have more than that or else he’d be out of bullets by now.”
Flashes illuminated the darkness inside the mausoleum.
“Michael, Nightingale and Darrow must have rallied and pinned him down.”
“Or vice versa.”
“Either way, if he tries to withdraw from the conflict, Nightingale’s men are going to shoot him. Aleister will never get away.”
“I know.” Michael’s mind raced. “Nightingale and his men didn’t get here on foot.” He scanned the landscape and saw a driving path leading down to the burial chamber on the other side. He looked at Molly. “If I ask you to stay here—”
“I won’t.”
“Then we’ll go together.” Michael pointed. “Through those trees, past the topiaries there and around the building. If Nightingale has vehicles there, let’s see if any of them have keys.” He got up and bolted, Molly at his side.
MOLLY RAN FLAT OUT, but she knew Michael was holding back so she could keep up. She realized that she was actually endangering him by coming along, but it was too late now. And she wasn’t certain that he would have left her alone. She pushed herself harder, but the ground underfoot was tricky and she was so tired from the underground trek.
She rounded a crow topiary, then a ship, and vaulted a low stone wall to cut through a flower garden filled with frog ponds and sweet-smelling fruit trees. At the other side of the garden, she placed her hands on the low wall and vaulted over. Michael cleared it in a single jump.
On the other side of a copse of trees and a bird fountain, she spotted two Land Rover SUVs parked in the private lot next to the mausoleum. She headed toward them, hoping more of Nightingale’s men weren’t lurking about.
Instinctively, she headed for the left side of the first Land Rover.
“Other side, love. You’re not in America anymore.”
Molly shifted directions and tried the door, finding it open. On the other side, Michael reached for the door release.
Seated behind the steering wheel of the second Land Rover, a man raised a pistol through his open door window. Moonlight kissed the burnished steel and Molly’s breath locked in her throat for just a moment. Then she yelled.
“Behind you! The car!”
GALVANIZED BY THE FEAR in Molly’s voice and his own instinct for survival, Michael came round. He didn’t think anything except he didn’t want to die. His hand came up and he fired.
The flare sped from the pistol and smacked into the big man behind the steering wheel. The impact of the flare knocked the man backward, but he quickly started to recover. At the same time, the flare whistled around inside the Land Rover and detonated, filling the vehicle with a bright red fireball.
Michael threw the flare gun down and sprinted across the distance separating him from the man. He couldn’t allow the thug to fire his gun and possibly hurt Molly. That was his first and only thought.
Disoriented, blinded by the light, the man didn’t see Michael till he was almost beside him. He tried to bring his pistol up, but Michael grabbed his wrist in both hands through the open window, twisted hard and shoved the arm back against the frame of the car. Bone snapped with a gut-churning crack. The man moaned and dropped the pistol.
Reaching through the window frame, Michael grabbed the man by the hair and smashed his face against the steering wheel. He repeated the move again and again, gripped by the adrenaline that surged through him. It wasn’t until he realized that the man was limp and unconscious that he could release his hold. His breath tore through his throat.
Still angry and afraid, Michael pointed the pistol he held at the Land Rover and fired rounds into both the tires on his side of the vehicle. The big SUV sagged immediately and he knew it wasn’t going anywhere.
“Michael!”
He turned and ran back toward Molly and the other Land Rover. He didn’t know how many bullets he had left in the pistol, but the action hadn’t blown back empty yet. That was promising.
He slid into the passenger seat and barely got the door shut before Molly pressed hard on the accelerator. He reached for the seat belt as she roared around the mausoleum.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
Molly focused on her driving, her hair blowing wildly around her. “Does it look like I know what I’m doing?”
“No.”
“Then let’s just see what develops.”
Michael strapped himself in.
THE LAND ROVER BUCKED and swayed as it shot across the grounds. Molly switched on the headlights. She glanced at the building as she swung wide of it and cut the wheel sharply to come back toward it.
“Are we going to—”
Molly cut Michael off before he could finish his question. He sounded positively frightened. If she gave herself time to think, she was certain she’d be feeling the same way.
But there was only one way to help Aleister Crowe quickly.
She caught a brief glimpse of Crowe through the window, then she steered for the end of the building where Nightingale and his men had entered.
“Will the air bags—”
“God, I hope so.” The rest of whatever Michael might have said was lost in the crash.
