Another snort, another line gone. Then another.
Ian was half-expecting to find some of Moira’s muffins in his kitchen when he got home, but she hadn’t come by in the last couple of days for some reason he couldn’t figure out. The kitchen was a mess. He grabbed some bread and cheese and a beer, and retreated from the domestic turmoil back to the sanctity of his computer and the search for more information about Hawthorne Parker.
Guillaume was just about to snort the last line when Parker walked into the cookhouse. Parker froze at the sight of Guillaume, bent over the counter, silver straw to his nose, half a line of white powder on the black counter.
“I thought we’d done with this.” Parker swept a hand across the counter.
The claw fell with a clunk to the floor. White powder spilled out of it.
Guillaume scowled.
“I am ’aving to put up with that girl, nosing around all ze time? Don’t think I don’t know. I know.”
Parker dusted off his hands, meticulously, removing every speck of the cocaine.
“Is she to ’ave ze money? Or am I to ’ave it?”
“She doesn’t want the money. She wants nothing to do with the money.”
She wanted nothing from him.
“She’s certainly not sticking around waiting for me to die. Unlike you.” He said it because it was true. He said it because he wished it weren’t and he hoped that Guillaume would deny it. Deny it in a way he could believe.
Guillaume didn’t bother. He just shrugged.
“Once you were everysing to me.”
It wasn’t true. He had loved Parker only as much as he could love anyone, other than himself. He just liked the drama of saying it.
“Everything but this,” said Parker, furiously grinding the powder on the floor with the heel of his shoe. He could not make it disappear.
Guillaume was watching, wondering if he’d be able to salvage it later. Parker saw where he was looking, knew what he was thinking. It made him furious. He gritted his teeth.
“You’ve lied to me, committed adultery…”
Guillaume smiled, a sarcastic smile.
“Not adultery. We were never married.” It was a sore point. Parker had given him the ring, the ring he’d sold off last night, but he’d never given him the piece of paper, never given him what he’d given her.
“We couldn’t be,” said Parker. “When we could, I couldn’t trust you anymore. It was still adultery. We might as well have been married all these years.”
“Except you were married already. It is you who committed adultery.”
“For God’s sake, don’t be ridiculous. She knew. She knew as soon as I did. It wasn’t possible.”
He had thought he could forget who he was in her arms. He’d been happy with her before Guillaume appeared. Then it was Guillaume he had wanted—Guillaume who had set him free—or so he thought.
He felt anything but free right now—his body taut, his fists clenched, his mouth set in one grim line. All his features pinched.
All those productive men, Ian kept thinking. And Parker? Parker had produced nothing. A bit more research proved him wrong. On coming into his inheritance, he had endowed the Parker Marine Camp for underprivileged kids—dedicated to C. More surfing led him to something very interesting. Following a hunch, he began jumping from genealogical to municipal, county and state records to ferret out the truth. It occupied him late into the night as he attempted to verify what was beginning to make a lot of sense. Newly energized by his discovery, Ian decided he’d go up on the walk later tonight. It would be a full moon. Maybe The Crustacean would come out of hiding.
Maybe they should set some bait.
“I’d like you to come on the water with me tonight.”
Hy felt her blood tingle. “Why?”
“Because I’d like you to see what I do. Really see. Not in a DVD, but there, where I do my work.”
Hy bit her lip and looked doubtful, fear singing through her.
“No, I can’t.”
Disappointment dulled Cam’s eyes.
“Please. Give me the chance to show you what I do. You can write about it.”
The idea excited Hy, but she couldn’t, could she? I can’t.
“No one else has ever seen me, not up close, not like that. I’d like you to.”
“I’m honoured,” said Hy, tentatively. She was. She was scared too. Face the fear, she told herself. The worst fear is fear itself. As if she hadn’t told herself that a thousand times before, every time she turned down Annabelle’s offer of a ride in the lobster boat.
“If you do, I promise I’ll leave. Just one more night. Come with me, and I promise I’ll go.”
The relief at that thought—of Cam going and taking all the trouble with her—overcame Hy’s hesitation.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go.” Cam had to leave, she must go, if things were to return to normal at The Shores. It’s too bad—just when I was getting to know her, to like her.
“Of course I’ll come,” she said. “I’d love to.”
As they left the house, Hy called Ian to tell him what she was up to. She was half-hoping he’d insist she not go, but there was no answer. She looked out of the kitchen window toward Shipwreck Hill. His house was dark, except for the outside light. He must be asleep, or out. She left a message, telling him she was going out on the water with Cam.
Hy’s emotions swung wildly back and forth, between fear and determination. Now that they were on their way, she felt more and more that it was the right thing to do. Cam shouldn’t be out there alone with those two jokers around. No. Not jokers. Bullies. They might be dangerous.
She was right to worry.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“God, ‘ow ugly you are.” Guillaume smirked at Parker.
“You’re no prize yourself. Look at you. Fat. Nose constantly running. Nails bitten to the quick. All for your love of that…” Parker pointed to the white powder on the floor.
