by Nora Roberts
away from Starr, moving back toward her. Not to her. That doesn’t make sense. But near enough to watch. Maybe even hear the dogs, the radios when they get close enough. And in this direction, he’s going to start running into houses, Gary and Sue’s farm.”
“I don’t have your sense of direction, but your place is before the farm. How far are we out?”
“From my . . .” Her breath caught. “My place. You said it before. My own backyard. He’s taken everyone, even Starr, from their own place—school, routine area, work. He’s never deviated from that.”
She gripped Simon’s hand as certainty, and urgency, coursed through her in fast streams.
“Not just the island, my home. It’s empty, my house, because I’m out here looking for him. Or maybe he knows I’m at your place. Either way, he’d have the woods for cover.”
“And if he could get you inside, a place to take that last stand. How far, Fiona?”
“Maybe a half mile. Less. It depends on how far he circles, which point he’s picked for his hide.” She scanned the shadows, pools of gray and green. “The wind’s picking up, and that’ll affect the scent cone. We’re going to be crossing into James and Lori’s sector if we keep going east. We have to make the dogs stay in the trees, even if the trail goes into the open. We have to keep them quiet. And once we contact base, we have to turn the radio off.”
He considered telling her to stay there, but she wouldn’t. Considered telling her they’d both stay where they were and give Tawney her best guess of Eckle’s location. He knew the answer to that, too, but gave it a shot.
“We stay here, call it in, give Tawney the information.”
“And if Eckle changes direction? We can’t tell them where he’s going until we’re sure. We can only theorize.”
“That’s what I figured. Take out your gun. It’s in your hand from this point on.” He took out the radio. “Mai, put Tawney on.”
“They’re alerting again.” Fiona moved forward to flag the location.
“He wants to talk to you.” Simon passed her the radio.
“This is Fee. Over.”
“Fiona, I want you to listen to me. Stay where you are. We’ve triangulated your route with the other two search teams. We believe he’s on your property, or close. We’re dispatching a unit to your house, and pulling officers off search to join you and your unit. Do you copy?”
“Yes, I copy, Agent Tawney. Do any of your men know this area, have dogs who are giving stronger and stronger alerts? We’re just crossing into Team One’s sector. I see one of their flags.”
Getting closer, she thought and her blood pumped hard.
“He crossed here, too, crossed the area where he took her. James and Lori could . . . He could kill them. Simon and I are approaching from what should be his blind side. Send the cavalry, please God, but we’re following the dogs. I have to turn off the radio. We can’t risk him hearing us.”
She turned it off, handed it to Simon. “James won’t hold back. He might argue with Lori and convince her to wait, but he won’t. Not when there’s a chance he could find Starr alive. And I can’t wait, Simon, and take the chance someone else I love gets killed because of a vendetta against me.”
“Who’s arguing?”
It settled her, she realized, that faint edge of irritation in his tone. “We need to leash the dogs. Keep them close. And quiet.”
She glanced up when thunder rumbled. “We’re going to lose the light. It’s nearly dusk anyway. The wind’s good cover. Rain would be better. But both are affecting the scent. We’re all going to be going on instinct soon.”
“I want you behind me. That’s my instinct,” he said before she could object. “I need you to respect it.”
“I’m the one with the gun,” she pointed out.
“That’s right.” He kissed her lightly. “And I’m the one who’s counting on you using it if you need to.”
They continued in silence through air that cooled with the wind. The rising surf of wind through the trees made good cover, and would—she hoped—mask their approach. But she couldn’t hear over it either. And every sigh and shake of the trees caused her heart to jump.
They used hand signals, for each other and the dogs.
They came to the edge of the clearing where Simon found the stump. She saw the young sapling he’d planted without telling her. It made her galloping heart calm.
She touched her fingertips to him, just a brush of thanks.
She spotted another flag, and when the dogs wanted to cross into the open, she ordered them back.
Her blood froze when she heard the crackle of the radio, but even as her gaze flew to Simon’s belt she realized it wasn’t theirs.
James, she thought. Closer than she’d realized. She couldn’t make out the words, not all of them, but the excited tone translated. As did the happy bark.
“They’ve found her,” she whispered.
And a shadow moved in the shadows.
Her breath stuttered in her throat. He’d been sitting behind a tree, she saw, on the far side of the clearing. And now he used the wind, the gloom, those first quick patters of rain to mask his movements.
Simon laid his hand over her mouth, leaned close to her ear.
