The Bride and the Mercenary Page 20

  For a moment she thought he intended to press his point further. Then he gave a curt nod.

  “You still care for him, don’t you, Lee?”

  “I care for him as a friend,” she said quietly. “If you’re asking me whether I love him, you know the answer to that. You were the only man I ever loved. You’re the only man I ever will love.”

  “And if it was within my power to change that, I would,” Malone said harshly, putting the vehicle into gear and accelerating through the gates as they began to swing closed again.

  Ainslie reacted instinctively to his words, needing desperately for that one moment to wound him as deeply as he’d just wounded her.

  “Maybe you are the Executioner, Malone. Destroying lives seems to be something you excel at.” Her voice throbbed with anger. “Especially your own.”

  She wanted to take the terrible accusation back as soon as she’d spoken, but it was too late. He glanced over at her, his gaze shadowed.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you that all along, Lee,” he said softly. A corner of his mouth lifted, but she saw the pain that flashed swiftly behind his eyes. “I was beginning to think I’d never convince you.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide and stricken. Then the frozen stillness around her broke and she started to put her hand out to touch him, as if only physical contact could bridge the chasm between them. Before she could, Malone swung the car around one last bend in the road and the house came into view.

  The house, and the tall, spare figure of Pearson unfolding himself from an armchair on the veranda, pushing his reading glasses up into his hair and shielding his eyes against the lowering sun as he watched their approach.

  The scene couldn’t have been more mundane or less sinister, Ainslie thought as she saw him carefully tuck a book under his arm and descend the stone steps to meet his unexpected visitors. She turned to the silent man beside her, her eyes foolishly bright.

  “He’s alive, Malone!” she said inanely. “We’ve been worrying about nothing. Brian must have changed his mind about coming.”

  “Then how come there’s a Mercedes and a sports utility parked in the garage?” he asked in an undertone.

  She followed his glance. He was right, she saw, some of her relief evaporating. The doors of what Pearson had told her had once been stables were open, the last of the autumn sunlight catching the chrome of the two vehicles parked inside.

  “If he’s in the house he’ll have heard us drive up.” A muscle in Malone’s jaw tensed. “Dammit, Lee, I never should have—”

  He broke off abruptly as the sound of a shot split the pastoral peace. As he brought the car to a stop a few feet away from where Pearson stood at the end of the flagstone path, a second shot drowned out the echoes of its predecessor. Ainslie met his gaze.

  “At least he’s not in the house,” she said hollowly.

  “Those shots had to come from at least a couple of fields away, so that gives us time to explain the situation to Pearson,” Malone added, reaching for the door handle. “Come on, let’s get this over with as quickly as we can.”

  Aside from everything else, this wasn’t going to be the easiest of social situations, Ainslie realized as she got out of the car and saw Pearson’s smile. But she’d underestimated the innateness of his courtesy. After the slightest hesitation as she introduced Malone, Pearson extended his hand.

  “So this is the man who came back from the dead,” he said wryly. “There must be quite a story behind that, Malone, although I’m sure that’s not the primary reason you two are here. Ainslie, I appreciate your coming in person to give me your decision. I don’t think I have to ask what it is, my dear.”

  His smile was genuine, although his eyes were shadowed. Her heart sunk as she answered him.

  “That’s not why I came, Pearson. I’ve learned something about Brian that I have to tell you about. It…it’s not good.”

  “About Brian?” Pearson looked past the house to the fields beyond. “He’s out trying to bag a duck or two. If this concerns him, shouldn’t we wait until he gets back to the house?”

  “We think your brother’s a killer, McNeil,” Malone said harshly. “Waiting for him to return would be a mistake. I think he came here to kill you—and I know he wants to kill me.”

  For the first time since she’d known him, Ainslie saw Pearson’s composure slip. A flush of angry color stained the light tan of his face.

  “I’ve never heard anything so damned ridiculous,” he snapped. “Is this some kind of tasteless joke?”

