by Pat Warren
“For the money, of course.”
“You shot Bobby for a little money?” She wanted to understand, needed to.
“Not just a little money, Brie. Two million dollars. But that’s not all. If I’m exposed, if my face or the license plate of my rental car is in any of your pictures and Glenn Hal-stead’s men find out I’m a dead man.”
She felt as if she were climbing up through a thick, gray fog. “Glenn Halstead. The man Mr. Brighton told me about. So it was you, not Robert, who’d been laundering illegal money through dummy accounts. And you tried to convince me that Robert was guilty, that his ambition led him to do something dishonest, when all along, it was you.” Brie’s hands flew to her face as a wave of nausea swept over her. “Oh, God, how could you compound your dishonesty by killing your best friend and an innocent child?”
Distraught at the condemnation in her eyes, Craig scrubbed a hand over his face. “You have to believe me, Brie. I had no idea Bobby was going to be with Robert that day. He told me to meet him at Beacon and Charles, that he had an appointment and didn’t have much time. How was I supposed to know it was his day with the kid?”
“How dare you! His name was Bobby and he’d be here right now, this very minute, if it weren’t for you.” She swung around, away from that sniveling face, closing her eyes as bile backed up in her throat. “Get away from me, from here. I never want to see you again.”
“Oh, no, we’re not finished.” He came all the way around the table and grabbed her arm, jerked her around, his hot breath hissing in her face. “I haven’t come this far to give up now. I tried everything to find out where those pictures were without involving you. I broke into your condo in Boston, and they weren’t there, not in any of your cameras. I broke in here, twice, and nothing! I tried to scare you off the island, so you’d come back where I could get the information out of you one way or another, without hurting you. But not even the phone calls scared you. It wasn’t until I talked with your mother after you left this last time that she mentioned she’d given you the camera bag you’d had that day. I had to come, don’t you see? I saw you taking pictures that day on the Common. I have to get that film, the one that might expose me. They warned me that if I didn’t take the film to them soon, they’d kill me. I tried, God knows, and then this blasted hurricane came along. Damn it, Brie, if you’d have just cooperated.”
Trembling inside, Brie was determined not to let him see. Lord only knew what he’d do if he realized how truly frightened she was. A crazed man was totally unpredictable. Stalling for time was her best bet. Maybe Slade would have an epiphany and come over.
Pushing back the horror of what she’d learned over the past few minutes, Brie tried to shake off his hand, but he held her in a steely grip. “I’m really sorry I didn’t roll over and play dead for you by handing over pictures I had no idea you wanted.”
Craig was running out of patience. “Just tell me where they are, give them to me and I’ll leave.”
She knew exactly where she’d put the packet of pictures she’d picked up the day she and Slade had stopped at the hardware store. She’d held the envelope in her hand, but hadn’t found the courage to look at the last photos she’d taken of Bobby. So she’d put the packet in her nightstand in her bedroom. Last night, she’d slept on the floor of the master bedroom with Slade and hadn’t given the pictures a thought.
Would he ever hold her like that again?
She’d have to get away somehow, to mislead Craig and do a good job of it or, by the look of him, he’d hurt her. He’d killed two people already. And if he got ahold of those pictures and negatives and destroyed them, she’d have no proof that he’d been the shooter that fateful morning.
“I don’t remember where I put them, Craig. I was in a hurry the day I picked them up. There was a hurricane coming. Pictures were the last thing on my mind.” Then, as if struck by a thought, she looked up. “Oh, I’ll bet I left them in the glove compartment of the Buick. I made several stops that day and …”
Craig swiped his free hand across his face, brushing back his sandy hair, his fingers tightening on her arm. “You wouldn’t try to snow me, now, would you, Brie? ‘Cause if they’re not there, I might just have to hurt you. I don’t want to, but you see what a position I’m in here? If I don’t get those pictures this trip, if Halstead finds out I failed and the paper trail fingers him, I’m going to be joining Robert in hell.”
She didn’t think she could swallow her fear and let anger take over, but she surprised herself. “I don’t believe Robert’s in hell. He didn’t take two lives.”
