TITLES BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ WRITING AS AMANDA QUICK
The Other Lady Vanishes
The Girl Who Knew Too Much
’Til Death Do Us Part
Garden of Lies
Otherwise Engaged
The Mystery Woman
Crystal Gardens
Quicksilver
Burning Lamp
The Perfect Poison
The Third Circle
The River Knows
Second Sight
Lie by Moonlight
The Paid Companion
Wait Until Midnight
Late for the Wedding
Don’t Look Back
Slightly Shady
Wicked Widow
I Thee Wed
With This Ring
Affair
Mischief
Mystique
Mistress
Deception
Desire
Dangerous
Reckless
Ravished
Rendezvous
Scandal
Surrender
Seduction
TITLES BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ
Promise Not to Tell
When All the Girls Have Gone
Secret Sisters
Trust No One
River Road
Dream Eyes
Copper Beach
In Too Deep
Fired Up
Running Hot
Sizzle and Burn
White Lies
All Night Long
Falling Awake
Truth or Dare
Light in Shadow
Summer in Eclipse Bay
Together in Eclipse Bay
Smoke in Mirrors
Lost & Found
Dawn in Eclipse Bay
Soft Focus
Eclipse Bay
Eye of the Beholder
Flash
Sharp Edges
Deep Waters
Absolutely, Positively
Trust Me
Grand Passion
Hidden Talents
Wildest Hearts
Family Man
Perfect Partners
Sweet Fortune
Silver Linings
The Golden Chance
TITLES BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ WRITING AS JAYNE CASTLE
Illusion Town
Siren’s Call
The Hot Zone
Deception Cove
The Lost Night
Canyons of Night
Midnight Crystal
Obsidian Prey
Dark Light
Silver Master
Ghost Hunter
After Glow
Harmony
After Dark
Amaryllis
Zinnia
Orchid
THE GUINEVERE JONES SERIES
Desperate and Deceptive
The Guinevere Jones Collection, Volume 1
The Desperate Game
The Chilling Deception
Sinister and Fatal
The Guinevere Jones Collection, Volume 2
The Sinister Touch
The Fatal Fortune
SPECIALS
The Scargill Cove Case Files
Bridal Jitters
(writing as Jayne Castle)
ANTHOLOGIES
Charmed
(with Julie Beard, Lori Foster, and Eileen Wilks)
TITLES WRITTEN BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ AND JAYNE CASTLE
No Going Back
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2018 by Jayne Ann Krentz
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Quick, Amanda, author.
Title: The other lady vanishes / Amanda Quick.
Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley, 2018.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017057658| ISBN 9780399585326 (hardback) | ISBN 9780399585333 (ebook)
Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Suspense. | GSAFD: Romantic suspense fiction. | Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3561.R44 O84 2018 | DDC 813/.54—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017057658
First Edition: May 2018
Cover design by Rita Frangie
Cover photo © mammuth / Getty Images
Cover design pattern © AtthameeNi / Shutterstock
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
Contents
Titles by Jayne Ann Krentz
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Author’s Note
About the Author
For Frank,
with love
Chapter 1
The screams of the patients on ward five told Adelaide Blake that time had run out.
She stopped searching for the key to the file cabinet and went to stand at the door of the small office. She had not dared to turn on any lights in the laboratory. There was enough moonlight spilling through the high, arched windows to illuminate the long workbenches and create ominous silhouettes of the equipment and instruments.
The wails and shrieks and howls from the floor below were escalating rapidly. Something or, more likely, someone was agitating the patients. The ward on the fifth floor was reserved for the most hopelessly mad and insane. The locked rooms housed those who were forever lost in their own private hells. Some of the patients were afflicted with violent, paranoid visions and hallucinations. Others battled fearsome monsters that only they could see.
Soon after she had been locked in one of the cell-like rooms on ward five, she had learned that the patients provided an excellent alarm system, especially at night. Nights were always the worst.
