On Fire(56)

"Your captain discredited you. He tried to blackmail me. Why would you risk your life for him?"

"That's my duty," Emile said simply.

"If no one had died," Henry sneered, "you would have thanked me for getting rid of the Encounter."

Emile's expression was stony.

"Abigail saw you before you hit her."

"No, she didn't." Henry was confident, arrogant.

"She'll blame you.

You hurt her brother, now you've hurt her. "

"She suspects you. Henry. You know she does."

"Shut up."

Sig felt bile rise up in her throat, and she put her free hand on her  abdomen as if to soothe her babies. She needed a weapon. Some way of  stopping this from happening. How could it be Henry? How could he have  killed Bennett, four other crew members, Sam Cassain?

And where was Riley? Sig felt sick to her stomach.

Henry turned to her, as if reading her mind.

"Where's your little sister? She's a pill, that one."

"I left her with John Straker. They'll have the police here any second.  You should stop now while you still can." She raised her chin, breathed  in.

"Damn you. Henry."

"Oh, yes. I'm damned. But not today. Today, finally, I'm free."

"What do you want from me?"

"You, Sig?" He smiled, an unsettling mixture of sadness and relief.

"I want you to prove to the authorities just what a madman your grandfather has become. "

Riley searched madly for a telephone. She needed to call the police; she  needed help. She raced silently through the parlor. "Even the damned  Grangers have to have phones!" she muttered under her breath, forcing  back panic. Henry had Sig. Something had happened to Abigail.                       
       
           



       

And Emile--he was down there, too, in danger.

She stopped in the middle of the thick Persian rug, tried to remember  the layout of the huge, old house. There would be a phone in the  kitchen, but Henry was in the kitchen. Wasn't there an office upstairs?  And bedrooms--surely there would be a phone in the master bedroom.

If Henry heard her, she was sunk.

She eased out into the hall and stood at the top of the stairs,  listening to the low, intense voices coming from the kitchen. If only  she knew how much time she had!

There.

A phone. She spotted it on a table at the end of the hall. She'd have to  be careful and speak quietly to keep Henry from hearing her. She moved  quietly, quickly, down the hall, lifted the receiver and grimaced as she  tapped out 911. She didn't waste any time with explanations, told the  dispatcher there was a hostage situation on Beacon Hill and gave the ad  dress.

The dispatcher wanted her to stay on the line, but she heard her sister scream. The police wouldn't get there in time.

"Hurry," she told the dispatcher, and hung up.

She ran into the parlor, grabbed an expensive, heavy brass poker from  the marble fireplace. This was madness, she knew, but she couldn't hide  up here while her sister and grandfather were in imminent danger.

Even if she raced outside, it was a quiet week day afternoon. She couldn't count on running into anyone who could help.

Straker. He wasn't here. She was.

She slipped silently down the stairs, concentrated on maintaining her  footing, on the feel of the poker as she refused to let her fears  overcome her. She didn't think back, didn't think ahead.

She managed not to gasp and give herself away when she saw Abigail at  the bottom of the stairs. Farther into the kitchen. Henry stood with his  back to her, Emile's gun pointed at Sig. She was at Emile's side.

Their grandfather was white-faced, furious, determined And he saw Riley.  She knew he did. His expression didn't change, he didn't move, but she  knew.

Abigail moaned incoherently, but Henry didn't turn around.

"If you kill me," Sig said coldly, "you kill my babies."

Henry scoffed.

"I'm not killing you." His voice was high-pitched and jittery.

"Your grandfather is killing you."

"My husband will hunt you down."

Riley could feel her body moving almost of its own accord, instincts  taking over. Her world slowed down, enough for her to see, maneuver,  act. Emile kicked forward, distracting Henry, and she swung her poker,  hitting him in the arm.

The . 38 flew from his grip, and she whacked him again. He cried out in  pain and surprise, spun around and snatched the poker, raging as he  backhanded her. She fell against the table, tripped backward over  Abigail.