  From the fields came another shotgun blast, and Ainslie’s attention was caught by a wavering vee of birds making its frantic way across the pink-streaked sky. Even as she watched, one of their number dropped out of formation and plummeted awkwardly down to earth. Cold dread enveloped her.

  “It’s not a joke, Pearson, and Malone’s right—we should get you away from here before Brian returns.” She saw the stubborn disbelief in his eyes and tried a different tack. “Does Brian have access to tracking devices, bugs, things like that?”

  “Spy paraphernalia? Of course not!” he answered curtly. Then he paused, and she saw his brows pull together reluctantly. “I suppose he might have had last year. He was on an economic subcommittee looking into the budgetary demands of covert government agencies. One of their suppliers of electronics was examined very closely.”

  “He gave me a book when I came to see you two days ago,” she said flatly. “Hidden inside it was a transmitter that signalled where I was at all times. Since the people who knew where we were tried to kill us, I don’t think Brian was keeping tabs on me out of simple curiosity.”

  She’d shaken him, she saw. The skin over his cheekbones seemed to tighten, and his expression was suddenly bleak. He looked once again at the fields stretching away from the house, and then back at her and Malone.

  “I’d prefer we retain some sense of decorum and continue this conversation in the house.”

  “We don’t have time to—” Malone began, but uncharacteristically Pearson interrupted him.

  “The least persuasive of all arguments to use with me, Malone, and the one I grow most weary of in this modern and soulless age,” he said coldly. “You’re going to have to make time if you hope to convince me my brother is a murderer.”

  Without looking to see if they were following him, he preceded them up the flagstone path to the stone steps. Ainslie looked apprehensively at Malone.

  “Tara called him stuffy, but he’s not really. This would come as a shock to anyone.” She bit her lip as they took the first of the steps to the veranda. “Malone, about what I said in the car—”

  “I hope you’ll forgive the disorder. I usually have a woman in to clean once a day, but since I wasn’t expecting company I thought I’d let it go for once.” Pearson held the wood screened door open for them. “We’ll sit in the trophy room, I think.”

  Like the flannel trousers and crisp white shirt he called casual wear, only by Pearson could life at Greystones be considered roughing it, Ainslie had often thought. But today as he ushered them into the paneled room where generations of McNeil males and their guests had smoked cigars, cleaned rifles and exchanged hunting stories and stock tips in equal measure, she barely saw her surroundings, although it was impossible to ignore them completely. Framed photographs, some decades old, of past McNeil athletic triumphs were grouped on the mantel above the fireplace, and on the walls, a veritable menagerie of mounted heads, the long-slain quarry of Pearson’s father and grandfather.

  Without preamble, Malone began to outline the chain of events that had brought them there. Ainslie was grateful he had taken the lead in the conversation, and not only because she found it painful to watch the slightly chilly courtesy on Pearson’s face change gradually to troubled concern, and then to fearful dismay. But although Pearson’s trepidation stemmed from what Malone was telling him, hers was based on what he left unsaid.

  He mentioned nothing of her belief that Brian was
the Executioner, or of his that he was, and she herself kept silent on the topic. Accepting the probability that his brother had killed two people was overwhelming enough for Pearson right now, she thought, watching him needlessly polishing his glasses as Malone recounted how he had found the tracking device this morning. In a way, it would have been easier on him if Brian had died. At least then Pearson would have been able to preserve his brother in his memories with no fear that the image he had of him would ever tarnish.

  Even as the thought went through her mind she froze.

  Malone left you…and some part of you never forgave him for that. You need him to be dead, Lee. That way he’ll always be a perfect memory, and he’ll never be able to leave you again.