“You stay here. You keep the dogs right here. I’m going to circle around, cut him off. Stay here,” he repeated. “He won’t get past me. Cops’ll be here in minutes.”
She wanted to argue; couldn’t risk it. She ordered her confused dogs with a down and stay, a firm, angry hand signal that had their heads drooping, their eyes casting up at her whining with hurt feelings.
The game wasn’t over. The prize was right there, lurking in the shadows. Her unexpected anger had them letting out low whines until she silenced them with a furious look, a jabbing finger.
Satisfied, she eased out a little to look, and saw the gun in Eckle’s hand. His head cocked to the side—listening—as he turned slowly in the direction Simon took.
She thought, very simply, No. And stepped out into the clearing.
She held the gun up and aimed. Cursed that it trembled as he completed the turn and looked into her eyes.
“Drop your gun, Francis, or I swear on every life you and Perry took, I’ll shoot you.” She would live with it, could live with it. Had to live with it.
“He told me not to underestimate you.” As she did, Eckle held the gun up and aimed. But it didn’t tremble. He smiled as he might at the unexpected appearance of a friend. “You know when I kill you, your partner will rush in this direction. Then I’ll kill him, too. His dog. Yours. Where’s your dog, Fiona?”
“Put the gun down. You know the police and the FBI are coming. They’re spread all over this area. You’ll never get through them.”
“But I’ve finally lived. In a few short months I’ve lived and experienced more than I did in all the years before. All those gray years. I hope Tawney’s with the ones who come. If I have a chance to take him, it would be like a parting gift for Perry.”
“He betrayed you.”
“But first he freed me. I wish we had more time, Fiona. Your hand’s trembling.”
“It won’t stop me.” She drew a breath in, prepared to kill.
Simon charged out of the trees, his body low and between hers and Eckle’s. He rammed Eckle’s right side, making Fiona think briefly, crazily, of a speeding train.
The gun fired, the bullet digging a trench in the soft earth an instant before the gun flew from Eckle’s hand.
She rushed forward, grabbed it. Even as she aimed both guns she heard James shouting, and thrashing through the brush. Just, she thought, as Eckle had predicted. When he broke through, she shoved the guns at him.
“Hold these.”
“Fee, Jesus. Jesus.”
She simply dropped down beside Simon as he viciously, methodically battered Eckle’s face with his fists.
“Stop. Stop that now.” She struggled for the firm, no-nonsense tone she used with misbehaving dogs, and n
early succeeded. “Simon, stop. He’s finished.”
He flicked one furious glance at her. “I told you to stay under cover. I told you he wouldn’t get past me.”
“And he didn’t.” She took one of his balled fists, the knuckles bruised and bloody, and laid it on her cheek as her dogs shoved against her. “I told them to stay, but they didn’t. We all protect each other. That’s how it works.”
She barely spared Eckle a glance. “Is she alive?” she asked James.
“Yeah. But I don’t know if she’s going to stay that way. She’s in bad shape. I have to get back to Lori. You scared the shit out of us.”
He, however, took a long study of Eckle’s battered, slack face. “You do nice work, Simon. Here.” He handed the guns back to Fiona. “I hear the cops, or feds. Whichever. We’ve got to get the victim out and to the hospital. We’re going to do some serious talking in the debriefing,” he added, then shoved through the brush.
“I didn’t know if you saw the gun,” she told Simon. “I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t take a chance.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t just blast away at you. What if he hadn’t wanted to chat for a minute?”
“I’d have shot him.” She put her own gun back in her holster, then Eckle’s in her belt. “Another fraction of a second . . . I’m glad I didn’t have to. Glad you broke his goddamn face instead.”
She let out a long breath, then crouched. “Good dogs! You’re such good dogs. You found Eckle.”
She had her arms around the dogs and her head on Simon’s chest when the cops rushed the clearing.
IT TOOK HOURS MORE, hours that seemed like days. Questions, reports, more questions, the briefing.
Mantz walked over to shake her hand. “I still say you’d make a good agent.”
“Maybe, but I’m really looking forward to the quiet life.”
“Good luck with it.” Bending, she petted Newman, who’d yet to leave Fiona’s side. “Good dog,” she said, and when Fiona cocked a brow, laughed. “I guess they’ve changed my mind about the species. See you around.”
From Tawney, she got a hug.
“Don’t wait until there’s trouble to come see me,” she murmured. “Because I’m done with trouble, but not with you.”
“You gave me a whole new patch of gray hair today. I’d say take care of yourself, but you already do. We’re going to need to do some follow-ups.”
“Anytime.”
