Her lips moved in a mere whisper. “You know I’m telling the truth. You do.”
“I know you’d like to think that. It’s okay. Hold on to the hope if you want. It won’t be much longer. We’ll be back soon.”
“And then?” The devil made her ask that. Her eyes were wide with pleading.
“Then,” he answered quietly, ever calmly, “we will sprinkle you with gasoline and set you on fire.” She gasped and began to shake her head, but he went on. Too late, she realized she’d played into his hands by asking what he planned to do. Clearly, he took pleasure in her horror. “We’ll watch you burn, Susan. This time there will be no doubt that you’ve died.”
“Someone … will find me.”
“I think not. Y’see, there’s a contract out on this building. The man who owns it wants to build condominiums here, like those others along the waterfront, only he’s a little strapped for money.” The man glanced at his watch. “Roughly two hours from now, one of Boston’s best torches will set fire to this place. It’ll go up so quick that by the time the fire department gets here, the floor you’re on will have long since fallen through. Your ashes will be hopelessly scattered. There’s no way anyone will know you’ve been here, much less be able to prove you died here.”
“Please,” she cried, feebly grasping the lapels of his jacket, “please don’t do this.”
“Are you sorry, Susan? Do you finally regret what you’ve done?”
Lauren was weeping softly. “I haven’t done anything … youhaveto believe me …I’m not Susan Miles!”
The man threw back his head, took a deep breath and stood up. Together with his sidekick, he made the long walk across the rotting floor. At the door, he looked back.
“You can scream as much as you want. No one will hear you. And Mouse will be right outside this door in case you decide you want to take a walk.” He glanced at his buddy. “I think he’d like to get his hands on you again. Right, Mouse?”
Lauren never heard Mouse’s answer. She found herself alone, trembling wildly and feeling more frightened than ever. For long moments of mental paralysis, she remained where she was. Then the bottom line came to her. It was do or die. Life or death. Scrambling to her feet, she began to explore her prison, seeking any possible hole or loose plank or trapdoor that might offer escape.
The boss was lounging by the pool when his houseboy brought out the cordless phone. He took it, nodded at the boy in dismissal, then put the instrument to his ear. “Yes?”
“We have her. She’s safely tucked away. And she’s dying just thinking about dying.”
“Good. When will you do it?”
“Soon. Uh—did you get the pictures I sent?”
“This morning.”
“What do you think?”
“With her hair that way and the clothes, she looks a little younger, more innocent, but it’s Susan, all right.”
“Are you sure?”
There was a pause. “Aren’t you?”
“I thought I was until we picked her up today. Somehow, close up, she seems different.”
“That was her intent.”
“No. Not just in looks, but in character. The woman we’ve got does seem more innocent. Susan would have tried a come-on. She’d have promised us all kinds of little favors if we let her go. This one hasn’t done that—like it’s never occurred to her that she’s got a marketable commodity. She’s terrified, but half of it seems to be that we won’t believe her story. Either Susan has suddenly become one hell of an actress, or we’ve been tricked.”
The boss lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “You think it’s someone else?”
A pause. “I’m not sure.”
“Is it possible that Susan could have set up someone else to smoke us out?”
“Possible, but not probable. This one claims she had her face fixed to repair a medical problem, just like the clinic records said. If she’s telling the truth, it’d be just too convenient that Susan would have happened to find her, looking so similar and all. And if she knew about Susan, she’d have squealed by now. She’s scared, really scared.”
“So it wasn’t a setup. It has to be Susan.”
“Or someone who looks like her.”
