by Nora Roberts
She had to get back, she had to get back home before he gave up his search. If he got back before she did, he would kill them all. As he’d surely killed Nathan. Sobbing, she began to crawl, digging her hands into the mud to pull her body along inch by straining inch.
INSIDE, Kirby clamped off the tube that was transferring Sam’s blood to Brian. She couldn’t risk taking any more until Sam had rested. “Sam needs fluids, and some protein. This has sapped his strength. Juice,” she began, wearily stretching her back before she lowered her hand to take Brian’s pulse. When his fingers bumped hers, her eyes flew to his face. She caught the faint flutter of his lashes.
“He’s coming around. Brian, open your eyes, Brian. Come back now. Concentrate on opening your eyes.”
“Is he all right? Is he going to be all right?” Lexy crowded closer, her shoulder bumping Kirby’s.
“His pulse is a little stronger. Get me the BP cuff. Brian, open your eyes now. That’s the way.” Her throat burned as she watched his eyes open, struggle to focus. “Take it easy, take it slow. I don’t want you to move. Just try to bring my face into focus. Can you see me?”
“Yeah.” The pain was outrageous, an inferno in his chest. Dimly he thought he heard someone weeping, but Kirby’s eyes were dry and clear.
“Good.” Her hand trembled a little, but she steadied it to shine a light in his eyes. “Just lie still, let me check you over.”
“What happened?”
“You were hurt, baby.” Weeping helplessly, Kate took his hand and lowered her cheek to it. “Kirby’s fixing you up.”
“Fuzzy,” he managed, turning his head restlessly. He saw his father’s face, pale and exhausted, then the tube that connected them. “Hurts like a bitch,” he said, then watched in amazement as Sam covered his face with his hands and shook with sobs. “What the hell’s going on. What?” He sank back, weak as a baby under Kirby’s firm hands.
“I said lie still. I’m not having you undo all my work here. I’ll give you something for the pain in just a minute. Blood pressure’s coming back up. He’s stabilizing.”
“Can I get some water or something? I feel like I’ve been . . .” He trailed off as it snapped back to his mind. The figure on the road, the dull glint of a gun, the explosion in his chest. “Shot. He shot me.”
“Kirby and Giff found you,” Lexy told him, struggling to reach around and take his other hand. “They brought you home. She saved your life.”
“It was Kyle. Kyle Delaney.” The pain was coming in waves now, making his breath short. “I recognized him. His eyes. He had sunglasses on before. He was ... the day I cut my hand. It was Kyle in there with you. He was with you.”
“The artist?” Kirby lowered the hypo she’d prepared. “The beach bum?”
“It was Kyle Delaney. He’s been here all along.”
“Hold still. Hold him still, Lexy. Damn it, Brian.” Frightened by his struggles to get up, Kirby plunged the needle into him with more haste than finesse. “You’ll start the bleeding up again, damn it. Help me here, Kate, he’ll hurt himself before the drug can take effect.”
Kate pressed her hand on Brian’s shoulder and looked with frightened eyes around the room. “Where’s Jo? Where is Jo Ellen?”
LOST, lost in the dark and the cold. She wondered if the wind was dying down or if she was just so used to its nasty buffeting that she no longer felt it trying to kill her. She tried to imagine herself springing to her feet and running, she wanted to will herself to try it, but was too weak, too tired to do more than belly along the ground.
She’d lost all sense of direction, and was afraid she would end up crawling blindly into the river to drown. But she wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, as long as there was a chance of reaching home.
And if she was lost, he might be lost as well. Another tree crashed somewhere behind her, falling with a force that shook the ground. She thought she heard someone call her name, but the wind ripped the sound away. He would call her, she thought, as her teeth began to chatter. He would call her hoping she’d give herself away so that he could kill her as he had the others. As his father had killed her mother.
She was nearly tired enough to let him. But she wanted him dead more.
For her mother, she thought, pulling herself along another foot. For Ginny, for Susan Peters. She gritted her teeth and dragged herself. And for Nathan.
She saw the light, just the narrow beam of it, and curled herself into a ball behind a tree. But the light held steady, didn’t waver as a flashlight or a lantern held in the hand of a man would.
Sanctuary, she realized, pressing her muddy hands to her mouth to hold back a sob. That narrow beam of light, from the parlor, breaking through the broken window. Gathering her strength, she forced herself to her feet. She had to brace a hand on the tree until her head stopped spinning. But she concentrated on the light and put one foot in front of the other.
When she reached the edge of the trees, she began to run.
“I knew you’d come back.” Kyle stepped into her path, pressed the barrel of the gun against her throat. “I’ve been studying you long enough to know how you think.”
She couldn’t stop the tears this time. “Why are you doing this? Isn’t what your father did enough?”
