“That was fast.”
“We had a copy of the Viscount’s will, due to the investigation. I scanned it, changed the names, then added a signature page. Easy-peasy.”
“Thank you, Chelsea,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He slid the file across the table toward Remi. “Your prop.”
Remi opened the folder, looking over the papers, while Sam studied a photo of Allegra’s neighborhood. Victorian, brick-faced terraced houses lined both sides of the street, each three-story unit sharing a common wall with the next, while the high-peaked slate roof on each was decorated with wrought iron crests running the length. “Which unit is hers?” he asked Bill.
“Second house from the far end.”
“No access from the backyard?”
“No,” Bill said. “Unless you hop a fence from a neighboring unit. Which sort of makes your Belize plan a moot point.”
“You’re assuming we were talking about the back door. I see a lot of windows here. What’s in this room?” Sam asked Oliver, pointing to the uppermost window located beneath the front-facing gable.
“Mostly, trunks and boxes. As far as I know, the room facing the back is still empty. Allegra had thought about turning it into a guest bedroom but never got around to it. The stairs are frightfully narrow. Her bedroom and Trevor’s are on the first level, with the loo.”
“What’s on the ground level?”
“Front parlor, kitchen, a dining area, and a windowless room, at the back of the stairs, she uses for an office—not much bigger than a closet, I’m afraid.”
Sam examined that upper-level window, an idea forming. “Can you map out the floor plan of the attic?”
“Of course.” Oliver drew a rectangle, divided it into two rooms, one facing the front, an identical room facing the back—the doors to both opening to what he described as a dark, narrow stairwell, in the middle.
“This should do nicely,” Sam said. “If we can stall Dex until tomorrow night, that might be our best option.”
“The attic?” Oliver said. “How?”
“Rooftop entry, after dark,” he said, as the phone rang.
Bill glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Dex’s mobile.”
“Should I answer it?” Oliver asked.
“Typically,” Bill said, “Chelsea would answer.”
“I can be Chelsea,” Remi said.
“He might suspect you if you sound American.”
“I’ll make sure to sound like a proper Brit,” she said, in her best upper-crust accent. “David Cooke’s office . . .”
“Well done. Let’s give it a try, shall we?” Bill hit the speaker button.
There was a few second delay after Remi answered. And just when they wondered if Dex was going to answer at all, he said, “Oliver Payton told me you had some paperwork for me.”
“Who’s calling, please?”
“Dex Northcott.”
“One moment, Mr. Northcott. Let me see if it’s finished.” She put the call on hold and looked to Bill for further direction.
“Tell him the copies are ready for delivery tomorrow, midmorning, as promised.”
Remi hit the speaker button and repeated the information.
A long stretch of silence followed. Finally, Dex said, “Oliver told me he’d have the papers tonight.”
Sam drew his finger across his neck, telling her to cut that line of thinking. She nodded, saying, “I’m terribly sorry, but Mr. Cooke’s left the office for the evening, and he has to sign off on them.”
“Call him,” he ordered. “I’ll hold.”
“One moment, please.” Remi pressed the button.
Oliver stared at the blinking light, his expression troubled. “I don’t like that he’s rushing this.”
“I can tell him no,” Remi said.
Oliver shook his head. “The man has the temperament of a firecracker with a short fuse. He’s likely to take it out on Allegra or Trevor.”
Sam looked at the photographs, then at Bill. “Any objections to moving it up to tonight?”
“Not sure I’d be able to bring in anyone to help on such short notice.”
“There’s five of us,” Remi said.
Bill turned to Oliver and Chad, a dubious expression on his face. “Nor do we have the proper equipment. Radios and earpieces, gear to get from the roof to the window—”
“If we can come up with enough cell phones and a long enough rope,” Sam said, “we can hit from the top and the bottom. Assuming you’re all in.” When each of them nodded, he looked at his wife. “Reel him in, Remi.”
