The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [234]
“I admit it was one of the reasons,” he said carefully, “but you know it was not the only one.”
She looked at the gleaming gun, just lying there waiting for this man to turn it into an instrument of death, and her mouth went dry with fear. She suddenly knew beyond any doubt that when Valentin found out he would kill her.
“Time has run out for me,” he was saying quietly. “Remember the saying, Genie, a life for a life? I saved yours—and now I’m asking you to save mine. I must know.”
She closed her eyes, shutting out the evil shape of the gun, but it was still there under the blackness of her closed lids. “I … I don’t really know who she is,” she said quickly, “I … well, I was supposed to call a certain number when I got here. Someone who knows her….”
“Who?” he demanded eagerly. He leaned closer, grasping her hands tightly. “Who knows?”
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Michael Kazahn,” she said shakily.
He nodded. “That makes sense. The emerald was sold by one of the Kazahn companies. I investigated their background; the family is originally Russian and worked for the Ivanoffs.”
“They have been protecting her all these years,” she said, hurriedly embroidering her story. “Michael Kazahn contacted me because he thought things had gone too far. He wanted to put a stop to the international speculation. He said it was safer if her identity was known … before someone found her and—” She bit her lip, praying he would believe her. “She is at their villa.”
He lifted her hands to his lips. “Thank you, Genie.”
His eyes were full of tenderness and she thought he didn’t look like a murderer. He looked like Valentin, the man she loved … but in the back of her mind she could hear Cal Warrender telling her, “Valentin is a Russian first, and a man second. Never forget that.”
She bowed her head, tears trickling down her cheeks, and he said, “I’m sorry, Genie, really I am.”
He rearranged her pillows and kissed her gently, then he walked to the table and picked up the Uzi. She stared at him, eyes dark with terror. She didn’t want to scream, she didn’t even want to run. He was going to kill her, after all. It was inevitable.
Valentin folded the metal stock, fitted the compact little submachine gun into his pocket, and put on his jacket.
“Get some sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” A smile lighted his handsome boyish face. “And then life can get back to normal.” He strode casually to the door as if he were going on a hunting trip. “Just you and me.”
The door closed behind him and she heard the key turn in the lock. Then she heard his footsteps disappearing along the corridor, and she turned her face into her pillow and sobbed. But she wasn’t crying in relief, she was crying because she was in love with a man who wanted to kill her.
After a while she sat up and mopped her eyes on the worn sheet. She got out of bed, walked to the window, and looked out. It was dawn. The black Ford Scorpio was gone and the hotel sign blinked above the empty street. Turning back into the room, she thought about Missie’s warnings and how, through not heeding them, she had brought about their destruction. Because she knew with a terrible certainty that once Valentin found out the truth he would kill Missie too. And she had to get out of there! She had to get help!
She remembered all the clever tricks with locks and credit cards she had heard about, but her purse had been lost when she was abducted. She had nothing, not even a hairpin. She prowled the room, searching for some kind of tool to open the door, and in a frenzy of despair she grabbed the handle, shaking it angrily, wailing like a madwoman. With a crack like a pistol shot the handle came off in her hand and the door suddenly sprang open.
For a moment she was too stunned to move. Then, pulling her wits together, she stepped cautiously into the corridor. It was as empty and silent as if she were the only