The nerve-shattering chorus of the damned echoed up the stone staircase. There was no one around to calm the inmates. The orderlies on the locked ward had been given the night off.
She could not delay any longer. If she did not escape now, she might not make it at all. She would have to leave the file behind.
She left the doorway of the office and started to make her way cautiously through the maze of workbenches. She had plotted her exit strategy down to the smallest detail, but the last-minute decision to look for the file had put the plan in jeopardy. She had to get out of the laboratory immediately or she might not escape.
Originally, the Rushbrook Sanitarium was the private mansion of a wealthy, eccentric industrialist who had intended to entertain on a grand scale. The result was a Gothic nightmare of a house with five floors, endless hallways, and the tower room that now served as a laboratory. The single redeeming architectural virtue as far as Adelaide was concerned was that there were a number of discreetly concealed staircases intended for the use of a large staff.
Most of the servants’ stairs had been permanently closed and sealed long ago. Others had disappeared under various waves of renovations and remodeling projects. But a few were still accessible. She had the key to one of the little-used staircases.
She was halfway across the lab when she heard panicky footsteps on the tower stairs. Someone was coming up to the laboratory. Whoever it was would see her as soon as he turned on the lights.
There was nowhere to hide except behind Ormsby’s desk. Discovery spelled doom. Dr. Gill would order increased security for her. She might never have another chance to escape.
A cold sense of certainty sliced through the fear. If necessary, she would try to fight her way out of the sanitarium. She could not—would not—go back to the cell on the fifth floor. She would rather die.
She turned quickly, searching the shadows for something that could function as a weapon. She knew the lab all too well because it was where they had brought her when Gill and Dr. Ormsby decided to give her another dose of the drug. In her desperate attempt to hold on to her sanity by focusing on an escape plan, she had memorized every inch of the tower room.
She went to the nearest cabinet, yanked open the door, and pulled a couple of glass jars off the shelf. She had no idea what she grabbed—it was too dark to read the labels—but she had seen Ormsby take a variety of chemicals out of the cabinet. Many were flammable. Some were highly acidic.
With the two jars in hand she hurried back into the office. Ormsby’s desk was neat and tidy. He was a fussy little man who was obsessed with his research, but orderliness was high on his list of priorities.
Aside from the usual desk accessories—telephone, blotter, and inkwells—there was one other object on the desk. The black velvet box looked as if it had been made to hold a woman’s collection of jewelry. But Adelaide knew there were no necklaces, rings, or bracelets inside. The velvet box contained a dozen elegantly cut crystal perfume bottles.
She made it behind the desk with the jars of chemicals just as Dr. Harold Ormsby staggered into the darkened laboratory. It sounded as if he was gasping for air. He did not turn on any lights.
“Get away from me,” he shrieked. “Don’t touch me.”
Adelaide heard other footsteps on the stone staircase, the slow, steady, determined tread of a predator stalking prey.
Ormsby wasn’t trying to catch his breath, Adelaide realized. The doctor was in the grip of raw panic.
His pursuer did not respond, at least not verbally. Crouched behind the desk, Adelaide removed the tops of the jars. The acrid odors that wafted out made her gasp and turn her head away. She hoped the screams of the patients covered the small sounds she made.
She tried to keep her breathing as light and shallow as possible, but it wasn’t easy. Ice-cold perspiration dampened her skin. She shivered and her pulse skittered wildly.
Ormsby screamed again, louder this time. The high, unnatural screech affected Adelaide like a bolt of lightning. For a few seconds she wondered if it had stopped her heart.
And then she wondered if lightning actually had struck the laboratory. A narrow beam of fire blazed in the darkness. Peering around the corner of Ormsby’s desk, she watched the glow move past the office doorway.
Ormsby’s piercing screams rose above the cacophony from the fifth-floor patients, the cries of a man being sent into hell.
Running footsteps reverberated in the tower room. Heavy glass shattered. Night air flowed into the laboratory.
Ormsby’s hopeless cries echoed in the night for another second or two. The suddenness with which they were cut off told its own story.