She pressed the blinking light. “Mr. Northcott? It just occurred to me that my tram stop isn’t too far away from your address. Since I’m working late tonight, I can bring the papers by on my way home.”
“How long? I have to leave in an hour.”
Sam brought his hands together, pulled them apart, indicating she needed to stretch the time. They needed to wait for dark.
Remi gave him a thumbs-up. “Unfortunately, I’ll need to fax a copy to Mr. Cooke to have him sign off on it. He’s in a dinner meeting with a client and can’t be disturbed. But if you’re willing to delay a few hours, I should be able to reach him after. Say, around ten or half past?”
“I’m the paranoid type, so don’t be surprised if I search you for weapons when you come in.”
She disconnected, and Sam outlined the plan. At half past ten, they drove to Allegra’s to drop off Remi for the short walk to her house. She must have sensed Sam’s anticipation as she slipped out. “Don’t worry, Fargo, I’ve got this.”
80
The knock at the door startled Allegra, even though she’d heard Dex talking on the phone and knew someone from the solicitor’s office was dropping by. She’d been pinning her hopes on that email Trevor had sent to the private detective, but he’d never received a response. Realizing that they were truly on their own, she’d urged Trevor to continue typing the journal, but at a slower pace.
He was in there now.
She spent her time in the kitchen, pretending to be busy. Allegra stepped out, saw Dex walking to the front window, resting his hand on the butt of his gun as he parted the curtain to look out. Satisfied, he moved to the door and opened it a few inches.
“Mr. Northcott?” came a woman’s voice. “Chelsea Roberts, from the solicitor’s.”
Dex opened the door wider. “You have the papers?”
“In my satchel. Might I come in?”
He stepped aside, let her in, and, as usual, threw the dead bolt on the door.
“My card,” she said, handing it to him. “I’ve jotted down Mr. Cooke’s mobile, should you need it later. Is Allegra here?” she asked, looking around expectantly. “I’ll need her signature as well.”
“Allegra!” Dex called.
She stepped out, staring at the slender red-haired woman standing in the dim light of the front room. “Just tidying up. Who’s this?”
The woman moved into the light, her smile somewhat familiar, as she held a card toward Allegra. “Chelsea Roberts. From your uncle’s solicitor.”
Allegra took the card, doing a double take when she saw the handwritten message scrawled across the back of the card:
TREVOR TO ATTIC. THEN FOLLOW.
She stood there, frozen, realizing at once who the woman was.
“Something wrong?” Dex asked.
Before she had a chance to respond, Remi stepped in, looked at the card, plucked it from her. “How terribly embarrassing. My grocery list.” Remi handed her a second card, saying, “This one has Mr. Cooke’s mobile. Emergencies always arise in these odd cases. Shall I set up on the table?”
Allegra looked at the new card, saw a mobile number jotted on it, then back at Remi, amazed at how calm she appeared as she opened her briefcase on the table, carefully setting her mobile phone n
ext to it. “Yes, of course. Would you like a cuppa?” replied Allegra.
“Thank you, no. We really do need to get moving. Is your son about?”
“Trevor!” Dex called. “Get out here!”
Trevor emerged from the office, his expression guarded.
Remi offered a bland smile. “So sorry. Didn’t mean for you to call him just yet. Perhaps you might want him to wait upstairs while we discuss the particulars?”
“Why?” Dex asked.
Remi pulled a folder from her briefcase. “Matters pertaining to what happens if an heir dies. The sort of thing I’m not sure is entirely appropriate for children to hear.”
Dex appeared unmoved.
Allegra, seeing her chance, realized she needed to be careful—firm enough that her son listened but not too concerned that Dex would take notice. “Do be a dear, Trev, and run up to the attic. There’s some headache powder by my pillow.”
When he hesitated, she looked at Dex, saying, “He listens to you.”
The backhanded compliment worked. Dex gave him a curt nod. “Off with you, then.”
