by Cate Dean
“I would assume so, since Brent knows him, and trusts him.”
Maggie swallowed, knowing that could be good and bad for Martin.
They headed up to the second floor, Spencer keeping her in the lift as he scanned what they could see of the huge room. After endless seconds, he nodded, and led her out. Noise filtered across the room—coming from behind the temporary barriers that she assumed hid Spencer’s latest exhibit.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered. He paused long enough to grab a walking stick from the umbrella stand next to the lift before he led the way across the room—and cursed under his breath at the sound of glass shattering. “That’s it.”
He let go of Maggie’s hand and sprinted forward.
She ran after him, skidding around the freestanding barrier in time to see him standing over a sprawled figure.
Geoffrey Drummond-Doddington held up both hands, fear twisting his face. “Please—I was merely—”
“Destroying my exhibit, after breaking into the museum.” He raised the walking stick. “Where is Martin?”
Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “How did you—” He cut himself off, tilted his chin up. Even lying on the floor, he managed to look like a snob. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I will be more than happy to beat it out of you.”
“No—” This time, when he raised his hand, Maggie saw blood staining his fingers, and the edge of his sleeve.
Cold rage shot through her. She pushed past Spencer and grabbed Geoffrey’s wrist. “What did you do to him?”
The regal attitude disappeared, and he curled his lip. “Only what he deserved. You will not find him in time, if you detain me. Either way, I win.”
Maggie held out her free hand, and the walking stick weighted her palm. She wasn’t surprised that Spencer understood what she wanted without asking. Geoffrey’s mouth opened, any smugness gone.
“What are you—”
“You will tell me where Martin is.”
His gaze jumped between her and the raised walking stick. “Mrs. Martin—surely you do not mean to—”
“Where is he?”
When Geoffrey didn’t answer fast enough, she slammed the walking stick against the floor. Inches from his head.
“I’d tell her if I were you, mate.” Spencer crouched next to her, gently removing the now cracked stick from her hand. “She does have a ginger’s temper.” He didn’t mention how badly her hand shook when he closed his fingers over hers. “Where is Professor Martin?”
“I would start with the storage rooms.” Ian said. He stood next to the barrier, clearly annoyed. “The doors are thick enough to muffle a man’s voice. I told you to wait for me.”
Spencer pulled Maggie to her feet. “We’re worried about the Professor. We found blood at the dig site.”
“Go.” Ian pulled out his cuffs as he hauled Geoffrey to his feet. “I will have an ambulance head our way, in case medical help is needed. Hold still,” he said to Geoffrey, who squirmed in his grip.
“I demand to speak to my solicitor.”
“We’ll get this all sorted. At the station.”
“Come on,” Maggie said. She let go of Spencer and raced to the lift.
Her rage fled, left her trembling—and terrified that they wouldn’t find Martin in time.
Eighteen
The gentle, insistent voice dragged Martin back to awareness.
“Oh, thank heaven.” His mother leaned over him and brushed hair off his forehead. “I thought I’d lost you, Martin.”
“Still—here.” His throat felt raw, and his leg throbbed. He had lost track of how long he had been on the floor, bleeding, but he knew his recovery would not be simple—or easy. “Mother.”
“Right here, my sweet boy.”
Martin wanted to smile at the endearment. “I am—dying.”
“Yes, Martin.” She cradled his face. “There is still time for you. Your spirit is strong, and you can fight. You need to fight,” she rested her forehead against his, startling him. She felt sold. Real. That could not be a good sign. “For me, Martin. Fight for me.”
“Will—try.”
He let his eyes close. It took too much effort to keep them open. Part of him wanted to let go, leave behind the pain that seared him with every breath. But if he did, he would never see Maggie again, never hold his son. They were worth fighting for—
His muscles convulsed, and he clenched his jaw when the blade scraped against bone. He closed his hand over the hilt, and let out a raw cry as he yanked the blade free.
“Martin—Martin.” His mother’s insistent voice finally broke through the wall of pain surrounding him. He opened his eyes, found her leaning over him. “Tell me what I can do.”
“Talk,” he whispered.
“You know I could never resist an invitation like that.” Her voice trembled, but he still heard the humor behind it. His mother had loved to talk about her latest discovery—for hours if her audience let her. Martin always had, wide-eyed and soaking in every word. “Do you remember our first dig? Outside Cairo? I had to drag you away every night, promising that we would return in the morning. You were a born archaeologist.”
She brushed her fingers over his forehead, down his cheek, continuous, soothing, just as she had comforted him throughout his childhood.
“I knew your father would be furious when we returned home. You must have known as well, but you did not care. The first day on that dig, you found your path, and you were determined to walk it, no matter what obstacles you had to face. I was so proud of you, my son. I am so proud of you.”
“Mother.” He swallowed, his hand sliding across the floor. She took it, her fingers strong, substantial. Solid. “Proud of—you.”
“Thank you, my sweet boy.” She kissed his forehead. “Hold on, just a bit longer, Martin. I can sense someone approaching. Help is on its way to you.”
He managed to open his eyes, enough to see her face. Tears stained her cheeks, but she smiled as she met his eyes.
