A Murder in Time(24)

“I heard. You should be more careful.” Sir Jeremy’s tone was dismissive.

“We were careful. Our sources tell us that somebody talked.”

“What? Who—What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Greene’s voice rose. “Are you mad?”

There was a strange ppfftting sound, and Kendra nearly jumped out of her skin when the door suddenly flew inward, crashing against the wall. Shocked, she watched as Greene fell backward into the room, his features contorted into grooves of agony while his hands clutched at his chest. Blood seeped between his fingers. Even as her mind reeled at the implications, she looked at the man in the doorway, recognizing him instantly: the unfriendly footman from the ballroom.

Their eyes met; time stood still. Then Kendra’s gaze dropped to the gun he held deftly in his hand, a silencer elongating the barrel, and instinct took over. She raced toward the hidden passageway just as he pulled the trigger. Another ppfftt. The bullet scored the fireplace mantel, spraying chips of marble. Kendra made it to the tapestry as the blue-and-white Chinese vase shattered into a million pieces.

She’d left the panel door open a fraction—a foresight that now may have saved her life. Wrestling with the tapestry, she yanked the panel open and dove through. She pulled the door shut behind her, and was plunged into instant darkness.

It would take the killer less than a minute to figure out how to open the secret passageway, she calculated.

Oh God, oh God, oh God . . .

Blind, she stumbled up the stairs, using her hands to feel the way.

Fuck! Why was it so dark? She’d left the door at the top of the stairs open . . . but of course, it was evening, and whatever moonlight penetrated the windows in the upstairs room would be too weak to reach the stairwell. How could she have been so utterly stupid? She should’ve left the light on in the room above. But she hadn’t anticipated this. Who’d have thought that she wouldn’t be the only one after Sir Jeremy? What were the odds?

Listening for any sound that would warn her that the assassin had found the hidden doorway, Kendra attempted to hurry up the stairwell. But as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t climb the narrow, twisting stairs fast enough. The darkness was too absolute. She couldn’t even see her hands as they reached out to slide against the stairwell’s cold, damp walls. One wrong move, and she’d fall, probably breaking her neck.

Would that be better than a bullet in the head?

She could hear her breath, coming in and out in fast pants. Her skin was oily with her own sweat, and there was a sour taste filling her mouth. Fear.

Her heart raced as she climbed upward, spiraled around. She was beginning to feel claustrophobic, like there was an enormous pressure on her chest, crushing her. How many more steps?

The air around her seemed to crackle with static electricity, and then suddenly the temperature plunged about twenty degrees. Even as her teeth began to chatter, and she struggled to make sense of that oddity, a wave of dizziness hit her, knocking her down a step.

Panic clawed like a trapped beast inside her chest, and stunningly, she felt pain. Like she was on fire. Her flesh was burning, the epidermis peeling away, layer by layer, exposing the subcutaneous tissue, then the stringy cords of muscle beneath, until that, too, was stripped, leaving only bone.

Screaming—surely, she must be screaming, even though she couldn’t hear anything beyond the deafening roar in her ears—she fought against the squeezing darkness that was suddenly more solid, more substantial than she.

Oh, God . . .

She was caught in a sickening vertigo, around and around. Her skin melted like wax, then re-formed, reshaped, before dissolving again in a terrible spike of pain that was all-consuming. She no longer knew if the air was cold or hot, but she had the sensation that it was whipping across her face, slicing her like razor blades.

Then as abruptly as the phenomenon began, it was over. The agonizing pain vanished. Awareness came flooding back. She could feel the cold stone steps beneath her. The wetness of tears on her face. She was, she realized, curled into a fetal position.

Choking back a sob, she straightened and staggered to her feet. The darkness was no longer absolute. She could see her hands out in front of her, like white moths in the darkness, and knew an almost giddy relief. She hadn’t disappeared after all.

Still, she couldn’t shake the panic. What if the crazy darkness came back? What if the pain came back? What if, what if, what if . . . ?

She had to move. Up the stairs, to safety. Except . . .

Deep in her primordial brain she knew that whatever the hell she’d just encountered was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. It was crazy. Irrational. She knew that, too, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to go up. She’d have rather dealt with a thousand assassins than plunge back into that icy darkness.

Shuddering, she threw herself forward . . . and downward. With a ragged gasp, she launched herself at the closed door, banging her hands hysterically against the panel.

It was mere seconds, but it felt like hours before the door opened. Off balance, Kendra caught the surprised looks of the two men standing on the other side of the door. Then she was falling. Pain—natural this time—lanced upward from her knees as they hit the floor.

“Help . . . me . . .” she managed, her voice a croak. Then she collapsed completely, falling flat on her face.





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