Adelaide froze as she realized what had just happened. Dr. Harold Ormsby had leaped straight through one of the high, arched windows. No one could survive such a fall.
In the shadows of the lab the fiery light winked out. It dawned on Adelaide that someone had lit a Bunsen burner and used the flame to drive Ormsby out the window. That didn’t make sense. He had obviously been terrified, but she knew something of the man. It was easy to imagine him pleading for his life or cowering in a corner, but jumping to his death seemed oddly out of character. Then again, she was not the best judge of character. She had learned that lesson the hard way.
The screaming from the fifth-floor ward got louder. The patients sensed that something terrible had happened.
Adelaide heard rapid, purposeful footsteps crossing the tile floor, coming toward the office. She gripped the containers of chemicals and waited, aware that the only thing protecting her now was the noise from the inmates down below. The shrieks and cries would make it difficult if not impossible for the killer to hear the sound of her breathing.
The intruder stopped directly in front of the desk. A flashlight came on briefly. Adelaide prepared to fight for her life.
But the intruder turned and hurried quickly out of the office. A few seconds later, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
The keening of the agitated patients rose and fell, but there were more shouts now. They came from the courtyard below the broken window. Someone had found Ormsby’s body and was sounding the alarm.
Adelaide waited a few heartbeats and then got to her feet. She was shaking so badly she had a hard time keeping her balance. She thought briefly of trying once again to find the key to the file cabinet, but common sense prevailed. Escape from the sanitarium was the first priority.
She reached up to adjust the nurse’s cap pinned to her tightly knotted hair. When she glanced down at the desk, she saw that the black velvet box containing the perfume bottles was gone. The intruder had taken it.
She selected one of the two open jars of chemicals to use as a weapon and left the other one behind on the desk. She picked her way through the moonlit lab. When she got to the staircase, she descended cautiously.
&nbs
p; At the foot of the stairs, she paused in the stairwell and looked around the edge of the door.
The inmates continued to howl and scream through the grills set into the locked doors, but the hallway was empty. There was no sign of the intruder.
Her room was located at the far end of an intersecting hallway. There were no other patients in that corridor. Earlier she had arranged the pillows and blankets on her bed in an attempt to approximate the outline of a sleeping figure, but it looked as if the ruse had been unnecessary. The agitation of the other inmates and the commotion in the courtyard were sufficient to conceal her movements. The white cap and the long blue cloak, familiar elements of a nurse’s uniform, would do the rest. With luck, anyone who chanced to see her from a distance would assume she was a member of the hospital staff.
The entrance to the old servants’ stairs was in a storage closet on the opposite side of the hall. She was edging out of the stairwell doorway, preparing to make a dash for the closet, when the patients’ screams rose in another hellish crescendo. It was all the warning she got. It was just barely enough to save her.
She retreated to the shadows of the stairwell and waited. When the screams faded a little, she risked a peek around the doorway.
A man dressed in a doctor’s coat, a white cap, and a surgical mask emerged from the hallway that led to her room. The black velvet box was in his left hand. In his right he gripped a syringe.
The only thing that saved her from being seen was that the masked doctor was intent on rushing down the hall in the opposite direction. He disappeared through the locked doors just beyond the nurses’ station.
She did not think it was possible to be any more terrified, but the sight of the masked doctor leaving the corridor that led to her room sent another shock of horror across her nerves. Maybe he had intended to kill her, too.
With an effort of will, she pulled herself together. She certainly could not continue to dither in the stairwell indefinitely. She had to act or all was lost.
She took a deep breath, clutched the jar in one hand, and rushed across the hallway. She opened the door of the storage closet.
A bearded face appeared at the steel grill set into a nearby door. The insane man stared at her with wild, otherworldly eyes.
“You’re a ghost now, aren’t you?” he said in a voice that was hoarse from endless keening and wailing. “It was just a matter of time before they killed you, just like they did the other one.”