“Go home.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep.”
Since she nearly dozed off on the drive home she didn’t think that would be a problem.
“I’m going to have a shower, then I’m going to eat whatever’s in the refrigerator, then I’m going to sleep for twelve hours.”
“I’ve got a couple things to do, then we’ll both eat whatever’s in the fridge.”
She started out, stopped. “Would you check, see if there’s any update on Starr’s condition? I know it looks bad for her, but maybe . . . We hate losing one.”
“I’ll check. Have your shower.”
She wallowed in it, basked, lingered. Then, tying her wet hair back in a tail, pulled on cotton pants and a soft, faded tee. Comfort, she thought. She wanted nothing but comfort.
And the start, please God, of her quiet life.
She picked up the little penknife she’d set on her dresser, pressed it to her cheek. “You’d be happy for me,” she murmured. Setting it down, she studied herself in the mirror. She looked a little tired, she thought, but she didn’t look like hell.
She looked, she thought with a smile, free.
As she started downstairs, she frowned at the quick toot of a horn. She loved her friends, but God, she just wanted to eat and sleep. No more talk.
But she found Simon in the kitchen, alone with the dogs.
“Who was here?”
“When? Oh, James. I needed a hand with something. Here.” He shoved a cracker with a thin slice of cheese on top into her mouth.
“Good,” she managed over it. “More.”
He shoved a second in. “That’s it. Now you make your own. Here.” He pushed a glass of wine in her hand.
“Did you call the hospital?”
“She’s critical. Exposure, dehydration, shock. She’s got broken fingers, a broken jaw. There’s more. He had considerable time to pound on her, and he used it. She’s got a decent shot.”
“Okay.”
“Eckle’s got a few problems of his own.” He glanced at his own bandaged hands.
“He earned them.” She took those bandaged hands and made him mutter to himself when she kissed them.
“He was writing a book.”
“What?”
“You took a long shower,” Simon pointed out. “Davey filled in some blanks. She was, too. It looks like Eckle did some editing on hers, added some material.”
“God.” Closing her eyes, she pressed the wineglass to her brow. “You were right. He wanted to be someone.”
“Still does. According to Davey, he waived a lawyer and hasn’t shut up. He wants to talk, wants to give details. He’s proud of himself.”
“Proud.” She repeated the word, gave in to one shudder.
“And he’s finished. He’s done. Like Perry.”
“Yes.” She opened her eyes, lowered the glass. She thought of the prison walls, the bars, the guns, the guards. “He didn’t get that blaze of glory, not the kind he wanted. I think we should sit outside, watch the dogs, drink this wine, then eat like maniacs. Because we can.”
“Not yet. Bring the wine. I want to show you something.”
“Is it more food?”
He took her arm and pulled her into the dining room—where the table, she noted, was sadly empty of food. “Okay. I really hope you don’t want fun on the dining room table because I don’t think I’ve got it in me tonight. Now tomorrow—” She broke off as she spotted the wine cabinet. “Oh!”
She rounded the table in a flash. “Oh, it’s wonderful. The wood’s like chocolate silk and heavy cream. And the doors? Those are dogwoods. It’s just, oh . . .” She opened the doors, danced in place. “It’s just absolutely fabulous. Every detail. It’s charming and fun and beautiful.”
“It suits you.”
She spun around. “Is it mine? Oh my God, Simon—”
Before she could rush him, he held up a hand. “It depends. I’m thinking a trade. I’ll give it to you, but since it’s going to stay here, that means you stay, too.”
She opened her mouth, shut it again. Picked up the wine she’d set on the table, sipped. “I can have the cabinet if I live here, with you?”
“I’m the one who lives here, so yeah, with me. This house is bigger than yours. You’ve got the woods, but I’ve got the woods and the beach. The dogs have more room. And I need my shop.”
“Hmmm.”
“You can keep doing your classes here, or you can move them back. Keep the house for the business. Or sell it. Or rent it out. But if you want that, you stay.”
“That’s some interesting bartering.”
“You started it.” He slid his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “I figure we got through some of the worst anybody gets through. And here we are. I don’t see the point in wasting time. So, you want the cabinet, you live here. We should probably get married.”
She choked, managed to swallow the wine. “We should probably?”
“I’m not coming up with some fancy proposal.”
“How about something between we-should-probably and fancy?”
“Do you want to get married?”
Now she laughed. “I guess that’s between. Well, I want the cabinet. I want you. So . . . yeah, I guess I want to get married.”
“It’s a good deal,” he said as he stepped to her.
