Marcia Talley: The Last Refuge

‘They know you murdered Alex Mueller.’

His laugh exploded in my ear. ‘That prick.’

As long as I could keep him talking, I figured I was safe. ‘It was a mistake to come here, Drew. You’ve already been spotted. Why don’t you leave now, before my husband notices I’ve vanished and comes looking for me.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, his voice glacial.

The hand that wasn’t pressing into the small of my back slid over my breast and up my throat, stroking gently at first, like a lover. ‘Oh, Hannah.’ His fingers closed around my neck, began to squeeze. ‘I could snap your neck right now, you know. You wouldn’t feel a thing.’ His lips touched mine, lightly, then he breathed against my cheek. ‘I should have done it that night in Amy’s room. Saved myself a lot of trouble.’

Paul, dammit, where was Paul? I tried to scream, but the pressure of Drew’s hand was cutting off my air supply.

‘Alex was trouble,’ Drew muttered. ‘And look what happened to him.’

Suddenly, a costumed couple burst through the door and erupted onto the porch, laughing drunkenly, stumbling over one another in their efforts to reach fresh air. Drew mashed his lips down against mine, hard, so hard that my teeth bit into my lower lip.

‘Ooops! Excuse us!’ the girl giggled.

‘Mmmmf,’ I tried, but Drew pressed all the harder. He’d dropped his hand, though, so at least I could breathe. I sucked a grateful breath through my nose.

Drew had no weapon, except his hands, but they were deadly. I had no weapon, except my fan. I considered jamming it into his eye.

‘Lovebirds,’ the young man drawled. ‘Sweet.’

‘C’mon. Kiss me , honey,’ she said, clawing at her partner’s cravat.

Desperately, I tried to signal one of them with my eyes, but it was too dark for them to see the desperation written in them.

Drew’s weight shifted, and something knocked against my hip. Amy’s iPhone was still in my pocket. I moaned, fell limp, dead weight in his arms. My head lolled, and I felt my wig begin to slip, tilting, sliding, until it dropped off my head, hitting the floor with a quiet floof .

Drew started, giving me the time I needed to reach into my pocket, wrap my fingers around the phone. I pulled it out and jammed it as hard as I could, narrow edge first, into his throat.

He gasped, tried to draw air, but only succeeded in producing an odd squeaking sound. He crumpled at my feet.

I didn’t wait to see what damage I had caused. I lifted my petticoats and ran, scrambling down the long flight of stairs that led to the street, hoping to be well away before Drew had time to recover and take off after me.

‘We got him!’ A woman’s voice.

I paused, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leap right out of my chest. Who was that?

‘We have him, Mrs Ives,’ she yelled again. ‘You’re safe now.’

The next thing I knew, Paul was running toward me, stumbling down the steps, crossing the street, folding me into his arms.

‘How…?’ I began.

He held me at arm’s length, looked me up and down as if checking for damage. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah. We saw Cornell drag you out…’ He paused. ‘They told me they’d handle it.’

‘They? Who is they?’

‘I told you I’d bring back-up. Even though Jud’s men got hold of Drew, until we knew for sure he was in Navy custody, I thought it better to be safe than sorry. Come with me. I’d like you to meet them.’

On wobbly legs, supported by Paul, I made it to the top of the long staircase. The first thing I saw was the drunken couple looking remarkably sober. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear and a taser in his other hand. She had a gun. Sitting at their feet, propped up against the wall with his hands behind him, was Drew Cornell. His wig, like mine, had disappeared in the fray and the pale hair underneath was dirty and matted. His head was bowed, so I couldn’t see his eyes.

‘Agent Loftiss, Agent Waldholm, this is my wife.’

I simply stared, too stunned to speak.

‘NCIS,’ Agent Loftiss explained. She extended her hand. ‘Sorry we waited so long to jump in. We were jigging, too, but lost you for a moment when some rowdy kids blocked our path.’

Thank God for whomever invented tasers and the Naval Criminal Investigative Service . ‘Glad you made it before he broke my neck. I was scared shitless, if you want to know the truth.’

Agent Waldholm turned back to his prisoner. ‘Up!’ He hoisted Drew to his feet. I could see that Drew’s hands were bound behind his back with flex-cuffs.

Drew glared at me then, face rigid, jaw set, shooting shrapnel out of his eyes. ‘I want to see my wife.’

‘Later,’ Agent Waldholm barked, propelling Drew ahead of him, down the stairs. I noticed that his hand never strayed far from the automatic weapon strapped to his belt, still partially hidden under his colonial costume.

Loftiss tucked her weapon into her stomacher, adjusted her hoop, hoisted her skirts and headed down the stairs after her partner, but paused to speak to Paul. ‘Thanks for your help, Ives.’

‘I think it’s Hannah you need to thank,’ my husband said. ‘And Drew’s wife, too, of course. Amy Cornell gave up a cool half-million dollars to turn this sonofabitch in.’

‘We need more like her, Ives.’

I gave Loftiss a big thumbs up. ‘Bravo Zulu, Agent Loftiss.’

‘All in a day’s work, Mrs Ives.’

When Loftiss had gone, I tugged on Paul’s arm. ‘Where is Amy?’

‘Last time I saw her, she was inside, dancing with Mayor Cohen. I think he’s smitten.’ He stooped, scooped up my wig and helped me settle it back on my head, squinting at it critically, making adjustments. One of the birds had fallen off in the scuffle. He picked it up, too, took careful aim, and jabbed it back into the mound of cotton candy I was wearing on my head.

‘Should we tell her…?’ My voice trailed off. ‘Of course we should,’ I said, answering my own question. ‘From now on, she won’t have to keep looking over her shoulder.’

After the coolness of the evening, the heat in the ballroom hit me like a wall. ‘Let’s find Amy, then get out of here,’ I said.

‘What about Founding Father?’

‘Screw Founding Father,’ I said.

The ladies lounge had a sofa. I took Amy there, told her what happened, and sat with her while she took it all in.

‘I should be bawling,’ she told me, ‘but I ran out of tears for Drew a long time ago.’

‘Do you want to go home?’

She stared blindly at the wall. ‘Home? Where’s home?’

‘I meant Patriot House, Amy,’ I said gently.

‘No, I don’t think I want to do that. Not right now.’

I swiveled in my seat, laid a hand on her knee. ‘You know what I’d really like to do, Amy?’

She shook her head.

‘I’d like to go to a bonfire. Would you like to come, too?’

Her face brightened, then, just as suddenly, fell. ‘What about the children?’

‘Melody can take care of herself.’ I leaned closer. ‘She’s got Jason to keep her company. They’re joined at the hip. Tell you what, let’s find Gabe, collect Paul and our wraps, and blow this pop stand.’

St John’s College had been founded in 1696 on four acres of land. Over the years, the campus had expanded to thirty-two acres, sprawled along the banks of Weems Creek in the heart of Annapolis’s historic district.

We strolled leisurely down St John’s Street, past the back of the college library, past the state-owned parking garage, heading toward the creek. Several hundred people had gathered along its banks, all dressed in colonial garb. It must have been the price of admission. Somewhere, pork was being barbequed, the aroma permeated the air. A large barrel, or hogshead, was the central attraction. ‘What’s in that?’ Gabe wanted to know as we passed by.