A blood-encrusted hand came up and wrapped around her arm, pulling her close. His eyes, glazed and intense, pierced hers. "There are no choices," he said. "Let's face it. I probably won't be able to keep my head together long enough to get us to the coast."
True. But for him to admit it himself sent fresh currents of fear through her.
"A message. Send ... a message, Elise. Like... I showed you."
She closed her eyes, made her decision, opened them and hurried to take the wheel.
The boat had drifted, and now Elise cursed the precious seconds she had to spend retracing their path.
She steered a straight course, keeping the speed down so that the ride wouldn't be too rough. Even so, it was impossible to keep from hitting the occasional wave, slamming the boat against the water's surface.
She looked over her shoulder to see Dylan's eyes clenched shut, white brackets of pain around his mouth.
What seemed like years later, but in reality was probably no more than five minutes, they reached Iguana Bay.
She cut the motor and tied off the boat, then hurried to Dylan's side. He was still conscious, but his eyes were glazed and not quite focused.
"I'll be right back," she told him.
She jumped from the boat to the dock, then scrambled barefoot across the hot sand to the pigeon cage. While she scribbled a message, one part of her brain couldn't believe she was being so foolish; the other was praying it would work.
Her fingers trembled as she folded the tiny note and stuck it into the capsule; her hands shook as she fumbled to attach the capsule to the tiny leg band of Jason's pigeon. Then, with both hands, she lifted the bird's warm, feathered body and carried it to the open beach. Once there, she tossed it up into the evening sky.
The bird immediately headed the wrong way.
The idiot bird was going south instead of north! No, wait. It was circling.
Then it suddenly turned and made a beeline in the direction of the Florida Coast.
Smart bird! Brilliant bird! Now, if Skeeter was only home...
She ran back to Dylan, checking to see if the bleeding was any worse. It was hard to tell with the dark fabric, but it seemed to have slowed. If she could just keep him still until help arrived ...
And help would arrive, she swore to herself.
Dylan lay quietly, his body tense, beads of sweat on his forehead and upper lip. She stroked his damp hair back from his forehead, feeling more helpless than she'd ever felt in her life.
Finally, when she thought she couldn't stand it any longer, when she thought she might break down, some of the tension left his body. She felt him relax. At first she thought he'd lapsed into unconsciousness, but then his eyes opened, his wild, secret eyes.
Even now, when he'd been brought down by a bullet, his eyes had the power to mesmerize, the power to make her heart stop beating and her breath catch.
"What subject do you teach?" he whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
He'd believed her. Earlier, when she'd told him she taught seventh grade, he hadn't laughed. He'd believed her.
"Don't talk. Save your energy."
He shouldn't be talking. Not now. Not when the boat was awash with his blood. No matter how she tried, she couldn't stop the next thought: Not when he might be dying ...
"I want to know."
"Literature."
He gave her a crooked smile. "I should have guessed."
He drew in a shaky breath. "I'll bet all the...boys had crushes on you," he said with a strange look in his eyes. "I sure as hell would have,"
"Dylan, try to be quiet," she pleaded.
He waved a hand, as if to say she was sweating the little things.
"When I was in seventh grade, I had this teacher..." His brow furrowed in thought. "Miss Reynolds... that was her name. She used to sit on the edge of her desk with her long legs crossed... and dangle her shoe off her toes. Used to almost hypnotize me."
His eyes became distant, unfocused. She was losing him.
"Wonder... what ever happened to her? Wonder if she still dangles that shoe off her foot...."
His voice trailed off, fading completely. His eyes closed.
With shaking fingers, Elise felt for his pulse. It was thready, his breathing shallow.
How much time had passed? It seemed like hours. With shock, she realized that the sun had dipped below the curved horizon. It was almost dark. Fear crept down her throat, crawling into the hollow of her stomach.
No one was coming.
Oh, God.
No one was coming.
Had he come this far, had he beaten Sebastian, only to die here on his island?
No!
It would be completely dark soon. She had to do something. She had to at least try to get him to the mainland....
A sound penetrated the web of her fear, a sound that wasn't surf or wind.
A helicopter.
Help was coming.
Elise scrambled to the helm and turned on the auxiliary switch, flipped on the cruise lights, then pointed the spotlight skyward.
The whip, whip of the helicopter blades grew steadily louder until the craft appeared over a grove of palm trees, until it was finally near enough for her to read the lettering on the side: Air Ambulance.
Thank God.
Landing lights on, the craft hovered, then slowly touched down on the beach, stirring up a whirling storm of water and sand.
Two men carrying a stretcher and medical supplies bailed out. With bowed heads, they ran across the beach to the dock, jostling Elise aside as they boarded the boat. Within minutes they'd started a blood transfusion.
For one brief, heart-wrenching second, Dylan opened his eyes and looked directly at her. In the next, the men were carrying him away on a stretcher, with Elise following behind.
"There's a four passenger limit, miss!" one of the paramedics shouted over the noise of the chopper blades. "Someone will come for you later!"
Elise backed away.
She couldn't see Dylan anymore. The medics were hovering over him. Then the door closed and the helicopter lifted, sand and salt water stinging her skin, the wind plastering her clothes against her.
