Blair felt the weight of Michael’s body as he pushed her down on the rough blanket and pulled her beneath him. The noise intensified until it was deafening. Above the roar came other sounds. Metal crashing, a shuddering throughout the building. Shattering sounds came from behind the wall at their heads. It seemed to go on forever.
Then it was quiet. Too quiet.
The two-year-old began crying, softly at first, then with increasing urgency. His mother crooned to him.
Around them, people began shifting. Above Blair, Michael moved, hesitated, then pushed away. With the feel of his body echoing through her, Blair sat up. The couple next to them turned up their flashlight. In the harsh light, Michael’s features were pinched. Flat on his back, he ran his hand from shoulder to chest.
Blair scooted closer. “What can I do?”
“I’ll be okay,” he said between gritted teeth.
Evan came down the hall, checking on everyone. When he reached them, he asked, “Kevin, you okay?”
Michael replied. “Wrenched my shoulder. It’ll be all right.”
Evan nodded and moved on. Once he’d checked on everybody, gone to the front of the hall and come back, he turned to the huddled group. “We’ll wait until light to try to leave. It looks pretty bad. The cars are ruined. I’m going to try to get hold of my dispatcher and see if we can’t have a boat sent to get us once the waters calm down.”
***
The first light of day found them all gathered outside the front of the schoolhouse. The cars, which Michael knew had sustained some damage from the hurricane force winds, now lay on their sides or on their roofs, some on top of each other, as if a great wreck had destroyed them. Blair’s car lay on top of a red one.
“Did you get in touch with anybody?” the pilot asked Evan, shifting his two-year-old to his other arm.
“Yeah. They’re sending a couple of boats out. We’ll have to walk down to Baker’s Landing where we’ll gather with some folks from the church. They’re afraid to put in by the bridge because of the debris and all.”
“How far’s the landing?” the pilot’s wife asked.
“About a mile or so.”
“That’s not far,” Bitsy Caldwell said with a smile. She looked none the worse for wear from her extended celebrating.
A little after eight, the small group followed the deputies around and behind the school along an oyster shell road that led to the edge of the bay. Michael carried Blair’s bag and felt the reassuring weight of the Glock in the small of his back. All around them, palm fronds, broken tree limbs, pink housing insulation, and pieces, both large and small, of signs and houses covered the ground.
As they made their way over the debris, their shoes making crunching sounds on the oyster shells, Blair asked, “Are you okay?”
“A little sore.”
“There are a couple more aspirin.”
“I took some. I’ll be all right.” He realized he’d cut her off too quickly. “How are you? I mean, did you get any rest last night?”
She looked up at him with those fabulous green eyes. “On and off. I couldn’t get the picture of that man at the house out of my mind.”
“Don’t think about him, niña, you handled him well.”
“You said it was dumb to throw—”
“You scared me. I reacted.” He regretted the words immediately. They proved he still cared. He couldn’t afford the luxury. “Tell me about yourself. What you’re doing now.”
She looked back at him. “I teach kindergarten here in Emerald Bay.”
He knew, of course. Drew had told him. And though Drew didn’t know about the endless week they’d spent together, he had spoken about his family. Michael soaked up every word about Blair. Every word. Including the news that she was engaged to some fool who couldn’t have known what to do with her. She’d broken that engagement.
But it was Alice who had filled in the gaps, who told him about the Blair he remembered. About her spirit. And made him ache in the wanting of all that was Blair.
“I may move up to the first grade next year.” A strong steady breeze pushed at her hair. She’d braided it last night but hadn’t bothered this morning, wearing a ponytail bound with one of those cloth things—a red one.
They reached the place where the deputies said the boats would pick them up. In the distance, a group of thirteen people walked toward them from the opposite direction. Michael studied their faces as they drew nearer. Two couples, each with two children, one park ranger, still in his uniform, and four women around sixty-five. Behind them walked a lone man wearing a suit. Not the one who’d looked for him at Alice’s house. Eddie, maybe?
