McKenna wheeled the chair over with the clothing stacked on the seat.
Amanda helped Liam change from his now baggy jeans to the comfortable, fleecy pants, pulling the elastic waistband over his over-sized four-leaf clover print boxers.
“A bit o’ luck,” Liam joked.
Smiling faintly, Amanda assisted him as he raised his emaciated arms. The green sweater went over his head, and she tugged it snugly around his black t-shirt.
“I wish,” Irving said crankily, and for the hundredth time, “you would carry a weapon.”
“It would do no good. They’ll search us,” Liam answered.
McKenna stepped forward. “I had a thought about that.”
Everyone looked at the phlegmatic butler.
“When Mr. Shea came home from the hospital, he had been so injured by his fall down the stairs, he wore a brace on his right leg to keep the knee in place.” McKenna picked up the nylon and stainless steel contraption off the table. “In a pinch, it would work as a weapon.”
“And no one would ever think anything of it.” Irving smiled.
“McKenna, you’re a genius!” Amanda said.
“For a Scotsman,” Liam said.
McKenna scowled and slapped the brace into Liam’s outstretched palm.
Liam winced. He handed Amanda the brace and painfully worked his hand.
“Serves you right,” Amanda told him, and knelt to loosely buckle his leg into the brace.
A pair of black orthopedic shoes rounded out his transformation.
“How do I look?” Liam slowly shuffled in a circle, wincing and tilting as if every joint and every bone ached.
“Dreadful!” Irving seemed to really be enjoying himself.
Amanda even caught McKenna suppressing a grin.
Amanda helped Liam into the wheelchair, arranging his feet on the pedals and wrapping a rough woolen blanket around his legs. Slowly, painfully, he reached out to grab her hand. “Are you sure you’re ready?” His dark eyes were kind, and it was hard to remember that she spoke to Liam, not Irving.
“Yes, I have to be ready. It has to be now.” Amanda grabbed her nursing bag from the floor, checked its zipper to make sure it was secured, and flung it over her shoulder.
She moved over to Irving’s chair by the fire and leaned down. Brushing a soft kiss across his cheek, she said, “Thank you, Irving. I will never forget your help. No matter what happens.”
Irving’s eyes were moist. Before he could answer and break her resolve with his kind words, Amanda turned on her heel, grasped the handles of Liam’s wheelchair, and pushed him from the room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IN THE entryway, McKenna hurried into the coatroom and emerged with Amanda’s peacoat and fleece hat. She pulled her coat on, covered her shaking hands with her Fair Isle gloves. Too hot from all the adrenaline running through her veins, she stuffed the indigo hat into her pocket.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Liam asked as McKenna helped him into one of Irving’s Polartec jackets and covered his wiry white hair with a plaid pageboy cap.
Amanda nodded. “There’s no time to waste. The Sculptor is not a patient man.”
Liam snorted. “The Others isn’t exactly an organization that prizes patience.”
McKenna opened the front door.
Amanda wheeled Liam onto the front steps. Irving had refused the wheelchair ramp the Chosen had wanted to install when he first came home from the hospital, so McKenna and Amanda picked up the wheelchair by its handles and axle and carried it carefully and slowly down the front steps.
Liam whispered, “They’ll have already seen us. We need to get away from the house for them to pick us up.”
By the time they placed the wheelchair on the sidewalk, McKenna was red-faced from the effort of hefting the wheelchair, but he said, “Good luck to you both. I look forward to seeing you this evening for dinner.”
He looked so earnest, so grim, that Amanda could feel tears threatening behind her eyes.
So McKenna turned smoothly and said more loudly, “Have a good walk through the park, sir. I trust you’ll call if you need another blanket.”
Unable to answer in a voice that wouldn’t give him away, Liam nodded and hunched down in his coat like a cold, old man being forced to take a walk by his strict private nurse. With that, McKenna bowed slightly and headed back up the stairs, to a long day of worry and watching the Chosen Ones stare out the windows.