In the eerie glow cast by the landing lights, Elise stood and watched them go.
The night was clear. All the stars were out. And as she watched the helicopter carrying Dylan away, toward the stars, his stars, a chill touched her soul.
She'd never been one to believe in premonitions, but suddenly she was afraid she would never see him alive again.
Dylan opened his eyes just a crack to find his friend Skeeter Bradley looking down at him. There was something familiar about the shirt he was wearing. Damn familiar.
"Skeet?"
"What, buddy?"
"That's my shirt you're wearing."
Skeeter looked down, then in a bland voice said, "So it is."
Dylan swallowed. His mouth felt as if it were full of cotton. His tongue was thick. "Musta been a hell of a party," he finally managed to croak.
"You've been shot in the leg, buddy. You're going into surgery pretty soon."
"Shot?" Dylan's brow furrowed as he struggled to focus his thoughts. "Oh, hell yes."
"Jason found the message on the pigeon. Let me tell you, he was one excited kid. He was jabbering so fast he had to repeat himself three times before I could figure out what he was talking about."
Dylan laughed, then grimaced.
"Hurt much?"
He shook his head, and the motion made the lights on the ceiling above his head spin. He squeezed his eyes shut. "No wonder I feel dopey." He lifted his hand, and the IV hanger rattled. "I am dopey."
"Higher than a kite."
"With no tail."
Skeeter laughed. "See what happens when I'm not around to watch your back?"
Dylan's eyes flew open and he tried to glare at Skeeter. "You lying SOB. I always watched your back."
Skeeter laughed, then sobered. "They've sent a team out to look fo
r Sebastian's chopper."
"Good."
Dylan looked past his friend's shoulder, hoping to see Elise standing there. "Where's Elise?"
"Still on the island. There wasn't any room for her in the helicopter."
The afternoon replayed in his mind. He could see Elise kneeling over him, her hands and face covered with blood, his blood, her eyes full of terror. The hands that moved so tenderly, so soothingly across his forehead trembled. The boat looked like a scene from a horror movie.
And they'd left her out there, alone. Then another thought hit him: there was a chance Sebastian was still alive.
He lifted his head from the pillow and grabbed Skeeter's arm. "I don't want her left out there by herself."
"She won't be. They're sending somebody for her."
"Now. I want somebody to get her off that island now."
A nurse came in with a needle.
Dylan had expected her to wipe his arm with wet cotton. He wasn't aware that she had quietly injected the tranquilizer directly into the IV tube until he felt himself sinking, felt himself falling away. Weakness washed over him, and he let his head drop back on the pillow.
He fought the drug that was moving through his veins, but it was too strong. He was too weak. His eyes fell shut. He heard a click, and realized the nurse was putting the metal siderails up on the bed.
Had to tell Skeeter... Had to... "Sebastian could ... still be alive," he muttered, his tongue feeling thick. "Gotta get Elise out of there... now.... Swear... you'll make sure she gets out of there...."
Skeeter's voice came from a long way off, across a galaxy. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
Dylan relaxed a little; then the room and Skeeter faded away.
Skeeter Bradley met Elise at the boat dock. By the time they arrived at the hospital, Dylan was already out of surgery and in the recovery room.
An hour later a nurse came into the waiting room to announce that Dylan had been moved to Intensive Care. Elise jumped to her feet. "May I see him?"
She frowned at Elise's rumpled, bloodstained clothes.
"Are you immediate family?"
The nurse had a stern, no-nonsense attitude, and Elise could tell there would be no rules bent. She thought about lying, but just couldn't make herself do it.
Skeeter whipped out his badge and flashed it under the nurse's nose. "Police business. I need to ask him one question. It will only take a minute."
At first the nurse looked as if she wasn't going to let him, but she finally gave in, and Skeeter went to Intensive Care while Elise waited.
A few minutes later he was back.
"He's fine. Groggy, but fine," Skeeter told her. "I'm going home to shower and get a few hours' sleep. Why don't you come along? I'm sure Anne has some clothes that will fit you."
She had to see Dylan. There was no way she could leave without seeing him one last time. Without making sure he was truly all right. "Thanks anyway, but I think I'll wait here. Maybe when the shift changes the new nurse will let me in to see him."
"I'll have Anne bring you some fresh clothes," Skeeter told her. He was walking away when he stopped. "Oh, by the way, I'm sorry about what I said to you at the courthouse. I know it's no excuse, but I was worried about Dylan. We've been partners and friends for a long time."
She smiled. "That's okay. I understand."
She didn't go on to explain that she might not be around when Skeeter got back. She was afraid he might insist that she stay, and she didn't have the energy to argue.
After Skeeter left Elise waited about an hour, then took off her shoes and set them next to her chair. Barefoot, she slipped out of the waiting room, down a hall to the double doors marked Intensive Care.
Silently she pushed open the door on the right. Three nurses stood in a huddle in the center of the nurses' station, examining a clipboard. A chart on the wall listed the patients and their room numbers. Dylan was in room number three.
No one looked her way as Elise slipped past the desk.
