White Mountain (26 page)

Jack’s stomach turned.
 
If he was right about Victor Ross’s identity, this was bigger than any of them had suspected.
 
Settling his pack more securely, he started to run.

David Schultz took a sip of coffee, then picked up the lab tests and bloodwork they’d just done on the Silvias.
 
His initial examination had been hopeful, even more so than he’d expected.
 
Years ago Maria had had
 
a bout with endometriosis, but her scarring was minimal, definitely not enough to preclude her as a candidate for implantation.
 
He leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself as he continued to read.
 
It kept getting better and better.
 
She was thirty-nine years old, enjoyed good health and, if what she said was true, lived a healthy lifestyle, eating foods that were good for her and exercising regularly.
 
Her family health history wasn’t so great.
 
Both her parents had died young, of heart disease, but obviously Maria had taken measures to see that she didn’t repeat their fates.

He took another sip of coffee, then kicked back in his chair, contemplating the necessary sequence of events.
 
The day after tomorrow, he would recommend taking Maria into surgery where they would stimulate her ovaries, then harvest the eggs.
 
After that it would be a matter of collecting Leonardo’s sperm and then proceeding from there.
 
Tonight he would know for certain if Rufus had been able to gather any viable DNA from the bones.
 
Until that time, what would happen with Maria and Leonardo Silvia was anybody’s guess.

Isabella kept looking at herself in the rearview mirror on the drive back home.
 
It was the same face that had always been there, but the hair was definitely a change.
 
Instead of
 
the long straight sweep that she’d worn most of her adult life, the beautician had cut it short to her chin, then layered it all over, leaving her with a ragged, slept-in look that she wasn’t sure she like.
 
She kept thinking that she looked as if she’d just gotten out of bed and dressed without combing her hair.
 
The short, layered ends caught the breeze coming through the partially opened windows, whipping them madly as she drove, but the farther she went, the freer she felt.
 
It was as if, in cutting her hair, she’d cut her ties with the past.
 
Part of who she’d been was buried with her father and her Uncle Frank.
 
Some more of her had been left behind on the beauty shop floor.
 
Now it was up to her to discover exactly who was left.
 
With one last glance in the rearview mirror, she accelerated swiftly, leaving a wild trail of dust in her wake.

About two miles from the hotel, she saw a man walking toward her on the side of the road.

John Running Horse.
 
Bless hi heart, what could he be doing all the way out here?

She slowed down, then stopped and rolled down her window.

“John…it’s me, Isabella.
 
Do you want a ride back to town?”

He shook his head, almost in slow motion, peering at her through the curtain of hair falling over his face.

“Can’t go with you.
 
I’m going to Memphis.
 
Gotta find my momma.”

“I wouldn’t take long,” she said.

“Can’t go,” he repeated.
 
“Do you have a guitar?”

“No, I don’t, John.
 
I’m sorry”

“I can sing,” he said.
 
“If I had a guitar, I would sing.
 
My momma likes to hear me sing.”

“All right, then,” Isabella said.
 
“Goodbye.”

She accelerated slowly, unwilling to stir up any dust until she was farther away.
 
She glanced once in the rearview mirror before she turned the curve.
 
John was just a tiny speck in the distance, but she could tell he was still moving.

It hurt her heart to think of a man that strong in body who had the mind of a child—and a lost one, at that.

Isabella turned off the road into the parking lot of Abbott House and then drive her car around back, parking it in the unattached garage.
 
She grabbed her purse as she got out and slung the shoulder strap over her neck, leaving her hands free to carry her other purchases.
 
She had just shut the door and was turning around when Victor Ross Suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“Victor!
 
You startled me,” Isabella said.

“I’m sorry.
 
May I help you carry your purchases, Miss Abbott?”

Isabella smiled.
 
“Yes, that would be great.
 
Thanks.”

She handed him the heavier of the two bags and, together, they started toward the service entrance of the hotel.

“So, Victor, have you given any more thought to staying on here?”

“Yes, I am still considering it,” he said.
 
“It was a most generous offer.”

She smiled again.
 
“You’re doing a most remarkable job.”

Victor nodded.
 
“Thank you.”

They entered the hotel through the kitchen, then proceeded through the lobby.

“Where do you want me to put this?” Victor asked, as the paused at the registration desk.

“Would you mind carrying it a bit further?
 
The family quarters are on the ground floor, just beyond the staircase.”

“I would be honored.”

Isabella laughed.
 
“I’m afraid it’s not much of an honor to be carrying toiletries, but it is much appreciated.”

He almost smiled, leaving Isabella with the impression that smiling was not something that came naturally to him.

“Here we are,” she said, and took out her ring of keys, then fumbled and dropped it before she could get the key in the lock.

“Allow me,” Victor said, and had the keys in hand before she knew what was happening.

To her surprise, he flipped through the keys and chose the right one without asking, then slid it into the lock and gave it a turn.
 
The tumblers clicked silently as the door swung inward.

Victor took the key from the lock and then stepped aside.