“He never thought I was good enough, you know. Not as good as him, certainly not as good as Golden Boy. All I needed was the right inspiration.” He smiled as rain streamed down his face and his hair blew madly. “We’re going to have to clean you up quite a bit. No problem. I’ve got plenty of supplies back at the campground. Men’s showers, remember?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I love practical jokes. I’ve been playing them on Nathan all our lives. He never knew. Oh, did Mister Kitty-Cat run away? No, indeed, Mr. Kitty took a little dip in the river. Inside a plastic bag. Why, Nathan, how could you be so careless as to cover all the holes in the lightning bug jar with your classic boy’s novel?” With a laugh, Kyle shook his head. “I used to drive him crazy doing stuff like that—making him wonder how the hell it had happened.”
He gestured with the gun. “Jeep’s at the base of the road. What’s left of the road. We’ll have to walk that far.”
“You hated him.”
“Oh, definitely.” He gave her a playful nudge to get her going. “My father always favored him. But then, my father wasn’t the man we always thought he was. That was a real eye-opener. David Delaney’s little secret. He was good, but I’m better. And you’re my masterpiece, Jo Ellen, the way Annabelle was his. They’ll blame Nathan for it, too. That’s so wonderfully satisfying. If he survives, they’ll lock him away.”
She stumbled, righted herself. “He’s alive?”
“It’s possible. He’ll start screaming about his dead brother. Then sooner or later, they’ll look in his cottage. I took the time to drop some photographs off there. All the angles. Too bad I won’t be able to slip one of yours in with them.”
He could be alive, she thought. And she was going to fight to stay alive. Turning, she pushed her sopping hair back. She’d been right, she realized, the sharpest edge of the storm was dulling. She could stand up to it. And to him.
“The trouble is, Kyle, your father was a first-rate photographer. His style was, perhaps, a bit conservative and in some cases pedestrian. But you’re third-rate at best. Your composition is poor, your discipline spotty. You have no knack for lighting whatsoever.”
When his hand swung out, she was ready. She ducked under it and, leading with her head, rammed his body. His feet slid out from under him, sent him skidding down on his knees. She grabbed his wrist, inching her hand up toward the gun, but he swept an arm under her legs and took her down.
“You bitch. Do you think I’m going to take your insults? Do you think I’m going to let you spoil this after all the trouble I’ve gone to?”
He grabbed for her hair, but his hand closed on nothing but rain as she twisted her body around and used her feet to knock him back. Shells bit into her
hands as she crab-walked back, fought for purchase.
She saw him lift the gun.
“Kyle.”
Kyle’s attention bolted to the right, and so did his aim. “Nathan.” His grin spread, the lip Jo Ellen had split leaked blood onto his chin. “Well, this is interesting. You won’t use that.” He nodded at the gun Nathan had leveled at him. “You don’t have the spine for killing. You never did.”
“Put the gun down, Kyle. It’s over.”
“Wrong again. Our father started it, but I’ll finish it.” He got slowly to his feet. “I’ll finish it, Nathan, in ways even he couldn’t have imagined. My decisive moment, my triumph. He only planted the seeds. I’m reaping them.”
He took a careful step forward, the grin never wavering. “I’m reaping them, Nathan. I’m making them my own. Think of how proud he’d be of what I’ve accomplished, not just following in his footsteps. Enlarging them.”
“Yeah.” Despite the cold on his skin, a hot sickness churned in Nathan’s gut. “You’ve outdone him, Kyle.”
“It’s about time you admitted it.” Kyle cocked his head. “This is what we call a Mexican standoff. Do you shoot me, or do I shoot you?” He gave a quick, brittle laugh that raked along Nathan’s brain. “Since I know you’re gutless, I already know the answer to that. How about if I change the game, shift the rules like I used to do when we were kids. And shoot her first.”
As he swung the gun toward Jo, Nathan squeezed the trigger. Kyle jerked back, his mouth dropping open as he pressed a hand to his chest and it came away wet with blood. “You killed me. You killed me for a woman.”
Nathan lowered the gun as Kyle crumpled. “You were already dead,” he murmured. He walked toward Jo, watching as she got to her feet. Then his arms were around her. “He was already dead.”
“We’re all right.” She pressed her face to his shoulder, hanging on. “We’re all right now.”
Giff came skidding down the pitted road. His eyes hardened when he saw the figure crumpled on the ground. He lifted his gaze to Nathan. “Get her inside. You need to get her inside.”
Nathan shifted Jo to his side and walked through the weakening storm toward Sanctuary.
EPILOGUE
“HELICOPTERS are on their way. One’s bringing the police. They’ll medevac you to the mainland.”
“I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
Kirby walked to the bed, lifted Brian’s wrist to check his pulse yet again. “Too bad. You’re not in any position to argue with your doctor.”