Dylan was drifting somewhere between limbo and hell. And hell was winning. He kept dreaming the same thing over and over. Elise was in danger, and he was running after her, trying to get close enough to protect her. But every time she was within his grasp, he fell and she got away. Over and over.
Finally the pain in his leg increased until he was fully awake, until his body was covered in a cold sweat. He was just about to give in and call the nurse when the, door opened and she walked in, a hypodermic needle in her hand.
His fix.
She gave him the shot and took his temperature. There was no need to do more. Everything else was being monitored by computer. Wires everywhere.
After checking the screens behind him, the nurse left, and pretty soon the injection began to take effect. Soon he was drifting back to limbo, floating away....
He was just about asleep when, from the edges of reality, came a small sound. He almost didn't bother to open his eyes, but for some reason he did.
He must have been dreaming, or hallucinating, because Elise was standing near the foot of his bed. He blinked, but she didn't vanish. Instead she took a step closer and stopped, hands clasped in front of her like a schoolgirl, her eyes huge.
She looked ready to cry.
He'd witnessed her tears, and panic fluttered his chest.
He wanted to hold her, to assure himself that she was real and not a drug-induced apparition, but he had these damn needles in one arm, the blood pressure cuff on the other. Wires stuck to his chest...
"Elise…"
His voice wasn't working all that well, either, but she obviously heard him, because she made a small pathetic gesture that broke his heart.
"I just wanted to come and see you," she whispered, her lips trembling, her eyes suspiciously shiny. "Make sure you were okay."
"Doctor says I'll be waterskiing within a year."
She smiled. And the sight of it lifted a weight from his chest, warmed him deep inside.
But just when he thought he was home free, they started falling. Big huge tears.
Not a sound. Just those huge, wet tears. They made light-reflecting trails down her cheeks.
"Come here."
She moved closer, but not close enough. He let out a frustrated groan.
"I was so scared," she told him. "When they took you away in the helicopter, I ... was so scared."
His arms ached for her. "Closer," he coaxed. "Come closer."
She stepped into the halo cast by the bedside light.
Now he could see the dark hollows under her eyes, the paleness of her skin.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she whispered.
"I'm okay."
Footsteps sounded behind them. His nurse came cruising in. He didn't know why, but she made him think of the figurehead on a hiking ship. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, glaring at Elise.
Uncowed, Elise glanced over her shoulder, then back to Dylan. "I'm leaving right now."
She bent over and pressed a soft kiss to his bristly cheek.
The tenderness of it made his throat tighten.
"Goodbye," she whispered.
Wait a minute. She meant goodbye as in goodbye. As
in we'll never see each other again.
He lifted the arm with the blood pressure cuff enough so that his fingers lightly skimmed her arm. But she slipped away, toward the door.
The heart monitor behind his head started making weird sounds.
Beep, beep, beep.
"Elise! Don't go!" he croaked.
Beep, beep, beep.
"I have to."
"You have to leave," the nurse said, eyeing the steadily increasing red digital numbers with alarm.
"No," he said, his voice edged with panic. "I mean don't leave-"
Me. Don't leave me.
"Don't go back home to Wisconsin."
Beep, beep, beep.
"Dylan, I have to-"
Stay. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her in
so many ways.
Forever.
Yes. He wanted her forever.
"Skeeter said you could stay with him and Anne."
He glanced up at all the needles and wires coming from him, frustrated that he couldn't get away from them and go after her, stop her.
"You can stay one more day, can't you? Until I'm out of Intensive Care. They said they'd probably move me tomorrow."
Beep, beep, beep.
He could tell she was thinking about it. Her eyes went from the red flashing numbers to the nurse's alarmed face, then back to Dylan.
"Elise… "
Beep, beep, beep.
"Okay."
The flashing digits immediately settled down. Dylan could breathe again. He even managed a smile as the nurse hustled Elise from the room.
Now he had to plan his strategy. He had to figure out how he was going to keep Elise from walking away tomorrow.
Chapter 19
A few hours later Skeeter came back and picked up Elise, giving her a ride to his house, where she caught a few hours of sleep and was able to take a shower. Skeeter's wife, Anne, was kind enough to dig out a pair of Jason's old jeans and a T-shirt that said Rock and Roll across the front. There was no way Elise could have gotten into any of Anne's clothes. Blond and petite, she looked as if she wore about a size one.
At noon the police called to say they had found the helicopter and its pilot. The pilot was alive, but they were still looking for Sebastian. Two hours later, they found him, dead.
It was over.
It was time to go.
Dylan had been moved to a regular room, and Elise found herself confronting the prospect of seeing him again, long enough to tell him goodbye-for good. It had been hard enough the first time. She wasn't looking forward to putting herself through it all over again.
She shouldn't have promised to stay, but when he'd looked at her the way he had, and when the heart monitor had gone crazy, she'd had no choice.
Anne had to pick up her daughter, Mandy, from soft-ball practice, so she offered to drop Elise off at the hospital on the way. During the fifteen-minute ride Anne kept up a steady flow of conversation.
Theresa Weir - Iguana Bay Page 19