“You first, miss,” he said.

Isabella was so taken with his manners that she walked inside without retrieving her keys.
 
She was all the way into her small kitchen when she realized Victor was not behind her.
 
She turned around.
 
He was still standing in the doorway, holding her sack.

“Just put it on that chair over there,” she said.
 
“And thank you very much for you help.”

“You’re most welcome, Miss Abbott,” he said, and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Isabella cried.

Victor stopped cursing his luck.
 
He hadn’t had time to slip her room key from the ring.

“Since you’re here,” Isabella said, “I might as well give you your pay.
 
I assume you would prefer it in cash, since you don’t have an account with a local bank?”

He turned around.
 
“Yes, miss.”

The moment she turned her back to go to her desk, he slipped the room key from the ring and into his pocket, then laid her keys on a small table by the door.
 
As he waited for her to count out his money, he scanned the layout of the apartment for future reference.

When she turned around with his money, he was looking at a painting hanging by the door.

“Do you like that?” she asked.

He nodded.
 
“It reminds me a bit of my home.”

“You grew up on a farm?”

He hesitated, then nodded.
 
That much of a truth could not finger him.

“What did you grow?”

“Barely enough to eat,” he answered, and then held out his hand.

A little startle by his abruptness.
 
Isabella laid the money in his palm, then patted his arm.

“Think about that job, will you?”

“I will think on it some more.”

He was almost out the door, when once again, she called him back.

“Oh, Victor?”

Anxious to be gone, he gritted his teeth as he turned around once more.

“I don’t suppose that farm was in Louisiana?” she asked.

“No, miss.
 
Why do you ask?”

She shrugged.
 
“Just that the other day one of our guests thought he recognized you, and since he grew up in Louisiana, I thought that might be the connection.”

Rostov felt the blood drain from his face, but he stood his ground, pretending that her comment hadn’t rocked his world.

“I’ve never been in that place, “he said gruffly.
 
“Will that be all, Miss Abbott?”

Isabella knew instantly that she’d made him nervous and regretted the impulse that had made her ask.
 
Lots of homeless people were protective of the personal histories.
 
It made sense that he might resent questions.

“Yes, Victor.
 
That’s all.
 
Have a good day.”

He nodded once, and then he was gone.

“Odd man,” she muttered, and closed the door, then saw her keys on the table and dropped them in her purse.

Victor made it to the gardener’s shed without running, although with every step he’d taken he’d expected someone to shout out his name.
 
He had no way of knowing which guest she had been referring to, or if it had been one of the old men.
 
Either way, his time at Abbott House was over.
 
He had to get out now, before he cam face-to-face with a nemesis from his past.

He fingered the money Isabella had just given him and then shoved it deep in his pocket.
 
The was nothing to what he was going to get after he abducted her.
 
She was certain to have inherited her father’s interest in the fertility clinic, as well as now owning the hotel and the land on which it sat.
 
The old men would be willing to pay up to get her back, and not just because she was a surrogate daughter.
 
After all, according to Frank Walton’s diary, she was the key to their success.

But first things first.
 
He started throwing his belongings into his suitcase, careful to leave nothing behind that would identify him as anyone other than the itinerant he was pretending to be.
 
He was going to have to find a place to hide with Isabella until the ransom had been paid.
 
Once he had the money in hand, he would disappear as easily as he’d come.
 
In the old days, he’d been the best.
 
There was no reason for him to assume he’d lost his touch.
 
It was unfortunate that Isabella Abbott’s life would have to be sacrificed, but in his business, the first rule of perfection was to leave nothing and no one behind.

Rostov slipped out of the shed and around the hotel with his pack in hand, then headed for the trees at the western edge of the hotel.
 
He looked back only once but was satisfied that he had not been seen.
 
Just as the sun was sliding behind the uppermost peak of White Mountain, he disappeared into the forest.

It was twilight by the time Jack go off the mountain.
 
With about a mile of clear valley between him and the hotel yet to go, he wanted to slow down.
 
Every muscle in his body was burning, including his lungs.
 
He’d been running on adrenaline for more than an hour, the fear of knowing who the Soviets had sent keeping him moving.

When he got to the grounds of the hotel proper, his body still wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate.
 
It was either slow down or fall down, and Jack knew that if he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to get up again.

When he reached the terrace, his anxiety increased.
 
What if he was too late?
 
What if the Hawk had already made his move?
 
He scrambled up the steps, stumbling on the second from the top, and caught himself with both hands to keep from falling flat.

A couple of guests were admiring the sunset and gave him a wary look as he passed by.
 
He could only imagine how he must appear—a wild man invading their space.
 
But if his suspicions were correct, it wasn’t the wild man they should be concerned with—it was the killer who’d been mowing the lawn.

He burst into the dining room, frantically searching the diners for sight of Isabella.
 
She wasn’t there, and neither were the uncles.
 
He told himself that there were any number of reasons why they might not be there and kept weaving his way through the tables on his way to the lobby.