Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ash had never considered himself a coward. During his years in law enforcement, he’d proved he was capable of facing down armed suspects and even running into a burning building to save a child.
But he couldn’t deny that it took a considerable effort to force his feet to carry him down the stairs. He wasn’t crazy about tight, dark spaces, and there was a sense of malevolence that choked the air.
Or at least it felt that way to Ash.
No doubt it was his imagination working overtime, but that didn’t keep a prickly unease from crawling over his skin.
He shivered, moving down the cramped tunnel with slow, cautious steps. It was freezing down here, but the light at least allowed him to search for any clues that might have been left behind.
Exactly what sort of clue that might be was something he hadn’t fully contemplated. A wallet with an ID? A monogrammed handkerchief?
He grimaced, walking down the center of the tunnel. He was forced to duck beneath the light bulbs that hung from bare wire. The low ceiling emphasized the cramped size of the tunnel. On the other hand, he was reassured by the sight of the wooden posts that were driven into the walls. At least he could be hopeful that the passageway wasn’t going to collapse on him.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed—it felt like an eternity, although it was probably no more than five minutes—when he caught sight of the stairs in front of him.
Satisfaction raced through him. Yes. Remi hadn’t been dreaming. There was a passage from the garage to the house. And whoever attacked her was familiar enough with the estate to have stumbled across the opening.
On the point of climbing the stairs to see if he could figure out how to open the door, he came to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of something on the ground. Bending down, he grabbed the object, smoothing it out to discover it was a glove. And not just any glove. It matched the one he’d found in the garage.
Ash frowned in confusion.
Why would Gage’s glove be in the tunnel? Had he lost it when he was putting in the braces?
He was trying to imagine why Gage would wear his expensive leather glove to do manual labor when the heavy silence was shattered by the explosive echo of a gunshot.
Ash dropped the glove, his mind going blank with shock.
Then instinct kicked in, and he pivoted to spring back down the passageway. At the same time, he pulled out the gun he’d holstered beneath his coat. He’d decided before leaving Remi’s house that there was no way he was going to search the estate without a weapon.
Now, he silently thanked whatever impulse had urged him to come armed.
Skidding to a halt as he neared the stairs, he pressed his back against the wall of the tunnel. He strained to hear what was happening in the garage.
Had Albert been shot? Maybe even killed? It seemed likely. Otherwise, the man would have called down to warn Ash that they were no longer alone.
Ash clenched his teeth, waiting for the mystery shooter to come down the stairs. Whoever it was couldn’t leave him alive now that he’d found the tunnels. But even as he braced himself to kill the intruder, there was a familiar creak.
He cursed. The door was closing.
Unwilling to risk dashing into view and being shot, Ash forced himself to inch his way along the tunnel, then cautiously up the steps toward the garage.
His mouth was dry and his muscles tense as he headed upward, but his mind was crystal clear. Years of training had ensured that danger intensified his ability to focus. As if adrenaline was a turbo-booster.
At last reaching the top step, he placed his hand against the door and pushed. It refused to budge.
Ash didn’t waste his time trying to force open the door. There had to be a hidden switch. Tucking his gun into his holster, he used both hands to search the walls, then bent down to search the stairs.
There was nothing.
Refusing to contemplate the thought that he was effectively buried alive in the tunnel, he grimly turned around and headed toward the other end. There had to be a way out. In her dream, Remi had seen a bright light and smelled bread. He was betting the entrance opened into the kitchen.
Ash was halfway down the passage when he abruptly sneezed. He came to a halt as he realized that a cloud of dust was filling the air. What the hell? He squinted up at the ceiling, horrified by the fear that it was preparing to collapse.
It was only when he heard the footsteps that he realized there might be worse things than a cave-in.
Glancing over his shoulder, he peered through the dust, expecting to see a figure walking toward him. Instead, there was a strange grinding noise as a portion of the wall directly across from him slid inward.
Another secret door.
Caught off guard, Ash watched as a form appeared in the opening. He froze, trying to process who was stepping into the passageway.
Liza Harding-Walsh.
