A Murder in Time(23)
Kendra suppressed a shiver. Even though she told herself that she was being fanciful, she was still relieved when she arrived at the door of the study. It had been locked earlier, and she’d made sure that she’d locked it again when she left the room two hours ago. Better to be safe than sorry.
Her heart began to hammer in her chest, so loud that the uneasy staccato filled her eardrums, but her hands were steady as she reached into her purse and withdrew two thin wires. Lock-picking wasn’t a skill one learned at Quantico, but she’d studied it when she’d tried to get into the head of a perp who’d been entering homes in the middle of the night.
She held her breath as she worked the wires, then let it out in a rush of satisfaction as the tumblers fell into place. It had taken less than a minute, much less time than when she’d first entered the room. She dropped the wires back into her bag and slipped through the door, switching on the lights—more cleverly designed wall sconces.
She looked around. Nothing had changed, she thought. No one had entered this room since she’d been there earlier. The claret, in its cut crystal decanter, was exactly where she’d placed it on the elegant sideboard.
It was an interesting room. Octagonal in shape, it had high walls paneled in mahogany and papered in green silk, the same dark hue as the velvet-upholstered furnishings around the room. There was a fireplace here, too, as big as the one in the servant’s hall, but the mantelpiece was more ornate, carved in a neoclassical design. Above it was an elaborately framed oil painting depicting a woman and child dressed in what looked to be late eighteenth-century garb. On the opposite wall were Grecian fitted bookcases, flanked by two breast-high Chinese vases with a blue dragon motif against a pearly white background. The mahogany desk—Chippendale, if she wasn’t mistaken—was positioned in front of an enormous medieval-looking tapestry embroidered with a hunting scene. Behind the material, cunningly hidden in the wall’s paneling, was a door.
She’d studied it earlier, had found the mechanism that sprang the lock. Behind the door was a claustrophobic space and stone stairs that spiraled upward. The steps led to a large room with enormous mullion-paned windows on the north and east wall. She didn’t know what the space had been used for, because it was empty now, but there was another door that opened to the hallway not far from the servant’s stairs that could take her all the way down to the ground level.
She’d take those stairs before anyone noticed Sir Jeremy had disappeared. Of course, he might not even be discovered until morning, and she’d be on the plane to Rome by then.
Kendra pulled her thoughts back to the present, and went to work. Opening her purse, she slipped on latex gloves and withdrew a small jar of face cream. Briskly, she unscrewed the lid, and fished in the cream for the small plastic packet, which contained exactly one gram of white powder.
Her heart thumped now for an entirely different reason. Her palms, inside the latex gloves, began to sweat. She wanted to be calm, but there was something terrifying about handling one of the most deadly toxins known to mankind. Ricin. One fourth of a teaspoon, and it could wipe out a population of 36,000.
She didn’t want to think what it would do to one man.
Cautiously, Kendra tapped out the white powder into the Waterford crystal wineglass she’d brought. Her hands trembled only slightly as she lifted the decanter and poured the claret into the glass. In the soft light, it gleamed like blood.
She put the glass and decanter on the silver tray, and stepped back. Only then did she realize she’d been holding her breath.
She let it out and took a few minutes to regulate her breathing before stripping off the latex gloves, putting them into her purse. She glanced at the marble and bronze clock on the mantel. In ten minutes, Sir Jeremy Greene would arrive, believing he’d be rendezvousing with a mysterious starlet.
There was no doubt in Kendra’s mind that he would come. She’d studied him. Profiled him. Even though he already had a mistress—a beautiful young Italian model who’d accompanied him here—he wouldn’t be able to resist the coy invitation of another. That was his pattern. And when he came, she’d serve him the claret. It would only take one sip before the effects of the poison would shut down his system and he’d collapse to the floor with multiple organ failure.
Imagining it, she felt a little sick, and wondered suddenly if she could go through with the plan. Then she heard approaching footsteps.
Too late to reconsider.
She drew in a steadying breath, and tried to reassure herself that what happened next was justice. And once it was meted out, there’d be no turning back.
The door, only partially closed, swung open. From her position, she could see Sir Jeremy’s hand, slim and elegant, wrapped around the doorknob. Kendra straightened, forcing her expression into one of subservience.
Sir Jeremy paused, and Kendra knew a moment of confusion when he took a step back from the door. Then she heard it. More footsteps.
Kendra froze. Had Sir Jeremy’s mistress followed him, suspecting his infidelity? Her eyes cut to the glass of wine. Crap. The idiot might have bad taste in men, but she didn’t deserve to die. She’d have to abandon her plan after all.
“What are you doing here?” Sir Jeremy said, his voice sharp and too loud in the silence of the hallway.
“Our last shipment was confiscated by the DEA.” The other voice was lower, masculine and faintly accented.