“Well, maybe at your trial,” Rebel said. He gave her a salute, walked out the front door, and closed it quietly behind him.
He was smiling as he climbed into Elliott Jordan’s Camaro. All in all, a good morning’s work.
He was aware Carla Cartwright was watching him from her living room window as he drove away. He smiled in the rearview, flipped off the recorder he’d had running on his cell phone.
He’d already called Ethan earlier to tell him he was ready to come home, asked him to pick him up at Rafael Jordan’s house. He couldn’t wait to return his teenager’s hot rod; he wanted no more people staring at him. He was going to give a copy of the recording to Rafael. He imagined Rafael wouldn’t be pleased with his going off the range and facing down Carla Cartwright, but Rebel knew he’d listen to their conversation and act accordingly. Of course she hadn’t admitted to anything,he hadn’t expected her to, but she’d nearly exploded when he’d said his forged signature was an amateur job. She’d think the FBI would be looking at her closely now. Maybe she’d make another mistake, try to cover something else up they’d probably never have found.
Chapter Forty-Four
Carberry Street, near the Thames, London
Saturday night
It was pitch black, the rain coming down as it could only in London, a gash in the sky Millicent’s mother used to say. She kissed her son’s cheek, slid into the Bentley parked near the elevator while Tommy opened the door and held an umbrella over her head.
He leaned in, kissed her cheek. “Be careful, Mum, it’s a nasty night.”
“You know I’m always careful. Just an angry rain god, nothing I can’t manage,” she said.
“Ring me when you’re safe at home.”
“Of course.” She drove away from the elegant, prestigious building, the Corinthian, built in the 1920s, its flats high ceilinged and spacious, modernized yet again six years before. She’d rented Tommy a lovely end flat on the sixth floor. He deserved it, because he was clean now and ready to lead the life he was meant to lead before he became an addict. Millicent drove into London at least twice a week to see him since he still couldn’t come home; his father didn’t allow it. She knew Elizabeth had given him money before she’d left England so unexpectedly, but Millicent still supplemented his allowance.She hadn’t discussed it with her husband, nor did she tell him where she went when she was driving to London. She knew he was well aware she was visiting Tommy, but he’d never said a word to her about it. It was easier that way.
Millicent leaned forward to see better past the frantically moving windscreen wipers. Admittedly, the downpour was bad, but as she’d told Tommy, nothing she couldn’t handle.
She was so proud of him. She knew she’d never forget the day her heart had swelled with relief and surprise when he announced he was clean, sober, and proud of it. She wondered if it was his sister nearly being murdered that had helped him finally straighten out his life. She’d moved him into his new apartment four days later.
Millicent was only halfway down the block when the robust Bentley heater started gushing out warm air. The rain grew heavier and the windscreen wipers automatically adjusted.
She wasn’t aware of the dark van driving slowly half a block behind her, all her thoughts concentrated on the road ahead. And on her son. She realized she was only about ten minutes from Elizabeth’s house in Belgravia, at the end of the beautiful crescent at Eaton Square. She visited every Friday to ensure everything was still in good working order, often stopped to look at the portrait her daughter was painting of her, nearly finished by the time she’d left. Had she really looked as young and vibrant and deliriously happy as Elizabeth had portrayed her from long-ago photographs? She couldn’t remember.
The relentless rain sheeted down. Even the warm air from the heater felt a bit damp. Finally, Millicent turned onto the M25 motorway, then from the M25 to the A23, always a lift since it meant she’d be home in under forty-five minutes even with the blasted endless rain.
She thought of her husband—Sebastian, such a romantic name, she’d always thought—how he’d charmed her, seducedher. She’d been wildly in love within days of their meeting at the French ambassador’s party, a charming Frenchman with bad teeth whose name she couldn’t remember.
The windscreen wipers struggled to give her sufficient visibility as she continued south. There were few cars on the motorway even for a Saturday night because of the rotten weather.
Millicent turned on the music system and began singing along with Adele’s “Hello.” She had a small voice, but it was true, and she knew all the words. The windscreen wipers seemed to slap away the rain in rhythm with her singing.
She and Adele sang three more songs as Millicent drove through Burgess Hill and its tangle of roads, some modern and asphalt, some cobblestone. She knew them like the backs of her hands, like old friends. Rain ran in rivulets on the pavements.
Five kilometers later she drove through the small village of Baggley-Cliff, its one main street empty, its shops dark, hunkered down against the fierce rain. No wonder, it was close to midnight, later than she usually drove through. She and Tommy had eaten pizza and spoken of so many things and so she’d stayed and stayed. She saw one dim light in Mrs. Gilray’s bar, with only two cars parked in front.
Just beyond Baggley-Cliff, she turned the Bentley onto a two-lane country road. She was nearly home, only another kilometer.
She slowed, turned onto a short, paved drive, and stopped in front of elaborate iron gates with a giantDscrolled across the top that had been there for three centuries. Her home stood on a small rise in the distance, past an ancient drive lined on both sides with lime and ash trees, a few oaks sprinkled in over the centuries. When she’d first come to Darlington Hall as a new bride, she’d felt it welcoming her, and that had never stopped. The Hall was part of her, and she loved it as much as herhusband. Lights shone from the large windows like beacons. Benbett, the Palmer butler for thirty years, always left those lights on for her until she was safely home. Would Sebastian be up, waiting for her? Probably not. She doubted he was even there. Millicent sighed, stopped the Bentley, and pressed the gate button on her key fob.
The mammoth old gates slowly began to open inward.
Before she could drive through, something struck the Bentley hard from behind, pushing its rear to the side, throwing her against the door. She froze, too shocked to move, but only for a moment. She jerked open her seat belt and looked back, terrified.
Two people dressed in black jumped out of a van behind her and ran toward her, carrying what looked like a cudgel. Where had they come from? Why hadn’t she seen them? How could this be happening? She remembered the distress alarm, smashed the small button. An earth-shattering screech came from inside the Bentley and out into the night. Millicent heard dogs barking in the distance. Her dogs, and they were probably racing toward her. Who were these people?
A man, his masked face blurred in the heavy rain, slammed something against her driver’s-side window. The alarm continued to screech, and the estate dogs were still madly barking, closer now. Would someone hear the alarm? Would the alarm sound in the police station as it was supposed to? It had never been tested. It was a hammer the man was slamming against her window, cracks from its blows webbing the glass. Another man was slamming a hammer against the right rear window.
All she heard was the beating hammers swung over and over by the men dressed in black, no faces, just black masks, and the sound of the alarm, until a police car’s distinctive siren sounded in the distance. The hammering stopped; the men whirled around, raced back to the van, and threw themselves into theback. Another man, the driver, backed up and screeched away before the side doors had even slammed shut.
For what seemed like an eternity to Millicent, there was only the sound of the rain striking loud as bullets against the Bentley’s roof, the continuous screech of the alarm, and the barking of the dogs now swarming around the car.
