The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  He yanked open the Jeep door and bundled her inside. “You’re the doctor,” he shouted.

  “GODDAMN son of a bitch.” Nathan beat the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. He’d loaded the most precious of his work and equipment into the Jeep, and now it wouldn’t start. It didn’t even have the decency to cough and sputter.

  Furious, he climbed out, hissing as the rising wind slapped hard pricks of rain into his face. He hauled up the hood, cursed again. He didn’t have time for the pretense of fixing whatever was wrong.

  He needed to get to Jo and he needed to get to her now. He’d done everything else he could.

  He slammed the hood down and, abandoning his equipment, began to trudge toward the river. He’d have to go a quarter of a mile upstream before he could cross, and the hike over to Sanctuary through the woods promised to be miserable.

  He heard the ominous creak of trees being shoved and tortured by the wind, felt the hard hands of it playfully pushing him back as he lurched forward. Lightning snapped overhead, turning the sky to an eerie orange.

  The wind stung his eyes, blurred his vision. He didn’t see the figure step out from behind a tree until he was almost upon it.

  “Christ, what the hell are you doing out here?” It took him nearly ten baffled seconds to see past the changes and recognize the face. “Kyle.” Horror tripped over shock. “My God, what have you done?”

  “Hello, bro’.” As if they were meeting on a sunny street, Kyle offered a hand. And as Nathan shifted his gaze for a blink to stare at it, Kyle smashed the butt of the gun into his temple.

  “Two down.” This time, he threw back his head and roared. The storm empowered him. The violence of it aroused him. “I didn’t feel quite right about shooting my own brother, irritating bastard though he is, in what some would call cold blood.” He crouched down, whispering as if Nathan could hear. “The river’s going to rise, you know, trees are going to go down. Whatever happens, bro’, we’ll just figure it’s fate.”

  He straightened and, leaving his brother lying on ground soaked with rain and blood, started off to claim the woman he’d decided belonged to him.

  THIRTY

  RAIN gushed over the windshield of the Jeep, overpowering the wipers. The road was turning to mush under the wheels, so Giff had to fight for every yard of progress.

  “We’re heading in,” he told Kirby. “Brian’s got more sense than to be out in this, and so do I.”

  “Just take the west route back.” She prayed it was the storm making her heart thump and freezing her bones. “That’s the way he’d have gone. Then we’ll be sure.”

  “South road’s quicker.”

  “Please.”

  Abandoning his better judgment, Giff muscled the Jeep to the left. “If we get back in one piece, he’s going to skin me for keeping you out here five minutes longer than necessary.”

  “That’s all it’ll be, five extra minutes.” She leaned forward, struggling to see through the waterfall streaming down the windshield. “What is that? Something on the side of the road up ahead.”

  “Probably some gear that fell out of somebody’s camper. People were scrambling to get the hell off before—”

  “Stop!” Shouting, she grabbed the wheel herself and sent them into a skid.

  “Jesus Christ, you aiming to send us into a ditch? Hey—” Though he reached out to stop her, he only caught the tip of her slicker as she bolted out into the torrent of rain. “Goddamn women.” He shoved open the door. “Kirby, get back in here, this wind’s liable to blow you clean to Savannah.”

  “Help me, for God’s sake, Giff! It’s Brian!” Her frigid hands were already tearing open the bloody shirt. “He’s been shot.”

  “WHERE could they be?” While the wind pounded the walls, Lexy paced the main parlor. “Where could they be? Giff’s been gone nearly an hour, and Brian twice that long.”

  “Maybe they took shelter.” Kate huddled in a chair and vowed not to panic. “They might have decided not to try to get back and took shelter.”

  “Giff said he’d be back. He promised.”

  “Then he will be.” Kate folded her hands to keep from wringing them. “They’ll be here in a minute. And they’ll be tired and wet and cold. Lexy, let’s go in and get coffee into thermoses before we lose power.”

  “How can you think about coffee when—” She cut herself off, squeezed her eyes shut. “All right. It’s better than just standing here. Windows all boarded, you can’t even look out for them.”