She’d said it so softly, so finally. Craig wished he didn’t have to send her to join her son and ex, but he saw no way out. Not after that. She hated him. He’d hoped she’d understand, especially since she’d divorced Robert years ago. She might have understood if it hadn’t been for the kid. Tough luck about the kid.
Nervously, Craig glanced behind him, thinking he’d heard a noise, but he couldn’t see anything. It was spooky in here, the windows all boarded up, even with the light on. He’d get the pictures, take care of Brie, and get the hell off this damn island. Then Halstead would get off his back and he’d be home free. The careful way he’d set up Robert to take the fall at the firm, old Brighton would never suspect him. Then, with the payoff of his two million, he’d kiss the company good-bye and be off for the South Seas.
On the far counter, he noticed the rack of knives stuck into a wooden block. Convenient. He hadn’t been able to bring his gun, with the tough laws imposed by the airlines these days. Now he’d find out if she was telling the truth. Pulling her along with him, he selected a long one that looked especially sharp. “Nice,” he commented, testing the blade with his thumb. Craig twisted Briana’s arm behind her back, applying just enough pressure to make her want to cry out. Only, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction as she gritted her teeth.
“One more time. Where are those pictures, and don’t you dare lie to me. I’ve got nothing to lose by killing you. Afterward, I could set a match to this place and blame it on the hurricane. Tell me, Briana. Now!”
“I am telling you. They’re out in the glove box.” She prayed he’d believe her. Once outside, she’d think of something to do, distract him, call out, fall down and trip him, anything.
He tightened his hold on her. “I don’t believe you. Time’s running out. Talk!”
He was close enough behind her that she could smell his whisky breath. She’d have to take a chance, because this was getting them nowhere. “Let me think…” Then she brought her free arm back hard, her elbow slamming into his midsection.
“You little bitch!” Craig was slight, but wiry and strong. Never letting go, he maneuvered her down to the kitchen floor and captured both her wrists in one hand while he held the knife to her chest with the other. Grinning, he straddled her. “Thought you were too good to go out with me, didn’t you? Never gave me a tumble. That was a mistake, Brie.”
Eyes dancing fire, she glared up at him, his weight sitting heavy on her. Her one arm was numb with pain from his twisting. She bided her time, waiting for him to glance away, to lose his train of thought, and she’d try again. But she had to watch that sharp knife in case he …
Craig slashed down the front of her shirt, easily cutting the thin cotton and exposing her breasts, his eyes growing huge. “Well, well. Maybe we’re not in such a big hurry after all. Since we’ve waited so long, maybe we deserve a little reward.” Almost playfully, he trailed the knife tip slowly down between her breasts. A thin line of blood oozed out.
That did it. She’d find some other way to expose him without the pictures, but she wasn’t going to let him mark her up or …or worse. “All right, you win. I’ll tell you where the pictures are.”
“Hold your horses, Miss Eager Beaver.” Craig’s eyes were riveted to her flesh. He let go of her hands and lowered his to reach down and …
“No!” Briana bucked her hips beneath him, upsetting him while batting at h
im with her hands, trying desperately to avoid that knife. “Get off me you … you murderer, you sadist.”
Furious now, Craig lashed out with the knife just as Briana’s arms flew up to protect her face. The blade sliced along the inside of her right arm several inches above the elbow. Blood spurted out immediately, spraying Craig as she cried out.
“Now look what you made me do. Damn it, Brie. Why couldn’t you have cooperated? Why couldn’t you just give me the damn pictures?” He was almost sobbing now, watching the blood pump out of her as her arm fell limply onto her chest.
“Oh,” Brie moaned. The deep cut burned, but that wasn’t as bad as watching her blood seemingly pouring out of her. He must have severed an artery. “Craig, please, I need a doctor. Don’t do this. Don’t add another killing to your list.”
He couldn’t listen to her. He had to ignore the blood and ignore her words. Gripping the knife in fingers slippery with nervous sweat, he leaned down to her face, holding the silvery edge to her throat. “Just tell me where the goddamn film is and I’ll get you to a doctor.”
