Читать книгу Her Sworn Protector - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

Chapter 2

The master bathroom was larger than her bedroom back at the apartment. As a matter of fact, Kady thought, taking a long look around, this bathroom looked larger than her living room. Not to mention that the gold sink and tub fixtures probably cost more than a year’s rent.

She shook her head as she turned the handles and proceeded to wash her hands. What did a man need with a gold swan spouting out an arc of water into a black onyx tub? She dried her hands on towels that felt softer than whipped cream.

Moving over to the tub, Kady paused to look at it more closely. A huge stained-glass window directly behind it cast beams of blue and gold into the room. The tub itself was round and roomy enough for three wide-hipped people to sit comfortably without touching.

Opulence run amok, she couldn’t help thinking.

It seemed like such a waste. The money that all this had cost would have been put to better use funding another clinic or helping to get people off the streets and on their feet again.

Kady straightened the towel she’d used and backed away. It was Milos’s money, she told herself, and she had no right to impose her own set of values on him. The man should be free to enjoy it. Heaven knew he seemed to enjoy very little these days, focusing exclusively on his company and obsessing about it the way he did. It wasn’t healthy. At his age, a man as well off as Milos should have no reason to stress himself out to the point of having an anxiety attack. He should be into the coasting part of his life.

And then she smiled. She sincerely doubted if she’d be willing to just coast at seventy. She’d still want to work, still want to make a difference. She supposed that was what kept the man going, a sense of purpose. Work, if you didn’t hate it, was what kept you young. And Milos just told her that he considered the business his life and—

About to go back into the bedroom, her hand on the doorknob, Kady paused, cocking her head. Trying to make out a sound. She could have sworn she heard a series of popping noises coming from somewhere within the bedroom. If she didn’t know better, she would have said they sounded like firecrackers.

Kady frowned slightly. All right, what was Milos trying to pull now? She knew he thought himself invincible, but she wanted him to spend the rest of the day in bed. Anxiety attacks were not heart attacks, but they could certainly feel that way to the body, and after that kind of an ordeal, Milos’s body deserved to rest.

Now that she’d told Milos that the situation wasn’t actually dangerous, he was probably champing at the bit to get back into the game of besting Skourous and his company, making sure the other man had no opportunity to get the better of him.

She sighed, shaking her head.

With a reprimand on her tongue, all set for release, Kady opened the bathroom door.

And stopped dead.

There was someone else in the room. Someone dressed all in black, right down to the gloves on his hands and the shoes on his feet.

The collar of the turtleneck pullover was raised up high, covering his mouth and his nose. Even his eyes seemed to be coal black. The only thing of vague color was the gun in his hand. Gray. The gun’s barrel appeared strangely disproportioned.

And then she recognized it for what it was. A silencer. The intruder had a silencer at the end of the gun barrel.

He’d come to kill someone.

He had killed someone, she realized in the next moment. That was what the noise had been. Bullets fired through a silencer.

Milos was lying in bed the way she’d left him, except that now there was a pool of blood on his wide chest. The sight of another figure, crumpled on the floor, registered less than a beat later.

Byron?

No, whoever it was was built smaller than the man who had accompanied her to the penthouse.

And then her heart felt as if it was constricting into a hot ball within her chest.

Ari.

Ari was lying there at the foot of Milos’s bed. The other bodyguard must have rushed in when he heard the “pop” and had died trying to protect Milos.

Where was Byron? Was he lying somewhere, hurt? Dying? Dead? Kady felt her throat tightening more and more.

All these thoughts flew through her brain a beat before she pulled back into the bathroom, afraid that the killer would see her, too.

Her heart racing, Kady resisted the temptation to close the door again. Any unnecessary movement or sound might catch the killer’s attention, make him come closer to investigate.

But she couldn’t just stand here, frozen. Not knowing. What if he came after her?

