Now You See Her Linda Howard(90)

She fumbled with it, banging it against her cheekbone. "Damn it," she mumbled, and even thought she didn't have it pressed to her ear yet, she heard Richard's roar.

"Sweeney!"

"I'm okay," she said hastily. "Well, almost. Margo fell over the stair railing. I haven't looked yet."

"Don't," he said, sounding strangled. "My God—" He broke off, and even over the sound of the siren coming through his cell phone, she heard his labored breathing. "We'll be there in about five minutes.

Other patrol cars are on their way. Are you hurt?"

"A little. A couple of cuts on my arm, nothing serious." I don't think. She hadn't looked at the cut on her triceps or the one on her forearm, where the knife had sliced through the towel. She didn't intend to unwrap that towel, either; she didn't want to see the damage. She knew it hurt, and that was enough.

"I'm going to hang up now, okay? I think I need to vomit." She didn't wait for an answer, just hung up, and then put her head between her knees, taking deep breaths and fighting the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.



The sound was so low she wasn't certain she heard it. Her head came up, blood leaping through her veins as she prepared to fight again, but no one was there. She blinked, bewildered, then heard it again: a low moan, from downstairs.

Gingerly Sweeney crept out of the bedroom to the stairs and looked over the railing. Margo lay on her stomach, her left leg bent at an impossible angle under her torso, jagged edges of bone showing white through the torn flesh. Her arms… oh, God, she must have tried to brace herself. Margo moved feebly, trying to roll over, and another of those low moans echoed through the house.

Her legs trembling, Sweeney went down the stairs. No matter what, she couldn't leave Margo in that condition without trying to offer aid, though she had no idea what she could do for injuries so severe.

She knelt beside Margo, and to her shock the woman focused dazed eyes on her. "I fell," Margo whispered.

"Don't talk. People are coming—"

"I want to… tell you. So someone knows." She coughed, and blood dribbled from her mouth onto the floor. "Candra… Candra was blackmailing… Carson. I… I had to stop her. Kai had a … key… to her apartment. I… rented an apartment in the… building, and waited for her." She winced and coughed again. "Couldn't… find the… tape, or pictures. I wore Carson's clothes… so if anything surfaced, he…

would be blamed. Her blood … on his shoes. Then you… painting—"

Sweeney understood. "Kai saw the painting and told you."

"He was… so beautiful," Margo whispered, her gaze losing its focus and growing more distant. "I…

loved him. Silly. Old enough … to be his mother. Because of Carson… he's dead. Tell them … Tell them about Carson. Find … the pictures." Her lips twitched in a ghastly, bitter smile. "Nail … his ass."

"You can tell them yourself," Sweeney said urgently, but Margo's eyes were already fixed, her expression fading, and her last breath sighed out of her lungs, never to be replaced.

A distant siren got louder and louder as it neared. Numbly Sweeney got to her feet and went to open the door as two patrol cars squealed to a stop in front of the house.

She was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs when Richard and Detectives Aquino and Ritenour burst in a few moments later. Richard's face was paper white, his skin drawn brutally tight across his cheekbones. His gaze went straight to her. He didn't even glance at Margo. With a rigidly controlled stride, he crossed to the stairs and, without a word, bent and lifted her into his arms, holding her to his chest.

"I'm taking her to a hospital," he said hoarsely. His entire big body was trembling.

Aquino said, "The medics will be here in just a minute—"

Richard ignored him and carried Sweeney outside. She blinked like a mole at the bright sunshine.

Evidently Edward had followed hard in the wake of the detectives' car, because the Mercedes was parked right behind it. He got into the backseat with Sweeney, holding her on his lap, and barked instructions at Edward.

Her voice shaking, Sweeney began telling him what Margo had said, just before she died. He stopped her with two fingers laid across her mouth. "I don't care," he said fiercely. "Just—just shut up and let me hold you. God, I was so scared—" His voice broke and he buried his face in her hair.

He stayed with her the entire time her arm was being stitched. The cut in her forearm was the worst, requiring twenty-six stitches, but neither cut was deep enough to have damaged nerves or tendons.

"Because of the towels," she told him, her eyes wide and her lips trembling now that shock had set in.

"If you hadn't told me about the towels—"

"I'll give you a prescription for pain medication," the doctor said, easing off her stool. She smiled at Sweeney. "Go to your regular doctor in a week to get the stitches removed." Then she went on to her next casualty, and Richard scooped Sweeney onto his lap again.

"I love you," he said, his voice still shaken. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you. Will you marry me?"

That question rattled her almost as much as Margo's attack. "M-marry?" she stuttered.