by Meg Tilly
“Not so pretty anymore, are you?” Carol was screaming, laughing maniacally, the sound magnified as it bounced off the walls of the cave. “Bet he wouldn’t want to get within a mile of your skanky crotch now.” She laughed, slapped her thigh, then grabbed Kristal’s hair and yanked it so her face was angled toward Maggie. Kristal was clearly dead: her mouth was agape, her eyes half rolled back and vacant, blisters on her face. “See this?” Carol said gleefully. “This is going to be you in a couple hours.”
Oh my God, that smell is Kristal. Maggie shut her eyes, but she couldn’t block her ears.
“The tide goes in,” Carol was singing, “and the tide goes out.”
You will not get sick, Maggie told herself determinedly. You will not. You will be strong. You will have courage.
“It’s amazing,” Carol mused, “what a combination of salt water and air will do to a body.”
Maggie pushed her nausea down and forced herself to open her eyes.
“But it wasn’t just looks, was it, Bretty baby?” Carol said mournfully, her shoulders slumping. “I couldn’t compete with her kind of wealth. Her millions and millions. I couldn’t . . .” Heartbroken sobs filled the cave. “I took out loans. I mortgaged all my assets. I hired staff I couldn’t afford. But that wasn’t good enough, was it?” Buckling over with grief, Carol sank down to her knees. “After all those years,” she wailed, “of waiting and waiting . . .”
“So you killed him,” Maggie said coolly, cutting into Carol’s pity party. The crazy bitch had murdered her treasured aunt. Yes, Maggie was tied to a pole. And yes, she was probably going to die. But until that time came, Carol would pay.
“It wasn’t my fault.” Carol looked up, as if she had almost forgotten she wasn’t alone.
“Oh, really? It wasn’t your fault? He. Dumped. You,” Maggie said succinctly, staring into Carol’s tear-streaked face, ice running through her veins. No panic, she told herself. No fear. “And so you shot him. In the face.” Maggie glanced quickly at the lantern. The water in the cave was rising. Another six inches of water and the flame would be doused.
“I didn’t mean to. But he was going to leave—”
“So you killed him, because he was playing you like he played me. He didn’t love you—”
“Yes, he—”
“He was never going to marry you,” Maggie screamed.
“Shut up!” Carol screeched, surging to her feet.
“Why the hell would he?” Maggie laughed derisively. “Look at you. You’re a mess. Not to mention a fucked-up, sick, murdering bitch—”
“Shut up!” Carol roared, flinging the champagne flutes at her, but Maggie jerked her head out of the way, and the glasses shattered on the stone wall behind her.
“And now,” Maggie said in a superior, know-it-all voice, “you are buried up to your frizzy blond bangs in monstrous debt, which you will never, ever be able to pay off, because you were trying to buy the love”—Bingo! Maggie thought with a surge of triumph as the champagne bottle flew past her head and smashed into the wall, splintering around her—“of a man who was just using you.”
“He loved me!” Carol howled in anguish.
“No, I don’t think so,” Maggie said. “I would venture a guess that the word ‘hate’ would describe what he felt for you.”
Carol grabbed the back of the metal chair. “Shut the fuck up, you dumb bitch!”
“‘Fear,’” Maggie said brightly, “perhaps is another good word. ‘Trapped—’”
An inhuman noise erupted from Carol as she hoisted the metal chair over her head and hurled it. It slammed into Maggie, striking her hard on the head.
She slumped down, knees banging against the wet cave floor, her body gone limp.
Forty-four
GUNNER SLOWED THE SUV. “This is it,” he said. “Armand and Finlayson Creek.”
Jesus. Luke rubbed his face. They were in the middle of a gravel-and-dirt road, no structures visible from the road. No driveways leading off it. Daylight was fading, which was going to make their search even tougher. “All right,” he said, “let’s get out and take a look around. We should keep quiet, in case her assailants are nearby.”
“Got it,” Eve said, her eyes worried.