With her heart racing faster than she thought humanly possible, Kady angled one of the three adjacent medicine cabinet mirrors to see what the killer was doing. To her surprise, he unscrewed the silencer from the gun barrel, tucking the former into his pocket and the latter into the back of the waistband of his slacks and then smoothed down his collar. As if appearance counted.

When he turned toward the door, she caught a clear glimpse of him, his image reversed in the mirror. Tall, his slight build appearing thinner because of the black clothing he wore, the killer looked young. Maybe twenty-eight, maybe less. He had a mop of curly black hair that looked as if a comb could get lost there.

She had no idea who he was. And then she saw his eyes. They weren’t looking at her, but even at this distance, she’d never seen eyes so dead before.

She had to struggle to keep from shivering, from making a sound.

The killer paused at the door, listening. Kady held her breath. Had he heard her? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t tell. Very carefully, she shrank back in the bathroom, making sure that her image wasn’t thrown back at him in the mirrors.

In the recesses of the bathroom, she could no longer see what was happening. Her insides felt like jelly. She counted off seconds in her head, waiting. Mentally reciting a fragment of a prayer the sisters at St. Catherine’s had taught her.

Finally the door opened and then closed again. As she eased back into range in the bathroom, her eyes were glued to the mirror. The outer door remained closed. It looked as if the shooter was gone.

Only then did she let out the breath she’d been holding. The next moment Kady shot out of the bathroom and rushed first to check the man on the floor. One look told her that Ari had been shot where he stood. She would have expected him to be disposed of the moment he’d entered the room. What was he doing clear across here, on the other side of Milos’s bed?

Probably following the killer’s orders, hoping to stay alive, she thought. Just like her.

Ari was dead. Had probably been dead even before he’d hit the floor. There was a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

She didn’t remember crossing to the bed. The next thing she knew she was bending over Milos, searching for a pulse. Willing him to live. At first she couldn’t find any evidence of a pulse, but then, squeezing her fingers hard over the man’s thick wrist, she thought she detected the faintest hint of erratic rhythm.

He was alive.

She needed to keep him that way.

Her bag was still in the bathroom where she’d taken it, but she didn’t want to leave Milos’s side.

Her heart froze in midbeat as she saw his electric-blue eyes flutter open. Milos’s lips moved, but she couldn’t hear anything. Leaning in closer, she felt the faint brush of his breath against her cheek and thought she heard him say, “Skourous,” but she couldn’t have sworn to it.

“Don’t talk,” she ordered. “We’ll get you to the hospital. You’re going to be all right, Milos,” she promised hoarsely. “You’re going to be all right.”

Kady wasn’t even aware that she was crying, or that her tears were falling on the old man’s face. She saw his lips move again, forming one word. “Liar.”

And then his eyes fluttered shut.

Horror filled her. The next moment she’d gone on autopilot. She began applying CPR in a last-ditch effort to get Milos’s heart beating again, however faintly. She wasn’t about to let him die right in front of her.

Coming back from downstairs, Byron didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t see Ari standing guard outside Milos’s bedroom. He’d just assumed that the examination was over and the man he shared bodyguard duties with had gone back into the room.

But when he knocked and heard Kady scream for him, his entire body immediately became alert. Throwing the doors open, he pulled out the weapon he wore holstered beneath his jacket.

A swift visual sweep of the room told him that there was no one else there. Only Ari on the floor, dead from the looks of it, and his employer in the bed, with the doctor frantically working over him.

Frantically trying to tug Milos away from the jaws of death.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, crossing to her.

Her hair was falling into her face. Kady shook her head, trying to get it out of her eyes. She didn’t look in his direction as the sound of his voice registered. She just kept going. Fighting.

“I don’t know. Someone got in here. When I opened the bathroom door, he’d already shot both of them.”

With amazing speed, Byron checked all the corners, making sure that there was no one else hiding in the recesses. He went back to her.

“Who?” he demanded.

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked as she kept on pushing at the chest that made no movement on its own, kept blowing into a mouth that was already beginning to feel cool beneath hers.