“Love you, Mother.”
Her smile faded. “No, Martin. You will not say goodbye to me, is that clear? There is too much for you yet to do, discoveries to make—Martin? Open your eyes, Martin.”
He no longer felt the pain. Only peace, and the touch of his mother’s hand.
“Martin—no, Martin. Don’t you give up on me. Don’t you dare give up—”
Nineteen
“Most of the storage rooms are just off the loading dock.” Spencer paced around the lift as they descended, glaring at the doors. “What is taking this bloody thing so long?”
“Spencer?” He turned to her, one eyebrow raised. “Thanks for stopping me. I wasn’t sure what I would have done—”
“Whatever was necessary.” He moved to her and pulled her into a tight hug. “And I would have testified on your behalf at your trial.”
She let out a watery laugh and held on to him.
The doors to the lift opened. Spencer freed her, led the way out. “Let’s start here and work our way back. They will be locked only if something has been stashed inside.”
She nodded, following him down the hall. That might narrow down the possibilities—but she had been here several times, when Spencer had been cleaning out the mess left by Giles Trelawney.
There were at least a dozen rooms along this hall. Plus more on the third and fourth floors.
Start here, Maggie. We’ll find him.
Several of the doors stood open. She hoped that most of them were unlocked, giving them fewer options...
A smear on the white linoleum threatened to stop her breath.
“Spence,” she whispered.
He stopped, turning to her. “What is it?”
She pointed at the floor.
He cursed, crouching to take a closer look. “Blood,” he said, his voice grim. “Fresh.”
“Oh, God—”
“No jumping to bad conclusions, Mags.” He closed his hands over her shoulders. “
Do you hear me?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed, forcing down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. “Let’s find him.”
They each took a side, checking the closed doors. Spencer had keys, but every door had its own key, and none of them had been labeled. She hugged herself as he tried several for each door before finding the right one.
Every time he opened the next door, they only found crates, or stacked boxes.
Spencer stopped at the last door, inserting the first key on the ring. A miracle happened, and the knob turned. He pushed open the door—and turned to her, catching her before she could step inside.
“Maggie.”
“Is he in there?”
“You—I should—”
“Get out of my way, Spencer.” She loved him for trying to protect her, but she had to see for herself.
Swallowing, he let her go and stood aside.
Her heart stopped when she saw Martin.
He was sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Blood pooled under his right leg, staining his right side, the leg of his trouser, and the scarf tied around his thigh. Too much blood. She saw the reason lying next to his open hand. A knife. “Spencer—”
“Take this.” He handed over his jacket, then moved to Martin’s left side, pressing two fingers against his throat. Maggie held her breath, waited for the bad news. He was so pale, so still, and there was so much blood— “He’s alive.”
Her knees threatened to buckle with relief.
She sank to the floor, hesitating before she used the makeshift bandage. What if she caused him more pain?
“Maggie.” His raw whisper snapped her head up. “You—found me.”
“Martin.” She brushed sweat soaked hair off his cheek. “Don’t talk. Help is on the way.”
“Pulled it—out.” His fingers touched the bloody knife. “Should have waited.”
She shook her head and pressed the jacket against his leg, flinching when he let out a harsh gasp, reaching toward her hand.
“I’m so sorry, but you’re still bleeding.”
“All right,” he whispered. “Leg—broke my leg.”
“That son of a bitch.”
“Maggie.” A different kind of pain darkened Martin’s eyes. “Geoff—he told me—that he threatened—you.”
“Oh, he did, all right. But Anthea showed up.”
Amusement eased some of the pain. “Must have—been a shock for him.”
“You could say that.”
Martin swallowed, and closed his eyes. “Maggie.” She leaned in, his voice too low for her to hear. “I saw—my mother.”
“Oh, Martin.” She took his hand, gently squeezing his fingers. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, opened his eyes. “We spoke.”
“How—I thought you could only see them.”
“Heard one, before, when I was—badly injured.”
Her heart skipped. “Like now,” she whispered.
“She told me—” A throat cleared, and Maggie glanced over her shoulder, spotting the new arrivals before they stepped into the storage room, one of them holding a doctor’s bag. “Later.”
“You better.” She kissed his forehead, then pushed to her feet. “DI Chamberlain.”
“Mrs. Martin.” He took her arm, eased her away from Martin. “This is my wife, Sara. She will take good care of him.”
Sara did a quick exam—too quick for Maggie’s liking. “He needs to be in hospital, Jamie. Immediately.”
“A local ambulance is on the way, love.” He moved to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “How are you, Professor?”
“Alive.” Martin tried to smile—and flinched instead when Sara lifted his arm.
“Sorry, Martin.” She checked his pulse, the wound in his side, then gently lifted the makeshift bandage on his leg. He groaned when she applied pressure to the wound. “You should have left the knife alone. You’ve lost more blood than you needed to.”
“Sara.” DI Chamberlain squeezed her shoulder. “He is not one of your students.”
“No—he is a professional who should have known better—”
“He is a man in a great deal of pain.”