Allegra kept her eyes on the papers Remi held, worry turning to relief when Trevor did as he was told.
Remi smiled as she handed them each a packet of papers, saying, “Because your son’s not of age, it’s important that you both understand the clause concerning the rules of inheritance regarding the viscountcy.”
“What’s there to understand?” Dex said. “His uncle’s giving him the car.”
“All this does is temporarily allow the Viscount’s grandnephew to take early possession of what will eventually be his, should Oliver Payton die without issue.”
“What do you mean, early possession? Won’t the car be Trevor’s once this is signed?”
“Technically, no,” she said, removing two pens from her briefcase, holding one out to each of them. “The vehicle is part of the Payton estate and can only be passed down to an heir. Should anything happen to that heir, it goes to the next heir.”
“Me. His father.”
“Blood heir of the viscountcy. In other words, if something happens to the remaining Payton men, should the current viscount die, the title and estates and everything attached to it, including the car and any money, will pass to the closest blood relative.”
“Who’d that be?” Dex asked.
“I expect the Payton family would know better than I . . .” She looked at Allegra. “Madam?”
“As far as I know,” Allegra said, “Arthur Oren is our closest blood relative.”
“Over my dead body,” Dex replied, taking the pen. “Where do I sign?”
“The last page,” Remi said. He quickly turned to it, and she added, “Might I suggest you read the entire document first?”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to have done before you got here?” He signed it, then looked up at her, his expression one of annoyance. “There’s a space here for Trevor’s signature.”
Remi gave him a neutral smile. “We will need the boy’s signature, before it’s legal. I assumed the two of you might want to discuss things prior.”
“Trevor!” he called, as Remi’s cell phone buzzed on the tabletop.
She picked it up, looking at the screen. “My husband. Probably wondering when I’ll be home,” she said, putting it to her ear. “Hello?” She smiled politely at them while she listened to the caller. “Oh, I thought they weren’t coming until tomorrow. No worry, I’m almost done here. See you soon.” She ended the call, her expression apologetic. “I hate to be a pest, but I’m quite late, and it seems we have unexpected visitors dropping by. My husband’s worried he’s going to have to entertain them himself. If it’s more convenient, I can drop by in the morning . . . ?”
“No,” Dex said, as he stalked toward the stairs. “Trevor! Get down here!”
His back to them, Remi gave a slight tilt of her head.
Allegra nodded. She knew Dex would never dare leave her alone down here with anyone he didn’t know and trust. “I’ll just pop up there and see what’s keeping him so long,” she said, resisting the urge to move any faster for fear of putting Dex on guard.
Mustering every bit of calm and strength she possessed, she looked right at Dex as she passed him. “Probably in the loo,” she said quietly, casually walking up the stairs. “Trevor!” she called, glancing back to see Dex watching her. When she reached the first-floor landing, she made a show of looking in the bathroom, then down the stairwell, noticing Dex had moved up two steps. “Not there. I’ll check in the attic.”
He moved up another step.
Worried, Allegra rounded the corner, picked up her pace, taking the stairs quickly. When she reached the attic, she pushed open the door, looked around the dark room, unable to see a thing. “Trevor?” Her panicked whisper cut through the silence, as someone stepped from behind the door. Sam, she realized, her hand going to her heart as it raced out of control. She saw the pried-open casement window, the rope harness hanging in it. “Is he—”
“Safe? Yes,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He drew her to the window, helping her into the harness, though she tried to stop him. “Arthur and Colton are coming. They’ll recognize her. She’ll be trapped.”
“We know. They’re parked out front. We think they’re waiting for someone. She knows to go out the back door. We’re sending the rope down for her.” He tugged on the harness, and someone up above started lifting her.
“You don’t understand,” she said, grasping his hand, trying to make him listen, before it was too late. It was her fault. Dex had suspected her when she’d tried to get Trevor to leave that first time when he’d gone off to the store. “She can’t get out the back. Dex nailed the door shut.”
