Belladonna, page 13
Grinding the Bronco’s gears, he floored the engine. Where would the bastard take her? Not back to that first house. To the Birds’ San Francisco offices then? Fine, but where the hell were their offices?
Thankfully, Ronnie had a cellular phone. Snatching it up, Malone punched in his cousin’s home number.
“Malone?” Ronnie sounded mystified. “But you just left, man.”
“I need some information. What do you know about the Birds’ headquarters?”
“Rumors mostly. Why?”
“Because I don’t know where the hell to go, and one of their henchmen has Bella.”
“Well, you might try Chinatown.”
“Where in Chinatown?”
“If I knew that I’d be a rich man. Off Grant, maybe, on Commercial Street. Somewhere inconspicuous.”
“Thanks a lot,” Malone retorted. “When did you hear my car start?”
“Thirty seconds or so before I told you.”
“So they can’t be far ahead. Thanks, Ronnie.”
“Yeah, sure. Uh, Malone, about those—”
Again Malone cut him off, tossing the cell phone back on the dash and taking a sharp right at the next corner. All he had to go on was an educated guess, but if he could beat them to the gate, he might just catch a glimpse of them. Yes, but what if he’d guessed wrong?
The unacceptable thought sent a shudder along his spine. Jaw set, he took another hard right. He hadn’t guessed wrong. For Bella’s sake, for her life, he couldn’t have.
“WHAT THE…! Hold on, lady,” Rudge snarled. “Your champion’s on our tail, and he’s flying.”
“He is?” Twisting around, Bella glimpsed Ronnie’s Bronco. “Thank God,” she breathed, then promptly banged into the passenger door as Rudge yanked the steering wheel to the left.
“Bastard’s like a leech,” he growled. His eyes were glued to the rearview mirror. “How can he be gaining in a Ford?”
Bella, facing forward, paled. “Rudge,” she cried. “This is a one-way street!”
“What?” His curse was short and crude. He dodged a Thunderbird, then a Honda Civic, swore fiercely and hit the brakes.
They were going to die, Bella decided. Rudge was going to plow into the vegetable truck in their path, and they were going to be squashed.
Another thought stuck her and she turned, clawing at the headrest. Malone! Wouldn’t he follow them into this nightmare of oncoming traffic?
She was straining to see when Rudge fish tailed the car and sent it careening rear fender first into the truck. Bella’s neck gave a sickening crack as her head snapped back, then abruptly forward.
The impact left her dazed and seeing spots—tiny black spots to match the tingling in her skull. Names flashed in her mind in quick succession—Malone’s first, then the others. Lona, Amanda, Robert Swift, Charmaine Parret, Hobson Crowe. Swift, Parret, Crowe—the Birds. But her father, Robert, was dead. She was sure of that now. Unfettered, her mind slipped backwards….
“How dare you!” a woman’s angry voice exclaimed. “Romaine stops here, Robert—Belladonna, too, at least for you. It’s over. Do you hear me, Robert? It’s over! Do you hear me, Robert…? Do you hear me…?”
“Can you hear me, Bella?” Another voice took over, a man’s voice, familiar and oddly comforting. She swam upward through the black murkiness of her past toward that voice. Her eyelids fluttered.
“Bella!” It was Malone who held her, Malone who shook her gently until her eyes slowly opened. His face came hazily into view. He really did have the most mesmerizing eyes. And then there was his mouth…
She reached up to touch his lips wonderingly with her fingers. They were alive, both of them. But what about Rudge?
She tried to look, but her head refused to move. Pain dipped right into her spinal column.
“You need a doctor,” Malone said. Was that concern in his voice? Was it more than concern?
“Shouldn’t move her, Mister,” an old Chinese woman advised. She knocked her forehead. “Might be she hit her head, got concussion.”
Bella managed a weak protest. “I just… snapped my neck. My head didn’t hit. Chloroform, too. I’ll be all right. Where’s… Rudge?”
“Out cold,” Malone told her. “Forget him.”
“Is he…?”
“Alive, yes, just unconscious. Now, put your arms around my neck and hang on.”