He shook his head as his brain scrambled to accept what he was seeing.
Why was she there? She was supposed to be at lunch. And how had she entered the tunnels? More importantly, why had she entered the tunnels?
Slowly, his stunned gaze lowered to where she was holding a handgun. Christ. This was no accidental encounter. The weapon was pointed directly at his heart.
“I knew you couldn’t keep your nose out of my business,” she said in tones sharp enough to slice through the thick air.
Business. What business? Ash struggled to clear his mind. He’d just prided himself on his clear focus in the face of danger. Now it felt like his brain was coated with molasses.
“Do you mean the tunnels?” he asked.
An oddly delighted expression touched the pale, perfect face. “They’re wonderful, aren’t they?”
“Wonderful?”
“Yes.” She waved a gloved hand toward the passage that led back to the garage. “My great-grandfather built them during Prohibition.”
Ash’s mouth was dry and his heart was skittering around his chest. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he sensed the woman wasn’t stable.
It wasn’t just the gun she had pointed at him; it was the fevered glitter in her eyes. He suddenly feared it was going to take a miracle for him to survive the next few minutes.
And he had to survive. He had to find Remi and make sure she hadn’t been harmed.
“To hide alcohol?” he asked, cursing himself for not having pulled his own gun as soon as he’d caught sight of the older woman. He’d just been so damned shocked. Now he had to hope he could get close enough to knock the gun from her hand.
“Among other things. He built the finest speakeasy in the county beneath this estate.” She heaved a small sigh, as if she was wishing she was back in the past. “It was glorious. Politicians and movie stars and the most powerful men in the world came here to drink and gamble. I have the pictures.”
“You must be very proud.”
She sniffed, as if sensing he wasn’t as impressed as he should have been. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re—”
“What?”
Her lips curled with contempt. “Common.”
“Yeah, my relatives were boring, law-abiding citizens,” Ash mocked before he could halt the words.
This woman had treated him like he carried the plague when he was engaged to Remi. Now he wondered if it was because she possessed some weird obsession with her daughter.
She sneered at his claim. “As I said. You wouldn’t understand.”
Ash forced himself to take a deep breath. Right now, he was supposed to be keeping Liza distracted, not conducting a childish argument about who had the better relatives.
“I thought you were having lunch with Remi.” He glanced over the woman’s shoulder. There was a soft light glowing behind her. “Where is she?”
“I’ll take you to her,” Liza promised, holding out her hand. “As soon as you give me your gun.”
Shit. He’d accepted that he couldn’t grab his weapon, pull it out, and shoot before Liza put a bullet through his heart. But as long as he had it on him, there was a chance he would have an opportunity to use it.
“I’m a professor, not a detective,” he reminded the older woman. “I don’t carry a weapon.”
Her contempt remained firmly etched onto the older woman’s face. “You lie about as well as Gage did. I suppose it must have something to do with being a cop.” She pointed a finger toward her feet. “Place your gun on the ground and kick it toward me.”
Ash studied Liza with a sense of unreality. It was as if he was looking at a stranger. Not only because she was wearing clothes that probably were stolen from her housekeeper, but because she was holding the gun with an expertise that warned she was comfortable with firearms.
Had Gage insisted she learn? Or was it something she’d picked up from her father?
He was betting on her father. Reluctantly, he pulled out his gun and placed it on the ground. Then, with the tip of his toe, he shoved it across the ground. For now, she had the upper hand. Until he knew if Remi was safe, and that Liza didn’t have a partner hidden in the tunnels, he had to play the game by her rules.
Straightening, he watched her grab the gun and tuck it in her purse. Never once did she take her gaze off him.
“Take me to Remi,” he commanded.
“She’s this way.” She backed down the tunnel, keeping the gun pointed at him.
Ash shuddered, forcing himself to move forward. It was like the woman’s gaze was causing his skin to crawl. Had he noticed it before? he absently wondered. Had he sensed there was something off about the woman?
Hard to say. He’d always assumed their strained relationship was because he hadn’t come from a fancy family with a huge trust fund.
Now...
