Nick looked at that blank wall. What was Albia going to do? Figure out how to kill her again? Obviously she couldn’t do it here, not with so many people just a short distance away. She wasn’t stupid. Where was the man she must have hired? Nick’s heart was still pounding. She felt a headache building over her left eye. It was time to fetch Sherlock, time to see Dane, to tell him everything Albia had said, which wasn’t much of anything except for all this stuff about Elliott Benson.
First, though, she wanted to see what was behind that hidden panel. She walked to the wall, found the nearly flat button, and pressed it. The panel slid silently open. There was a dim passage that ran about six feet directly away from her then turned sharply to the right. She wanted to know what that turn led to, but there was no way she was going into that passage. She and Sherlock would check it out together. She turned to press the panel button when a large hand clapped down hard over her mouth. She fought but it was no good. She had no leverage and the man was much larger than she was, and very strong. He dragged her out of the office and into the passage. Her heart nearly dropped to her stomach when she heard the planel slide shut, and there was nothing but a tomb of darkness and a man dragging her away from safety.
The man stopped abruptly at the end of the passage and turned sharply right. Suddenly there were soft glowing lights set above an elevator door.
“She had to take a look just like you thought she would,” the man said, and pushed her away to hit the wall, hard.
Albia was holding an elegant silver derringer, and it was aimed right at her chest.
“Hello, Nicola. How nice of you to open the panel.”
Her throat was clogged with fear. The man-she recognized him. He was wearing the same black leather jacket. Dark opaque sunglasses hung out of the breast pocket. His hands were large, fingers blunt-strong hands. It was the same man who’d been riding the Harley in L.A.
She turned and ran.
He was on her in an instant, grabbed her arms and twisted them up and back, hard, and she groaned with the pain.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “It’s too late now, love.”
“Darling, bring her here.”
He dragged her back to where Albia stood, looking unruffled and elegant, still holding that derringer. “My goodness, Nicola, you are a bad girl, now aren’t you? You’ve been trying very hard to muck things up and I really can’t allow any more, now can I?”
The man eased his hold on her arms. He turned her slowly to face him. He was older, his face seamed from years in the sun. He pushed her face up, his fist beneath her chin. “You’re very pretty. I always thought so, but not so smart, even with all those diplomas you have. But you know what, love? You were lucky, very lucky. I’ve always believed that luck ranked right up there with brains.”
Nick stared up at him. “You’re the man who tried to kill me.”
“Well, yes, I did, and it was quite a blow when I didn’t get you. Albia was very upset with me.”
“Of course I was upset. You know, Nicola, you had more than your share of luck,” Albia said. “Poor little Cleo, she didn’t have even a lick of luck. Just as well that Dwight here sent her to her great reward. She was looking quite old there at the end. John told me that he used to love to touch her, her skin was so soft, but there, toward the end, he thought she was getting old, her skin becoming coarse.”
“I thought she felt pretty nice,” Dwight said.
Albia laughed. “John is very choosy. He told me he loved touching Nicola, that her skin was so very soft. He prayed that she wouldn’t become coarse for a long time.”
Nick jerked, felt Dwight’s hand tighten around her arm. “Don’t think about yelling, love, this area is soundproof, the senator’s office as well. No one can hear a thing.”
Nick whispered, “It was you, Albia, all along it was you.”
“Yes, dear. You want to know something? You’re nothing, Nicola, nothing at all. Dwight will make sure that no hunter’s dog finds you. You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, but this will be the end of it. Yes indeed, it’s so fortunate that Dwight was waiting for you to open the panel. I thought you’d come right on in, but you didn’t. Still, it didn’t matter. Now, that’s what I call luck-for me.”
Nick knew what fear tasted like, but this was more. This numbed her brain, made her shake. She didn’t want to die.
There was nothing close to her, no weapon, nothing. If only she had Dane’s SIG Sauer again. But Dwight was here, ready to grab her again if she even twitched.
She didn’t think, she just screamed and screamed again as she shoved her fist into Dwight’s belly and tried to pull free.
“That’s quite enough,” Albia said, and brought the butt of the derringer hard on the back of her head. Nick didn’t see points of light, just instant, nauseating black. She sank to the floor.
THIRTY-EIGHT
“When did you say the senator would be back, Mrs. Mazer?”
“He should have been here by now, Agent Sherlock. I wonder if he came in through his private entrance?”
Sherlock went en pointe. “What private entrance?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She was around Mrs. Mazer’s desk in an instant, her hand on the doorknob, turning it, but nothing happened. It was locked.
“It locks automatically when it’s closed from the inside,” Mrs. Mazer said, rising, alarmed now. “Some years ago a reporter forced his way in, so the senator decided to make the lock automatic. What’s wrong, Agent Sherlock? Oh dear, is it about Dr. Campion?”
Sherlock knocked on the door, yelling Nick’s name.
“Here, Agent.”
Sherlock ground the key into the lock, twisted it, and the door opened silently.
The office was empty. “Where’s the private entrance? Quickly, Mrs. Mazer.”
“In the back wall.”
Sherlock pulled her SIG Sauer out in a flash, even as she yelled over her shoulder to Mrs. Mazer, “Call the police. Tell them your Senator Rothman has taken Dr. Campion. Hurry!”
It took Sherlock a moment to find the small button, built in nearly flat against the wall. She pressed, and the door silently eased back. She stepped into a dimly lit passage that was oak paneled, the floor carpeted with two small Turkish rugs. She paused, listening. She thought she heard something, movement, a man’s breathing.
She went forward slowly in the darkness. The corridor turned once, then ended. The whole thing wasn’t more than six feet long. She was facing a narrow elevator, its silver door barely visible in the dim light.
She heard the low hum of the elevator motor. He was taking Nick down. But Sherlock didn’t know where the elevator let out. She punched the button again, then a third time.
And while she punched, she pulled out her cell phone, dialed Dillon’s number. He answered immediately. “Hello?”
“Dillon, hurry. Rothman’s building. He’s got Nick. It isn’t Albia. Oh God, hurry-”
The elevator door opened silently and smoothly, and she jumped inside, punched the only button. Dillon was no longer connected on the cell phone. It didn’t work inside the elevator. No, it was all right, she’d said enough. Every available cop in Chicago would converge on the building within minutes.
The door opened and she stepped out slowly, fanning her SIG. She was in a dark area of the basement. There was the low hum of equipment all around her. She paused for a moment, listening. Where could he have gone? How big was this damned basement? How could he begin to hope he’d take Nick out of here without being seen? There were media nosing around.
Sherlock stood quietly for a few more seconds, but she simply couldn’t hear anything except the sounds of the equipment motors all around her.