Tewksbury Manor didn’t look like much from the outside. There were scaffolds along the front, abandoned at the moment, with a large cement mixer and spray hoses lying on the ground, as if the crew had absconded in a hurry for parts unknown.
The house sat back on the property, about a half mile from the road, clearly visible yet far enough away not to draw undue attention. The entire place had a shabby, worn appearance, as if it passed its glory days decades earlier, and now all its luster from the bygone era was only a faint memory.
He parked the convertible out of sight behind a tall hedge at the side of the house, out of sight from passers-by. No reason to draw undue attention to his arrival. Before exiting the car, he texted Bogey he’d arrived, and cautioned them to enter silently.
Approaching the house from the side, he skirted around the perimeter, sussing the place out. It looked like nobody had been there for a long while, except for the rehab and construction paraphernalia out front. The windows around the sides and back had slats of wood nailed to them, giving the place an isolated and abandoned vibe.
He didn’t like it, and he didn’t trust it. The ball of fury in his gut told him Aristides was close—and so was Savannah. After he’d ascertained that the perimeter was secure, he entered through the front door, which was surprisingly unlocked.
Everything was exactly like his dream, right down to the floors with their intricate inlaid pattern, and the columns to his right. White dust cloths covered the furniture. Everything was a mirror image of his dream, right down to the swaying cobwebs. The only thing missing was Savannah’s voice.
What was it Ranger had said in his dream? He rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and trying to remember. It was something important. Something about keys.
The flashlight in his hand flickered and he slapped it a couple of times against his palm. Remembered doing that in his dream too.
“Help me…”
There it was! Savannah’s voice. Just like the dream. What was it about a key that Ranger said he’d need to find Savannah? Frantically, he pulled open drawers, digging through scattered papers and other stuff, but didn’t find any key.
To hell with it. “Savannah!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, praying she’d hear him and call out, give him a direction to head in. The utter silence mocked him.
There was only one way in and out of this room, and he went through it, back into the grand foyer. A massive staircase filled the center of the space, leading upward, its once majestic glory faded with age and time. To his left was another sitting room that opened into the kitchen.
He searched it as well, but could find no indication of anybody being there, not even a footprint marred the dust-covered floors. But his gut told him to go back to the first room he’d entered, the one to the right of the front door. The room where he’d heard Savannah cry out. It was through there he’d find her—but how?
Heavy drapes covered the windows in this room, obliterating almost all light, though the sun shone brightly outside. Why were the drapes closed in here, yet open in the other rooms?
Grabbing a huge handful of material, he pulled it aside, and the room was suddenly awash with light. It glinted off the gilt-edged beveled mirror directly across from the window, and the light refracted in a dozen different directions.
He studied the room, determined to find the key, because finding the key meant finding Savannah.
“Help me!” The voice was louder than before, tinged with an edge of panic. His gut clenched at the sound. Damn it, why couldn’t he find the answer? Throwing his head back, he looked toward the heavens, praying for an answer. A miracle.
And he got one.
Outlined around the ceiling was a border of crown molding. It was ornately detailed and carved in an exquisite relief pattern, gilded with gold. He recognized the pattern instantly.
A Greek key.
The flashlight’s beam highlighted the recesses in the corners, where the sunlight didn’t reach. The entire room was encircled with the molding, along every inch of the high ceilings. One entire wall was covered with built-in bookcases, the kind you’d see in law libraries.
Each section of the bookcase had the same ornate trim work, a Greek key pattern. His fingers scrambled along the outside of the bookcase, searching for a mechanism, because if he was right, there was a hidden entrance behind them.
He tossed the flashlight onto one of the cloth-covered sofas, using both hands, tugging and pulling at the sides when he couldn’t find a release or catch.
“I know it’s here somewhere. Dammit, where is it?” He pulled on the sides, grunting at the strain on his muscles, as he tried to force the enormous bookcase away from the wall. Slamming his fist against the side farthest from the window, he saw a statuette of a Greek goddess on the third shelf from the top tilt and fall over. Beneath it was a button.
