Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope)

by Jody Hedlund

  Tom slid down from the mount and bent to study the horse prints. Some led to the building and others pointed back to the road.

  Had Butch finished the job and already left? Tom glanced again to the cutter down the shore. His muscles tightened at the thought of being too late, of failing again to protect someone he loved.

  He pried open the fish warehouse doors, his knife ready in case Butch sprang out of the shadows. But the only thing in the shed was a carriage. The horse was gone, which meant Butch was gone too.

  Tom picked up a rag that lay discarded in a scattering of rotting hay. One sniff of the sickly sweet odor of chloroform in the scrap informed him that Butch had drugged Victoria. Probably so that he could take her down to a waiting boat.

  Tom’s pulse spurted with renewed dread. He tossed the rag back to the floor and raced out of the shack. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t too late, that the abandoned cutter down the shore didn’t mean anything. But he stopped abruptly as he reached the edge of the dock.

  There were Victoria’s shoes. Fancy pointed shoes that he’d seen her wear back in Newport.

  He stared at them for a moment, his chest hollow and his head light.

  She was gone. And all that remained were her shoes.

  His mind filled with images of her sinking beneath the waves, her layers of clothes dragging her down. Her lungs filling with water. Her body finally hitting the cold, dark bottom. He could picture her frantically trying to swim, to work her way to the surface against currents and waves that would only suck her back under. She would have been terrified.

  The thought that she’d been frightened and in pain made him want to jump into the dinghy, row out, and try to rescue her—even though it was too late. He could only pray that she’d still been unconscious and had died peacefully.

  He dropped to his knees on the edge of the dock, and a cry tore at his throat. For several long seconds he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stare at the shoes. Then a moan worked its way loose. “Oh, God, I loved her.”

  Heat seared his eyes and burned his chest with the need to weep. He’d tried so hard not to fall in love with her, hadn’t thought he deserved to have a woman’s love after his past mistakes. Hadn’t thought he was the right kind of man for Victoria. But somehow she’d broken through the walls he’d erected around himself. And after breaking through them, she’d worked her way into his heart so that she’d filled him thoroughly and completely.

  And what had he done? He’d thrust her away. He’d let his fears of losing her, of failing her, and of disappointing her take control.

  He lowered his face into his hands and groaned again. He had loved her. Still loved her. And always would.

  If only he’d told her that, maybe she wouldn’t have left Race Point. He’d nearly forced her back into Nathaniel’s arms. And in doing so, he’d jeopardized her safety even more.

  He fisted his hands and pounded his legs. “Why take her? Why not me instead?”

  It was the same question he’d asked God after Ike had gotten shot. The same question he’d lived with for years. He’d failed to protect the people he loved. He was the one who deserved to die. Not them.

  “Some things are beyond our control.” His brother’s words whispered through his head again. “You can’t be perfect. No one is. That’s why we need God.”

  He could admit he was far from perfect. But that hadn’t stopped him from aiming for perfection in his job. He supposed he’d thought that by protecting others he could make up for losing Ike. But he hadn’t. He’d only failed all over again.

  “That’s why you need me.” Instead of Ike’s voice in his head, this time he had the distinct impression that God was reaching out to him. After the way he’d ignored, and yes, been angry with God over the years, the thought that the Almighty wanted him was too powerful to comprehend. If he’d been a more emotional man, he may have even wept at the realization that God still cared about him.

  “I can’t go on without you,” Tom whispered, finally lifting his eyes to the ocean where Victoria had drowned. Only the soft echo of “you need me” kept him kneeling at the end of the dock instead of jumping into the water, swimming out as far as he could, and letting himself sink to the bottom so that he could die too.

  He didn’t want to live anymore, not without hope. And the only hope—perhaps the real hope he’d been missing all along—was found in God. At least that’s what Mom had claimed. The fact that God still loved him in spite of imperfections and failures was all he had to cling to. If God still wanted him, then he couldn’t let go of life yet.

  “I don’t know what my pathetic life is going to look like now, but I need you to help me survive.”

  For an endless moment he waited. He wasn’t sure for what. But finally, even though his chest burned with grief, he stood. He walked to Victoria’s shoes. Should he give them to her mother as a last remembrance?

  He bent to retrieve them but halted. They were pointed back to the shore, as if she’d taken them off so that she could run away from the dock. One was flipped over, revealing a damp section at the heel.

  Had she been in the boat and somehow escaped?

  A large wave pushed against the dock, rocking it slightly. At a soft thump against the weathered boards, he got down onto his stomach and attempted to peer under the dock, dreading what he might find and praying it wasn’t a body—her body.

  At the sight of an oar—actually two oars—he breathed again. The swell of heavier waves and the rise in the water level was causing the oars to lightly bump the underside of the dock.

  Tom hopped to his feet and stared with narrowed eyes at the cutter down shore. Had Victoria somehow freed herself from her captor, thrown the oars in the water, and then run away, leaving her shoes behind?

  All of the evidence added up that way. Perhaps that’s why the horse was gone. Butch had headed off in search of Victoria.