  “We’ll get hot food, hot coffee, dry clothes.” Kate reeled off the practicalities, picking up a flashlight as a precaution as she took Lexy with her.

  When they were gone, Jo rose. Her father stood across the room, his back to her, staring at the boarded-up window as if he could will himself to see through the plywood.

  “Daddy, he’s been in the house.”

  “What?”

  “He’s been in the house.” She kept her voice calm as he turned. “I didn’t want to say anything to Lexy and Kate yet. They’re both frightened enough. I’d hoped they’d get on the last ferry, but with Brian still out ...”

  Sam’s stomach began to burn. “You’re sure of this.”

  “Yes. He left—he’s been in my darkroom, sometime in the last two days. I can’t be sure when.”

  “Nathan Delaney’s been in this house.”

  “It’s not Nathan.”

  Sam kept his gaze hard and steady. “I’m not willing to take a chance on that. You go in the kitchen with Kate and Lexy, and you stay with them. I’ll go through the house.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “You’re going to do what I tell you and go in the kitchen. Not one of you takes a step without the other two.”

  “It’s me he wants. If they’re with me, they’re only in more danger.”

  “No one’s going to touch anyone of mine in this house.” He took her arm, prepared to drag her into the kitchen if necessary. The front door burst open, letting in wild wind and flooding rain.

  “Upstairs, Giff, get him upstairs.” Breathing fast, Kirby sidestepped to keep the pressure firm on Brian’s chest as Giff staggered under his weight. “I need my supplies out of the Jeep. Now,” she ordered as Sam and Jo raced forward. “I need sheets, towels, I need light. Hurry. He’s lost so much blood.”

  Kate dashed down the hall. “God, sweet God, what happened?”

  “He’s been shot.” Kirby kept deliberate pace with Giff, never taking her eyes off Brian’s face. “Radio the mainland, find out how long it’ll take to get a helicopter in. We need to get him to a hospital, and we need the police. Hurry with the supplies. I’ve already lost too much time.”

  Without bothering with rain gear, Sam ran out into the storm. He was blind before he’d reached the Jeep, deaf but for the roar of blood in his head and the scream of the wind. He dragged the first box free, then found Jo shoving past him for the next.

  They shouldered the weight and fought their way back into the house together.

  “She’s putting him in the Garden Suite. It’s the closest bed.” Lexy put her back into it and managed to shut the door behind them. “She won’t say how bad it is. She won’t say anything. Kate’s on the radio.”

  Jo gripped the box until her knuckles were white as they hurried up the steps.

  Kirby had stripped off her blood-smeared slicker, tossed it aside. She didn’t hear the rain pound or the wind scream. She had only one goal now: to keep Brian alive.

  “I need more pillows. We need to keep his trunk and legs higher than his head, keep the site of the bleeding elevated. He’s in shock. He needs more blankets. It went through. I found the exit wound.”

  She pressed padding high on the back of his right shoulder. Her ungloved hand was covered with blood. “I can’t tell what the internal damage might be. But the blood loss is the first concern. His BP is very low, pulse is thready. What’s his blood type?”

  “It’s A negative,” Sam told her. �
��Same as mine.”

  “Then we’ll take some of yours for him. I need someone to draw it, I’ll talk you through, but I don’t have enough hands.”

  “I’ll do it.” Kate hurried in. “They can’t tell us on the helicopter. Nothing can get on or off the island until Carla’s done with us. Everything’s grounded.”

  Oh, God. She wasn’t a surgeon. For the first time in her life, Kirby cursed herself for not heeding her father’s wishes. The entrance wound was small, easily dealt with, but the exit wound had ripped a hole in Brian’s back nearly as big as her fist. She felt the panic scraping at her nerves and shut her eyes.

  “Okay, all right. We need to get him stabilized. Giff, for now keep pressure here, right here, and keep it firm. If it bleeds through don’t remove the padding. Add more. Use your other hand to hold this arterial pressure point. Keep your fingers flat and firm. Kate, get my bag. You’ll see the rubber tube. You’re going to make a tourniquet.”

