Now You See Her Linda Howard(89)

"Are the doors locked?"

"Yes, of course."

"Where are Tabitha and Martin?"

"Gone to lunch."

"Son of a bitch." The urgency in his voice sizzled through the telephone line. "Honey, lock the bedroom door. Shove furniture against it; anything to buy some time, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Don't hang up the phone. Keep the line open. I'm on my way."

She laid the receiver down and went to the door. She wasn't certain she had heard anything, and she would feel like a fool if the house was empty or if the sound she thought she had heard was Tabitha or Martin returning from lunch. No one was in sight; the hallway was empty, and from where she stood she could tell no one was on the stairs.

She tiptoed to the railing to look down into the foyer. Nothing.



Then she heard a faint rasping sound, coming from downstairs, perhaps in the kitchen.

She pictured the knife in the gloved hand, in the figure standing over Candra, and she knew beyond a doubt what that sound was: one of the big knives being drawn from the butcher block in the kitchen.

A blond head came into view below.

It was Margo McMillan.

Sweeney jerked back, shock numbing her to her toes. She stumbled toward the bedroom door, not caring how much noise she made, and slammed the door shut. The lock turned easily. She dragged a chair over and wedged it under the door handle, but it seemed shaky and she wasn't certain it would hold against any force. How much force could Margo exert? She was thin, but perhaps she was stronger than she looked, and interior doors weren't equipped to withstand the kind of force exterior doors were.

"Damn damn damn," she breathed, and ran to the phone. "Richard!"

"I'm here." He sounded breathless, and a siren almost drowned him out. He was in a squad car, she thought, she hoped.

"It's Margo." Her teeth suddenly chattered as a chill swept her. "M-Margo McMillan. She's here."

"She's inside the house?" he asked sharply.

"Yes. She has one of the kitchen knives. The door is locked, but—"

"If necessary, go into the bathroom and lock that door, too. Get some towels and wrap them around your arms. Use anything you can to hinder her. Throw towels on her, and try to get them around the knife so she can't use it. Spray deodorant in her face. There are weapons in the bathroom, baby; all you have to do is use them."

"I understand," she said, whispering, unable to speak louder, though he probably couldn't hear her over the siren.

The door handle rattled. She jumped and put down the phone to go stand by the bathroom door.

Something scratched the lock. Margo was picking the lock.

The bathroom lock wouldn't be any more substantial than the bedroom lock. Sweeney ran into the bathroom and grabbed an armful of towels, as well as the can of spray deodorant. Doing as Richard had said, she wrapped a thick towel around each arm. She knew why. She was supposed to use her wrapped arms to deflect the knife. She remembered the wounds on Candra's arms.

The door opened, shoving the chair aside. Margo didn't say anything, just entered the room in a rush, the knife gleaming in her hand.



Sweeney grabbed a thick towel and lunged at the woman, throwing all her weight at her in an effort to knock her off balance. Margo screamed as the towel entangled her arm, but she struck anyway, and the knife bit through the thick fabric. Sweeney felt the kiss of it burn on her left triceps.

She didn't know how to fight. She had never fought anyone in her life. But she twisted, getting inside the arc of the knife, and hammered her fist into Margo's nose. Blood spurted, and she saw the look of shock in Margo's infuriated eyes, as if she couldn't believe anyone would dare strike her. The whole thing struck Sweeney as so ridiculous that she hit her again, and again, digging her feet against the thick carpet and pushing, using all her strength and weight to push Margo backwards.

"Bitch!" Margo shrieked, trying to wrench the knife free.

Sweeney saw the stair railing behind Margo and pushed harder, pushing, driving for the edge. The knife bit through the towel wrapped around her left arm, and the searing pain ignited a firestorm of rage. She heard herself screaming, over and over, and she pushed harder. A startled look crossed Margo's bloody face, just for a second; then the resistance of her body fell out from under Sweeney and she tumbled over the railing to land on the slate tiles below.

Panting, Sweeney dropped to her hands and knees next to the railing, heart hammering, and for a moment she thought she would faint. Blood streamed in rivulets down her left arm, soaking the towel.

She would need stitches, she thought, absurdly irritated by the thought. She had never had stitches before. It would probably hurt. Her lower lip trembled at the thought.

That small tremble made her realize she was close to hysteria. She took several deep breaths, trying to focus, though it was incredibly difficult to think. The deep breaths helped, and she sat on the floor. She couldn't bring herself to look over the railing; Margo had landed with a sickening, squashy sort of thud.

Slate tiles weren't forgiving of bones and flesh.

Richard. His name spread through her brain, the thought of him galvanizing her into action, pouring energy back into her legs. She scrambled to her feet and ran—stumbled, actually—into the bedroom to snatch up the receiver.