Gunner pulled to the side of the road.
When Luke tried to exit, the boy clung to his shirt. He suppressed a sigh, unstrapped the kid, and lifted him out.
“You want a piggyback?” he asked the kid, his voice barely audible. Nathan nodded, his face too serious for someone so young. “Up you go,” he whispered, swinging the boy onto his back. Then he strode over to join Gunner and Colt, walking the road, looking for trails, disturbed foliage, broken branches.
“Mister?” The boy tapped Luke’s shoulder.
“Shhh,” Luke said.
“Mister?” The boy tapped him again.
Luke felt the flicker of irritation but suppressed it. Nathan was just a scared little kid. “What?” he asked him quietly.
“See way down there, where the road ends?” the boy said, his forefinger pointing over Luke’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Luke replied, half listening while looking to see if there were fresh footprints in the muddy ditches.
“That’s the gray van my mom and the bad men stole her in.”
“Your . . . mom?” Luke said slowly.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Luke said. He swung the boy down to the ground and knelt so they were face-to-face. “I need you to tell me whatever you can remember about the men and your mom. What they looked like, what the plan was. This way we’ll know what we’re looking for, where to look.”
“Which would really help us, Nathan.” Eve’s soft voice came from behind him. “The nice lady who gave you those yummy apple tarts? She’s my sister, and I love her very much and I’m worried about her. We need your help. And if we’re able to find her, I bet she’d be so pleased with you that she’d make a whole batch of apple tarts and give you every single one of them.”
“I’d do it even without the tarts,” the boy said, his head tipped down, eyes on his feet, “’cause she was nice to me and . . .”
“There now,” Luke said, his voice gruff. He took the boy’s hands in his. “Don’t cry. We men cry later, when the danger’s over. Right now we gotta get down to business.”
“That’s right,” Colt said gently. Gunner stepped up beside him. “That’s what we men do.”
“Okay,” the boy said, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with a grubby fist that left dirt streaks in its wake. He squared his thin shoulders and looked Luke in the face, teardrops shimmering on his long, dark lashes. “There’s four men,” he said, holding up four fingers. “I don’t like ’em. They’re scary. They wear guns. One has a knife in his boot. I saw it. I don’t know about the others. They’re taking her to that cave where they took the other lady after they killed . . .” His lower lip started to tremble again, eyes flooding and spilling over. “Sorry,” he said, trying to dash the tears away, but more just took their place. “Sorry . . .”
“It’s okay,” Luke said. “You’re doing great.” He tried to keep his voice calm and measured. “Have you been to this cave? Do you know where it is?”
Forty-five
THE CLATTER OF the metal chair smashing against the wall brought men swarming into the cave. Maggie could see their shadowy shapes through the lowered fringe of her eyelashes. She stayed slumped over, didn’t move, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth.
Carol waded angrily toward her. “Get up!” she yelled, jerking Maggie’s head back and slapping her hard across the face.
Maggie kept herself limp, unresponsive, letting her head flop from side to side with each blow.
“It’s not fair,” Carol screamed, almost in tears. “There’s more I have to tell you!”
A man stepped into the light. “Ms. Endercott?”<
br />
Maggie recognized the voice. It was the dickhead who had accosted her at the market.
Carol released her hair. Maggie could feel the shift in the air and hear the slosh of the water as Carol whirled around.
“Get out! Get the fuck out!” she screamed.
“The men want to be paid.”
“Fuck off,” Carol said, turning her back on him. “I’m busy.”
“Both packages have been delivered.” There was a dangerous edge of steel in his voice.
Maggie lifted her lashes just a fraction. Yes, it was him. The other men were in the shadows. She wished she could make out distinguishing features to describe them to Luke. Because he was coming. She knew it. She could feel him searching for her.
“She might not be dead yet,” Carol snapped.
“Fine.” A gun suddenly appeared in his hand. “I can remedy that.”
