“Stop it now, both of you.”
The commanding tone was enough to startle them both. They continued circling each other, warily testing for weaknesses, but the tension came down a notch.
Snow White slowly, painfully lit a cigar. “Let’s all just sit down and talk this through. I’m sure we can find an equitable solution.”
“No, old man. That isn’t how this works. I will not be directed. I don’t want to star in your sad little play. I don’t need you. I don’t need either one of you.” He stormed from the room, leaving Snow White to gaze at his daughter, his face etched in a combination of love and abhorrence for her.
“Your plan will fail, Charlotte.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to ease the aching joints. “You can’t control a man who doesn’t know his own desires.”
The shurring noise coming from her father’s hands was grating on her nerves. “He knows what he wants.”
“Oh, come now, daughter. Surely you aren’t that stupid. Why do you think he copies? Why do you think you were able to bring him here, to emulate me? He doesn’t know what he is, and is still testing the waters to find out what he’s truly capable of. You should be wary, Charlotte. Your mother thought she could control me. Look where it got her.”
They were arguing again; he could hear them through the walls into the conservatory. There was a way to settle their dispute. The man she called Troy would be angered, but Father would be pleased. Yes, it was a good plan. He only hoped his father and his sister were powerful enough to keep the bad man away from him.
Forty
Nashville, Tennessee Tuesday, December 23 2:45 a.m.
“Oh, yes. Yes. Yes! ”
Charlotte’s head thrashed against the pillow as she orgasmed. Her mind was utterly blank for a blessed moment, then the world came back into focus. It was dark in the room, the curtains drawn, the lights from the street muted in the dark velvet folds. She’d been through the ringer tonight, that was for sure.
After the nasty argument with her father, she felt sick. The fight had taken so much out of him. It pained her to see him this…old. Broken. Mentally and physically, he was no longer the robust killer she’d always admired.
She stormed out of the house, drove aimlessly. Took some time to think through what her father had told her. He was right, the bastard. Troy didn’t know his own mind. But treating him as an uninformed acolyte was much more dangerous.
Calmed, she went back to Belle Meade. She found Troy sitting on the steps at the base of the entrance to Cheekwood. She spent nearly an hour talking him off the ledge. She felt derision toward his limitation, his inability to put the plan before his own needs. She just needed to get away. The excitement, the danger, it was intoxicating at the beginning. Now it was obvious that he was just another sick guy. She’d chosen her playmate poorly.
The plan had gone awry, and it was time to cut bait and start over. The evening news showed the noose growing ever tighter. Something was happening at work; she could feel things slipping away. She couldn’t jeopardize her position. As much fun as this had been, the FBI provided all she needed. She wasn’t willing to give that up.
As she drove back to the hotel, she vowed that would be the last she ever saw of the man her father called Apprentice. He was out of her control. She’d returned to the hotel, intent on formulating a new plan. One with her as the hero.
The answer became readily apparent. Arresting Troy wasn’t a real possibility; he would have to be killed. Alive, he would implicate her in his schemes. But death, now that would make all the difference. She took a couple of pills and plotted for an hour, lost in her alternate world.
It would be easy enough to kill them both. Stopping the apprentice would make her famous. The fact that she was Snow White’s daughter, well, that would make her a legend.
She took another hit of X, stared out at the Christmas lights lining the buildings by the hotel. She had it all plotted out. The headlines, the interviews. How she’d decided to stop home to wish her old, sick father Merry Christmas and found him up to his neck in blood and gore. Oh, she’d have to kill that little girl in the attic, as well. The thought excited her. Tremendously.
The checkmark in her win column would catapult her into the position she so longed for, the head of the BSU.
A knock on the door had startled her. Troy had come to the hotel room, shaken like a little boy who has been exposed to a scary movie. Promised that it would never happen again. Begged her to stay with him, to help him. The sight of him, so handsome, so remorseful-she decided one last little fling couldn’t be all that bad. No sense wasting the X.
They’d had frenzied sex, him plunging into her over and over so hard she felt the bruises form. He promised to take care of her forever. He told her he would do anything she wanted as long as she let him stay. He loved her. He’d never felt anything like this before.
He’d made love to her then, taking his time, doing all the things that he knew she loved, until she’d screamed his name, and God’s, at the top of her lungs.
Her breath was starting to return to normal. Maybe there was a way to make this work after all. He was still in her, had her pinned against the mattress like a butterfly on a piece of cork.
“Let me up. I need to wash.”
“No, Charlotte. But I do.”
The blade was so sharp she didn’t feel the cut. Didn’t feel the knife sweep through the tender skin on her neck like it was butter. It took a moment to register what was happening, that he’d just done what he’d done. The lying bastard. Her eyes teared, and she tried to scream. There was the pain, finally, as she realized he’d cut her so deep, her vocal cords were severed. In a moment of disgust, she felt him harden in her and realized he was pumping away, coming again, crying out her name as she went away.
Forty-One
New York, New York Tuesday, December 23 8:00 a.m.
Lieutenant Tony Eldridge and Detective Emily Callahan sat across the breakfast table from Taylor and Baldwin, industriously sucking down cappuccinos. They were in the Heartbeat restaurant of the W Hotel, ostensibly coming up with a game plan, a breakfast strategy session.
Ordering the food had taken nearly five minutes with all the specifics the New York cops asked for. Emily had requested organic granola, fruit cut with a fresh knife, local farm yogurt, wheat grass juice and an immunity- boosting smoothie, smiling unapologetically at Taylor. Eldridge opted for the steel-cut oatmeal with brown sugar, cranberries, raisins, toasted almonds and warm milk. Even Baldwin got caught up in the health frenzy, taking pastel eggs with fruitwood bacon and roasted potato veggie hash. Taylor tried to play along but felt like a child, ordering peanut-butter-and-jelly crepes. It was as close to normal as she could find on the menu. Even the food added to her sense of dislocation. The one thing of comfort was the orange gerbera daisy in the stainless-steel vase. Hard beauty for such a gentle flower, but fitting, somehow.
After the waitress left, Taylor fiddled with a ripe pear and took in the multicolored reflective glass column to her right. She wanted out of New York, wanted to get back home and…and…she didn’t know. She didn’t know what she wanted. Home seemed like a haven now, a place to escape to, to be rid of this city and its implied threats.
Baldwin turned over the cell phone. Eldridge promised to do everything he could to trace its origins, see if they could find some answers.
They talked of the things that gave them common ground until the meal was finished. Eldridge slurped the last of his espresso, setting the cup in the saucer delicately.