He shook his head. He didn’t know. Just as he didn’t know where Remi was. Or if Liza had shot poor Albert. Or what she intended to do with him. He suspected the older woman was involved in the murders, but he had no idea if she was a delusional pawn or the mastermind.
The new tunnel angled away from the house, he was guessing toward the center of the backyard. Then he stepped through a framed doorway, and his eyes widened. He’d been expecting a cave. Or another staircase.
Instead, he was standing in a room that was as big as a house, with the same glossy paneling that had been used in the garage. At one end of the space was a long bar with a polished mirror that was set in a fancy bronze frame. The floor was carpeted, and several small tables and comfortable chairs were arranged around the room.
His gaze shifted toward Liza. “Where are we?” he demanded.
“Below the pool house.”
“This was the club?” he guessed.
“Yes.”
He turned in a slow circle, taking in the stuffed animal heads on the walls and the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.
“Impressive,” he said, unable to imagine how much time and effort it’d taken to build the place.
“Yes, it is,” Liza agreed, strolling forward, a wistful smile on her lips. “I wish I could have seen it when my great-grandfather was entertaining.”
Ash hid his grimace. Some other time he might have found the club interesting, but now there was only one thing he cared about.
“Where’s Remi?” he demanded again, moving quickly toward an open doorway.
Liza called out something, but he didn’t hear. He was busy finding the switch to turn on the light. Then he made a strangled sound as he gazed around the smaller room. He assumed he’d become numb after all the shocks he’d endured, but he discovered he was still capable of feeling as if he’d been kicked in the head.
The room was an exact duplicate of Remi’s bedroom. Not similar. Not faintly akin. It was a perfect match. Hell, it even smelled like her room. Not perfume, but a fresh, clean soap.
The only thing missing was Remi.
“Christ,” he breathed.
“Money can accomplish whatever you desire,” Liza drawled.
He swiveled around to regard the woman with a bizarre sense of disbelief. Had he fallen asleep and was he having some weird dream? That’s what it felt like.
“Why would you have Remi’s room put down here?” he demanded.
The older woman scowled at him. “You know why.”
“No, I truly don’t.”
She made a sound of impatience. “Because of the disease, of course.”
“Disease?” Ash frowned. Had he misheard? “What disease?”
She gave a sharp motion with her hand, leading him across the room toward a mahogany door set in the paneling. She reached out to pull it open, revealing a small closet.
“It started here,” she said.
Ash’s confusion only deepened. Had Liza gone completely crazy? It seemed more than a little likely. “What started?”
Her gaze skimmed over the club, her expression becoming distant as she conjured up old memories. The gun, however, remained squarely aimed at Ash.
“My father refused to let me play down here,” she told him, her voice fond as she spoke of her parent. “So of course I snuck down whenever I could escape from my nanny.”
Ash clenched his teeth, fiercely trying to pretend he gave a crap about the words coming out of her mouth. Inside, his heart was screaming with the need to escape from the suffocating tunnels and find Remi.
“Was it still a club?” he forced himself to ask.
She shrugged. “My father occasionally had parties down here. Mostly, he used it to conduct his business.”
“And the closet?” He tried to steer her to the point of her reminiscing.
“One morning I was playing down here, and I heard my father approaching.” Her hand smoothed over the wood of the door. “I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I hid in here.”
“Did he find you?”
“No.” A flush crawled beneath her skin. “He was preoccupied with his visitor. They were arguing about an overdue debt. I was only nine or ten at the time, but I knew it was a mistake. My father didn’t like when people refused to pay the money they owed him.”
Ash grimaced. “I can imagine.”
She ignored his dry words, lost in her memory. “They continued to argue, and it was hot and stuffy in the closet, so I decided to crack open the door.” She paused, a visible shudder shaking her body. “That’s when I saw.”
Ash’s preoccupied attention was captured by the strange quiver in Liza’s voice. It was a mixture of fear and acute excitement. He’d heard it once before. Just before the perp he was chasing threw himself in front of a speeding bus.
“Saw what?”