81
Sam stared at Allegra, seconds slipping away, hoping he’d heard wrong. So much for Plan B, he thought as someone knocked at the front door.
Sam leaned out the window, telling Chad, “Hold up.”
He looked at Allegra, trapped in the harness, hanging in the window, probably scared to death about her son. Right now, he needed her help in evening out the odds. “Any way you can get Dex up here?”
“Promise you won’t kill him?”
A promise he couldn’t make. “I’ll try not to.”
Her gaze flicked to the doorway and then nodded. Sam helped her out of the harness. She looked back at him and stepped out into the stairwell. “Dex!” she shouted. “Trevor’s gone!”
Dex swore, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stairwell as he ran up. Once again, Sam helped Allegra onto the sill and into the harness, giving the rope a firm tug.
She reached out, her eyes pleading. “He wasn’t always this way.”
The moment Chad started lifting her out, Sam hid behind the door, listening for Dex.
By the time Dex reached the attic, the knocking at the front door growing more insistent, he’d slowed considerably, his breathing labored. “Allegra!” He saw her feet disappearing out the open window, and he rushed toward her, his gun drawn.
Sam crossed the room, jamming the nose of his Smith & Wesson into Dex’s ribs. “Nice of you to join us,” he said, grabbing Dex’s shoulder, forcing him back and off-balance. “Drop the gun.”
Dex held tight. “You know who’s at the door? They’ll kill you.”
Sam slammed him to the floor. “Make a sound, and I’ll use you as my shield. Let go of the gun,” he said, this time jabbing the barrel of his .38 into the base of Dex’s skull. When Dex loosened his grip on the weapon, Sam grabbed it, dropping it into his pocket, as they heard the sound of shattering glass downstairs, then someone trying to shoulder open the front door. “Move, or make any noise, you’ll regret it. Understand?”
Dex nodded.
Sam moved toward the stairwell, hearing wood splintering as the door was kicked in, a man sho
uting, “Dex! Where are you?”
Sam looked over at him, putting his finger to his lips.
“The attic!” Dex shouted, giving Sam a triumphant look at the sound of someone running up the stairs. “They know you’re h—”
Sam pointed his gun at Dex. “I was trying to be nice.”
Dex’s mouth clamped shut, his eyes going wide.
The sharp crack echoed off the walls. Dex screamed, as he rolled onto his side, gripping his thigh.
Now that he didn’t have to worry about an attack from that direction, Sam turned back to the stairwell as Frank reached the landing.
Sam fired.
Frank ducked back. “Fargo’s here!”
“Kill him!”
What Sam didn’t hear was anyone mentioning Remi’s name. He took that as a good sign, his eye on the landing below. Frank peered around the corner.
Sam fired again, keeping him contained. Time to even the odds. “Is Arthur with you?”
For a few seconds, the only thing he heard was Dex moaning in the dark behind him. Finally, a new voice, saying, “What do you want, Fargo?”
“Just thought you’d like to know who sold the Ghost to Rossi.”
The following silence lasted for several seconds. Even Dex’s whimpering stopped. “Who?” the man called.
“Might want to ask Frank. Or Dex, assuming he lives long enough.”
Another stretch of silence, then the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.
“He’s lying!” Frank said. “I swear!”
The muted gunshot echoed up the stairwell. Someone was equipped with a silencer. That meant only one thing. He’d gotten Trevor and Allegra out just in time. These men weren’t here to negotiate with Dex—or anyone else, for that matter. They’d come to kill.
Sam backed into the room, seeing Dex, his eyes wide with fright. He leaned down, whispering, “I’d play dead, if I were you.”
As dark as it was, he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Dex’s face paled. Sam grabbed the rope Chad dropped for him, slipped on the harness, holstered his gun, and climbed up onto the sill. Dex, he saw, decided to take his advice, slapping one bloody hand on his chest, closing his eyes, doing his best to feign a mortal wound.