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It wasn’t large, but it would put out Mark’s eye. And that’s exactly what she intended to do with it.
CHAPTERTEN
Less than ten minutes had passed before Niko reached over to switch off the van’s engine. He should never have allowed Rayne to go inside by herself. Then again, he suspected she was right that her mother wouldn’t talk in front of him. Not if she was guilty . . .
Wait. Niko frowned as he was struck by a sudden memory. Tami couldn’t be guilty. Rayne had told him that she’d spent the morning with her mother shopping in Salzburg, right? Besides, why would Tami hand over the money if she intended to kill Nat?
She wouldn’t. Not unless she was working with someone else.
Someone like her husband, Mark Jefferson.
Damn. Leaping out of the van, Niko charged across the street and up the steps. He didn’t bother to knock as he shoved open the door. He had no idea why he was suddenly so certain that Mark was the killer.
He’d been wrong about Brooke and Trent Orwell, about Henri Wagner, and now Tami. But in that moment, he couldn’t think of anything but getting Rayne away from the house before Mark found out what they’d discovered.
Entering the foyer, Niko came to a sharp halt as he was met by a wall of smoke. He coughed, lifting his arm to cover his mouth and nose. There was a fire at the back of the house that was rapidly spreading.
“Rayne!” he called out, coughing as the smoke threatened to choke him.
“Niko, I’m in here.”
Barely able to see, Niko followed the sound of Rayne’s frantic voice, ramming into the wall twice before he found the opening into a long sitting room.
The smoke wasn’t as thick in there, and he could make out Rayne, along with an unconscious woman lying on the white carpet. His attention, however, was captured by the man who whirled around at his entrance holding a steel poker.
Mark Jefferson.
Niko had only seen him a couple of times, but there was no forgetting the smug expression on the too-pretty face. Niko had wanted to punch the cocky grin off the man’s lips when he’d visited St. Cecilia’s School years ago. Now he was going to get the opportunity, he grimly promised himself.
“Rayne, get out of here,” he commanded, his gaze never leaving Mark. “The house is on fire.”
She stubbornly shook her head. “Mark killed Nat. She had pictures of him sleeping with one of the students at St. Cecilia’s.”
Niko felt a surge of revulsion, but now wasn’t the time to be distracted. Later he’d mourn his sister. Right now all that mattered was protecting Rayne.
“I’ve got this,” he assured her. “Please just get out of here.”
He thought he heard her mutter something, but out of the corner of his eye he caught the flash of movement. Assuming that Rayne had accepted it was too dangerous to stay and was headed toward the nearest exit, Niko stepped toward Mark.
The man might hold a weapon, but he was fifteen years older and devoted his days to lying next to the pool sipping martinis. Niko was confident he could overpower him.
“I don’t know who you are, but you shouldn’t have come in here,” Mark snarled, waving the poker in a threatening gesture.
“I’m Niko Scantlin. Natalie’s brother.” Niko wanted the man to know who was about to beat the shit out of him.
Mark jerked, as if shocked to discover his identity, then that smug smile curved his lips. “Your sister should never have messed with me. I always win.”
Niko made a sound of disgust. “You’re a failed, wannabe actor whose only claim to fame is going to be spending the rest of your life in jail. Pathetic.”
“I killed one Scantlin, I’ll kill another.” Mark twirled the poker, obviously trying to provoke Niko into a fury.
Niko shrugged, refusing to take the bait. Instead, he lifted his hand, giving a come-here motion with his fingers.
“Bring it on.”
With a low growl, Mark sprung forward, slashing the poker at Niko’s head. Niko waited until he could hear the swoosh of air before he ducked beneath the weapon. Once it was past he surged upward, using his momentum to power the punch he aimed directly at Mark’s chin. As if realizing he’d left himself dangerously open to attack, the older man jerked back. Niko managed a glancing blow, but not enough to disable his opponent.
Swinging the poker in a wild pattern, Mark managed to drive Niko back several steps as he was forced to wait for another opening. His eyes burned and his lungs felt as if they were on fire, but he never let his attention waver. All he needed was one small opportunity . . .
