Part 24 (1/2)

I didn't have an answer. ”We're wasting time.”

”Remind me never to underestimate you again.” He put one foot against the door for leverage, then pulled the iron pipe toward his body. The muscles in his face strained with the effort. The chain snapped.

Holding the pipe down close to his leg, he shoved the doors open and we stepped into more darkness.

I s.h.i.+ned his flashlight around. We were in a long, narrow high-ceilinged s.p.a.ce. The floor was cement. Without grandeur the backside of a movie screen towered in what looked like an enormous painted black box. All the magic was on the other side. The constricted s.p.a.ce had been turned into an office. There was an antique desk and an impressively carved chair in one corner. A beckoning sofa and coffee table nestled on an expensive Indian rug.

A creaking of a floorboard sounded from above. Arcing the light toward it, I started to call out to Ryan but Heath put his finger against his lips, stopping me. Then he quietly laid the crowbar on the floor and reached inside his jacket and came out with his Colt.

I wondered why he was being so careful, especially since he'd seen Parson leave. Unless that noise hadn't come from Ryan but someone else. A man Parson left behind. With my free hand I pulled the Glock out of my pocket and waved the flashlight around with the other. The beam caught a spiral staircase in a dark corner. I steadied the light and nodded to Heath. He took the lead as we carefully circled our way up.

Reaching a landing, we paused. We were in a small hall, more like an anteroom, facing a single closed door. A light shone beneath it. I quickly cut the flashlight and slid it into my pocket. Now with just the thread of light from the threshold, Heath motioned for me to stand to the side of the door. As I did, he held his gun with two hands straight in front of him, balanced himself, then swiftly kicked the door wide open and rushed into the room. Adrenalin flowing, I was close behind, telling myself ”this is real, this is real.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

Heath and I had entered a richly appointed bedroom. A small crystal lamp on the marble-top nightstand illuminated an expensive Aubusson area rug partially covering the rough floor planks. A stiff wooden chair had been pulled up to the rumpled gold damask-covered bed as if someone had been sitting there, talking to whoever had been lying on it. Except for the chair, the room had Parson's taste written all over it-expensive and overwrought.

Across from the bed was a bolted door. ”Ryan?” I called out.

Hearing a low moan, I rushed toward the door. Heath grabbed for my shoulder, but I jerked away, pulled open the bolt, and hurried inside. Lamplight from the bedroom seeped into the chamber, revealing a six-by-six-foot s.p.a.ce with cement walls and floor. A cell. A common garden hose snaked from a spigot to a drain in the center of the floor. To the right was the only piece of furniture, a wooden table. Ryan was lying on the floor next to it, wearing an Ugg on his left foot. The other foot was bare. His face was lost in shadow.

Pocketing my gun, I knelt beside him. ”Ryan, it's me, Diana.”

Suddenly a harsh glare from an overhead blub filled the room. Heath had found the light switch. I repressed a gasp. Ryan flinched, then peered up at me with one clear blue eye. The other was a swollen slit surrounded by b.l.o.o.d.y gashes.

I took his hand. ”Can you talk?”

His distended lips parted. ”Uh-huh.” The sound was small, painful.

The floor felt damp on my knees. Heath crouched on Ryan's other side and stared warily back into the bedroom.

Then he picked up the hose. ”So this is where Parson tortures his victims. Makes the cleanup easy.” Disgusted, he threw it behind him, and said to Ryan, ”Can you move your legs and arms?”

Nodding, Ryan gestured at the small b.l.o.o.d.y-black wounds seared into his legs.

”Cigarette burns,” Heath said.

”I'm calling 911.” I reached into my purse.

”No,” Heath said.

”But he needs to go to an emergency room.”

”They'll ask too many questions about how he got his wounds. The police could get involved. Ryan's the perfect set-up guy for Jenny's murder.”

Ryan's hand touched mine. ”He's right.”