“I ’ave to ’ave someting.”
“There was me.” Parker slumped, discouraged. “What was wrong with me?”
“Where do I begin? You and your sick little secrets. The things you like to do.” Guillaume spat.
“I thought you liked to do them too. You did them with enough people.”
“Would you like some now?” Guillaume taunted. He took a step forward, unbuttoning his trousers.
“Would you like some of this?” He came another step closer.
Parker could feel desire rise in him. He tried to erase the images that flashed through his mind. Here. He could have him here.
Guillaume moved another step closer, like a stalking cat.
“Which way would you like to have me? Where?”
Parker fought down the desire.
Sex had often settled their arguments, fueled by Guillaume’s taking of other lovers, the young boys he’d seek out in bars, have in alleyways and then come home smelling like a tomcat. These infidelities, in some sick way, kept their own passion alive. Parker didn’t think enough of himself or of sex to imagine that it could be any other way.
If he gave in now to Guillaume, it would have nothing to do with passion or love, nor even with sex, but just raw anger and hate.
Ugly.
Twisted.
Distorted.
Shameful.
With one thrust, Parker unbalanced Guillaume and sent him back against the island. He felt cold. All desire gone, replaced by disgust. For himself. For Guillaume. For what they had become.
It must end.
“But I have not started,”
Guillaume was breathing heavily. He lunged at Parker.
Time to face the fear. Face it down.
Hy looked at the sky and the water. The surf had been up that morning, following last night�
��s storm, but it had eased off, and now the water was calm, the night clear under that bright moon, just a small smudge of dark cloud passing over its face. There was nothing foreboding. Besides, she was a good swimmer. Her grandmother had made sure of that.
“You have jackets?”
Cam looked sheepish. “Well, no.”
“Can you swim?”
“No.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Well, lobsters can’t either but they live in the water.”
“You’re not a lobster.”
This is crazy, thought Hy. Why had she thought she could do this?
She got in the dory. The sides rose up comfortingly high, the bottom reassuringly flat. At least it wasn’t tippy like a canoe. Cam pushed the boat past the sandbar and into water deep enough that she could clamber in without weighting it to the bottom. The boat rocked. Hy gripped the gunwales. A shot of fear jolted her. Her blood started to sing, her heart to thump erratically. Be still, she willed it. She took a deep breath—and another.
“Don’t worry, the water’s calm.” She said the word like her own name—Cam. The same way Gus did.
Cam took up the oars, rowing with considerable power, while Hy gritted her teeth, closed her eyes and tried to calm her beating heart. Cam threw the anchor out. It hit the water with a splash, and the coil of rope unravelled until it reached bottom. It wasn’t deep here, where the lobster traps were.
The boat was bobbing on the water.
Hy kept her grip on both sides of the boat.
Cam leaned over and grabbed a lime green buoy, with the number seventeen painted on it in dark blue, and began to pull on the line. As she did, the boat tipped.
“Don’t worry.” Cam saw Hy biting her lip.
With one strong tug, Cam hauled the trap up onto the gunwale. It was hard work. The trap was three feet long and weighed forty pounds. The boat plunged to that side. Hy gripped so hard her knuckles went white.
Cam opened the trap’s door, reached in and grabbed the flailing lobster around its middle, making soft, soothing sounds, like some exotic language—then, a high sustained note. The lobster stopped squirming, stopped moving altogether, completely under the spell of the hypnotic melody. Hy felt as if the world had stilled around them.
Cam slipped a hand under the creature’s belly and gently lowered it into the water. It came rapidly to life again—thrust its tail down and disappeared.
Hy watched Cam haul traps and perform her tickling act until the Legionnaire’s fingers became purple with cold.
“Your hands must be freezing.”
“Yes, but the work warms me.”
“What do you suppose it is that gives you that power?”
“I don’t know. I just do it. I don’t know anyone else who does. Male lobsters get real calm, when they smell the female’s pheromone.” She laughed and that great grin lit up her face. “Guess maybe I smell like a lady lobster. The males like it, and the females think I’m one of the gals.”
Hy wished she had her camera. She would have liked a photograph of Cam and a lobster, head-to-head, as she lowered it into the water, her eyes intense, the lobster’s antennae erect, beady eyes unseeing.
Parker had the lobster stunner in his hand. He’d grabbed it off the counter beside him. Guillaume laughed. He snatched it from him and caressed Parker’s face with the cold metal of the rod.
“Would you like this?”
There was no mistaking the message in Guillaume’s eyes—that strange gleam that signaled a terrible intent. He’d seen it that time before—with the rolling pin. Nothing had happened then, but it was going to happen now.
He’s mad.
Guillaume traced Parker’s cheek with the metal rod. He brought it down his torso, and then pushed it slowly between his legs. Parker felt vulnerable and ridiculous.
“Would you like some? Some of this?”
Parker felt no desire at all. Only fear. Something had tripped in Guillaume. This was not a game. Not lust. This was serious.
