27

He wasn’t half as sorry as I was, I thought.

“Don’t worry,” Cavanaugh continued calmly. “This time I have a plan. I’ll mess up the place so it looks like a robbery, jimmy the lock on the back door, and take a few things with me when I go. Then tomorrow I’ll play the concerned partner. Two break-ins in less than a month? That can’t be good for business. I’ll tell Candy she’d better see about adding a security system.”

It couldn’t be just that simple, I thought. At least I hoped it couldn’t. “Speaking of Candy—she knows she told you I was here. What if she guesses the truth?”

“She won’t. Candy’s not the type to think things through. Or to go looking for trouble.”

Cavanaugh waved a hand dismissively. Again the one holding the gun. I was beginning to suspect he had little more experience with firearms than I did. Certainly he’d never taken a course in gun safety.

“And if Candy does think about stirring things up, I’ll threaten to pull my money out of the business. Pine Ridge is all she has left. She’d never let that happen.”

Clearly Cavanaugh enjoyed making threats. I could only hope that he possessed more bluster than follow-through. Because holding a paperweight opposite his gun, I felt like David facing Goliath.

“I guess you have it all figured out,” I said. “Well . . . except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

I nodded toward the envelope. “There’s no money in there.”

“Sure there is.”

I shrugged. Not my problem. Cavanaugh’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you talking about? Why else would Steve have bothered to hide it away like that?”

I didn’t answer his question. Instead, I moved away from the desk. It probably looked to Cavanaugh like I was granting him access to the envelope. With luck he wouldn’t realize that I was also giving myself an easier line to the door.

“See for yourself,” I invited.

He reached the desk in three quick strides. Cavanaugh might have been a good businessman, but he wasn’t a very good assailant. Probably too much Hummer driving and suit wearing—the man was entirely too civilized to be carrying a gun. And he had no idea how to accord his weapon the respect it was due.

Reaching eagerly for the envelope with his right hand, he switched the gun to his left. If he was ambidextrous, I was dead. But I was betting he was merely arrogant—and flushed with the feeling of importance that the weapon gave him.

He didn’t even think about what he was doing, and his carelessness granted me the opening I needed. Lifting my arm, I let fly with the paperweight.

It sailed through the air and hit Cavanaugh square on the side of the head. He lurched sideways with the impact. The blow wasn’t hard enough to stun him, but it did knock him to his knees.

In a flash I was past him. By the time he’d regained his feet, shaking his head and swearing loudly, I was already across the office and shooting through the doorway into the darkened hall.

Both directions led quickly to another closed door. The one on the right put me in the reception area. On the left, the door led outside to the walkway that went to the Dog House.

There was no time for conscious thought. All I knew was that I wanted OUT. Left it was.

“Come back here!” Cavanaugh roared.

Like that was happening.

Racing down the hallway, I heard a muffled explosion behind me. A bullet smacked into the wall opposite the open doorway. Cavanaugh swore with frustration.

Panicked, fueled by adrenalin, I was running so hard that I ran right into the door at the end of the hall. The blow hurt, but it was a good pain. It let me know that I was still alive.

My fingers fumbled for the doorknob. I found it, turned it quickly, and yanked hard.

Nothing happened. The lock—the same one that had done nothing to keep Cavanaugh out—was engaged.

Somewhere behind me, I could hear him coming. The sound of his breathing seemed to fill my ears. Or maybe it was my own.

My fingers worked feverishly. The deadbolt slid open. I pulled on the door again and felt cool air on my face.

As I gave one last quick glance back, Cavanaugh appeared in the office doorway. One hand leaned against the frame for support; he used the other to raise the gun and aim. In the dim light, the barrel looked enormous.

I wanted to move. Every instinct told me to flee. But like every bad dream I’d ever had, for a second I was frozen in place.

Cavanaugh fired again. I saw his hand jerk back from the recoil and heard the sound simultaneously. The bullet plowed into the door panel beside my cheek.

Wood splintered and flew, and I shut my eyes reflexively. That was enough to break the immobilizing spell. I slipped through the narrow opening, slammed the door shut behind me, and stumbled down the two steps to the ground.

Immediately, there were more choices.

My car was out in front of the building, but my keys were in my purse, which was still on the floor in Steve’s office. Ditto my cell phone.

It was lighter outside than it had been within the building: dusk rather than dark. I could run, but Cavanaugh would see me. Could I outrun him? Still carting my new-mommy flab, I didn’t think so.

Plus, of course, he had the gun.

I heard him on the other side of the door. Three feet away, with only a narrow panel of wood separating us. In another few seconds he’d be right behind me.

Now what? The words screamed in my brain. Now what?

The Dog House was at the other end of the walkway. But the building would be locked; it had to be. Then my eyes fastened on the doggie door and I felt a ray of hope.

Strictly decorative, Steve had said, but the opening looked big enough for a small person. Could I wriggle through?

Cavanaugh had had a key to the front building; but there wouldn’t have been any reason to give him access to the Dog House, would there? As long as both buildings didn’t work off the same lock, this might work.

Choices rapidly dwindling, I turned and ran.

The Dog House could offer a hiding place, and even more important, a phone to call for help. At this point, I’d take whatever I could get.