Sara closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Of course. Forgive my bedside manner, Martin. I tend to lose my patience when someone—never mind.” A siren wailed in the distance. “There is your ride. Are you up for a short trip?”
Martin swallowed, his face paler than when Maggie found him. “Have to be.”
Sara brushed hair off his forehead. “I will be there, every step. You can do this, Martin.”
He nodded, closing his eyes.
Maggie moved forward, afraid she’d get left behind if she didn’t speak up. “I’m going with him.”
DI Chamberlain turned to her, taking her hand. “I fear there will be no room for you in the ambulance, but I will drive you myself, Mrs. Martin.”
“Thank you, I have a way there.”
The sound of voices and wheels on linoleum echoed down the hall. Two paramedics rushed into the storage room, stopping long enough to find their patient.
“Dr. Chamberlain—I didn’t expect to see you here.” He crouched next to her. “What do we have?”
“Broken right femur, stab wound to the same leg, shallow stab wound to the right side. He is conscious and responsive. I will ride with you, Patrick.”
“Of course.” Patrick glanced over his shoulder. “Get the gurney ready, Tom.”
“Right.”
“I can lend a hand.” DI Chamberlain freed Maggie’s hand and followed the paramedic out of the room.
Maggie backed out of the way, and almost ran into Spencer. He draped his arm across her shoulders, stood with her while the paramedics carefully lifted Martin to the gurney—then pulled her into a tight hug as soon as they were alone.
“All right, love?” he whispered.
“Terrified.” She held on to him, grateful that he was here. “Can you—”
“I will be happy to drive you.”
“Thanks.”
“The Professor is going to be all right, Mags. He’s stronger than you think—and he has two important people to fight for.”
Maggie nodded, tears slipping free as she closed her eyes.
Martin would be all right.
He had to be.
Twenty
Spencer stayed with Maggie while Martin was in surgery, doing his best to distract her.
She appreciated his efforts, but it didn’t keep her from worrying—or imagining worst case scenarios.
Martin had been unconscious when they arrived at the hospital, and rushed straight to surgery. She didn’t even get the chance to do more than touch his hand.
“—listening, Maggie?” Spencer waved his hand in front of her face.
“Sorry, Spence.”
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in. “Close your eyes for a few minutes, sweetheart.”
“I can’t—”
“The world won’t end if you rest, Mags. I promise to wake you if anyone comes with news.”
“Okay. Just for a few minutes.”
She closed her eyes, leaned her head against Spencer’s shoulder. Exhaustion dragged at her, forcing her to relax. She barely registered Spencer easing her down, lifting her legs to the sofa.
“Sleep well, love.”
Something warm and heavy settled over her, and she let go.
Her fears followed her, landing her in a dreamscape she couldn’t escape.
She found herself in an endless hospital corridor, people rushing past in both directions.
A nurse approached Maggie, and she stepped in the woman’s path. “Can you tell me—” The nurse walked around her and kept going. “Wait!” Maggie ran after her, but the corridor stretched out, until she felt like she was running backward. “Where are you, Martin?”
“Here, Maggie.”
She whirled—and smothered a scream when she saw him.
He floated above the floor, as transparent
as Anthea.
“No—” she whispered. “Martin—”
“Forgive me, love. I never meant to leave you, or Kit.” He reached out his hand. “Maggie—”
She grabbed his hand—and hers went right through. With a gasp, she snatched it back, cold fire burning her skin.
“Martin—” He floated backward, away from her. “No—Martin—don’t leave me—”
“I never intended to, my love, my heart.” His voice faded. “Remember me.”
“Martin!” She ran after him.
The corridor stretched out, putting distance between them faster than she could keep up.
“I love you, Maggie. I love—”
His voice died as the darkness swallowed him.
“No!” She sprinted forward. “Martin! Martin—”
“Maggie. You’re dreaming, sweetheart. Maggie.” Spencer’s voice jerked her out of the nightmare.
She sat, her heart pounding. “Where is he?”
“Martin is still in surgery. Maggie—” Spencer caught her arm when she tried to stand. “It was a dream.”
“A nightmare,” she whispered. She covered her face with both hands, wanting to hide the tears that she couldn’t stop.
“It’s all right, love.” Spencer gathered her into his arms, rubbing her back as he whispered to her. “The Professor will be all right.”
“Yes, he will.” Sara’s voice brought Maggie’s head up. “It took longer than I expected, but,” she smiled. “He came through the surgery with no problem.”
“Thank you.” Maggie pushed to her feet, still crying. “Thank you—”
Sara hugged her, holding on while Maggie tried to compose herself. When she pulled away, Sara took her hands. “Martin has a long, difficult road ahead of him. The break was not clean, and the knife wound caused more damage.”
Maggie swallowed. “What happens next?”
“He will stay here until he is strong enough to be moved. There is an excellent rehabilitation centre nearby, where I can monitor his recovery. If you want me to be part of his treatment.”
“Yes—of course. Thank you, so much. Does Martin know?”
“He is still coming out of the anesthesia. But he will know by the time you are able to see him.” Sara patted her hand before she let go. “Rest, get something to eat. It will be some time yet before he is ready for visitors.”