Gray dots danced in front of her eyes, then receded. Briana licked her dry lips as her heavy arm slid off her chest, slippery with blood. “I need a tourniquet, Craig. Are you going to let me bleed to death?”
“The pictures! Where are they?” he screamed.
“Hey!” came a voice from behind him, then someone grabbed his hair hard and hurled him backward. Though he went flying, Craig lashed out with the knife, trying to stab his assailant. Missing, he cursed as he scrambled up and saw the guy from next door looming over him. Before he could react a thick fist rammed into his chin, sending him sprawling again.
Flat on his back, he made to get up, but a large shoe stepped on his wrist, the pain causing him to drop the knife with a clatter to the kitchen tile. “Wait a minute,” he sobbed out.
But Slade wasn’t waiting. Grabbing Craig by his shirt front he hauled him to his feet only to punch him down again. And again. Then he leaned over him and pummeled both fists into his pretty-boy face, not stopping until he heard the satisfying crack of Craig’s nose breaking. One more time, he picked him up, but Craig was deadweight by then, passed out slumping to the floor.
Turning, Slade looked at Briana, who was trying to get up. His mouth went dry. So much blood, everywhere. On her chest and arm, her torn shirt soaked through. Down on one knee, he bent to her. “Where did he cut you?”
“My arm,” Brie said, the gray spots in front of her eyes turning black, growing in number. Trying to rise with his help, she swayed as a wave of nausea hit her. “Going to be sick.” But she swallowed it back. No, she couldn’t pass out. Not yet.
“Let me help you.” He’d come around back and had been about to knock on the door when he’d heard shouts. He’d eased the door open and seen a man on top of Briana, a man with a knife, and blood all over. It wasn’t until he’d pulled the guy off that he realized the man’s identity. “Craig. What’s he doing here?”
Brie drew in a shaky breath. “He’s the shooter. He killed Bobby and Robert.” She swallowed again. “Long story. Slade, I need a tourniquet.”
Hell, yes, he should have thought to stop the bleeding. Rummaging through one of the drawers, he found a shoestring and bent to her. “Let me see where to put this.”
She lifted her arm and he saw the open, gaping wound. Not a pretty sight. Hurriedly, he tied the shoestring in place. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Tie him up first. We’ll call sheriff.” A wave of dizziness had her swaying again. “Thirsty. Water, please.”
“Right away.” From the refrigerator, he took a bottle of cold water and held it to her so she could drink. “Hold on a minute.” He’d spotted a piece of clothesline in the drawer. Grabbing it, he hurriedly bound Craig’s hands and feet tightly behind him.
A quick dash to the bathroom to grab two thick towels, then he returned and knelt down to her. Carefully, he removed her bloody shirt and bound her wound with one of the towels. Yanking off his own shirt, he helped her into it, knowing she’d want to be covered. Then he picked her up in his arms, his mind racing. He had to get her to the hospital. She was losing so much blood.
“Double lock the door,” she told him as he stepped outside. “So Craig can’t get away.”
“Don’t worry, honey. He’s not going anywhere.” He looked down at her as her head rested on his shoulder. So small and fragile, yet with a core of steel. She would need it.
He settled her in the truck, her head on his lap, and drove as fast as the flooded roads would allow. His eyes kept returning to her, noticing how pale she was, how shallow her breathing. She drifted in and out. And the towels he’d wrapped around her wound were already soaked through as her blood pumped steadily out of her.
Slade had never been a praying man, but he prayed now. Don’t let me lose her, please.
The hospital room was dim and quiet. It was early evening and the night shift of nurses had just come on. The middle-aged one assigned to Briana’s private room had just left after checking her vital signs and telling him that she was holding her own.
Holding her own. What the hell did that mean?
He’d rushed into the ER with her in his arms, her clothes and the two thick towels red and slippery with blood, and still it had taken some time before she’d been taken into a cubicle. Didn’t he realize there’d been a hurricane, that dozens of injured people were filling the rooms, lining the hallways? one weary young doctor had asked him. It had taken all of Slade’s control not to throttle the man, though he knew his anger was misdirected.
