Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8)

Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8) Page 32

“What is that?” Lyra asked, thinking she had given him every possible piece of material she’d collected.

“I’m going to need to see Paraiso Park, and unfortunately, this is the only free time I’ll have before leaving for New York. My car is just outside. I’ll drive.” He stood as though the matter was settled.

Lyra was surprised. “But, Professor, it will be dark by the time we get there. Besides, I have lab time scheduled, and—”

“That will have to wait,” he said impatiently. “We won’t stay at the park long. We’ll use my headlights to see.”

“Couldn’t you go there on your own? You said you lived near the park at one time, so you know the area well.”

“I know how to get there, yes,” he admitted, “but I’ll need you with me to explain how you chose your camera angles, how you set up your shots, what environmental factors you considered in your photographs.”

She didn’t want to go anywhere with him. Her instincts were telling her to get out of his office. Something was wrong. Mahler had become so emphatic.

“I’m sorry. I’m going to have to decline.”

“You would pass up the opportunity to have your documentary shown? You cannot be serious.”

“Of course I want it shown. I’m simply declining to go with you to Paraiso Park.”

“I’m going to have to insist. I’m afraid not only your documentary but your entire evaluation in my class could depend on this.” He opened the side drawer on his desk. When he looked up at her, his face was red and his jaw was clenched.

Lyra didn’t refuse again. He was acting so strangely, she was becoming alarmed.

“All right,” she relented. “I’ll meet you there.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and said, “I’ll call Sidney, my roommate, and ask her to ride with me. She’s been wanting to see the park, and I—”

“Hand me the phone.”

She looked up. Mahler held a gun pointed at her.

Lyra was so shocked, she stammered, “Professor … what are you doing?”

“I said, give me that phone.” His anger was so fierce that she could see the pulsing veins in his forehead.

ONLY THE LENGTH OF a desk separated Lyra from a bullet, but instead of being frightened, she became furious. Her hand holding the phone dropped to her lap. She pushed 911 and muted the call.

Mahler could barely contain his rage. “Of all the parks in this city, you had to choose Paraiso Park! If I had known before you started taking your ridiculous pictures, I could have gotten you onto another project.”

“I chose that park because of the poster in your office.”

“You’re saying this is my fault?”

Lyra didn’t know how to respond. “Please put the gun down and explain to me what has you so upset.”

“Upset? I’m enraged,” he growled.

“But why?” she asked again.

“You pointed the damn camera at that garden. If it got a picture of my car or me, I’ll be screwed. I can’t chance that.”

She took a deep breath. “Is that your garden? Did you bury something that—”

“No,” he said. “Not there. Not there. But if your camera got the garden, it got what was on the other side.” He wore a sick smile.

“What?” she asked.

“Not what, who,” he corrected. “Yip, yip, yip. That’s all she did. Constantly picking at me. I couldn’t stand it one more second.” Almost as an afterthought, he said, “And I needed the money.”

“Your wife?” Lyra asked incredulously.

“I couldn’t divorce her,” he said. “She was the one with the money.”

Lyra’s heart sank to her stomach. She and everyone else in her film class had thought that Mrs. Mahler had left him. He was so mean and bad-tempered, it was easy to believe.

“Money? How can you get money if her body isn’t found? It could take years before the insurance is paid.”

“Think you’ve got it all figured out? You don’t. You’re all wrong. I don’t want her body found. As long as everyone believes she’s left me, I can continue to dip into her accounts. I can’t touch her money if she’s dead. She saw to that, all right.” He shook his head. “That park could have been ignored for years. If they start digging around now …”

He suddenly realized she hadn’t given him the phone. “Give me your phone.”

She held it up, and he slapped it onto the floor. Blessedly, it was still in one piece. Lyra prayed that her 911 call had gone through.

He kept the gun on her as he paced a couple of steps back and forth, thinking. His anger was turning into panic.

“If you’d just gone to the park quietly … Now I have to figure out how to do this. It was all going to be so easy. Your two friends are waiting about a mile from here. All I had to do was hand you over. They’d do the rest.”