Amanda squared her shoulders and pushed Liam toward a small park three blocks from the mansion. Few people walked the streets this early, and the few that did faced another day of work, and seemed to be drowning themselves in coffee.
The winter day was cold and a little windy, but the sunshine peeked out from the clouds, warming Amanda’s face. She almost had a moment of enjoyment, a moment of relaxation, pulling the fresh air in through her nose and sighing grandly out through her mouth, as she had learned in yoga.
But then, as she and Liam had expected, a long black sedan with dark-tinted windows glided up to the curb beside them and Robbie and another man, even bigger than Robbie, stepped from the backseat of the car.
Amanda came to a halt, and Liam did his best impression of surprise.
His alarmed expression seemed to amuse Robbie’s friend.
Robbie looked at Amanda and frowned, and scratched his head as if something was puzzling him.
Sidling up to Amanda, Robbie’s friend said in an exaggerated whisper, “You need to come with us. And don’t even think about screaming. You’re too far from your precious Chosen Ones for them to hear you.”
“Why would I scream?” she said coolly. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Irving Shea delivered to you on a platter?”
Liam dug his cell phone from his pocket, frantically pushing at the screen.
Robbie’s friend grabbed it from his arthritic fingers and pulled the back off, throwing the battery on the ground and smashing it beneath his dark leather boot. “I wouldn’t bother with that, old man. No one can save you in time. Besides, your pretty little private nurse is on our side. Did you know that?”
Liam made a show of sputtering and gruffly saying, “I … I don’t believe it.”
Amanda didn’t like the way the big guy had handled Liam, so she said, “I want my cooperation noted. I have brought you Mr. Shea undrugged and unharmed. It’s up to the Sculptor to harm him — so you two had better be careful with him.”
Robbie shoved at the other guy. “Yeah, Howard. Watch yourself.”
Howard scowled.
Liam cowered. “Where are we going?”
But the two thugs weren’t interested in his acting skills. They had a schedule to follow.
Howard wheeled Liam to the car door. “We’re taking you to see a friend of your nurse’s. The Sculptor wants to meet you.”
Robbie grabbed Amanda by the arm and roughly pulled her toward the waiting car.
“Knock it off.” She jerked herself free. “I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since you shoved your big fat self into my apartment and stole my sister. I’m not going to run away now.”
Robbie had the guts to look wounded.
Howard’s enormous arms bulged as he lifted Liam into the car, as Liam made a show of struggling against him. When Howard disentangled himself from Liam’s flailing arms, he slammed the door, then tried to fold up the wheelchair.
If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Amanda would have giggled at his sweaty-faced efforts. Instead she stepped forward. “Move! You’re going to screw it up.”
Howard glared as she made quick work of collapsing the chair so the burly, but mechanism-challenged goon could shove it into the truck with a curse.
Robbie grasped Amanda’s arm again and led her toward the other side of the car, opening the door and giving a sweeping, faux-chivalrous gesture for her to get in.
Amanda slid into the leather interior of the car.
Robbie and Howard climbed onto a bench seat facing her and Liam.
How did bad guys get those cars with the backward seats? She half-expected one of them to whip out a gun and start into a mobster-type speech about sleeping with the fishes.
But that was unnecessary.
Amanda had no doubt that if she and Liam tried to escape, these two, along with the silent driver, could easily tear her and Liam limb-from-limb.
Amanda glanced over at Liam, who was slumped into his seat.
Liam tried to sit up straight, but Amanda knew the lack of core muscle strength Irving had been dealing with since the accident.
“Here, Irving, let me help you.” Leaning over, she helped to prop him against the locked door and carefully tuck him into his seatbelt, tightening it enough to not cut his neck but to give him some support.
Liam momentarily forgot his role, and said softly, “Thanks, darlin’.” He realized his mistake a second too late.
Amanda tried to play it cool as she slid back to her own seat and fastened her seatbelt.