“My father.” Her eyes reflected the light from the chandeliers. “He grabbed a knife from the bar and stabbed it in the man’s heart.”
Ash’s breath hissed between his teeth. He’d known Remi’s grandfather wasn’t a saint, but he hadn’t been prepared to hear he was a cold-blooded killer.
“Christ.”
“I closed the door and waited until my dad’s men had taken away the body,” Liza continued. “Then I crept back to my room.”
Ash felt an unexpected flare of pity. No young child should witness their father committing such a heinous act of violence. It had to screw with their mind.
Was that the reason Liza was unbalanced? It was as good an answer as any.
He took a furtive step forward. It wasn’t that he wanted to be closer to the woman. In truth, he felt as if he was being shrouded in evil as he neared her. But if worse came to worst, he intended to shove her into the closet and escape before she could shoot him in any vital organ.
Not his best plan, but the only one he had at the moment.
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
She sent him a confused glance. “Of course not. I wanted to see it happen again.”
He couldn’t disguise his horror. “A murder?”
“Punishment. Death. Blood.” A dreamy pleasure softened her features. “It became a game to try to sneak down here so I could see my dad deal with his enemies.”
Ash’s stomach heaved, and for a second he was afraid he might vomit. He’d spent years dealing with hardened killers, many of them completely unrepentant after they’d taken the life of another.
But none of them had savored the murders.
“How many people did he kill?”
Liza shrugged. “Only a few. He usually allowed his bodyguards to convince his guests to pay their debts.”
Ash gave a slow shake of his head, trying to imagine a young Liza hiding in the closet as her father’s goons beat the shit out of someone. Or worse, her father sticking a knife in their heart.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Her pleasure drained away, leaving her face pale. “It . . . damaged me. At least that’s what my mother claimed when she caught me down here,” Liza admitted. “She insisted my father take me to a hospital in New York. They gave me medication to make me better.”
Ash was caught off guard. He’d somehow expected Liza’s parents to be indifferent to her sick fascination with death. But at least her mother obviously realized they needed to do something extreme to help her daughter.
“Did you get better?” he asked.
“For a while,” she said, a wistful smile touching her lips. “I came back to Chicago and eventually fell in love with Gage. He . . .” She took a second to consider her words. “He centered me,” she finally said. “When we were together, I felt safe. The darkness couldn’t find me.”
A horrified fear suddenly flared through Ash. “Did Gage know?”
“There was nothing to know,” Liza snapped, as if she was offended by his question. “I was fine. At least until the baby.”
“Remi?”
Anger rippled over the woman’s face. “I didn’t want children,” she rasped. “I think I knew deep inside that I was too fragile for motherhood.”
His brief sense of sympathy for this woman was erased by her petulant words. “So why did you get pregnant?”
“To please Gage.” Her voice dripped with a bitterness that would poison any soul. “He wouldn’t admit how desperately he wanted a child, but I could sense his yearning. I wasn’t enough for him. I’d lost my father. I couldn’t lose my husband. So I gave him a daughter.”
Ash shuddered. He was getting a glimpse of Liza’s twisted brain. It wasn’t pretty. First had been the trauma of witnessing her father’s brutality. Then God only knew what cocktail of drugs the doctors had shoved down her throat in the institution. And then the jealousy of her own daughter.
It had all combined into a toxic brew.
Ash’s mouth went dry, a slow certainty growing in the center of his being.
“Gage loved Remi very much,” he managed to mutter.
Liza’s face twisted, the fevered glitter in her eyes intensifying as she allowed the thought of her daughter to work her into a rage. “He called her a precious gift.”
“She was a gift,” Ash insisted, taking another small step forward. He was going to have to do something quickly. The woman was about to snap. “For all of us.”
“Not all of us.” Liza lifted the gun until it was pointed directly at Ash’s face. “She brought back the cravings.”
Ash tensed his muscles, preparing to attack. “The cravings for what?”
The woman released a laugh that sounded like something straight out of a horror flick. “Blood. Death.”
“You’re the Butcher,” he breathed.
She smiled with a sick pride. “I am.”