  Malone himself had said those words to her two nights ago at the hospital, Ainslie thought. She’d denied that there was any truth in them. She still denied it. He’d left her, yes—but only because his whole life had been ripped away from him. There was nothing to forgive…

  But he was right. Somewhere inside her there still existed a little girl whose father and adored big brother had walked out on her one terrible day—a little girl whose pain had never fully healed. That five-year-old Ainslie had never forgiven Malone. And because she was only a child, that Ainslie had sometimes frightened even herself by wishing that he’d remained a memory, rather than coming back into her life and forcing herself to face his all-too-human flaws—and hers.

  You told him you didn’t trust him because you knew he was hiding himself from you. But it was exactly the opposite. You’ve kept the walls up since he returned because you knew that this time he was determined to hold nothing back—and that terrified you. You knew that if he revealed himself to you, you would have to reveal yourself to him. When you did he would see that the toughness and strength that you show to the world is just a cover for that scared little girl inside.

  “That first murder—the one at the airport. When was that, did you say?” The sharpness in Pearson’s voice jolted her from her thoughts.

  “Five years ago,” Malone said steadily. “There’s no record of him leaving the country at that time but—”

  “The time fits.” Pearson passed his hand shakily across his eyes. “Dear God. It’s true, then.”

  He stood, his spare figure somehow diminished. “I came home one day and found Brian in my library, the whole room reeking of some vile-smelling tobacco. The cigarettes he’d been smoking were a cheap Eastern European brand, but at the time I was more concerned with getting the stench out of the upholstery than asking him where he’d obtained them. There’ve been one or two other little incidents…”

  He raised his head, his gaze bleak. “I’ll grab some things, and we’ll leave immediately. I’ve been having trouble with the phone today, so we’ll have to contact the authorities from town.”

  Malone got to his feet as Pearson left the room, and Ainslie rose, too, feeling suddenly weary. She watched as he stood by the fireplace and picked up a silver-framed photograph from the mantel.

  “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

  “You mean will I leave it to the authorities to deal with Brian?” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Yeah, Lee, I will. If we’d found Pearson here dead it would have been a different scenario, but once Brian’s behind bars you’ll be able to go back to living a normal life, and that’s all I care about. His brother’s life won’t ever be the same, though.”

  “I know,” she said softly. She walked over to the French doors and looked out onto the lawns at the side of the house. It would be the second time in as many days that her happiness had been bought at the expense of Pearson’s, she thought somberly. With Brian in custody, the Agency would be forced to reexamine their case against Malone. Once they started looking into their unimpeachable source’s own movements, it wouldn’t be long before they found out that Brian was the Executioner himself.

  Malone would be completely exonerated, she thought, the scene in front of her suddenly blurring. She blinked her tears away and the lawns and gardens came back into focus again. At long last he’d be free to come back to her, with no shadows between them.

  She had her own shadows to confess to him too. Although it had taken her too long to acknowledge their existence, now that they had come out into the light she could see them for what they were, and put them behind her.

  It would work out. She would make it work—

  Pearson appeared from around the corner of the house, carrying a rifle in one hand, the barrel pointing at the ground.

  Ainslie turned in confusion to Malone but he was already at her side, frowning down at a photograph in his hand. “This picture of the rowing team, Lee—there’s Brian and Chris, but take a look at the older student wearing the coaching sweater. It’s Pearson.”

  At his words the final piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into terrible place. Icy fear trickled down her spine as the full enormity of what she’d just realized slammed into her.

  “Dear God, Malone,” she whispered in cold horror, lifting her gaze to the man walking across the lawn. “We got the wrong brother!”

  Beside her he stiffened. From the fields beyond Ainslie saw a second figure approaching, a brace of ducks in his hand, his rifle slung across his back.

  Even as she watched, Pearson shoved his glasses up into his hair and brought the rifle to his shoulder, but by then Malone was pushing open the French doors and racing across the grass toward Pearson, reaching for his gun as he ran. A heartbeat later Ainslie sprinted after him, her eyes wide with shock.

  The explosion was deafening.

  Her stunned gaze flew to Brian just as his disbelieving expression turned to comprehension. Slowly he looked down at the bright scarlet stain already covering the left half of his khaki hunting vest. He put his hand gingerly to it, as if he still hoped there was a chance that it wasn’t real, but even from a distance Ainslie could see the blood pumping through his outspread fingers.