  As she readied a syringe, her voice went cool. She’d chosen to heal, and by God, she would heal. She took one long look at Brian’s waxy face. “I’m keeping you with me, you hear?”

  As she slid the needle under his skin, the house went black.

  NATHAN struggled toward the surface of a red mist, slid back. It seemed vital that he break through it, though the pain whenever he got close to the thin, shimmery skin was monstrous. He was chilled to the bone, felt as though he was being pulled down into a vat of icy water. He clung to the edge again, felt those mists close in and thicken and with a vicious leap, cut through.

  He found himself in a nightmare, dark and violent. The wind screamed like a thousand demons set loose, and water gushed over him, choking him when he tried to gulp in air. With his head reeling, he rolled over, got on his hands and knees. The water from the rising river beside him was up over his wrists. He tried to gain his feet, slid toward unconsciousness. The cold slap of water as his face hit the ground jerked him back.

  Kyle. It had been Kyle. Back from the dead. This Kyle had streaming blond hair rather than brown, an almost brutal tan rather than citypale skin. And lively madness in his eyes.

  “Jo Ellen.” He choked it out as he began to crawl away from the sucking water of the river. Murmured it like a prayer as he dug his fingers into the streaming bark of a tree to fight his way to his feet. And as he began a stumbling, wind-whipped run to Sanctuary, he screamed it.

  “I’M not going to lose him.” Kirby spoke matter-of-factly as she worked by the light of a lantern. Her mind was rigidly calm, forcing out the screaming fears and doubts. “Stay with me, Brian.”

  “You’ll need more light.” Giff stroked a hand over Lexy’s hair. “If you can spare me here, I’ll go down and get the generator started.”

  “Whoever did this ...” Lexy gripped his hand. “They could be anywhere.”

  “You stay right here.” He lifted her hand to kiss it. “Kirby may need some help.” He moved to the bed, bending low as if to study Brian, and spoke softly to Sam. “You got a gun in the house?”

  Sam continued to stare at the tubing that was transferring his blood to his son. “My room, top of the closet. There’s a metal box. Got a thirty-eight, and ammo.” His gaze shifted briefly, measured the man. “I’ll trust you to use it if you have to.”

  Giff nodded, turned to give Lexy a quick smile. “I’ll be back.”

  “Is there another lantern, more candles?” Kirby lifted Brian’s eyelid. His pupils were fully dilated with shock. “If I don’t close this exit wound, he’s going to lose more blood than I can get into him.”

  Kate rushed over with a flashlight, beamed it onto the ripped flesh. “Don’t let him go.” She fought to blink back the tears. “Don’t let my boy go.”

  “We’re keeping him here.”

  “We won’t lose him, Kate.” Sam reached out, took the hand she had balled up at her side.

  “Giff may have trouble with the generator.” Jo spoke quietly, laying a hand on Lexy’s shoulder. “I’m going to go down and get more emergency lights.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, stay here. Kirby may need another pair of hands. Daddy can’t help, and Kate’s not going to hold up much longer. I’ll be quick.” She gave Lexy’s shoulder a squeeze.

  She took a flashlight and slipped out quietly. She had to do something, anything to help hold back the fear for Brian, for Nathan. For all of them.

  What if Nathan was shot too, lying out there bleeding, dying? There was nothing she could do to stop it. And how could she live if she only stood by?

  He’s taken shelter, she promised herself, as she hurried down the stairs. He’d taken shelter, and when the worst of the storm had passed, she’d find him. They’d get Brian to the mainland, to a hospital.

  She jolted at the loud crack, the crashing of glass. Her mind froze, envisioning another bullet, more flesh ripped by steel. Then she saw the splintered plywood in the parlor window, the flood of rain that poured in where the tree limb had snapped through it.

  She grabbed a lantern, lighting it and holding it high. She would have to find Giff. As soon as she took the light to Kirby, they would have to get more wood, block the damage before it was irreparable.

  When she whirled back, he was there.