Heart stuttering in his chest, he clapped his hand against the button, and heard a whoosh of air as one third of the bookshelf swung outward. Pausing only long enough to grab the still-lit flashlight from the sofa and pull his gun from the small of his back, he shone the light inside, and saw only a set of stairs leading downward.
I’m coming, Savannah!
Halfway down the steps, he halted, held his breath, and listened. Silence met his ears, and he eased cautiously down until he reached the bottom. Apparently, the basement level was used for prop storage. Everything he saw in the flashlight’s beam looked like Hollywood leftovers. Shelves and tables were stacked high with everything from disco balls to disassembled skeleton pieces. Two rolling racks held costumes that spanned generations.
Everything held a musty, disused smell, as if long forgotten by the world. Shining the light onto the ceiling, he noted fluorescent light fixtures, and began looking for a switch. Within seconds, the space was flooded with light and the buzzing sound the lights gave off. One bulb flickered, causing an eerie blinking pattern onto the boxes.
Take a look around. She’s here somewhere.
“Savannah, can you hear me?”
“Stefan? Help me!”
A muffled thumping followed her words, coming from across the basement. Shoving things out of his way, he made his way across the space, horrified at what he saw.
An ornate casket sat pressed against the farthest wall, elaborate and macabre in its elegance. Among the scattered props and debris, the incongruous site horrified him—as did the sound of banging coming from inside.
Sticking the flashlight into his waistband and laying his gun on the floor, he lifted the lid. Savannah lay amongst tattered shreds of satiny white cloth, dressed in a pair of cotton sleep shorts and a tank top.
“Stefan!” She threw herself into his arms, tears streaming down her face. “I knew you’d come.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, and he felt his shirt dampen with her tears.
Sliding his hands beneath her, he lifted her gently from the casket, holding her against him, and breathing in her scent, needing the reassurance that she was alive and in his arms. Her whole body shook, racked with sobs.
“I am going to kill that son of a bitch. Aristides did this, didn’t he?”
She nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath. “He’s insane. Stefan, he’s going to kill you. Then he’s going after Ranger and Sarah.”
“Shh, sweetheart. He’s not going to hurt anybody. Let me get you out of here—”
“You’re not going anywhere, Mr. Carlisle.”
Stefan spun around at the sound of Aristides voice, his eyes going immediately to the Sig Sauer clasped confidently in the man’s hand. Behind him stood a brown-haired man he didn’t recognize—not that it mattered. If he was the one who’d taken Savannah from her bed, he was a dead man walking.
“Please take your hands off Anna, and step away.”
“No.” If he was going to die, he’d do it protecting her. Easing his arm from beneath her knees, he helped her stand, before positioning his body between her and Aristides.
“I have to admit, you are very good, Mr. Carlisle. How did you figure out where I’d brought Anna? I’m usually very good about covering my tracks.”
Right. How do I explain to a madman that he was tripped up by a dream?
“Obviously, you’re not as clever as you think, Aristides. Then again, I’m good when I’m on the hunt for information. Finding you was a piece of cake.” He decided to poke the bear, wanting his focus off Savannah and onto him. Bogey and the SEAL team would be here, he just had to stall until then.
“Hector, go get Ms. Sloane.” Aristides motioned with the gun, and Stefan moved to block Savannah’s body, his hands spread at his sides.
“Don’t even try it, Hector. I’m starting to get angry, and trust me, you don’t want me to get mad. Ask your boss what happens when I lose my temper.” He hardened his expression, letting his body tense with his words, hoping the other man was smart enough to read his body language. While he might not have the muscle-bound physique of the steroid-addicted gym rats, he was more than capable of taking down one goon singlehanded.
Aristides guffawed at his taunt. “Touché, Mr. Carlisle. Stand down, Hector. We’ll let Mr. Carlisle think he has the upper hand—for the moment.”
Stefan watched Aristides, taking in his casual yet commanding presence. He was the typical schoolyard bully, always letting somebody else do his dirty work—except he’d killed before.