It should be him lying in that bed, not her, he thought as he took her slim, cool left hand into his. His pride, his self-indulgence, his unwillingness to bend had almost cost Briana her life. If he hadn’t walked off to lick his wounds, if he’d gone with her, Craig never would have been able to carve her up. Once he made up his mind, he was as stubborn as the man he was named after, the one he wasn’t even related to.
“No more, honey,” he whispered, though he knew Briana couldn’t hear him. They’d stitched her up, sedated her, and transfused her. Even now, two tubes were flowing into her, one in her good arm, the other at her ankle. She was dehydrated, the young, harassed doctor had finally told him. They’d replaced most of the blood she’d lost from her severed artery. She was young and strong and otherwise healthy. She would probably come out just fine.
Probably?
“Here you are,” Sheriff Stone said, entering quietly and speaking softly as people in hospitals do. “How’s she doing?”
“Holding her own,” Slade told him, never taking his eyes off Briana’s pale face.
“Just thought I’d come by and let you know we got the man who did this to her out of her house and in our jail. I called the Boston P.D. and talked to the lieutenant in charge of the Morgan case, told him about this Craig Walker guy. Said he’ll be sending a couple of their men over in the morning to pick him up. I guess I’ll get Briana’s side of the story once she’s better.”
Slade didn’t answer.
“Thought you’d like to know, those calls on her phone been coming from the Nesbitt Inn. We found a key in Walker’s pocket from there. Found another key that looks like it might be to Briana’s house. Guess we’ve got our mysterious caller and B&E man.”
It didn’t matter to Slade. Nothing mattered except getting Briana well.
“Guess I’ll be going then.” Stone walked to the door, turned back. “Don’t you worry none. Briana Morgan’s a fighter. She’ll come through this.”
Slade didn’t look up, just sat running his thumb along the smooth skin of her hand. The doctor had said she probably couldn’t hear him, but he began to talk anyhow. Slowly, softly. “I was wrong, but I guess you know that. You were right. I was coming over to tell you so when I found you like … like this.
“I guess I’m more like Jeremy than I ever knew. Stubborn, refusing to see all sides of the picture, unforgiving. In this case, I couldn’t seem t
o forgive myself. But I’m changing, Brie. Because of you.”
He swallowed hard, blinking. “Now the rest is up to you. You have to get well. You promised you wouldn’t leave me, remember? I’m going to hold you to that.”
Rising, he leaned over and kissed her cheek gently. Love can be strong enough to overcome anything. “I love you, Brie.”
It felt as if she were coming out of a thick fog, trying to find her way. The vapory air swirled around her as she struggled to open her eyes. So heavy. So much easier to just stay this way, no hassle, no pain. Floating.
But something made her try, and try harder. Finally, Brie’s eyes opened and she blinked. A hospital bed, a hospital room. She still felt pretty floaty. Sensing someone, she turned her head.
He was asleep in the chair he’d pulled up to her bed. The man who’d saved her life, the one she’d feared she’d never see again. What had made him change his mind and come back?
Slade’s eyes popped open and he nearly scooted from his chair when he saw she was awake. Not only awake, but smiling at him. “Hey, lady,” he said, leaning to her, “you sure gave me a scare.”
“Did I? I didn’t mean to.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No. Floating.” Her brow wrinkled. “Is it bad? Scar?”
“Just like a woman. A little scar, maybe.” He took her hand then, afraid to squeeze too hard, yet needing to touch her.
She studied him for a few moments. “Why did you come over?”
He drew in a deep breath. “Because I love you. Because I…”
“No. Never mind the rest. That’s the only reason that counts.” Smiling, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
Two days later, they agreed to release Brie from the hospital, provided she had someone to care for her. That someone was Slade, who’d scarcely left her side. She was still weak, having lost a good deal of blood, but feeling much better.
That night, curled up in the big four-poster in the master bedroom, she finally found the courage to look at the packet of pictures. She’d given a similar set to the sheriff, who’d in turn handed them to the Boston police. With Slade at her side, a comforting presence, she showed him Bobby in all his smiling, seven-year-old wonder. She’d captured him hamming for the camera, laughing at the antics of the ducks on the pond, swinging from a tree limb, and climbing up for his green balloon.