Bella didn’t ask where they were going. Truthfully, she didn’t care, as long as he took her there. But there was something she needed to say, a name hovering on the tip of her tongue that had to be spoken.
She forced away the blackness that wanted to engulf her. “Swift,” she whispered as Malone lifted her out of the wreckage. “It’s Swift, Malone.”
He pulled back just far enough to stare at her. “Swift? What’s that?”
Her head dropped onto his shoulder, shadows filling her mind. “It’s his name. My father’s name. Robert Swift…”
“ROBERT SWIFT, born July 12, 1943. Birthplace, South Shields, England.” Malone made a sound of disgust. “Lord, he’s a bloody neighbor.”
“To you,” Ronnie said, hanging over his cousin’s shoulder.
Malone made a indistinct response. He ran a considering forefinger across his upper lip while Ronnie reached around him to move the cursor on the computer screen.
Bella had been thoroughly examined by a Chinese doctor Malone knew. Lo Chow had pronounced her “okay, but with a bitch of a headache.” He’d ordered her to stay in bed for the remainder of the day.
In bed at Ronnie’s house was what Lo Chow meant and where Malone had reluctantly taken her. But in his opinion, if Rudge knew about the place, so would Tock. They should have gone to Annie’s or Diana’s. On the other hand, Ronnie had argued, neither Annie nor Diana had a security system.
Grudgingly, very grudgingly, Malone had submitted to logic. Now they were huddled over Ronnie’s computer, while Bella slept upstairs.
Ronnie glanced at Malone’s bandaged hand, injured in the accident. “I did try to warn you about the brakes,” he said, calmly tapping the keyboard. “What did you do, smash my Bronco into your Jag as it was smashing into that vegetable truck?”
“Something like that,” Malone agreed, distracted. “I realized I couldn’t slow down on the curves, so Rudge had to go the same speed in order to stay ahead.”
Ronnie didn’t look at him as he noted softly, “She could’ve been killed, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Malone returned snappishly. “The thought hasn’t been out of my mind since I saw them crash.”
“Don’t get touchy. I understand how you feel.”
“No, you bloody do not.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Move the cursor, Ronnie, and tell me something I can use.”
Ronnie knew better than to sound amused, so he adopted a serious tone. “Well, for starters, you’re in love with her.”
If looks could kill, he’d have been a dead man. He hid a smile behind his red beard.
“Would it help if I told you that I think she’s in love with you, too?”
“Information, Ronnie,” Malone said, stony faced. “From the computer.”
Ronnie recognized this defense mechanism. “Bingo,” he said. His ambiguity was deliberate—and successful, he noted, intercepting Malone’s dark glare. He nodded at the computer. “It seems Robert Swift was in the import-export business. Herbs and spices.”
Malone frowned. “What?”
“That’s what it says. Herbs and exotic spices. A profitable business, apparently. He got into veggies next, then tea, rice and cocoa beans. Owned a few factories in England and South America had offices in London, Sao Paulo, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Tokyo, New York and San Francisco.”
“Why so many?” Malone looked closer. “Did you say ‘had’?”
Ronnie pointed to the upper right corner of the screen. “Pre D,” he read. “Presumed dead.”
“When do they presume he died?”
Ronnie tapped more keys. “Uh—twenty years ago.”
“The same time that Bella lost her memory.”
“If you say so. You, uh, want me to check on her?”
Malone didn’t bat an eyelash. In a level tone, he simply said, “No.” Which could have meant a number of things, but probably didn’t.
“Wanna do it yourself, huh?”
“Shut up.”
He’d better, Ronnie decided. Malone aroused to anger could not always be handled. “So what do you figure happened?” he asked more seriously. “Bella saw something she shouldn’t have, right? Something involving a pink knife. But her mother—Amanda, did you say?—got her out before whoever was chasing them could stop them. They were going to this woman Lona’s place in Alaska when their car flew over an embankment. Bella was thrown clear, but her mother went down with the car. Neither car nor mother were ever found.”
Malone’s brows came together. “Who told you that?”
“About the mother’s body? Lona. We had a chat that day, before you and Bella showed up at the hotel. She seemed upset. I thought I was being nice.”
