Hemlock Bay
Page 110
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She began moving on her elbows, behind the queen now, toward the great front door, behind the bishop. She looked out toward Olaf. One of his bodyguards was bending over him, handing him his own gun.
The bodyguard picked Olaf up and set him again in his wheelchair, then turned the chair toward her. And now Olaf aimed that gun right at her.
She rolled behind the knight. She wasn’t any farther than ten feet from the front doors.
“I like this game,” Olaf shouted and fired. The bishop toppled, shattering as it fell, falling over her ankles. She felt a stab of pain, but she could still move her feet, thank God. She moved solidly behind the knight and stilled.
Olaf shouted again. Then he laughed. Another shot, obscenely loud in the silence, and she saw a huge chunk of marble floor, not three feet from her, spew in all directions. He fired again and again, sending the white king careening into the queen.
Lily was on her knees behind the rook now, close to the front door.
Another shot whistled past her ear, and she flattened herself. One of the bodyguards yelled and ran toward her. Why?
Then she heard more shots, at least six of them, but they weren’t from Olaf or the bodyguard; they were coming through the front door. She heard yelling, men’s voices, and pounding on the door until it crashed inward.
Olaf and the bodyguards were shooting toward the door.
Lily lurched to her feet, lifted a huge shard of the bishop’s white miter, ran toward Olaf, and hurled it at his wheelchair.
It hit him. Olaf, his gun firing wildly, straight up now, went over backward. His bodyguards ran as policemen fired at them from the open front door.
More gunfire. So much shouting, so much damned noise, too much. Simon was there, just behind the third policeman. He was alive.
There was sudden silence. The gun storm was over. Lily ran to Simon, hurled herself against him. His arms tightened around her.
She raised her head and smiled up at him. “I’m glad you came when you did. It was pretty dicey there for a while.”
She heard Olaf screaming, spewing profanity. Then he was quiet.
Simon said in her ear, “It’s over, Lily, all over. Olaf isn’t going anywhere. It’s time to worry about yourself. You’re bleeding a little. I want you to hold still; there’s an ambulance coming.”
“I’m all right. It’s just cuts from the flying marble. You’re wet, Simon,” she said. “Why are you wet?”
“I was careless. Be still.”
“No, tell me. How did you get away from them? What happened?”
He realized that she just couldn’t let it go, and he slowed himself, keeping his voice calm and low. “I dove into the canal to get away, but I couldn’t. Then there were all sorts of cops there to pull me out of the canal and take care of Alpo, Nikki, and Ian. Nobody was killed. They’re all in the local lockup. It was your brother, Lily. He called a friend in Stockholm who happened to have two brothers living here in Gothenburg. The police were watching the mansion, saw Ian and the boys stuff me in the car, called backup, and followed.”
“I want to meet those brothers,” she said. For the first time, she felt like smiling, and so she did, a lovely smile that was filled with hope.
28
Washington, D.C.
Late Saturday night, it was colder in Washington than it had been in Stockholm. The temperature had plummeted early in the day and the skies had opened up and sprinkled a dusting of snow all over the East Coast. Lily was finally in bed, her shoulder and back no longer throbbing from the shards of marble that had struck her. “Nothing important here—all surface pain,” the Swedish doctor had said, and she’d wanted to slug him. Now she would probably have more scars.
When she’d said this on a sigh to Simon, he’d said, as he’d eased some pillows around her on the roomy first-class seat, that he liked banged-up women. The scars showed character.
“No,” Lily had said as she let him ease a thin airplane blanket to her chin, “what it shows is that the woman has bad judgment.”
He’d laughed as he’d kissed her. Then he’d smoothed the hair off her forehead and kissed her again, not laughing this time.
Then Simon had cupped her face in his palm and said very quietly, since the movie was over and everyone was trying to sleep in the dimly lit cabin, “I think we’re going to make a fine team, Lily. You, me, and No Wrinkles Remus.”