Distancing himself, Byron processed the scene. Her efforts were futile. There was too much blood. The bullet had been straight to Milos’ chest. Straight to his heart, he guessed. The old man never stood a chance.

He cursed silently that he hadn’t been here. That he’d been downstairs, talking to the mechanic Milos kept on the payroll to care for his twelve automobiles, instead of guarding Milos.

“He’s dead, Doctor.”

The low, calm voice seemed to rumble at her from some faraway place. She shook her head adamantly, never looking up, never stopping.

“No. No, he’s not.” She’d found a pulse. He’d tried to speak. She couldn’t just let Milos slip away.

And then she felt strong, firm hands on either side of her shoulders, lifting her up, drawing her away from the bed. From the man she couldn’t save.

Kady wanted to push the bodyguard away, wanted to go back and fight a fight she knew in her heart she’d already lost. But Byron was too strong for her. His grip was gentle but firm, holding her in place.

Suddenly, as if all the air had gone out of her, Kady felt weak, dizzy. The room began to spin. For a second it threatened to pull itself into darkness, leaving her on the outside to fend for herself. It was through sheer grit that she fought her way back from the blurred boundaries, fought back the nausea.

Trying to get a grip, Kady drew a deep breath into her lungs before she looked up at the man holding her. She saw concern in his eyes. Or maybe she just imagined it.

Either way, she felt like an idiot. She was made of sterner stuff than this. “Sorry. I don’t usually fall apart like this.”

“I don’t see any pieces,” he replied crisply. She felt fragile, like the scent of cherry blossoms. He hesitated backing off. “If I let you go, do you think you can stand?”

She raised her chin and tried to sound confident. Inside, the jelly had yet to solidify. “Yes.”

He let her go by degrees, holding her a moment longer, then drawing his hands away slowly. All the while, he watched her face for any telltale signs that she would collapse or faint once he took his support away. There wasn’t anything he could do for Milos, or Ari. But there was something he could do for her. He could keep her together.

Quickly, his eyes swept over her torso, checking. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

At least not physically, she thought. But mentally, she knew she was shell-shocked and would be for some time to come. It seemed strange to her that nothing like this had ever happened to her in the clinic where she volunteered. There she would have expected it. Yet here, in an exclusive neighborhood, she’d been a hair’s breadth away from being killed.

Her eyes met his. Her lips felt dry as she spoke. “I don’t think the killer saw me.”

“Was there only one?” he wanted to know.

She couldn’t answer that with certainty. All she could tell Byron was what she knew. “There might have been more, but I only saw one man.”

Kady looked back over her shoulder at the man who’d flirted with her only ten minutes ago. He’d been so vibrant, so full of life then. And now…

This shouldn’t have happened.

She looked back at Byron again. “What kind of security system does this penthouse have?” she demanded angrily. Shouldn’t something have gone off when the killer got in? When he escaped?

“One that was obviously bypassed.” Unlike hers, Byron’s voice was stoic.

Releasing her, he walked over to the intercom located on the wall beside Milos’s bed. There was an intercom in every room of the penthouse. Pressing the button down, Byron said, “This is Byron. I want everyone up here outside Mr. Plageanos’s bedroom. Now.”

Was he planning on interrogating everyone on the staff? That wasn’t how things were done. With a heavy heart, Kady moved back to the bed. To the man she’d come to regard with affection.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

Looking up, she saw Byron watching her. Kady braced her shoulders. “You have to call the police.”

He looked at her for a long moment before answering. Was he annoyed because she’d said that? Did he think she was trying to tell him what to do?

“I know procedure.”

The way he said it made her think he’d been through this before. And made her realize that she really knew nothing about this man she’d shared less than a handful of car rides with.

“You’re a cop?”

“Was,” he corrected.

Like her sisters, she possessed more than her share of curiosity. Even in the face of tragedy, she needed to know things.

“What happened?” she heard herself asking.

Byron didn’t answer. Instead, he shook his head. “Too much to talk about now.”