  “This is nice.” Kyle stepped forward into the light. “I was just coming up to get you. No, don’t scream.” He lifted the gun so she could see it clearly. “I’ll kill whoever comes down to see what was wrong.” He smiled widely. “So, how’s your brother doing?”

  “He’s holding on.” She lowered the lantern so the shadows deepened. Beside her, the storm blasted through the splintered wood and spit rain into her face. “It’s been a long time, Kyle.”

  “Not all that long, in the grand scheme of things. And I’ve been in close touch, so to speak, for months. How did you like my work?”

  “It’s ... competent.”

  “Bitch.” The word was quick and vicious, then he shrugged. “Come on, be honest, that last print. You have to admit the creativity of the image, the blending of old and new. It’s one of my best studies.”

  “Clichéd at best. Where’s Nathan, Kyle?”

  “Oh, I imagine he’s just where I left him.” He darted a hand out, quick as a snake, and gripped her by the hair. “For once, I’m not going to worry about taking my big brother’s leftovers. The way I look at it, he was just . . . tenderizing you. I’m much better than he is, at everything. Always have been.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Maybe I’ll show you. We’re going for a little ride.”

  “Out in this?” She feigned resistance as he pulled her to the door. She wanted him out, away from Sanctuary, whatever it took. “You have to be crazy to go out in a category three.”

  “What I am, darling, darling Jo, is strong.” He skimmed his lips over her temple. “Powerful. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you until everything is perfect. I’ve planned it out. Open the door.”

  The lights flashed on. Using the split second of diversion, she swung back with the flashlight, aiming for the groin, but bouncing hard off his thigh. Still, he grunted in pained surprise and loosened his grip. Ripping away, Jo tore open the front door and rushed out into the teeth of the storm. “You want me, you son of a bitch, you come get me.”

  The minute he barreled through the door, she was pitting her will against the gale, and fighting to lead him away from Sanctuary.

  The rain-lashed darkness swallowed them.

  It was less than a minute later when Giff climbed the steps from the basement. He felt the wild gust of wind the instant he turned into the hall. The front door was open wide to the driving rain. With his blood cold, he pulled out the gun he’d tucked in the waistband of his jeans, flicked off the safety, and moved forward. His finger wrapped around the trigger, trembled a breath away from full pressure when Nathan fell through the door.

  “Jo Ellen. Where is she?”

  “What happened to you?” Hating himsel
f, but unwilling to risk, Giff kept the gun aimed as he walked forward.

  “I was coming, my brother ...” He swayed to his feet, brushed a hand over the raw wound on his temple as his vision doubled. “It was my brother.”

  “I thought you said he was dead.”

  “He’s not.” Shaking his head clear, Nathan focused on the gun. “He’s not,” he repeated. “Where’s Jo?”

  “She’s fine and safe and going to stay that way. Brian was shot.”

  “God. Oh, God. Is he dead?”

  “Kirby’s working on him. Step away from the door, Nathan. Close it behind you. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “Goddamn it.” He bit off the words as he heard the scream. The blood that had risen to his head to throb blindingly drained. “That’s Jo. She’s out there.”

  “You move, I’ll have to shoot you.”

  “He’s going to kill her. I’m not going to let that happen to her. I’m not letting it happen again. For God’s sake, Giff, help me find her before he does.”

  It was a choice between instinct and caution. Giff prayed the choice was the right one and held the gun butt out. “We’ll find her. He’s your brother. You do what you have to do.”

  JO bit back another scream as a limb as thick as a man’s torso crashed inches from her feet. It was all swirling dark, roaring sound and wild, tearing wind. Tattered hunks of moss bulleted past her face. Saw palmettos rattled like sabers. Stumbling, she fought for another inch, another foot while the wind raked at her.

  Finally, she dropped to her knees, wrapped her arms around the base of a tree, afraid she would simply be ripped apart.

  She’d led him away, she prayed she’d led him away, but now she was lost. The forest was shuddering with greedy violence. Rain came at her like knives, stabbing her flesh. She couldn’t hear her own breathing now, though she knew it must be harsh and fast because her lungs were on fire.