Three felled oaks gave them a place to sit as they waited. By the time the other group of people joined them, two Marine Patrol boats were cutting across the sun-glinted bay, two officers on each boat.
“Michael?” Blair’s question was soft, as quiet as a breath. “That man, the one in the suit.”
“I see him.”
The boats drew closer. Blair could hear their roar as they bounced over the rough water.
The lone man kept his distance. He was short, bald, heavy-set. He could be an insurance agent, a teacher, a banker.
Or one of the men here to kill Michael.
The engine noise dropped to a rumble as both boats pulled up to shore. The Marine Patrol officers threw in lines, which the deputies caught. They pulled the boats up as close as they could, but everyone still had to wade up to their thighs to get in.
One boat, fully loaded, roared away. When Michael hung back, Blair waited, aware that he was watching the single man. She heard the slap of the waves against the remaining boat, felt the damp in the crisp breeze.
“Come on, Blair!” Evan shouted, drawing her attention. “Let’s go!”
The stranger waded out to the boat. Michael, his hand warm and strong, led her out toward the small ladder at the rear of the boat. The choppy bay water pulled at Blair’s clothing. Once on board, her wet clothes made her shiver. Michael pulled her against him as they sat on the deck.
“Your side,” she said, pulling away.
“Will be better if you keep me warm.” He didn’t look at her; his attention remained fixed on the single man.
They settled back against the boat, braced for the bumpy ride. The trip across the bay took only minutes.
“Kevin!” Evan shouted when they neared land. “Keep an eye on the depth for me. I want to get as close as possible without running aground.”
“Sure thing.” Michael stood, his hand on Blair’s shoulder.
She rose to her knees and peeked over the side. They were coming into Osprey Landing, on the mainland. The pier had been ripped apart and lay in large pieces, bobbing on the water. Bay grass had caught smaller pieces of debris, holding it captive as it swayed with the movement of the water. It looked like a wasteland of lumber and driftwood. She glanced back toward Michael, and saw him peer into the water while the boat moved forward. Then he straightened and turned toward land.
She looked down at the water, so deep and dark. They were still out too far to walk to shore. The boat would have to pull in further to make it possible for everyone to get out. Blair looked toward land again, wondering where they planned to tie the boat. When she turned back toward Michael, a flash of movement caught her eye. Something shiny, probably some debris, had caught sunlight and reflected it from the thick pine woods to the left of the pier.
Michael disappeared overboard before she heard the sharp report of a gun shot.
Blair jumped up and ran toward the stern of the boat. The other passengers scrambled to the deck. The sound of a second shot filled the air as she reached the spot where Michael had stood.
“Get down!” Evan yelled.
She felt their forward motion stop, heard Evan shout again. Frantic, Blair watched the bobbing debris and sought the place where Michael must have gone under. Where he’d be.
Without thinking, she jumped in, felt the cool rush of water,
the rough touch of broken wood. Breaking to the surface, she looked for Michael. For any sign. Then she began swimming the way they’d come. Grass swiped at her clothes and debris bumped her arms.
But he wasn’t anywhere. There was nothing other than wind and waves and debris.
She heard the boat coming toward her, slowly. Treading water, she looked in every direction. “Michael!” The wind threw his name back to her. Behind her, the boat engine idled.
A quick glance told her that the Marine Patrol officer who hadn’t piloted the boat had jumped in.
“Blair!” Evan’s voice came over the slap of the waves against the boat. “I’ve called for help.”
The Marine patrol officer swam toward her and insisted she put on a life vest. What seemed like hours later, when the other Marine Patrol boat joined them, Blair thanked heaven for the officer’s insistence as she struggled with arms that seemed more like lead weights.
Then Evan was there, treading water beside her.
Wiping his face, he said, “It’s been too long. I’m sorry, Blair. You need to get out.”
Chapter 4
Several hours later, the late morning breeze whipped around them as the boat bobbed up and down on the choppy bay. Blair, numb with disbelief, swaying with the motion of the boat, could see a milling crowd on shore.
