“Yeah, right. I heard you the first time.”
“But it’s true. We switched places—”
“Shut up, bitch!”
Desperation tore at her soul. There was no way out of this mess. Monty was certain she was Marla. There was nothing she could do to dissuade him. He assumed she could give him money from her accounts with Alex, but that was impossible. Oh, Lord, what could she do? “But I can’t remember,” she said.
His hard eyes slitted behind his sunglasses. “I know enough of the code. You’ll remember. Now,” he said as he parked his Jeep in the spot once reserved for Marla Cahill’s Porsche, “let’s go.” He forced her out of the rig and while he carried the baby, he kept his gun in his pocket, but trained on Marla. She thought of flinging herself at him, but that would accomplish nothing and he would certainly kill her son. She looked for a weapon, but other than a few old hubcaps on the wall, a vise mounted on a workbench, and a tire iron that she had no chance of reaching, there was nothing.
She was doomed. When she couldn’t access the files, he’d get angry and . . . and . . . oh, God, she couldn’t think what might happen to James. The elevator door opened and he halfshoved her inside. James was fussing loudly now and Monty was getting irritated. “Shut up,” he growled at the baby.
“He’s tired.”
“Tough. Shut him up.”
“Here, let me have him.” She reached forward and Monty slammed her back against the wall of the car, then punched the bedroom floor with the muzzle of his silencer.
“Keep away.”
Maybe a
servant would be in the hallway. Maybe Monty didn’t know what was going on in the house, she thought desperately, grasping at any little straw she could find. Fiona might still be around and Rosa could be vacuuming or dusting. Carmen . . . where was Carmen, surely she wouldn’t have left the premises . . . oh, please God, let someone be here to help me. The elevator door opened into an empty hallway. “Let’s go,” Montgomery growled as the baby quieted. The corridor was empty. Lit by a few lamps. No sounds of rattling dishes, muted conversation or footsteps disturbed the deathly silence.
Monty pushed her into the suite, then locked the door behind him. “Well, well, well,” he said, glancing around. “This place hasn’t changed much, has it?” His smile was brutal. Dirty. Filled with horrifying promise. “You and me, we spent some time here. A lot of it.”
Her stomach recoiled at the thought.
“I don’t remember.”
“No?” That stopped him. Beneath his thin moustache, his upper lip curled into a sneer. “Well, that just won’t do, now will it? Maybe I should find a way to remind you.”
Oh, God, this was her chance. If she could find the nerve. Dig deep. Remember the old Kylie, the one with brass balls, the woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. “And just how do you propose to do that?” she asked with a lift of her eyebrow.
“I’ve got my ways.”
“All talk, Monty,” she said, and he hesitated, obviously didn’t believe her ploy.
“We’ll see about that,” he said. “You just wait here.” Slowly he placed James on the carpet.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll see.”
“Please, please don’t hurt him.”
“I won’t. Not if you do what I want.”
“Promise me you won’t hurt him,” she pleaded, terrified to her bones.
“Okay, I promise.” His eyes glinted malevolently.
She didn’t trust him. She was trembling inside, aching to be with her child who was lying by the coffee table. “Now, you, in here.” He waved his gun toward her bedroom. “Come on, Marla.”
Just do what he says. James is safe in here. Maybe someone in the house will come by . . . if anyone was around. Heart in her throat, she walked through the open door and Monty followed inside, to Marla Cahill’s bedroom with its perfectly coordinated drapes and bedspread. He glanced at the canopied bed and a slow smile curved over his lips. “Okay, bitch, this is where it all started between you and me. Maybe it’s time to end it here.”
She swallowed her fear and stared at him. “If you think it would be a good idea.”
“I think it would be a helluva idea,” he said, then, with the gun pointed at her temple, he grabbed her with his free hand, dragged her close and kissed her hard on the lips. He tasted of old smoke and coffee and she wanted to throw up but she closed her eyes and her mind, knowing that if she just got him into the bed, in a compromising situation, she could grab his gun or . . . or reach under the mattress and pull out Alex’s pistol.