“So Amanda’s body was never recovered.” Malone stared at him, or possibly through him, and Ronnie made a dismissive gesture.
“The car went into a gulch, Malone, an ice crevasse. Those things can go on forever.”
Malone returned his eyes to the computer screen, setting his thumbnail meditatively against his lower lip. “I wonder how Lona got that picture case?”
“Maybe it fell out of the car with Bella.”
“Yes, I suppose Amanda could have pushed her out.” He paused, then seemed to sink deeper into thought. “’I saw…’ he murmured. “’Amanda’s not…’”
Ronnie straightened, yawning. He detected a movement in the darkened library doorway and smiled. “Well now, you’re looking better.”
Malone’s brow furrowed. “What are you blathering about?”
Ronnie indicated the threshold, where Bella stood, or rather leaned, arms folded, wearing his red robe and a skimpy, dusty rose chemise, watching them.
“You ran into us, Malone?” she asked in a tone that was halfway between exasperation and disbelief.
Malone’s frown deepened. “Just how long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear that you think my father, my late father, was a crook.” She pushed off from the frame. Her expression, Ronnie noted, gave little away. The faint tremor in her voice was another matter. “That was really stupid, Malone. You could have been killed.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t know about the brakes.” Malone’s gaze flicked to Ronnie’s ingenuous face.
Arms stretched over his head, Ronnie sauntered toward the door. “Listen to that wind, will you? I’d start a fire if I were you, Cousin. Bay storms blow like the devil with his tail in an electric socket. Black as pitch out there already and it’s only three o’clock. Perfect night for a fire and a cup of mulled wine. A little pro-New Year’s cheer.”
He felt Malone shooting daggers at his spine with his eyes, but it was Bella who brought him to a halt halfway out the door.
“What’s that?” she asked, bending over Malone’s shoulder. “I think your computer’s caught a virus, Ronnie.”
He jogged back. “What’s it doing?”
“Talking to us.” Malone moved the cursor. “It’s not a virus, it’s a message.”
“On my computer?” Ronnie blinked at the screen as, one by one, words appeared in capital letters. Bella read them out loud.
“DO NOT BE DECEIVED. RO MAINE LIVES ON. BELLA DONNA IS MAD. SEARCH YOUR MIND. REMEMBER…”
REMEMBER…
The last R flashed as Charmaine’s eyes calmly scanned it. “It would seem we have a problem,” she said to the woman whose fingers pecked away at the keyboard.
“No kidding.” She gave the keys a swat. “Damn him, I can’t erase this thing. Why did he do it? How did he do it? I didn’t think he understood computers.”
“Some people will surprise you.” Charmaine turned on The Sorcerer, her favorite Gilbert and Sullivan CD, lit a pot of jasmine incense, waited until it was smoldering, then glanced at the rain that spattered the outer windows. “Where’s Rudge?”
“You mean you want his help? He’ll be flattered. Unfortunately, he’s in the hospital with a concussion.”
“Pity.”
The woman kept tapping keys. “It wouldn’t matter anyway, Charmaine. He’s bringing Bella Conlan to me. Deal with the rogue yourself.” Her tone grew sly. “Unless you want me to do it.”
Charmaine laughed, and the sound was not a complimentary one. “We’ll see,” she said. “Any luck?”
“No.” The woman glanced sourly at the screen. “He deserves a dose of belladonna for this, Charmaine. How dare he send a message to the enemy? This is mutiny.”
“With your permission,” Charmaine said, her manner only slightly mocking, “I’ll deal with this particular problem by myself and in my own time. He won’t be difficult to catch. His type is unenviably predictable.”
Ignoring Charmaine’s sarcasm, the woman replied, “Do what you want with him. Just leave Bella Conlan for me.”
“Bella Swift,” Charmaine corrected. “You seem to forget she’s Robert’s daughter.”
“Yes, and how fortunate that I have you here to remind me.” Straightening, then distracted by the bamboo wall mirror, the woman touched her spiky hair with her palm. “What do you think, Charmaine? Should I grow it or keep it short?”
