Griffin’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the possibility. Deeply disturbed by it, he released her and took a step back. “He could.”
“Well, why else would he want us dead?”
“Excellent question, but we’ve got to act now rather than debate the issue until the next thug arrives.”
“Fine, I’ll stay out of your way, but I’m not staying here. Your size gives you a greater range, but I really do know karate.”
Griffin rested his hands on the balcony rail and gazed out into the night. He appeared to be weighing his options, found very few and reluctantly straightened. “With Astrid so ill, I may be able to strike a bargain with Vaughn. Just let me do all the talking.”
“Yes, sir.” Expecting the worst, she was already dressed in her black Levi’s and a pale pink T-shirt and, after a quick kiss to seal the deal, they moved through the bedroom and shut off the lights. Griffin led the way into her room where he removed the chair blocking her door and cracked it open.
The hallway was dark and silent. Unable to sense the presence of anyone near, they stepped out holding hands like two children creeping toward a haunted house on Halloween. Both barefooted, they made their way silently down the hall to the top of the stairs. Lit by a crystal chandelier, the steps were clear, if not inviting.
“The house is too quiet,” Darcy whispered. “Could they all have gone?”
Griffin shrugged and glanced at his watch. He’d reset the time when they’d landed, and it was now two a.m.. “Vaughn may still be with Astrid. If that’s the case, keep a close watch on the foyer behind us, and also on the french doors to the terrace.”
“You’ve got it.” Darcy wiped her damp palms on her pants and prayed Vaughn and his whole entourage had vanished. But when they reached the bottom of the stairs, they heard him speaking softly to his daughter.
Griffin made a quick check of the library and dining room on the opposite side of the foyer and, once assured they were empty, he entered the living room with a confident stride. “I hate to bother you, but I’m afraid someone’s fallen from the roof.”
Lyman Vaughn was seated at Astrid’s bedside, leaning forward, arms braced on his thighs. His hands were clasped between his knees. He regarded Griffin with a distracted nod then turned back toward his daughter.
“I’d rather not be disturbed,” he replied.
Darcy moved out from behind Griffin to gain a better vantage point. A single lamp placed near the hospital bed left the rest of the well-appointed room in deep shadow. Hoping the darkness kept them from becoming easy targets for a sniper stationed in the garden, she left the rest of the lamps unlit.
Griffin gave her a quick thumbs up sign, then continued in a considerate whisper, “I doubt the poor soul lying in the flowerbed wants to be disturbed either, but someone should notify the police. I’d have handled it myself, but I’m not sure of our location. I haven’t seen a telephone, and I didn’t bring my cell phone with me.”
Darcy had expected Griffin to kick the chair right out f
rom under Vaughn, and she was impressed that he’d instead chosen to play innocent for Astrid’s sake. The ailing young woman was curled up on her side with one of Griffin’s CDs pressed close to her heart. She wore a sweet smile as though she were enjoying a lovely dream.
“If the man is dead,” Vaughn replied wearily, “the authorities can be notified in the morning.”
“Then you do have a telephone?” Griffin asked pointedly. “I’m unfamiliar with your home. Would you please come and show me where it is?”
“Tomorrow, after breakfast.”
“The person who fell from the roof must be in your employ. Doesn’t he deserve more respect?”
“You’re becoming tedious, Mr. Moore. Take Ms. MacLeod into the kitchen, make yourselves a nice snack and go back to bed. We’ll deal with the dead tomorrow.”
Griffin spread his hands wide. “I wouldn’t want to inadvertently eat something the chef might plan to serve for breakfast. Come to the kitchen with us, and we’ll look for his menus.”
“I had absolutely no idea you two were so helpless.” Vaughn rose, paused to massage the stiffness from his neck, then leaned down to kiss Astrid’s cheek.
It was a touching gesture, but when he straightened, he’d pulled a 9mm Glock from beneath the mattress. “My daughter is very fond of you, so I’m going to lock you both in the pantry where you may eat anything you please. My chef will release you in the morning. Come over here, girl.”
Darcy stayed put. “Mr. Jordan, really, we didn’t mean to be pests, but that’s no way to treat your guests.”
“Obviously I disagree. You’ve given the concert, Griffin, so there’s no further need for this ridiculous charade. You know who I am. It took longer than I’d hoped to bring you here. I should have sent Adriana to Seattle instead of that lumbering fool you claim just fell from the roof. Well, good riddance.”
“Wait a minute,” Griffin interjected. “Are you admitting to having my chauffeur killed?”
“No, of course not. Octavio was told to see you received my invitation, but unfortunately, when he approached your limousine, your chauffeur recognized him. You know the rest. Now, I do not enjoy repeating myself. Ms. MacLeod, march.”
When he motioned with the weapon, Darcy trusted Griffin to move with lightning speed and, pretending to be completely flustered, she gestured wildly as she took a step toward him. “Mr. Moore and I are barely acquainted, and I’ve no idea what happened to some chauffeur in…where?”