Lily snuggled down under the blankets. She hoped Simon was doing better than she was. Like her, he’d been ready to fall flat on his face from exhaustion. She hoped he was sleeping.
The bodyguard picked Olaf up and set him again in his wheelchair, then turned the chair toward her. And now Olaf aimed that gun right at her.
She rolled behind the knight. She wasn’t any farther than ten feet from the front doors.
“I like this game,” Olaf shouted and fired. The bishop toppled, shattering as it fell, falling over her ankles. She felt a stab of pain, but she could still move her feet, thank God. She moved solidly behind the knight and stilled.
Olaf shouted again. Then he laughed. Another shot, obscenely loud in the silence, and she saw a huge chunk of marble floor, not three feet from her, spew in all directions. He fired again and again, sending the white king careening into the queen.
Lily was on her knees behind the rook now, close to the front door.
Another shot whistled past her ear, and she flattened herself. One of the bodyguards yelled and ran toward her. Why?
Then she heard more shots, at least six of them, but they weren’t from Olaf or the bodyguard; they were coming through the front door. She heard yelling, men’s voices, and pounding on the door until it crashed inward.
Olaf and the bodyguards were shooting toward the door.
Lily lurched to her feet, lifted a huge shard of the bishop’s white miter, ran toward Olaf, and hurled it at his wheelchair.
It hit him. Olaf, his gun firing wildly, straight up now, went over backward. His bodyguards ran as policemen fired at them from the open front door.
More gunfire. So much shouting, so much damned noise, too much. Simon was there, just behind the third policeman. He was alive.
There was sudden silence. The gun storm was over. Lily ran to Simon, hurled herself against him. His arms tightened around her.
She raised her head and smiled up at him. “I’m glad you came when you did. It was pretty dicey there for a while.”
She heard Olaf screaming, spewing profanity. Then he was quiet.
Simon said in her ear, “It’s over, Lily, all over. Olaf isn’t going anywhere. It’s time to worry about yourself. You’re bleeding a little. I want you to hold still; there’s an ambulance coming.”
“I’m all right. It’s just cuts from the flying marble. You’re wet, Simon,” she said. “Why are you wet?”
“I was careless. Be still.”
“No, tell me. How did you get away from them? What happened?”
He realized that she just couldn’t let it go, and he slowed himself, keeping his voice calm and low. “I dove into the canal to get away, but I couldn’t. Then there were all sorts of cops there to pull me out of the canal and take care of Alpo, Nikki, and Ian. Nobody was killed. They’re all in the local lockup. It was your brother, Lily. He called a friend in Stockholm who happened to have two brothers living here in Gothenburg. The police were watching the mansion, saw Ian and the boys stuff me in the car, called backup, and followed.”
“I want to meet those brothers,” she said. For the first time, she felt like smiling, and so she did, a lovely smile that was filled with hope.
28
Washington, D.C.
Late Saturday night, it was colder in Washington than it had been in Stockholm. The temperature had plummeted early in the day and the skies had opened up and sprinkled a dusting of snow all over the East Coast. Lily was finally in bed, her shoulder and back no longer throbbing from the shards of marble that had struck her. “Nothing important here—all surface pain,” the Swedish doctor had said, and she’d wanted to slug him. Now she would probably have more scars.
When she’d said this on a sigh to Simon, he’d said, as he’d eased some pillows around her on the roomy first-class seat, that he liked banged-up women. The scars showed character.
“No,” Lily had said as she let him ease a thin airplane blanket to her chin, “what it shows is that the woman has bad judgment.”
He’d laughed as he’d kissed her. Then he’d smoothed the hair off her forehead and kissed her again, not laughing this time.
Then Simon had cupped her face in his palm and said very quietly, since the movie was over and everyone was trying to sleep in the dimly lit cabin, “I think we’re going to make a fine team, Lily. You, me, and No Wrinkles Remus.”
Lily snuggled down under the blankets. She hoped Simon was doing better than she was. Like her, he’d been ready to fall flat on his face from exhaustion. She hoped he was sleeping.
