oxygen to draw on, had endured in his final moments of life.
Finally, the roar stopped just as instantly as it had started. Annabelle moved to push the mask away, but Stone stopped her. Whispering, he said, “The oxygen levels are still depleted. We have to wait.”
Then he heard what sounded like a ventilator fan come on. Time passed, and with each tick Stone kept his eye on the door. Finally, he moved the mask from his face but kept it on Annabelle’s. He drew a careful breath and then another. He tossed off the blanket, lifted her up and over his shoulder and carried Annabelle to the exact spot where she’d been. Moving as quietly as possible, Stone grabbed up the nearly empty oxygen tank and stood behind the door to the room.
He didn’t have long to wait. A minute later the door opened and the first man came through. Stone waited. When the second man appeared, Stone swung the cylinder and caught him dead on the skull, crushing it. He dropped as though poleaxed.
The other man turned in alarm, ripping at the gun on his belt. The tank hit him flush in the face, driving him back against the worktable and into the hard metal of the vise attached there. He screamed in pain and clutched wildly at his injured back as the blood slicked his face. Stone slung the tank once more, catching the guy square on the temple. As the man fell to the floor, Stone dropped the tank, raced to Annabelle and untied her. She rose on shaky legs and looked down at the two battered men.
“Remind me never to piss you off,” she said, her face very pale.
“Let’s go before somebody else shows up.”
They raced out the door, scaled the fence and ran down the street. Three minutes later they had to pull up, breathing hard, sweat running down the dirty creases of their skin. They sucked in delicious air and then jogged another quarter mile until their legs were dead. They slumped down against the brick wall of what looked to be a warehouse.
“They took my phone,” Stone said, gasping for extra oxygen. “And by the way, I’m way too old for this shit. I seriously mean it.”
“Mine too . . . and me too,” she answered in halting breaths. “Oliver, I saw Trent in the house. His reflection in the mirror.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “It was definitely him.”
Stone glanced around. “We have to get in touch with Caleb or Milton.”
“After what happened to us, do you think they’re okay?”
“I don’t know,” he said shakily. He lurched to his feet, held out a hand and pulled her up.
As they started walking fast down the street, she slowed and said quietly, “Is that how Jonathan died?”
He stopped and turned to her. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged noncommittally but wiped a tear from her eye. “My God.” Her voice shook.
“Yes, my God,” Stone agreed. “Look, Susan, I never should have let you get involved in this.”
“First of all, my name’s not Susan.”
“Okay.”
“Second of all . . . tell me your real name and I’ll tell you mine.”
Stone hesitated just for a second. “Franklin, but my friends call me Frank. You?”
“Eleanor, my friends call me Ellie.”
“Franklin and Eleanor?” he said, looking bemused.
“You started it.” She smiled even as her eyes filled with tears and her body began to shake. “Oh, Jonathan.”
Stone reached out and gripped her shoulder, steadying the woman.
“I can’t believe this,” she said. “I haven’t even seen the man in forever.”
“It’s okay if you still care about him.”
“I wasn’t sure I did until right now.”
“There’s no law against it.”
“I’ll be okay. Believe me, I’ve been through far worse.” As soon as Annabelle said that, she started to sob uncontrollably. Stone pulled her close as her legs failed. They both sank to the cement, and Stone kept holding her as her fingers dug into him, her tears dampening his shirt and his skin.
Five minutes later she stopped except for a couple of last heaves. Pushing away from him, Annabelle rubbed her swollen eyes and her runny nose with her sleeve.
She said, “I’m sorry. I never, and I mean never, lose control like that.”
“Crying because you lost someone you love isn’t exactly unusual.”
“It’s just not . . . I mean . . . You never—”
Stone put his hand against her mouth and said quietly, “My real name is John. John Carr.”
Annabelle tensed for an instant and then relaxed. “I’m Annabelle Conroy. It’s nice to meet you, John.” She exhaled a deep breath. “Whoa, that’s not something I do very often.”
“Use your real name? I can sympathize. The last person I told tried to kill me.”
He stood and helped her up. As he turned, she kept ahold of his hand.
“Thank you, John, for . . . everything.”
He was clearly embarrassed by her gratitude, but she came to the rescue. “Let’s go and see if Milton and Caleb need saving. Okay?” Annabelle said.
A moment later they were jogging down the road.
CHAPTER 59
ANNABELLE AND STONE MADE A phone call from a service station, reaching Caleb. He had not yet fully recovered from finding Norman Janklow’s body but was able to relay some of what had happened. Stone called Reuben, and all arranged to meet back at Stone’s safe house. An hour later they were reassembled, and Stone and Annabelle reported their experience first.
“Damn,” Reuben said. “Good thing you thought of the oxygen, Oliver.”
Caleb and Milton told their story next.
Caleb added, “We called the police from a pay phone. Only took about an hour to find one in our cell-happy world. Thank goodness I remembered to take the candleholder; it has my fingerprints on it.”
“Did you touch anything else?” Stone asked.
Caleb looked worried. “I grabbed the handrail on the outside stoop.” He glared at Milton. “Because gadget boy here decided to scare the crap out of me. And I might have touched something else inside the house, I don’t remember. I’ve actually tried to block it out of my memory.”
“Your prints are in the federal database?” Stone said.
“Of course.” Caleb gave a resigned sigh. “Well, it won’t be the first time the coppers have come for me, and I doubt it’ll be the last.”
“What connection could this Norman Janklow have to all this?” Reuben asked.
Stone answered, “Janklow could’ve been a spy, like English. That means the books he looked at could’ve been secretly coded too.”
“They must’ve only pretended to dislike each other,” Caleb said. “To help maintain their cover.”
“Okay, but why kill Janklow?” Reuben persisted.
“If he was a spy, once we exposed English, maybe the whole thing started to unravel, and they had to start tying up loose ends,” Annabelle ventured. “They might have gotten English out of the way and left Janklow there dead to confuse things.”
“I’d say they accomplished their goal, then,” Caleb pointed out.
“We should go to the police now,” Milton said anxiously.
“And tell them what?” Stone argued. “The marks in the book have disappeared. And if we explain that we were almost killed tonight, we’d have to admit to having broken into Albert Trent’s home. I’m sure he’s already called the police to report the burglary.”