“A pressing question.” Charmaine flipped her own dark hair over one shoulder. “Why not toss a coin? Or better yet, ask the mirror? You like that.”
“I don’t talk to mirrors!”
Charmaine struck a theatrical pose and began to mimic the old rhyme.
“Mirror, mirror, in my hand.
Who’s the fairest in the land?
Never, never, ma pauvre soeur.
Not Charmaine—DO, never her.
And not—”
“Shut up!” the woman shouted. Her chin came up in defiance. “All right, so maybe I’m a little vain. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the trait yourself.”
“The difference being that I acknowledge my faults.”
“Do you also acknowledge your mistakes?”
Charmaine’s smile contained no trace of malice. “Yes.” She switched off the computer and covered the incense pot. “I do. And what I screw up, you can rest assured I will also put right.”
The woman’s lips thinned. “Not Belladonna, Charmaine.”
Charmaine looked over, noted her partner’s body language, shrugged and replied more amiably, “We’ll see. The fact remains he sent her a clue that could conceivably jog a critical memory. We have to get to her now, before she remembers specifics, namely who and what we are. On that point, at least, we can agree. Belladonna must die.”
Chapter Eleven
“No,” Bella argued staunchly.
“Yes,” Malone retorted.
“No! Malone, I’m tired of playing musical houses, and I don’t want to hide out at Annie’s place, or Diana’s or any of your other female friends.”
“Oh, God.” His shoulders sagged. With his thumb and forefinger, he massaged the bridge of his nose. “For the tenth time, Bella, Annie and Diana are Ronnie’s cousins.”
“On his father’s side. You and Ronnie are related through your mother’s. They’re not your cousins, Malone.”
Bella knew she sounded bitchy, but she refused to apologize. She was tired and frightened and sick to death of being chased all over San Francisco by a bunch of faceless Birds. She wanted to sit with Malone in front of the fire Ronnie had mentioned and sip mulled wine. She wanted glitter and ballroom dancing at a forties-style nightclub. She wanted to attend a stage play, something by Shakespeare or Gilbert and Sullivan or an opera by Tchaikovsky. She did not want to remember that her father was dead; that she’d probably witnessed his murder; that her name was Swift and that some unknown ally had sent her a cryptic computer message two hours ago.
“We’re going, Bella,” Malone insisted, placing his leather jacket around her shoulders and taking her firmly by the hand.
She dug in her heels. She would have tried wrapping her arms around him and kissing him, but in his present mood she doubted that would have worked. Too bad, too, because in a black, three-button jersey, faded black jeans and boots, with his hair rumpled and his eyes still vaguely bloodshot from his earlier hangover, he looked extremely appealing. Or so her senses told her every time she set her eyes on him.
“Look,” she said more reasonably. “Let’s talk this over, huh? It’s pouring rain outside. No one’s showed up yet, Ronnie’s got a fantastic security system and that stack of firewood lying next to the hearth is just begging to be burned.”
“No.”
Exasperated, Bella jerked her hand free. “Honest to God, Malone, you’re the most stubborn, irritating person I’ve ever met. Rudge is in the hospital.”
Malone stabbed a finger in her face. “Tock isn’t. And it’s not me who’s stubborn, it’s you. What I am is practical. Any security system, state-of-the-art or not, can be circumvented, given tools and time. For all you know, Tock could come smashing through the drawing-room window any minute now and…” He stopped, switching his gaze sharply to the north wall. “What was that?”
Bella rubbed her wrist. “Thunder. And no matter how many dire predictions you make, I’m still sick of running. I can’t ran forever.”
Crossing to the heavy velvet draperies, Malone eased them aside and glanced out. “Yes, well, forever won’t be long with an attitude like that. Romaine lives, Bella. That’s what the message said.”
“It also said Belladonna was mad.” Annoyed, she yanked the leather jacket on over the moss-green blouse and jeans that Ronnie had loaned her. His sister’s clothes, he’d explained, although his surreptitious wink at Malone had conveyed a somewhat different message. Not that Bella cared as long as the so-called sister in question wasn’t a close friend of Malone’s.