  A thin beam of hope broke through the darkness inside Tom, but he tried not to let it shine too brightly. In his desperate state, he might be chasing a false lead. He had to stay calm and examine every detail. If Victoria was alive, she might be on the run from Butch. She might still be in danger. If he could track her before Butch found her, he might have a chance of saving her.

  With the shoes in one hand, he examined the sand for her footprints. After probing closely, he finally found faint steps leading away, steps that appeared to be about the size of her feet. He followed them until he came to the weeded plot that led past the houses. He guessed she would have run to town to try to get help. But once on the road, he saw no evidence of her footprints either in the gravel or in the long grass on the side of the road.

  He peered toward North Truro, hoping to see her bonnet, her parasol, anything that would alert him to her presence. But something in his gut told him she never went there. He turned and scrutinized the deserted houses that were falling in on themselves from disuse. They were both locked and boarded and had no port of entry.

  He studied the warehouse and shook his head.

  She wasn’t here. But she hadn’t gone to town. So where was she?

  Maybe she’d attempted to run away from Butch, only to have him recapture her before she could reach the road. But even as that possibility crossed his mind, he didn’t want to believe it.

  He started toward the warehouse. He would inspect it further to see if he’d missed any clues the first time he’d been inside. He slowed as he passed the first of house. Nothing there had been touched in months, if not years, except by weather and wild animals.

  When he reached the second house, he couldn’t see a trace of anyone having been inside that house either. Until he reached the back of the house. A board had been adjusted near one corner. The movement was almost imperceptible, but the slight exposure of darker wood told him that someone had recently tampered with it.

  He crossed to the area and dropped to one knee to inspect the suspicious area. He grazed his fingers along the ground and made co
ntact with slivers of damp wood. When he shifted the board, it moved aside with surprising ease, revealing a gap, one that would be impossible for a man of his size to squeeze through. But not impossible for Victoria.

  He trailed his fingers along the ridge. At the touch of something satiny, he stopped. He plucked the material loose and held it up to the sunlight. Blue silk.

  He stood and almost felt faint at the prospect that Victoria had made it into the house. There could be no other explanation. She’d clearly crawled through the gap.

  With a new urgency to his step, he approached the door, unsheathed his knife, and used it to pick the lock. He had it open within seconds and nearly ripped the door from its hinges in his haste to get inside. He ducked under a ceiling beam that hung down and stepped around a mound of debris.

  His heart raced as he clomped from one room to the next searching for any sign of what had happened to her, for a scuffle of some kind, for evidence that Butch had somehow been there and already gotten to her.

  But he found nothing. As he stood in the middle of what had once been a kitchen, he almost felt like weeping again. Where was she? What had become of her? Maybe she’d already left. If so, where would she have gone next?

  A faint sound nearby silenced his internal rampage. He tried to identify what he’d heard. A breath? A sniff? Or maybe just a mouse in the wall?

  He listened for at least thirty seconds but didn’t hear anything again. However, he scrutinized the wall and was rewarded with the sight of the faint outline of a cupboard. In two swift strides, he shoved aside the fishing net and jerked open the half door.

  A jagged piece of plate sliced through the air, aimed directly at his leg. He caught it just before the sharp edge reached his flesh. “Victoria. Thank God.”

  She was crouched on her knees, hardly able to fit into the space. Her hair hung in disarray, and tears trickled down her dirty cheeks. At the sight of him, she dropped her weapon, gave a soft cry, and buried her face into her hands and sobbed.

  Tom dropped to his knees and gently pried her out of the tight space. Then he sat back on his heels and lifted her onto his lap. She didn’t resist. In fact, she pressed her face against his chest, her broken sobs muted but desperate and heart-wrenching.

  His own throat ached with the need to cry out his relief. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, his heart beating fiercely with all of the love he had for her. He laid his lips against her temple, and the strong beat of her pulse there reassured him she truly was alive, that she’d survived the horrific ordeal.

  He tilted his head back and lifted a silent prayer heavenward. Thank you. God hadn’t been obligated to save Victoria. God hadn’t been obligated to do anything for him. But He hadn’t let him go, had loved him, and promised him hope. Now, He’d done the one thing that mattered most to him in the world—He’d protected Victoria.

  Her sobs began to lessen but her body continued to tremble.

  He enveloped her more fully. “You’re safe now,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

  Her fists closed around the lapels of his suit coat, and she clung to him. “I thought you were the coachman, that he’d finally figured out where I was hiding.”

  “He’s not here,” Tom murmured, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Don’t worry anymore.” He wanted to tell her that he’d never let anything bad happen to her ever again, but he couldn’t. No one had the power to control everything, except God.

  She finally pulled away far enough so that he could see her face. Tears still trailed down her cheeks. “Were you hurt? I realized they must have done something terrible to you for you to leave me all alone.”

  “I’m fine.” He didn’t want her to worry about him. Now that he had her in his arms, his pain had dimmed to a distant ache. She lifted her hand to his cheek and traced a streak of dried blood.

  He drew her hand away from his cheek to his lips. He laid a tender kiss against her knuckles. “All that matters is that I found you.”