Lyra was trembling and desperately trying to stay calm. Her mind raced from one crazy idea to another to get that gun away from him. And still live to tell about it. She could see the turmoil inside him. His scheme hadn’t gone as planned, and now he had to scramble for a new one. All she could think to do was to keep him talking.

“What friends?”

“The men Flynn sent to your apartment. You pepper-sprayed one of them, and he can’t wait to see you again.”

Lyra was confused. “You sent Flynn’s men after me? What does this have to do with Frank Merriam?” None of this was making sense.

“Who the hell is Frank Merriam? All I know is that if Flynn’s thugs could have found those pictures in your apartment, this would be over. When the pictures weren’t there, I couldn’t take a chance you or anyone else could see them. I had to let Flynn call the shots after that. He’s not going to help me out again.” He looked at her resentfully. “I wasted my favor on a damned student.”

He picked up his cell phone and pushed some numbers while keeping an eye on her. Lyra thought if he would just stretch his arm out a little more, she could knock the gun out of his hand.

The phone was up to his ear. “She’s not cooperating. You’ll have to come and get her. Campus should be cleared out by now. Come in the back door on the lower level.”

Lyra couldn’t just sit there and wait to get dragged outside. If she didn’t do something soon, it would be three armed men against her.

THERE WERE TWO ENTRANCES into Mahler’s office. The door facing the hall, which the students were encouraged to use, and the private entrance through the classroom.

Sam tore into the building and ran up two flights of steps. The building was empty and when he came to the hallway to Mahler’s office, he slowed down. He moved quietly past the first door, then another and another until he reached Mahler’s door. His name, like all the professors’ names, was etched on the glass. The window shade was pulled down. Sam knew before he tried the door that it was locked.

He could hear Mahler talking. His voice was loud and angry. But there was more to it, a hysterical pitch. Mahler was breaking down, which meant the least little thing could set him off. Sam was certain Lyra was inside, but he needed to hear her voice so that he would know she was all right. It made him crazy to consider any other possibility.

He flipped his gun safety off as he ducked down to get to the classroom door. It was closed, so he quietly turned the knob and slowly pushed it open a couple of inches. Mahler stood in profile, but Sam saw the gun. He knew Lyra must be on the other side of the desk. Since Mahler kept his gun on her, she was alive and conscious.

Mahler was agitated and moving back and forth. Sam couldn’t get a clear shot. Any thought of getting the angle he needed without being seen was futile.

He heard heavy footsteps. They sounded as though they were coming from the stairwell. Two men were arguing. Their voices were becoming more distinct as they climbed the stairs, but they were speaking in such hushed tones, he could only catch a few words. He heard one of them complaining about having to dig up something and move it so it wouldn’t be found. The other agreed it was a lousy job.

Their voices became clearer as they got closer. “We’re grave diggers is what we are. And now we’ve got to dig two new graves if we’re going to dig up the wife’s body and move it,” one whispered.

“I brought some pepper spray just for her. Let the bitch know what it feels like.”

Sam couldn’t wait any longer. He went back to Mahler’s office door and knocked.

Mahler didn’t answer at first, and then cautiously said, “Who is it?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Lyra, go open the door, and don’t try anything or you’ll be getting a bullet in your back,” Mahler ordered.

“No.”

“Get up and open the door,” he demanded.

Sam kept his eye on the door to the stairwell. The two men should be stepping out any second.

Lyra screamed back. “No, I’m not getting up.”

“Bitch,” Mahler muttered. He kept his eyes on her as he edged around her chair and backed toward the door, his left hand reaching for the lock.

Sam used all his might and kicked in the door, sending Mahler flying. He landed on the floor beside his desk. Lyra leapt up and ran to get Mahler’s gun, but he scrambled forward and got there first. When Mahler rolled on his back and aimed the barrel at Sam, Lyra sprang at him. Mahler swung the gun toward her, and a shot rang out. The bullet from Sam’s gun struck Mahler in his throat, severing his carotid artery. He fell to the floor with blood pooling around him.

Lyra shook uncontrollably. “Sam.” She called his name, but her voice was so faint he couldn’t hear.