They both waited for the backlash from their bodyguards.
Howard didn’t move a muscle or appear to notice that anything was amiss.
Robbie stared at her and scratched his head in puzzlement, as if a thought struggled to escape his brain, and he didn’t know how to deal with such a novel event.
As the car glided its way through traffic, Amanda finally realized that these Others had never heard Irving speak, so hiding Liam’s accent wasn’t a big concern.
Glancing over at Liam, he mouthed, Sorry.
She nodded.
Once they were in the Sculptor’s mansion, they had to keep their wits about them. One mistake and in an instant, their entire plan could come crashing down — and they would die, slowly and painfully.
So would Sophia.
Amanda and Liam had one chance. One chance for freedom. One chance to ruin the Sculptor. One chance to save her sister.
They could not fail.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AMANDA WHEELED Liam through the front hallway of the Sculptor’s mansion. His home was cold, covered in marble and granite with no rugs or tapestries to muffle the sounds. Each creak of Liam’s wheelchair sounded like anguish, low and sorrowful, and Amanda worked to remain calm as she marched once more past the pale frozen figures of people who had failed to please the Sculptor … and Osgood.
Between two statues was an empty space marked by a crumble of white plaster.
Amanda didn’t dare imagine what that meant … and then she did imagine, and felt ill and faint.
Robbie and Howard had been replaced by Eric, the bastard who had been so instrumental in bringing Sophia and Amanda to the Sculptor’s home. If it were even possible, he looked bigger than last time. Bulkier.
Amanda wondered if the Others took steroids in their free time.
Yeah, probably.
Eric led her and Liam through the familiar double doors of the Sculptor’s studio.
It was exactly as she remembered it. The white walls. The steel worktable with his sculpting tools laid out just so. The sterile emptiness, save for her sister’s statue-like form, placed on a dark stone pedestal.
Looking at Sophia, so lifelike and yet so still, Amanda realized that the Sculptor had never covered her over with thick, white plaster. Perhaps he enjoyed gazing at Sophia’s still out-stretched hand and the tears frozen in trails down her cheeks.
Certainly he looked delighted at Amanda's grief-stricken expression. For there he stood, next to his worktable.
Amanda hurried to Sophia. She slid her nursing bag off her shoulder, dropped it to the floor. She stripped away her gloves, then with trembling fingers, she touched Sophia’s cold cheek. “Oh, my darling baby sister,” she whispered.
Resolve hardened in her heart.
Turning, she stared at the Sculptor as he glided forward.
He would pay.
Taking Amanda’s hand, he kissed it. “Welcome back, Miss Reed. I trust you’ve been well.”
Inwardly shuddering, Amanda removed her fingers from his grasp. “Fine, thank you.”
Moving to the side of Liam’s wheelchair, she said, “As you can see, I’ve held up my end of the bargain.”
The Sculptor surveyed Liam. He circled him, peered into his face, then circled him again.
Amanda broke out in a cold sweat. Was it possible for the Sculptor to detect the switch?
Then he turned back toward his table of tools. “It took you long enough.”
Amanda took a breath; she’d been holding it. In an even voice, she said, “One doesn’t simply waltz into the midst of the Chosen Ones and remove their revered leader. I had to build up their trust. And Irving had to build up his strength.”
“He still looks awful to me,” the Sculptor said.
Eric chuckled deep in his chest, sounding like Jabba the Hut when Leia tried to free Han.
Liam grunted, his shoulders hunched, his head down, plucking at the blanket over his knees as though his brain wasn’t processing all that was happening in front of him.
“How did you manage to keep him alive?” the Sculptor asked.
“I am a nurse, after all,” she said icily. “Isn’t that why you sent me into Irving’s home?”
The Sculptor’s mouth curved. “No, my dear, I sent you there because handing over both your sister and Irving will be a feather in my cap. Osgood will reward me handsomely.”
