Chương 6
“What happened?”
“Is Celeste with you?”
“No.”
“Has she called?”
“Six times.”
“What did she say?”
“That you’re dead.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
Claire saw the answer land.
Not surprise.
Confirmation.
“Did she say who did it?”
“Somebody from New York. She said there was an attack.”
“Marisol, listen carefully. Do not tell her you spoke to me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Staying alive.”
The line crackled.
Marisol started crying quietly.
Not loudly.
Lorenzo looked annoyed by it in the helpless way some people did when someone else’s grief required something they did not know how to give.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m talking.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
He looked at Claire.
“No,” he said. “Apparently it isn’t.”
Marisol asked, “Where are you?”
He hesitated.
Claire shook her head.
“No,” Lorenzo said. “I’ll call again.”
“Wait.”
He ended the call.
“Who is she?” Claire asked.
“My mother.”
Claire stared.
“I thought your mother lived in Florida.”
“She tells people that.”
“Why?”
“She likes Florida more as an explanation than as a place.”
“Where does she live?”
“Stamford.”
“Why does staff think—”
“Claire.”
“Right. Bleeding.”
He handed back the phone.
“Call Keane again.”
This time Daniel Keane answered.
His voice was cautious.
“Who is this?”
Claire said, “Claire Mercer.”
“Do I know you?”
“No. Lorenzo Duca is with me.”
A long silence.
Then, “That isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
“Put him on.”
Lorenzo took the phone.
“Danny.”
Keane inhaled sharply.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Not him.”
“Where are you?”
“Can you come alone?”
“No.”
“Useful.”
“I’m not coming anywhere until you tell me what happened.”
“I got shot.”
“I gathered that from the people saying you’re dead.”
“By Paolo.”
Silence.
Keane’s tone changed.
“You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“With your own eyes?”
“I generally use those.”
“Don’t be cute. This matters.”
“He shot me in the east service corridor at approximately nine-twenty.”
Claire looked at her watch.
9:58.
Keane said, “Where are you?”
Lorenzo answered this time.
“The old pump house.”
Claire stared at him.
He ignored her.
Keane swore.
“Are you safe?”
“For the moment.”
“Can you drive?”
“No.”
“Who’s Claire?”
“My housekeeper.”
“Maid,” Claire corrected.
Lorenzo looked at her.
“She prefers maid.”
Keane said, “What?”
“Nothing.”
Claire took the phone.
“I’m the person keeping him conscious. He needs medical care now.”
“What kind of wound?”
“Gunshot wound along the right lower rib area. He says through-and-through. He’s lost significant blood. Pale, weak, dizzy, still oriented.”
Keane became much more useful.
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No,” Lorenzo said.
Claire covered the microphone.
“Yes.”
“No.”
Keane heard enough.
“Lorenzo, listen to her.”
“I go to a hospital, Paolo knows.”
“He already thinks you’re dead.”
“Celeste does too.”
Keane fell silent.
Claire said, “They’re searching the grounds.”
“How many?”
“Unknown.”
“Armed?”
“Yes.”
“Claire, do you and your daughter have a safe route off the estate?”
She looked at Lorenzo.
“No.”
Keane spoke slowly.
“I am going to call emergency services and state police. Not local dispatch only. I’ll explain there may be armed suspects on private property.”
Lorenzo said, “Danny—”
“No. I am not helping you die because you’re worried about procedure.”
“They’ll arrest me.”
“If you survive.”
Claire almost smiled.
She liked Daniel Keane.
Lorenzo did not.
“You’re fired.”
“Fine. Survive long enough to put it in writing.”
The line crackled again.
Then footsteps sounded above them.
Inside the pump house.
Claire ended the call.
Lorenzo drew his pistol from where she had tucked it behind her waistband.
She grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
A floorboard creaked overhead.
Emma stood perfectly still.
Lorenzo whispered, “Claire.”
“No.”
“If they come down—”
“We hide.”
“Where?”
Claire looked around.
Pipes.
A water tank.
A maintenance alcove behind the old boiler.
Small.
“Emma.”
She lifted her daughter.
The three of them squeezed into the alcove.
Lorenzo barely fit.
Claire pulled a hanging tarp across the opening.
Emma buried her face against Claire’s shoulder.
Footsteps descended.
One man.
He carried a flashlight.
The beam moved across the basement.
Lorenzo’s pistol was in his hand now.
Claire had lost that argument.
She put her fingers over the slide.
He looked at her.
She mouthed, No.
The flashlight passed over the tarp.
Stopped.
Returned.
Emma’s fingers tightened around Claire’s collar.
A radio crackled.
“South road’s flooded.”
The man in the basement answered, “Copy.”
His beam moved away.
He walked toward the tunnel door.
Claire heard the handle turn.
Locked.
The man tried again.
Then stopped.
He approached the alcove.
Lorenzo raised the pistol.
Claire pressed the barrel downward.
His eyes hardened.
She mouthed, Emma.
A boot appeared beneath the tarp.
Emma’s breath caught.
The man’s radio crackled again.
“Boss wants everybody back at the house.”
The boot stopped.
“What?”
“She says police are coming.”
“Who called?”
“No idea. Move.”
The man swore and ran upstairs.
The outer door slammed.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Lorenzo sagged.
Claire caught him.
His pistol struck the floor.
“Lorenzo.”
He did not answer.
She lowered him onto the concrete.
“Lorenzo.”
Emma crouched beside him.
“Stay awake.”
Nothing.
Claire checked his pulse.
Fast.
Weak.
She ripped open the bandage.
Blood had soaked through again.
“Damn it.”
Emma’s face crumpled.
Claire looked directly at her.
“He is not dead.”
“The lady said—”
“The lady was wrong.”
Claire pressed both hands over the wound.
“Emma, flashlight.”
Her daughter picked it up.
“Here.”
“Point it right here. Good girl.”
Claire held pressure.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Her shoulders shook from effort.
Lorenzo groaned.
His eyes opened.
Emma gasped.
Claire kept pressing.
“There.”
Lorenzo stared at the ceiling.
“Was I out?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Long enough to lose voting privileges.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Lorenzo heard them.
His expression darkened.
Claire said, “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking loudly.”
The sirens grew closer.
Not one vehicle.
Several.
Lorenzo’s gaze moved toward the tunnel.
“You can still leave me.”
Claire almost hit him.
May you like
Instead she leaned closer.
“Listen to me. I am not carrying my three-year-old through a flooded service road at night while armed men search the property because you are too proud to meet an ambulance.”