The curious. Wanting to find out what had happened. Wanting to see the Marine Patrol and the Rescue Squad bring up Michael’s body.
On the boat with Blair, Evan, and two Marine Patrol officers, stood the stranger who’d joined them for the ride across the bay. He’d introduced himself as Special Agent Abbott of the FBI. He’d even flipped open a badge for Evan and her to see. But all she could see was the cold in the man’s eyes.
“What did you say Kevin’s last name is?” Evan asked.
Unable to process anything, Blair barely heard the question. Only Evan’s insistent look made her concentrate. “Kevin Johnson.” She didn’t question the lie. Bone deep cold made her pull the blanket Evan had given her tighter around herself.
“Blair,” Evan’s voice intruded. “I’m sorry, but we need his address, next of kin.”
No time to think, to consider the consequences. “He’s from Atlanta.” Somehow, she managed to make up a street address when Evan persisted. The words came from the secret place she’d kept Michael for all these years. From the need to protect him.
When it was too late.
She looked at the floating storm debris, at the grass, waving in the crisp breeze.
Nothing. There had been no sign of him. Nothing in the hours since he’d fallen overboard.
“Family?”
Blair remembered the little she knew of Michael’s family. His Argentinean father, an engineer, his American mother, his brother and sisters. “None. At least, not that I know of.”
Special Agent Abbott said nothing. Why hadn’t he identified himself earlier? He should have at least told Evan who he was.
Evan touched her arm. “I’ve arranged for you to go to my house. Becky’ll be glad for the company.”
“I need to go home.” Get away from here. Run.
Forget.
“You shouldn’t be alone now.” Evan’s eyes reflected a mixture of sadness and unease. A friend caught between genuine sympathy and the fear of a hysterical woman. But she’d given up the right to hysterics with a simple no.
“How long have you known Kevin?” Abbott’s question cut through the silence.
“A few months.” The lies were coming too quickly. She’d slip up soon, if she wasn’t careful.
“Where did you meet?”
“In Atlanta.” Abbott’s silence made Blair clutch for something further to say. “I was there visiting friends.”
“Where did he work?”
“He’s a waiter.”
“A waiter?” Abbott’s brows shot up.
“At an Italian restaurant in Buckhead. I can’t remember the name.” Blair felt the boat engine rev, relieved to know she’d soon be away and not have to keep making up lies. She wasn’t any good at it. There had to be a trap in something—everything—she’d said. Abbott would catch on.
Once on shore, Evan escorted her to a waiting Sheriff’s Department cruiser and helped her in.
“Bob, take Ms. Davenport to my house. Becky’s there.”
“Sure thing, Evan,” the deputy replied.
“Then drive over to Ms. Davenport’s place and see how it did.”
Before Evan could close the door, Abbott, who’d followed them, bent down toward Blair. “Here’s my number, Ms. Davenport. If you think of anything that can help us notify Kevin Johnson’s co-workers or family, please call me.” He handed her a scrap of paper with a phone number penned on it.
Evan shut the door and Blair huddled down for the ride to his house. Thankfully, the deputy driving the cruiser didn’t say anything. They drove through the storm ravaged bay front streets of the small town of Emerald Bay. Big live oaks and most power lines had fallen, but already crews were out clearing the streets, making way for power company trucks sent to restore electricity to the five thousand or so area residents. A few boats lay on their sides along the shore.
Evan’s house, a single story brick ranch, sat in a quiet middle-class residential area of town. Blair’s two-bedroom house was only a few blocks away. Becky, Evan’s wife, had been a friend since Blair first began visiting her grandmother as a girl.
“Here we are, Ms. Davenport,” the deputy said, pulling up in the drive.
Becky, dressed in shorts and T-shirt, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, rushed out, leaving her front door wide open. She hugged Blair, blanket and all, as she got out of the cruiser.