  Her eyes turned glassy. “I’m so sorry, Tom,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for not believing you about the danger. I’m sorry for not staying at Race Point like you asked. I’m sorry for making light of your concerns—”

  He cut off her rambling with a touch of his fingers against her lips. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m so spoiled and thoughtless and stupid.”

  “I pushed you away.” The words were hard to say. But he couldn’t hold back from her any longer. He had to tell her the truth about how he felt, even if it frightened him, even if she didn’t want him anymore.

  Her eyes widened, and her lips formed around a response, but he spoke again before she could. “If I hadn’t pushed you away, you wouldn’t have made plans to leave the lighthouse.”

  “You were just trying to do your job and protect me—”

  “No. I’ve been a coward. Afraid to face the truth.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Truth?”

  “The truth is”—he swallowed hard—“I love you.”

  The lines in her forehead disappeared, and her honey-brown eyes rounded with wonder.

  “When I thought I’d lost you…” His voice cracked. He cleared it and forced himself to go on. “When I thought you’d drowned, I wanted to drown too.”

  She lifted a hand to his cheek, her fingers cool and soothing against his skin.

  “I don’t want to live without you.” There he’d said it. And now that the words were out, they felt right.

  She smiled, and her smile was filled with all of the sweetness and forgiveness that she offered so freely—and that he didn’t deserve. But maybe, as with God, it was time to finally stop condemning himself and accept the gift.

  “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice turning thick, his need to wrap his arms back around her growing strong again.

  “Okay,” she replied, tilting her smiling face up. Her easy acceptance shook him down to his soul. She offered no protests, no conditions. She never had. She’d never seemed concerned about all she might be giving up or the censure she would get from her parents or the outcast she’d become among New York society if she claimed a common man like him.

  Tom knew she was naive and that they’d need to have a thorough conversation about their future together at some point. But for now, he was content to know she still wanted him.

  He started to pull her back into his embrace when the distant echo of hoofs made his muscles tense.

  “What?” she whispered.

  The horse was traveling north. When it slowed its pace, Tom guessed Butch was returning after failing to find Victoria in North Truro.

  “Wait here.” He slid her to the floor and stood. When she began to rise, he motioned her back. “Please, Victoria. Stay here and let me handle this.”

  She sat back down, and fear flitted through her pretty eyes. “Is he coming back for me?”

  Tom nodded. “He’ll look in here first.” With the door torn away from the hinges, Butch would suspect that someone had come to help Victoria, especially if he saw the horse by the warehouse. If Tom could catch him by surprise and disarm him first…

  He unsheathed his knife and made his way to the back door. He flattened himself against the moldy wall and tried to hide in the shadows.

  Tom hardly dared to breathe. He would only get one chance to take out Butch. If he didn’t, he’d risk losing Victoria all over again.

  A darkening in the door frame and the huffs of heavy breathing alerted Tom to Butch’s return. Tom’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his knife. He was tempted to lunge now before Butch spotted him. But he fought against the urge and waited.

  The tall, thin man entered with his knife outstretched, clearly expecting an attack. Thankfully, his gaze landed on the opposite side of the hallway from where Tom stood. The slight second gave Tom the advantage he needed.

  He sprang out and plunged his knife into Butch’s side, into the fleshy part of his back beneath his rib cage. A knife wound the
re would stun him, hopefully disable him. But wouldn’t be mortal if he sought treatment.

  Butch roared with pain but somehow managed to swing around and slash at Tom.

  Tom was prepared for a counterattack. He jumped out of reach of the blade. But in the process, he tripped over a broken piece of floorboard.

  Tom stumbled backward. His heel snagged on the door frame. He tried to catch his balance but fell to the ground outside the door.

  In an instant, Butch jumped on him. Even though the man was wounded and a dark spot of blood was widening at his side, he slammed his knee into Tom’s stomach.

  Tom’s breath whooshed from his lungs. Pain seared his ribs.

  Before Tom could gather his wits, Butch’s fingers wrapped around his neck. The man’s thumb pressed hard against Tom’s windpipe. The force cut off any ability to breathe.

  At the same time, Butch raised his knife and brought it down toward Tom’s heart.

  Tom caught Butch’s wrist. He held the blade at bay, but barely.

  Butch’s arm was thin and wiry, but his muscles rippled. His narrow face was sweaty and the veins in his long forehead protruded at the exertion. A swollen bruise at his temple and cheek told Tom that Butch had taken a recent blow across the head. From Victoria?

  With Butch’s thumb cutting off his air, and the knife only inches from his heart, Tom had the dizzying thought that he was about to fail again.

  Butch’s mouth was set into a tight line, and his eyes filled with cold determination. This man was a hired killer. And like Splash, Tom could tell Butch was good at what he did.

  At the gasp and distressed, “No!” that came from the doorway, dismay rushed through Tom. Victoria had disobeyed his instructions and come out.

  If he’d had his voice, he would have yelled at her. As it was, all he could think about was Butch getting his hands on Victoria again. If he did, this time the man would kill her first, then row her out and dump her into the ocean.