  He started to look up toward the brother who had just killed him, but before he could complete the movement he crumpled bonelessly to the ground. Around one wrist a leather thong secured the two mallards to him.

  “Pull that trigger and she’ll be the next to die, Malone.” Pearson sounded unconcerned. “Believe me, I’d much rather give the pair of you a sporting chance at survival. Put your guns on the ground, please—the one in your hand and that spare you have shoved into your waistband at the back.”

  The rifle was pointing at her now, Ainslie saw. Sharp fear ran through her and she remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe. Malone’s jaw tightened. After what seemed an eternity he slowly lowered his arm and set the gun he was holding on the ground. He reached around to his back and put the gun he’d taken from Watkins beside his own before he straightened again.

  “I just saw what you call a sporting chance.” He moved closer to her and away from his weapons as the other man, his rifle still unwaveringly aimed at Ainslie, scooped up the guns and deposited them in the khaki bag at his hip. “Brian didn’t even see that coming, McNeil.”

  A look of distaste crossed Pearson’s patrician features. “My brother never appreciated the aesthetics of the hunt.”

  “He’d begun to suspect something, hadn’t he?” She heard the quaver in her voice and tried to control it. “That’s what that list was all about—he was putting two and two together. Only he couldn’t bring himself to believe that his own—”

  “Don’t spoil it for me, my dear. Not when I’ve waited so long for this moment.”

  Was it her imagination, or had his finger tightened on the trigger? Ainslie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

  “When I learned that the Agency was questioning you about—what was the name he was going under? Stewart?” Pearson shrugged. “About Stewart’s death at that godforsaken little airport, I made it my business to find out what kind of a man you were, Malone. I needed to know if anyone would take you seriously—after all, there was a chance you might run into me and recognize
me, since I was called in quite often by the Agency to analyze certain trends in volatile world situations. I learned that you had once risen from the dead, and taken your vengeance on the men who had buried you.”

  He paused thoughtfully. “Let’s stroll a little as we talk, shall we? This is my favorite time of year. Besides, Ainslie, the last time you were scheduled to walk with me you ran out on me rather abruptly, I recall.” His tone didn’t change. “You ceased to exist for me the moment you left that church, my dear.”

  “I never existed for you.” Numbly she put one foot in front of the other. At the periphery of her vision she saw Malone’s eyes narrow as he scanned the field they were entering and the heavily wooded area farther on. “From the start you must have seen me as a possible pawn to use if the situation arose.”

  “At the start. But then I saw you fight.” Pearson’s voice came from behind her. “You didn’t know that I’d attended one of your boxing matches, did you? I recognized in you the same killer instinct that I’d recognized in myself years before. Yes, when I first saw you at Malone’s funeral I thought you might be the bait he would eventually come back for, but after a while I realized that I wanted you for myself. You disappointed me in the end, though.”

  Ahead of her the sun was setting the clouds on fire. A faint honking came from somewhere high above, and beside her she saw Malone tense.

  “But enough of the hearts and flowers.” Pearson’s tone gave no indication that he had just walked past his dead brother. “As I said, I learned about your episode in the jungle, Malone. It occurred to me that our lives had followed parallel paths, and from there it wasn’t much of a leap to consider that you would make a perfect Executioner.

  “Watkins had become obsessed with the case. All I had to do was point him in your direction and unleash him, but even I hadn’t hoped that you would come to believe it yourself.”

  “I believed it because of Joseph Mocamba. But he wasn’t one of the Executioner’s kills, was he?” Ainslie had expected to hear some sign in Malone’s voice that the burden of guilt he’d carried so long had finally lifted, but if anything the self-loathing was more pronounced. “Everyone assumed he was. But like you say, it was just that our lives were following parallel paths. The only real difference between us is the body count, McNeil.”