“Oh, Blair! One of the deputies came by to tell me you’d gotten trapped on the island with Evan. How awful for you. Come on, let’s get you inside. You can get a nice hot shower. We don’t have power but we do have water and a gas water heater, so that’s not a problem.” Blair felt Becky’s arm around her shoulder as Becky leaned down to talk to the deputy. “Thanks, Bob.”
“Be back in a minute to let you know how your house looks,” the deputy said after getting Blair’s address.
Keeping up a non-stop barrage of conversation, none of which Blair responded to, Becky led her into the bathroom and took the now wet blanket. “Towels are here,” she said, indicating a rack. “I’ve got some shorts you can wear and a top that should fit.” She turned on the shower. “You go ahead. I’ll leave the clothes in the spare room. Take your time.”
Blair stripped and stepped into the shower, needing the warmth of the hot water. But she couldn’t get warm.
She shouldn’t feel Michael’s absence so deeply. He hadn’t been in her life in a long time, but she had always known he was somewhere.
How could he not be?
She blinked away tears and turned off the water, knocking the shampoo bottle down. She couldn’t cry. Wouldn’t.
“You okay?” Becky’s question followed a knock on the bathroom door.
With determination born of the fear of feeling, Blair fumbled with the towel. “I’m fine!”
Once dressed, her hair towel-dried, she joined Becky in the living room. The curtains billowed in the damp breeze, the windows open to allow some circulation until the power was restored.
“You can stay as long as you like, Blair.”
“I have to get back to my house and check on my classroom. I’ll have to see about Grandma’s house.” She had to stay busy.
“Bob said you don’t have any downed trees and the roof’s okay.” Becky patted her hand. “Don’t worry about the school. That’s what they pay principals for. As far as your grandmother’s house, Evan dropped by before you got out of the shower. He said nobody’s going to be allowed on the island until they’re sure everything’s safe.”
Blair stared out the front window and watched the breeze whip the weeping willow in Becky’s front yard. She had to find something to do, something to keep her focused, keep her mind off
Michael. She couldn’t let herself fall into a dark hole of grief.
“What happened, Blair?” Becky’s softly worded question intruded on Blair’s thoughts.
“What?” Blair’s skin tingled at the unbidden memory of Michael calling himself Kevin. He’d been so calm about it. So casual, as if he pretended to be someone else all the time.
Because that was his job. His life.
“Evan said you were engaged to a Kevin Johnson.”
How had Michael lived a life of lies? How had he hidden his true feelings? How had she? How would she?
Blair forced words out of her mouth. “Have they found him?”
Becky scooted closer to her on the couch. “No, sweetie. I’m sorry.”
Blair looked outside again, at the tree, and hugged herself. Michael’s beautiful body on the bottom of the bay was too horrible to think about.
Into the silence, Becky asked quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”
“I can’t talk about it, okay?”
Becky nodded, but Blair saw beyond her friend’s curiosity. Becky hesitated, then leaned closer to Blair. “Honey, I’m worried about you. Evan doesn’t think there’s anybody named Kevin Johnson. He says you were with Michael Alvarez.”
“That’s crazy!” But she knew her answer was too loud, too insistent.
“It’s okay, Blair. I know you’re upset.” Becky took Blair’s hands. “But when Evan described this Kevin, it sounded so much like Michael, I wondered, too. I know you haven’t seen him—”
“Where did Evan get the idea that he’s Michael?”
“From the FBI agent.”
“Abbott?”
“I think that’s what Evan said his name is.”
Had Abbott set Michael up to be shot? That was crazy. Evan, not Abbott, had asked Michael to move forward on the boat.
“Evan says they’re searching the edge of the bay. They’ll continue to drag the bottom out by the landing until tonight.”
Blair couldn’t think about that. She concentrated on the willow in the breeze. But all she could picture was Michael’s face. His dark eyes, his smile.
The shrill ring of the phone made Blair jump. Becky stood and answered, speaking quietly. Blair stared out the window, her mind numb.
Against the Wind Page 4