Carol stepped in front of Maggie. “No! She’s mine. And if she isn’t dead, I want her death to be long and slow. I want her to be alone in the dark with time to think about what she did to me. That was the deal. Just like Kristal.”
“Then our contract is complete,” he stated. “You need to pay us.”
“Later.”
“Now,” he said. “The boat’s standing by. If my men and I don’t leave in the next fifteen minutes, we’d have to use docking lights, which might attract attention to your little adventure.” As he spoke, the other men silently moved to form a tight, threatening circle around Carol.
The seawater was lapping higher and higher. Maggie used everything she had to keep the cold from causing tremors to rack through her.
“Jesus Christ, you money-grubbing, fucking little shits.” Carol shoved her way through them and plunged into the darkness. Maggie could hear her churning and splashing around in the water. She returned a few seconds later, dragging a soaking-wet backpack behind her. “Here,” she snarled, hurling the backpack at him. “Here’s your blood money. Now get the hell out of here!”
Tssss.
The lantern hissed out, and the cave plunged into darkness.
Maggie used the opportunity to sink even farther, the water reaching to her collarbone as she fumbled around behind her, trying to find a broken glass shard. Ahh. Her fingers closed around one. Thank God! Quietly, she sawed at the rope binding her wrists.
A light suddenly flared on. A flashlight, shining into the backpack. In its peripheral light, she could see Carol edging toward the entrance.
“What the fuck?” one of the men roared. “A few bills on top, and the rest is fucking paper!” He flung fistfuls of paper into the air.
Carol made it a few steps before the cave reverberated with the sounds of a gunshot. Carol staggered. The gun roared again, and Carol fell facedown in the water.
“Stupid bitch!” someone muttered, and the men headed out of the cave.
Maggie was shaking violently. Ice-cold water swirled around her ribs. Gotta work fast, she told herself, sawing frantically at her bindings. The glass slipped, sliced the base of her thumb. “Great,” she muttered, continuing to saw. “That’s all I need. More blood in the water to attract predators of the sea.” The seawater was filling the cave, now up over the curve of her breasts. Claustrophobia and fear rose, but she pushed it down.
Later, she told herself firmly. You can fall apart later. No time for that now.
Forty-six
STEALTH BE DAMNED. Time was running out. Luke could feel it in his bones. He tore down the winding forest path, his flashlight lighting the way. The boy clung to him like a monkey, his little arms wrapped tightly around Luke’s neck, head pressed against Luke’s shoulder to avoid the branches slashing against their bodies as he ran. Gunner, Colt, and Eve ran, too, not far behind him.
Hold on, Maggie. Hold on. He’d heard two gunshots a few minutes ago. She has to be safe.
Luke heard the sound of a boat engine firing up.
“Hear that?” Gunner growled.
“Yeah,” Luke answered. The deep-throated thrum of the outboard motor built in intensity, revved into high speed.
Please, God . . . Please keep her safe.
Luke took the last ten yards at a balls-to-the-wall sprint, his leg screaming in protest. They burst out of the undergrowth and onto the rocky bluff just in time to see the shadowy shape of a speedboat disappear around the curve of the cove. It was too dark and too far away to see how many people were on board.
He lifted the boy off his back. “Okay, we’re here. Which direction is the cave?”
“It was right over there,” Nathan said, gesturing to his right. “But . . .” The boy trailed off, looking confused.
“But what?”
“But there was beach before and rocks to climb.”
“Where?” Luke said, the agony in his leg not coming even close to the torment in his heart. “Where exactly was the cave? Can you remember?”
“Yes.” The boy nodded. “You see that big tree sticking out over the water? It was right below that.”
“You’re sure?” Luke asked, kicking off his shoes and stripping down to his boxer briefs.
“Uh-huh. But it’s all water now. I can’t see the cave—”
“You stay here,” Luke said. “I’m going to get Maggie.” And he dived off the bluff into the icy black water below.