”We'll put Ryan into your car, and I'll follow you back to his house so I can make sure it's secure. You should call a private doctor. You must know one of those feel-good guys. Hollywood's full of them. He can book Ryan into the celeb wing of a hospital where the docs can take care of him and security is trained to keep the patients under wraps.” Heath peered down at Ryan. ”We're going to sit you up, okay?”

Ryan grunted. It was good enough for a yes.

Heath and I lifted him into a sitting position and leaned him against the wall.

”Are you dizzy?” I asked.

”No. Couldn't take it.” Tears oozed from his eyes. ”Couldn't ...”

”There aren't many of us who could, Ryan.”

”She's right.” Heath moved to the table and looked through the items on top. ”Wallet, cell phone, change, keys, and a comb. The possessions a man carries in his pockets can look pretty dreary.” He checked the driver's license. ”They're Ryan's.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he gazed down. ”This is a cement floor, something's not right.” Heath tapped his foot. Then he swept Ryan's belongings into his pockets and asked him, ”You weren't in the other room, were you?”

”No,” Ryan winced. ”Parson got a phone call. They left in a hurry.”

Mrs. Parson's suicide saved Ryan, I thought, as Heath walked back into the bedroom. I got to my feet and stood in the doorway.

With his foot, Heath pressed the old floorboards, making them creak. ”We heard this sound downstairs. Ryan couldn't have made it-he's on a cement slab and was locked in. So who else was walking around, and where are they?” Dark with concern, his eyes met mine as his hand slipped inside his jacket and again pulled out his Colt. Then he ran his hand along the top of the wooden chair. ”Looks like this chair goes with the table Ryan's things were on.” He lifted his chin, peering up at the ceiling. ”s.h.i.+t ...”

Above his head was an open crawl s.p.a.ce. Before Heath or I could move, a man plunged down, sending both Heath and himself cras.h.i.+ng to the floor. I froze as Heath's gun flew from his hand, skittering under the nightstand, while a second gun vanished under the bed. His sleeve had slid up, showing a too-familiar tattoo-it was Rubio.

I pulled the Glock from my pocket. Rubio started crawling across the floor, going for his gun. Heath got to his knees, Rubio turned, swinging a fist at him. The blow glanced off Heath's jaw. Grabbing each other, they rolled. I tried to keep my aim on Rubio, but the pair had become a unit, their bodies rolling and tossing together while their legs thrashed and their fists pounded. This was not a ch.o.r.eographed fight by stunt men. It was raw, ugly, and awkward. The Glock shook in my hands. What were the odds of shooting Heath if I fired at Rubio, I wondered desperately. About 100 percent, I decided.

h.e.l.l, I was standing there like a B-movie actress, gasping, eyes wide. I aimed the gun at the ceiling and fired. Ceiling plaster fell like chunks of dirty snow.

”Back off, a.s.shole!” I shouted with all the butch authority of a female superhero.

The noise from the gun had been deafening in the small room. Rubio momentarily s.h.i.+fted his eyes toward me, and Heath head-b.u.t.ted him. Dazed, Rubio fell backwards. Heath clambered up to his feet. Weaving, he leaned over the downed man, grabbed his s.h.i.+rt collar, jerked him up, and smashed his fist into his face again and again. Blood poured from Rubio's nose and mouth. I didn't move. I didn't try to stop Heath.

Breathing hard, Heath finally let the motionless man fall back onto the floor, then straightened up. Working his jaw, he looked around the room, his eyes darting like a man who had lost something very important.

”Your gun's there,” I pointed under the nightstand.

s.n.a.t.c.hing up the weapon, he holstered it. Then he tucked in his s.h.i.+rttail and adjusted his jacket. Finally put together again, he looked at me. ”Back off, a.s.shole?”

I smiled. ”It was all I could think of at the moment.”

”You all right?” A black-and-blue mark was forming on his chin. Another bruised person in my life.

”I'm waiting for the prop man to take the gun out of my hand.”

Knuckles raw, Heath's hand covered mine as he slipped the gun from my grip and slid it into my pocket. ”Let's get Ryan the h.e.l.l out of here before Parson's men come back.”

”Is Rubio alive?”