Kady wasn’t completely certain she could assimilate anything he told her now anyway. So she nodded, letting the matter drop. Digging into her pocket, Kady pulled out her cell phone and then flipped it open.

Byron looked at her sharply. “Who are you calling?”

God, but she felt drained. Drained and useless and angry. She felt as if she was going in all directions at once. His tone irritated her more than it should have.

“My brother-in-law. He is a cop,” she told him. “Homicide. Tony Santini.”

The information came in small, square sound bites, dribbling from her lips. Kady clung to the numbness, knowing that once it was gone, what would come in its wake would be overwhelming and devastating.

Crossing back to her, Byron placed his hand over her cell phone and closed it, leaving it in the palm of her hand. Kady looked at him, confused. “We have to call the police,” she insisted.

“And I will. If your brother-in-law is called in to investigate, there might be questions later on.”

She stared at him. “Questions?”

“Mr. Plageanos was a powerful man. Powerful men have enemies—enemies with money who can get to people.”

Her eyes widened and she drew herself up. “Are you saying—”

He shook his head. “I’m not, but someone else might. You were the last person to see him alive. Having your brother-in-law here isn’t the wisest move.”

“Right.”

She wasn’t thinking straight, Kady acknowledged. She just wanted someone to make it right. She wanted someone to catch the killer and avenge Milos and Ari. She wanted the man she’d seen put in prison. Now, before he could do any more harm.

With a sigh Kady dragged a hand through her hair. “You’re right,” she repeated.

She stiffened as she heard a sound in the hall, then realized it was too loud to be the killer. It was the sound of approaching feet. The people Byron had just summoned were here. Right outside the threshold to Milos’s bedroom. Exclamations of distress, of horror, were heard as the scene was suddenly viewed by them. One of the maids fainted. The chauffeur pushed through the doorway as questions flew right and left.

Byron stopped everyone at the threshold, physically blocking their access into the room. Quickly his eyes swept over the group. Kady had a feeling he was trolling for a killer.

Was it one of the staff? A chill passed over her as she looked from face to face. But he wasn’t there. The man who’d been in the room only a few minutes ago wasn’t here.

“It’s a crime scene,” he told the staff in a voice devoid of emotion. “I called you up here because I wanted you to know that someone just killed Mr. Plageanos.” And because, he added silently, he wanted to see their reactions.

“How?”

“Who?”

Surprise and shock mingled with half sentences; expressions of outrage and curses blended into one another. Byron gave it a few minutes, letting grief and disbelief run their initial course before he held up his hand for silence.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” he promised without fanfare. “Right now I’d say that someone inside let the killer in.” He looked over the sea of faces slowly, seeming to focus on each individually. He was looking for an accomplice. Again, there was no emotion as he said, “Whoever it is will be made to pay so they’d better get their affairs in order.”

Like a second tidal wave, more questions and protests arose, drowning each other out. It was all just dissonance to her.

Kady moved back toward the bathroom, unaware that she was being watched. Once inside, at the sink, she struggled to keep the tears back. The control she was trying to grasp continued to elude her.

She looked down at her hands covered in Milos’s blood. Very slowly, she turned on the faucets and began to wash her hands. Rivulets of pink snaked their way to the drain and beyond. She tried to make her mind a blank until she could deal with it all.

But thoughts insisted on crowding in.

Had she not withdrawn into the bathroom just when she had, she could very well be lying in a pool of blood beside Ari and Milos.

Sensing she wasn’t alone, Kady looked up into the mirror and saw Byron standing behind her in the doorway. Their eyes met.

“I called the police,” he told her quietly. “You’re going to have to give a statement.”

Gripping the faucets, she turned them off simultaneously. She continued holding them for a moment, as if they were all that was keeping her from sinking to the floor. “I know.”

“After that,” he said, sounding as if he was reciting some preauthorized schedule, “I’ll have someone drive you home.”

She turned around to face Byron. “How can you be so calm?” she demanded.

His face was completely unreadable. “Practice.”