Guillaume shoved the rod up between his legs with a hard thrust.
Parker doubled over in pain.
“I asked you—do you want some of this?” He pulled the rod out roughly and held it to Parker’s face again. Slid it down to his lips and rested it there with a light pressure.
“How will you like this in your mouth,” he taunted. “It is big. Hard. But it is cold. I can warm it up for you.” His thumb eased toward the power switch.
He was going to turn it on. Parker had no idea if it could hurt him, but it was clear that’s what Guillaume meant to do.
He summoned all his strength and shoved him away.
Guillaume tottered backwards, one hand against the counter, one hand grasping the stunner.
Got to get that out of his hands.
Parker took a step forward.
Guillaume clicked the power switch. The rod was electrified. He took several thrusts with it in Parker’s direction.
Parker took one more careful step forward.
Guillaume stepped back.
Advance. Retreat. Advance. Retreat. A few more cat and mouse moves. Like some crazy dance—with a lot at stake.
Parker would relive what happened next in slow motion for the rest of his short life. The whole world slowed down, so that he saw every detail.
Guillaume, lunging forward, holding the rod in both hands, swiping the side of Parker’s face.
The implement buzzing with heat.
Red hot.
Sparking.
His nerves jangled with adrenaline—and electricity.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ian woke up around midnight. That was unusual. He always fell asleep within minutes of his head touching the pillow and slept enthusiastically all night long—with loud, energetic snores, appreciative grunts and groans as his body melted into the mattress and oblivion.
What woke him was the call from Hy, but he was only half-aware of it, slipping up out of sleep just as she was ringing off. He thought he’d dreamed it and rolled over to go back to sleep. He flipped around for a while, gave up, got up and saw the message light blinking on the phone.
He couldn’t believe what he heard.
She’s gone out on the water with Cam.
Out on the water with Cam?!
Had she forgotten her fears? Forgotten the nightmare?
If he’d known, he would have stopped her. Now it was too late. The full moon lit up the sky like a false early morning. He pulled on a pair of pants and a sweater, and went up on the walk.
The moon glowed high and bright. It washed its ghostly light across the main road, the houses and the water. Ian could see Parker’s house with one outside light on. Well beyond that, out on the water, he spotted the dory, the dark forms of two people in it. Cam and Hy?
A dull sound disturbed the night—then a flash of light.
Bait. The word flashed into his mind.
There was a boat heading at high-speed towards the dory. It was shining a spotlight on it. Ian could now see Cam and Hy clearly outlined. Jesus! He stumbled down the stairs back into the house for a Thermos filled with hot water. A blanket. Couple of jackets. Pair of pants. Flare gun? No time.
The sound of a motor cut through the night, and a spotlight blinded them.
A Zodiac was aimed straight at them, Cam and Hy in the little dory, beside the lime green and blue lobster buoy.
It was a Futura Commando, more than twice the size of their six-foot boat. It was speeding toward them. It was almost on top of them, when it veered off and whipped by within inches of them. The dory began to roll from side to side. The Zodiac was capable of exceptional maneuvering. It made a tight turn, and returned on the other side, again passing within inches.
The dory was rocking violently.
Hy froze.
Cam jumped to her feet. The boat tipped and she went flying into the water. The Zodiac made another tight turn and began to come back.
Hy was disoriented. The light blazed into her eyes, blinding her.
“Help me up.” Cam was clinging to the side of the dory.
Hy grabbed onto her hands and tried to haul her up. Cam kicked at the water. It was no use.
The Zodiac was on them again.
Cam lost her grip and the churning water pushed her away from the dory. She went under. She came up, sputtering and gasping for breath.
“Swim.” Hy called.
“I can’t.”
Oh God. That’s right.
As the Zodiac made another turn, Hy jumped into the cold sea. Head under the water. Swallowing it down. Harsh salt scratching at her throat, making her retch. Surfacing, she could hear the sound of the motor coming closer again.
Sirens. She could hear sirens in her head. But there were no sirens in this night—only the relentless throbbing of a motor as the black boat sliced through the water toward them again.
The water was freezing and she was numb. Her brain was buzzing with a chilling fear. This was no dream—no nightmare. This was real. Hy struggled to control the waves of terror pulsing in her blood, her heart beating a rapid rhythm, her mouth dry.
She looked around. Cam? Where was Cam?
One strong push, aided mightily by Guillaume’s drug-induced disorientation, had sent him tripping backwards over the power cord. Parker watched, aware as he did of its motion picture quality—how it seemed to happen in slow motion, frame by frame, every movement of Guillaume’s arms rising as he was upended.
Frame by frame, he fell back into the pond. The water splashed up. The power coursed through him. His arms jerked, muscles contracted, hands locked onto the implement that was killing him. He gripped it against his will, could not let go. Shock animated his eyes. His whole body convulsed.
Snap. Crackle. Pop.
Revenge of the Lobster Page 21