Reaching the end of the walkway, I dove for the small, swinging flap. Thankfully, it wasn’t barred.

My shoulders were a tight fit. I could feel my skin scrape and tear as I jerked them through the opening. Then I braced my hands on the linoleum floor and pulled. My torso slipped inside, followed by my legs and feet.

Quickly I reached around, grasped the swinging door, and pushed it shut. Pushed it still. And hoped the movement had gone unnoticed in the half-light.

My heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. I drew in one deep, calming breath, then another. They didn’t help.

So I swiveled around on the floor, pressed myself up against the inside of the door, and took a minute to just listen.

Cavanaugh was outside now. I could hear his heavy tread on the gravel path. What I couldn’t tell was which way he was going.

Then the footsteps stopped.

“Listen Melanie,” he called into the gathering dusk. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot . . .”

I snorted under my breath incredulously. Ya think?

“Look, I’m sorry. Okay? Things just got out of hand in there. I know I made a mistake. Come on out and let’s talk. I’m sure we can figure out a solution.”

When hell froze over, I thought.

But the offer of amnesty was a good sign. It meant he was unsure. He didn’t know where I’d gone.

I inched over to the window beside the door, cautiously raised myself up and had a look. Then quickly ducked back down as the beam from a flashlight played across the front of the building and reflected off the glass.

Damn, where had he gotten that from? Was that why he’d taken an extra half minute in the office? Too bad for me Cavanaugh was turning out to be a pretty resourceful guy.

“Come on, Melanie.” His tone was wheedling now. “There’s no reason we need to be enemies. Let’s try to work together on this.”

Work together on what? I wondered. Covering up one murder or committing another one? Was the man even listening to what he was saying?

I needed to get moving. I had to find a phone. I didn’t remember seeing one on my earlier visits, but I hadn’t been looking either. Surely there had to be one somewhere in the building.

Unwilling to stand up and risk being seen through the windows, I began to slither along the linoleum floor. Dog hair wafted up from the baseboards and tickled my nose. I held my breath so I wouldn’t sneeze. Then my hand came down on a sticky spot that bore the distinct odor of old urine. That was just gross.

If I lived long enough to yell at Candy, I was definitely going to throw in a few words about cleanliness.

Cavanaugh had stopped talking now. I didn’t hear him moving around either. I hoped he’d gone looking for me in the other direction, but I wasn’t about to count on it.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, the floor around me lit up. Cavanaugh had pressed the flashlight to the front window; the beam played quickly up and down the hallway. I ducked and rolled to one side, pressing myself into the shadow of the wall. Heart thumping, I hoped I’d been fast enough.

I wasn’t.

Because within seconds, I heard the scrape of Cavanaugh’s key in the lock. The bolt slid open. Damn, I just couldn’t catch a break.

So I stood up and ran again. It was the only thing left to do.

I heard the door open. There was a small click and the overhead lights came on.

“Stop right there!”

I turned to look behind me and raced headlong into something solid. My feet flew out from under me as I somersaulted over the waist-high obstacle. Then I bounced off something soft and landed with a jarring thump on the floor.

Pain seared through my elbow and knees. My ankle bent back at an uncomfortable angle. And although I didn’t think I had hit my head I could have sworn I heard bells.

I took a moment to process the pain, then slowly opened my eyes.

A low couch, the kind I’d seen in many of the dog rooms, had been pushed up against a side wall in the hallway. Probably Larry’s doing; no doubt the stupid thing needed maintenance. And I’d managed to run right into it.

Then my gaze lifted. I looked past the couch and saw Cavanaugh standing over me.

And still there were bells. I shook my head slightly. Wait a minute . . . make that sirens.

It wasn’t just me, I noted with relief. Cavanaugh heard them too. He stopped and listened.

The door at the front of the building stood open. Cavanaugh hadn’t closed it behind him when he’d come in. And from where I lay, I could see a sweep of lights in the night sky.

Headlights, I realized, and they were racing toward us up the driveway.

“It’s over,” I said.

“No.” Cavanaugh shook his head. The look in his eyes was wild.

“Put the gun down.”

“I can’t.”

Cars doors slammed outside. I heard the sound of running feet. By lighting up the back building, Cavanaugh had inadvertently shown my rescuers where to go.

I pushed myself up off the floor. Ankle throbbing, I stood and faced him.

“If you shoot me now, the police will hear you. That will be two murders. The first was an accident. This one won’t be.”

“Let’s make a deal.” He sounded frantic. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

“No deals,” I said as the first of the officers appeared, silhouetted, in the open doorway at the end of the hall. His gun was drawn and raised.

“Freeze!” he called out. “Nobody move.”

I lifted my hands and stood totally still. Now I had two guns trained on me, which wasn’t necessarily an improvement in how my night was going.

I felt rather than saw the motion next to me. There was just the slightest ripple in the air as Cavanaugh shifted the gun he was holding and pulled the trigger.

The explosion, right next to my ear, was deafening. I felt myself scream. I felt the vibration shudder through my body. But I never heard the sound.

Something warm and wet splattered over me and Cavanaugh dropped to the floor.

For a moment, I stared down at him, uncomprehending, then everything went black and I fell too.