Molly had only brief impressions of the destruction that rained down around the Land Rover. Chunks of rock and old mortar hammered the SUV and knocked out the windshield. The air bag deployed from the steering wheel and socked Molly in the face, splitting her lips. She held on to enough of her senses to slam on the brakes and hoped that she hadn’t inadvertently killed someone, yet knowing that under the circumstances she could live with it if she had.
Turning her head, she glanced at her husband. “Michael. Michael?” Panicked, she reached for him, noticing the cuts on his forehead and face.
Before she touched him, he sat up and pointed the pistol through the windshield. Nothing in front of them moved. He reached into a pocket and pulled out the Leatherman multitool. After he flicked out a blade with his thumb, he pierced the air bags and they deflated.
Two men staggered up from the debris. With the gray stone dust covering them, they looked like ghosts.
“Easy there.” Michael shoved the pistol through the window so they could see the weapon. “You’re still alive so far.”
Focused on them, Molly didn’t realize anyone was behind her till hot metal seared her neck.
“A gallant effort, Mrs. Graham, but one destined to failure nonetheless.”
No!
“MR. GRAHAM, YOU SHOULD DROP that weapon now or I’m going to blow your pretty little wife’s head from her shoulders.”
Icy fear ran across Michael’s shoulders and down his back when he heard Lockwood Nightingale’s smarmy voice. Still holding the pistol, Michael turned to Molly.
Nightingale had dragged her out of the car and stood behind her, almost hidden by her body. He held a pistol against her jaw. “Let go this instant or I’ll make you a widower.”
“Michael.” Molly spoke calmly. “Don’t you do a thing this animal tells you to. He’s going to kill us anyway.”
A sickening grin spread across Nightingale’s face. “You two forget who you’re dealing with, the kind of power that I represent. The people I work with can make all of this go away like it never happened.”
Behind Nightingale, a shadow drew up from the rubble. The long coat identified Aleister Crowe immediately, and the walking stick in his hand confirmed it. He pointed the pistol at Nightingale’s back, then shoved it into his pocket. Holding the walking stick in both hands, he twisted it and pulled it apart, revealing a shining blade.
Michael was sure Molly wasn’t going to sit calmly by and be murdered. The firm line of her jaw announced that to anyone who knew her. Before Nightingale realized what was going on, she turned her head into his arm and sank her teeth into his wrist, biting hard and deep.
Lunging across the console, Michael caught hold of Nightingale’s pistol, yanking it away from Molly just before it went off. He held on to the hot barrel and the man’s hand desperately. The slide cut his fingers, but he stopped it before it could finish chambering the next round.
Then Aleister Crowe rose up like some grim, gray wraith and plunged the sword through Nightingale’s back. A shocked look twisted the solicitor’s face and he tried to turn away, tried to fire his pistol one more time, but the life left him and he sank bonelessly to the ground.
Darrow—clutching a bloody arm—and the other man ran for the vehicle they thought would be waiting there. Police sirens rent the air.
Crowe put his foot against Nightingale’s back and yanked his sword free. He spat on the corpse at his feet.
Michael slumped in his seat as Molly burst through the door and hugged him. Michael looked at Crowe. “Get in. When those men discover that they don’t have getaway vehicles waiting out there, they may return for this one.”
Without a word, blood streaming from at least two wounds in his upper body, Crowe yanked the rear passenger door open and slid inside.
The front of the SUV was crumpled, but the engine was still running. Molly backed the wrecked Land Rover from the debris of the mausoleum wall and roared up the access road. Paddington’s cruiser met them before they made it halfway.
As the uniformed policemen opened their doors and ordered them out, Michael tossed the gun away and stepped out of the SUV with his hands raised over his head.
Paddington waved his men to stand down and walked up to Crowe. “Mr. Crowe, maybe you can tell me what’s going on here?”
“There are men back there who tried to kill us. You’ll find Leland Darrow among them. I believe you know who he is.”
Paddington glanced at Molly.
“There are also several members of Stefan Draghici’s clan who tried to ransom me and Lydia.” Molly shrugged. “You can go pick up what’s left of them.”
“Bloody lovely.” Paddington eyed Molly, then Michael. He snorted in disgust. “This used to be a quiet little town before the two of you showed up.”
Michael didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around Molly and held her close.