Forty-seven
MAGGIE SWAM TOWARD the entrance of the cave. She prayed she was going in the right direction. The men had left that way, and then there had been the noise of the boat to confirm it. But now all was silent.
A swell of water splashed over her face, causing her to choke and sputter. The wounds on her head and face stung like hell. Fear and panic rose in her throat, engulfing her. She felt light-headed, her limbs heavy, movements awkward. She didn’t have much time.
Another swell splashed over her face.
She tried to calm the wild staccato of her heart, taking several deep breaths and blowing them out. She took one last breath, filled her lungs as deeply as she could, and dived under the water, praying she would find the cave entrance.
Forty-eight
LUKE WAS POWERING swiftly through the water, arms slicing forward, cupped hands pulling back, his legs helping to add momentum and speed.
He paused for a second, treading water while he shook his head to clear the water streaming over his face, and checked his progress. Thank God, the moon had come out from behind the clouds. He could see the arc of the tree stretching out over the water about twelve feet away, and the dark figures of Colt, Gunner, Eve, and the boy racing along the bluff, mirroring his journey through the water.
He scanned the shoreline. Where’s the damn cave? And then he saw it: the inward curve of the shoreline. He shifted, heading in that direction, his bum leg screaming in pain.
Suddenly, something surged to the surface of the water, splintering the quiet. Luke’s heart slammed into his throat, and adrenaline pumped through his body. And then he saw her. Maggie. Coughing and spluttering, gasping for air, arms flailing, her long hair streaming around her pale, up-tilted face.
Forty-nine
MAGGIE SNUGGLED DEEPER into the blanket and took another sip of the hot toddy Gunner had made, enjoying the soothing comfort of the steaming-hot water, lemon, honey, whiskey, and cloves. Samson had managed to wedge himself between the coffee table and the sofa and was sprawled out on the floor, a luxuriously furry, warm footrest for her defrosting toes.
They had swung by the police station. Maggie gave her statement wrapped in a cocoon of scratchy woolen blankets. Once they got back to Luke’s house, Eve turned into quite the tyrant. She insisted Maggie take a hot bath to get the chill out of her bones. Doused Maggie’s minor cuts and scratches with peroxide and applied bandages. Arnica was rubbed onto the bruises. “Don’t you ever, ever scare me like that again,” she told Maggie, giving her sister a fierce shake that morphed into a lo
ng hug.
Afterward, the sisters went into the living room to join the men, who had built a roaring fire in the stone fireplace. Eve put some cheeses, cold cuts, hand-churned butter, and fresh bread on a wooden cutting board. Maggie was ravenous, and had sunk down on the sofa beside Luke and made the two of them a plate of food.
The boy was curled up on the other side of the sofa, using Luke’s thigh for a pillow. Someone had covered Nathan with a chenille throw blanket. Asleep, he looked even smaller. He was a beautiful child under all that grit, with his golden hair and flushed cheeks. So young. So vulnerable. An orphan now. Poor kid, Maggie thought sadly, to lose both his mother and father in the last three days.
She shook her head. It was not a conversation she was looking forward to having with Nathan. No matter how terrible or negligent his parents had been, they were all he’d had, and it would be a profound sorrow and a loss for the small boy.
Maggie took another sip of her hot toddy, relishing the warmth and comfort of Luke’s body next to hers.
She should have been exhausted and ready for bed, but she wasn’t. She felt exhilarated.
It was over.
She was alive. She was safe.
She nestled into the crook of Luke’s arm, and he pulled her even closer still, making her feel protected and cherished. She glanced up and smiled at him. “I love you,” she said for the hundredth time that evening.
“I love you, too.” He dropped a tender kiss on her forehead. “I love you with everything I have and everything I will be.”
She turned her head sideways, pressing her ear and her cheek against him, so she could hear and feel the rumble of his voice through his chest.
“You are,” he continued, his hand rising tenderly to cradle her head, “my heart, my breath, my reason for living.”