He wasn’t looking at her. He lifted the door and propped it in the opening. Then he grabbed a chair and pushed it against the propped door to hold it. The glass was cracked but still intact. Sam pulled the torn shade down as the footsteps pounded in the hallway. The men outside had heard the shot and were running toward Mahler’s office. Two large file cabinets stood against the wall next to the door. Sam grabbed Lyra and pushed her into the corner, hidden by the cabinets. He stood in front of her, pushing her back even farther.

Just as Sam hoped, the men kicked down the door and started shooting even before they rushed in. They aimed at the desk in front of them, riddling it with bullets. “You check, make sure you got her.”

“Oh, I got her,” the other boasted.

“I’m still squirting pepper spray in her eyes.”

“Drop the guns!” Sam ordered from behind.

The vengeful thug whirled around, and Sam shot the gun from his hand. His friend ducked down behind the desk, but his arm came around the side to shoot wildly. Sam shot him in the shoulder, forcing him to drop the gun.

After Sam kicked the guns away from the injured men, Lyra collected them and put them on the desk. She added Mahler’s gun to the collection.

One of their attackers was now screaming that he would never use his hand again.

“Your shooting hand?” Sam asked casually. “That’d be a real shame.”

Lyra was watching the other man. He had a bullet in his shoulder, but he remained stone-faced. Of the two, she thought he was the more dangerous. She heard footsteps pounding toward them and turned around. Sam had stepped into the hallway and was holding his badge up for the three approaching policemen to see.

Within minutes they were surrounded by police officers and paramedics. Lyra stood in the corner of the tiny office so they could get past her. Her racing heart had finally slowed, and her hands were no longer shaking. She noticed her phone on the floor and remembered her 911 call. She picked it up and held it to her hear. “Is anyone there?”

“Yes, ma’am, we’re here.”

“Did you record all that? Did you get every word Mahler said?”

“Yes, ma’am, we sure did.” Lyra could hear a smile in her voice.

Detective O’Malley arrived on the scene, and Sam was filling him in on the details. She waited for Sam to say something to her, but he was preoccupied, acting as though he didn’t even see her. The door was blocked by people, so she went through the classroom and into the hall. She wondered why Sam had kept her in the office instead of running in this direction. She looked down the hallway and had her answer. If they had turned one way, they would have met a dead end. If they had turned the other, they would have run past the office, and the gunmen would have had an easy shot at them. She and Sam would never have made it to the exit. He had made a good call, she thought. By pushing her into that corner and then placing himself in front of her, Sam had kept her alive.

Lyra thought she would have to give her account of what had happened at least two or three times, but only one policeman had any questions. He explained that the 911 operator had heard and recorded every word, so they knew exactly what had taken place. She was free to go home.

Sam was still talking to O’Malley, and she felt foolish waiting around. He had obviously put the pieces of the puzzle together and realized that Mahler was behind the horrible things that had been happening. If she stood there waiting for him, and he didn’t say anything more than, “Nice to see you again,” then what?

She wasn’t waiting. She didn’t even try to get her memory cards or her backpack. They were now part of the investigation. She tucked her phone in her pocket, turned around, and walked away.

She didn’t get far. She had just turned the corner in the hallway when she felt strong hands on her shoulders.

FORTY-ONE

SAM DIDN’T GIVE HER A CHANCE TO THANK HIM FOR SAVING HER LIFE.

“You scared the hell out of me, lass.” His voice shook with emotion, and his grip on her shoulders tightened. His brogue was so thick, he sounded as though he’d never left Scotland. Did he just call her “lass”?

Before she could say a word, he jerked her into his arms and hugged her fiercely. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.” She could barely understand a word he said. He was speaking English, wasn’t he?

The side of her face was pressed against his chest, and she heard his heart pounding. Lyra was still shaken from the ordeal she’d gone through, but in Sam’s strong arms, she was comforted.

“Promise me,” he demanded.

“Yes, whatever it is, I promise.”

He tilted her chin up and kissed her almost savagely. His tongue swept inside, and there was such passion in his kiss, such desperation.

Lyra didn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her fingers spread through his hair as she kissed him with equal fervor.