“You know, even if Savannah disappears, the district attorney has her witness statement. It’ll be admissible in court, and you’ll still find your ass rotting in Angola.”
Aristides chuckled, and Stefan watched the gun swing loosely in his grip. “My attorneys will get that thrown out in a heartbeat. Without a witness, I’ll walk away without a blemish on my record, free to return to New Orleans and pick up the pieces of my empire.” His face hardened when his gaze landed on Savannah. “The one you destroyed with your whorish behavior. My son lost his life because he wanted a little tramp he picked up in a bar. My son!”
He felt a muffled sob from Savannah, her body plastered against his spine, though she didn’t respond to Aristides taunt. Good girl.
“Like father, like son,” Stefan goaded, trying to get Aristides attention off Savannah. Where the hell were the SEALs? Though even when they got here, if Aristides had closed the bookcase door behind him, they might never find them.
“Your crudeness won’t save you, Mr. Carlisle. I’m not going to lose my temper and give you any chance to overpower me. You’d be foolish to think of escaping. Hector isn’t the only man I’ve got working here.”
“Okay, Aristides. You’ve got us. A couple of bullets and all your problems will go away. Oh, wait, no they won’t. How stupid do you think I am? I learned this little trick from a friend of mine.” Moving one hand slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “See this little button here—that means it’s recording. Every single word you’ve said since walking down those stairs has been transmitted from this phone to a computer. And guess what? You don’t have a freaking idea where that computer is located. It’s also feeding directly to the server at Carpenter Security Services, which means Samuel Carpenter will be listening to this, and turning it over to the New Orleans Police Department, the FBI, and anybody else he thinks would be interested in taking down Stavros Aristides.”
He wiggled the phone in front of him, before shoving it back into his pocket. Aristides’ face had gone a delightful shade of mottled red. Who knew, maybe if his blood pressure kept climbing, he’d stroke out and end this fiasco?
“Hector, get that damned phone.” Aristides pointed the Sig Sauer straight at him, the muzzle aimed right in the center of his chest. Hector stepped around Aristides, shoved his hand into Stefan’s pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Got it, boss.” He handed it to Aristides, who dropped it on the floor, and stomped on it, smashing the casing, then doing it again for good measure.
“Won’t help. Carpenter might have been listening to our little party live and tracked the GPS signal right to our little hideaway.”
Aristides took a deep breath, though he was visibly shaken. Might be a good idea to stop poking the bear. Throughout everything, Savannah had remained silent, though she wasn’t plastered against his back anymore. He wanted to hold her, let her know everything was going to be alright. But he couldn’t because, honestly—everything had gone to hell in a handbasket, and unless Bogey and the team were already in the house, they were pretty much screwed.
“Sweetheart, you doing okay?”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t realize what she was doing, until she’d stepped around him, standing in front of him, with her hands behind her back. “Let Stefan go. I’ll go with you. He won’t follow.”
What the hell was she up to? He could feel her body trembling, shaking so hard he was afraid her bones would snap. Taking a small half-step backward, she leaned against him, and that’s when he felt something digging into his stomach. His flashlight, the one he’d shoved into his waistband. Delicate shaky hands wrapped around it, and she tugged. Sucking in his breath, he felt the cool metal slide free.
“What’s to keep me from killing you right now? If it was just the New Orleans cops, it wouldn’t be a problem, half of them are on my payroll anyway. But if the feds get involved, I’ll have to flee the country again. If I’m gonna hang for one murder, what’s two more?”
Stefan watched the barrel of the gun lift and point at Savannah. The look of determination on Aristides face spoke to the fact he had nothing left to lose.
Before he could move, Savannah’s hand swung around from behind her back, and she hurled the flashlight end-over-end. The thunk when it hit Aristides between the eyes was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
He watched Aristides eyes roll back in his head, his body collapsing back toward the hard concrete floor. But his finger tightened on the trigger, and a single gunshot fired before the gun dropped from his hand.