“What are they going to do there that you haven’t already done?”
“A great deal more than my emergency patch job.” She checked his bandages, pleased that there was no fresh bleeding. “You’ll have a couple of pretty nurses, some dandy drugs, and in a few days you’ll be on your feet and back home.”
He considered. “How pretty are the nurses?”
“I’m sure they’re—” Her voice broke, and though she turned away quickly, he saw the tears spring to her eyes.
“Hey, I was only kidding.” He fumbled for her hand. “I won’t even look at them.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I had it under control.” She turned back, sliding to her knees to drop her head on the side of the bed. “I was so scared. So scared. You were bleeding so badly. Your pulse was just slipping away under my hands.”
“But you didn’t let it.” He stroked her hair. “You brought me back, stayed with me. And look at you.” He nudged until she lifted her face. “You haven’t had any sleep.”
“I’ll sleep later.” She pressed her lips to his hand over and over. “I’ll sleep for days.”
“You could pull some strings, share my hospital room.”
“Maybe.”
“Then you could come back here, share my room while I’m recuperating.”
“I suppose I could.”
“Then when I’m recovered, you could just share the rest of my life.”
She knuckled a tear away. “If that’s a proposal, you’re supposed to be the one on your knees.”
“But you’re such an aggressive woman.”
“You’re right.” She turned her cheek into his hand. “And since I feel at least somewhat responsible that you have a rest of your life, it seems only right that I share it with you.”
“THE gardens are ruined.” Jo looked down at the sodden, beaten blooms drowning in mud. “It’ll take weeks to clean them out, save what can be saved and start again.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Nathan asked her. “Save what can be saved and start again?”
She glanced over. The bandage Kirby had applied to his temple was shockingly white against his skin. His eyes were deeply shadowed, still exhausted.
She wrapped her arms around herself, turned in a slow circle. The sun was radiant, the air stunningly fresh. She could see the wreckage—the toppled trees, the broken pottery that had been the little fountain, the now roofless smokehouse. Branches and leaves and glass littered the patio.
Above them, Giff and Lexy worked on prying off the protective plywood, and opening the windows to the light. She saw her father and Kate at the edge of the trees, then with wonder and amazed joy, saw him drape an arm around Kate’s shoulders.
“Yes, I’d like that. I’d like to stay a while longer, help them put things back. It won’t be exactly as it was. But it might be better.”
She shielded her eyes with the flat of her hand to block the sun and see him clearly. “Brian asked to see you.”
“I went in to see him before I came out. We put things back. They might not be the same.” He smiled a little. “But they might be better.”
“And you spoke with my father.”
“Yeah. He’s very glad his children are safe.” He slid his hands into his pockets. He hadn’t touched her since the night before, when Kate had whisked her off for a hot bath, whiskey-soaked tea, and bed. “He thinks it took courage for me to kill my brother.”
“It took courage for you to save my life.”
“It had nothing to do with courage.” He walked away from her, down the muddy path. “I didn’t feel anything when I pulled the trigger. He was already gone for me. It was nothing but a relief to end it.”
“Don’t tell me it didn’t take courage. You were hurt, in every way it’s possible to be hurt. And you fought your way through it, and through that storm for me. You faced what no one should ever have to face and did what no one should ever have to do. When the police get here, I’m going to tell them you’re a hero.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “I owe you my life, the lives of my family, and the memory of my mother.”
“He was still my father. He was still my brother.” His eyes were dark with the truth of that as he looked down at her. “I can’t change that.”
“No, you can’t. And now they’re gone.” She glanced up, hearing the distant whirr of the helicopter. She wanted it said and settled before the ugliness came back. Before the police got there, with their questions, their investigations. “You said you loved me.”
“I do, more than anything.”
“Isn’t that what you’d call a foundation? I’d think a man with your talents would be good at seeing what needs to be dug under, what can be rebuilt, what has to be reinforced to make it stand. Do you want to save what can be saved, Nathan, and start over?”
“I do.” He took a step toward her. “More than anything.”
She looked back at him, held out a hand. “Then why don’t we get started on the rest of our lives?”
HOMEPORT
Roberts, Nora
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
HOMEPORT
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
All rights reserved.
Copyrigh
t © 1998 by Nora Roberts
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
For information address:
The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://us.penguingroup.com
ISBN: 0-7865-0145-6
A Jove BOOK®
Jove Books first published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
Jove and the “J” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.
First edition (electronic): August 2001
For Marianne and Ky,
with love and hope and admiration
Contents
PART ONE: Homeport
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
PART TWO: The Thief
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
PART THREE: The Price
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
epilogue
PART ONE
Homeport
Beauty is its own excuse for being.
