The Lady Has a Past (Burning Cove #5) - Amanda Quick Page 0,79

looking for her. We can’t take the chance that they’ll find her. We have to get rid of her.”

“No one was supposed to get hurt,” the first man said.

“People have already gotten hurt, in case you haven’t noticed. You think Frampton got into that paraffin bath all by herself? Plans change.”

Yes, they do, Raina thought. She double-checked her preparations. She had freed herself from the manacle. The chain was now arranged on the floor so that it led from the wall ring into the bathroom. She had closed the door as far as possible. The objective was to make it appear that she was making use of the facilities.

She had found her suitcase and handbag in the closet, but of course the pistol and the box of ammunition were gone. The original plan had been to use one of the heavy, gilded picture frames on the deliveryman’s head, grab his keys, and use his car to get as far away as possible.

But now that she knew there was another man downstairs, things were not going to be simple. She needed a distraction.

Footsteps thudded on the stairs.

She went to the dressing table, picked up the matchbook, and struck a light. Her hand was trembling. The match went out almost immediately. She struck another one. The flame steadied.

She touched the burning match to the thin material of the lace sheers on the window. The old fabric caught instantly.

She struck another match and set a different section of the lace alight.

The footsteps were in the hall now.

She picked up the heavy wooden picture frame that she had taken down earlier and flattened herself against the wall behind the door.

The bolt slid aside. The door opened partway. A man moved into the room. He was not wearing a spa mask. Another bad sign. It signaled that he didn’t care if she could identify him.

He paused briefly, focusing on the chain that led into the bathroom. He did not notice the small fire on the other side of the room.

“Come on out of there,” he said. “You’re going home today.”

He started toward the door of the bath. On the far side of the room the curtains abruptly flared. Smoke billowed.

“What the fuck?” His voice rose. “Pete, there’s a fire. Get up here. I need help.”

Raina stepped out from behind the door, raised the picture frame, and slammed the sharp corner against the man’s skull. He went down without so much as a grunt, but the floorboards shuddered. She knew his companion downstairs must have heard the sound.

“Joe? What’s going on up there?” Pete shouted.

Raina crouched beside Joe. He groaned. She debated whether to use the picture frame on him again but quickly decided she couldn’t spare the time.

Footsteps pounded on the staircase. Pete ran down the hall.

“Shit, Joe, there’s smoke. We gotta get out of here.”

The old, sun-faded curtains were going up fast now. The smoke was thickening. Behind the door, Raina waited, clutching the picture frame.

Joe stirred. His eyes opened partway. He struggled to sit up.

“Pete, you gotta help me,” he gasped.

Pete finally moved. He lurched out of the doorway and went toward Joe.

“What about the woman?” Pete said.

“Never mind her. Just get me out of here. This old house is a tinderbox.”

Raina did not hesitate. This was as good as it was going to get. With luck the men had left the keys in their vehicle.

She used both hands to hurl the picture frame in the general direction of Pete and Joe and then she bolted out from behind the door and ran into the hall. She paused to glance right and left, spotted the staircase, and rushed toward it.

She was halfway down the stairs, moving so fast she had to keep one hand on the railing to ensure that she did not fall, when a third man appeared. He wasn’t wearing a mask, either. He had a gun in his hand.

Billingsley. The owner of the hotel. He had come out of his office to welcome her and hand her the key to room two twenty-one.

“You’ve ruined everything, Kirk,” he said. “I should never have agreed to the deal. Guppy and I had such a sweet game going. But thanks to you and that bitch, I’ve got a fucking disaster on my hands.”

She froze. He knew her real name, the one she had been using since she had stopped being Mrs. Malcolm Whitlock.

“Boss.” Pete appeared at the top of the stairs, half dragging the barely conscious Joe. “She set the fucking house on