A new horror washed over Amanda. “I’m here to trade Irving for my sister. You said if I brought you Irving, you would give me my sister.” She stepped forward, cold with fear, and hot with indignation. “That was our deal.”
“That’s the funny thing about deals. They can be easily changed. Especially when one of us is so expendable.” The Sculptor turned to Eric, and with an indifferent flick of his wrist, he said, “Kill the spare.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE SPARE. That was her.
As Eric advanced toward Amanda, she had only a moment to assess the situation. She had known the chances of the original plan going off without a hitch were slim-to-none, but she and Liam had only had time to go though a few “what if’s” at dinner last night.
They had agreed that if the plan went awry, Liam would begin to change into himself to help her in a fight.
As she backed across the room, stalked by a menacing Eric, she saw Liam begin the transformation.
But would he be quick enough?
Eric closed in, and with one twist of his hands, he could break her neck — and enjoy it, too. He herded her toward a corner.
She was gasping in fear, keeping her gaze on the hulking, grinning brute.
But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Liam kick off the blanket covering his knees and toss his cap onto the floor. His eyes had returned to their brilliant blue color. Pushing himself up out of the wheelchair, he attempted to straighten up enough to remove Irving's jacket.
The Sculptor watched uncomprehendingly. As he realized he had been duped, heat flushed his cold face. “Get him. Eric — get him!” He pointed a shaking finger at Liam, then started toward him.
Steroids had not been kind to Eric. His brain worked sluggishly. His head turned slowly. He fixed his reptilian gaze on Liam.
And that delay gave Amanda time to run from the corner she had been backed into and grab a bucket of loose, dry plaster from the Sculptor’s worktable. Running into the Sculptor’s path, she hurled the fine powder into his face.
He shrieked, momentarily blinded, and scraped frantically at his eyes.
She leaped at Eric, swinging the bucket by the handle. She smacked him in the back.
Enraged, he turned on her.
Liam struggled, still caught in the throes of the transformation.
He had to hurry.
The Sculptor lunged, grabbing her from behind.
The Chosen Ones had taught her a few tricks, and she used one now, letting the Sculptor hold her up as she jumped and kicked Eric in the stomach.
He doubled over. But he didn’t go down.
?
??Fool!” the Sculptor shrieked. “Get Liam. Get him!”
Eric straightened. He gazed at Amanda; his reptilian eyes promised retribution. He lumbered around to face Liam.
Liam had grown, stretching Irving’s pants. His white hair had darkened to black. His shoulders had filled out, his skin had lost the thin, mottled look of old age.
But he was still bent, still feeble.
“Liam Gallagher.” Eric flexed his massive hands. “I never thought much of you, but I didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to betray us. Osgood will have your head for this.” Pausing, he added, “Or perhaps he’ll have the Sculptor add you to his office’s current decorations.” Eric gave another one of those Jabba the Hut laughs, and punched Liam in the jaw.
Amanda struggled as the Sculptor pulled her close, her back against his front.
Liam held up his weak arms, trying to fend off Eric’s blows.
But each hit landed with a thud, crushing his ribs, sending him sprawling on the ground in pain. Eric advanced on him, stomping his boots against the floor.
The Sculptor's grasp around Amanda's middle kept getting tighter.
She was out of breath. Her ribs were cracking. She had to do something. Now! Picking up her feet, she threw all her weight onto the Sculptor's encircling arms.
He staggered forward, toward the worktable.
She grabbed the first tool she could find, a small, pointed awl, and rammed it behind her, over her head.
He jerked away. “You bitch!”
She turned.
He clawed at his face, pulled the awl free.
Her aim was better than she could have ever hoped.
Blood ran down his face.
She’d pierced his right eye.
Good. For. Me.
She looked back at Eric … and at Liam.
Liam’s transformation was finally complete. But too late.
Eric continued beating him, slamming him over and over with kicks so vicious Amanda didn’t know how Liam managed to crawl away. Blood seeped through his t-shirt. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing through the pain of cracked ribs and bruised kidneys.