Sig dove for the gun, kicking it aside. Henry grabbed her from behind,  held the poker over her pregnant stomach. She went still, her face  drained of color.

"No. Henry ... my babies."

"No more. Henry," Emile said.

"For God's sake, no more."

Armistead pulled Sig backward toward the counter, tightened his grip  around her middle. In one swift movement, he dropped the poker and  whipped a knife off a magnetic rack, put it to her throat.

Riley went still. Her grandfather didn't even seem to breathe. The  police would be here any minute, she thought. They had to be. Neither  she nor Emile said a word as Henry pushed Sig toward the stairs. Ah  gail, still moaning, rolled onto her side, coughe Henry went around her,  started up the stairs with tl knife still at Sig's throat.

When they were almost to the top of the staii Riley staggered over to  her grandfather. "The poli< are on their way. They'll get him. He  won't hurt Si Oh, God, he can't." She grabbed a knife, cut the du tape  and rope around her grandfather's wrists.

"P must be out of his mind--the police are on the way."

"He's past thinking." Emile pushed off the dai gling ropes, nodded to her as he tore at his hour feet.

"Go. See what you can do."

"I'm so scared. I've mucked things up as it is-" You bought us time.

Sig would be dead if ye hadn't acted. This is Henry's last chance. He  know it. Riley, you'll know what to do. Trust your ii stincts. "

Abigail collapsed again, vomiting. Riley reclaim her poker, and Emile  waved her upstairs, even as 1 struggled with the last of his ropes and  duct tape.                       
       
           



       

"Go," Abigail echoed, her voice rasping, hoars "Stop him."

Riley took the stairs quickly, silently, praying tl police would arrive  before Henry had a chance harm her sister. She didn't know what to do in  a ho tage situation. She just knew she couldn't let the ba tard hurt  Sig.

She slowed her pace as she came to the top of tl stairs. She held her  poker high and took a breath, b before she could assess what was  happening in the hall, a hand shot out and whipped the poker from her  grip. It clattered to the hall floor. She opened her mouth to scream,  but Straker was there, scooping an arm around her.

"I didn't want you to ram me through with that thing," he said.

She started sobbing, gripped his shoulders, "Sig-he's got Sig.

Henry. He has a knife. "

"Not anymore."

"I'm okay." Sig's voice, weak and shaky and angry, came from down the hall.

"The son of a bitch ran into Matt and Straker. He didn't stand a chance."

Riley focused, and she took in her battered and bloodied brother-in-law  holding Henry's knife at the bastard's throat. Henry had his face in his  hands. Henry wasn't crying, he wasn't raging. He was simply sitting  there quietly.

Straker rubbed a hand over Riley's hip.

"You hurt?"

"Bruised."

"Good." His gray eyes were unamused.

"You St. Joes. Don't you believe in calling the police?"

"I did call. They're on their way. I just couldn't wait for them to get here. Henry would have shot Sig."

He nodded.

"Then you did what you had to do."

"Emile's down in the kitchen. I think he's okay, but Abigail--Henry did a job on her. We need an ambulance."

"I think we need a couple of ambulances."

"I'm fine." But even as she spoke, Riley felt her legs going out from  under her. Straker steadied her, and she grumbled, "I can't believe you  get paid for doing this. How did you know to come here?"

He winked, tightened his arm around her.

"I'm the FBI."

"Well, I'm glad you showed up." She squared her shoulders, sniffled and managed a quick smile.

"I didn't feel like catching Henry all by myself."

Eighteen -^Q /9IViley breathed in the clean Maine air, shoved her hands  in her jacket pockets as a breeze blew in off the bay. It was a shining  autumn afternoon, as beautiful as any she remembered.

Evergreens and hardwoods with leaves of red, orange and yellow were  outlined against a deep, endlessly blue sky. The bay was choppy, the  tide coming in hard. Lobster boats were out, their multicolored buoys  bobbing in the swells. Cormorants dove for fish. In all the important  ways, she thought, life here hadn't changed.