She had not intended to take the time and effort to gain admittance into the federal facility where Evan Remington was being held.
But since she had done so, she could rationalize the decision. Time was growing short. If fate was leading her to Remington, she would follow the path. She was in no real danger, and there was the possibility, however slight, that something good could come out of the visit.
She didn’t question the fact that she was able to set up a meeting with him with relatively little trouble. There were powers at work that scoffed at the tangled red tape of bureaucracy. And she was part of them.
She faced him across a wide counter split down the center by a barricade of thick, reinforced glass. Mia picked up the phone that would link them, as he did.
“Mr. Remington. Do you remember me?”
“Whore,” he hissed.
“Yes, I see you do. And that the months you’ve spent in here haven’t improved your disposition.”
“I’ll be out soon.”
“Is that what he tells you?” She leaned a little closer. “He lies.”
A muscle began to twitch in his cheek. “I’ll be out soon,” he repeated. “And you’ll be dead.”
“We’ve beaten him twice. And only a few nights ago he ran from me with his tail between his legs. Has he told you that?”
“I know what’s going to happen. I’ve seen it. I know you’ll all die screaming. Can you see it?”
For a moment she could, reflected on the glass between them. The dark, boiling storm, the rips of lightning, the swirl of roaring wind as the sea opened like a hungry mouth and swallowed the island whole.
“He shows you his desire, but not reality.”
“I’ll have Helen.” His voice went dreamy, like a child repeating a rhyme. “She’ll crawl back to me. She’ll pay for her deception, her betrayal.”
“Nell’s beyond you. Look at me. At me,” she demanded. She wouldn’t allow even his thoughts to touch Nell now. “There’s only me to deal with. He’s using you, Evan. As he would a puppet, or a vicious little dog. He uses your illness, your anger. He’ll destroy you with it. I can help you.”
“He’ll fuck you before he kills you. Want a preview?”
It happened fast. Pain ripped through her breasts as if claws had dug into her flesh. A spear of ice jabbed with one hard thrust between her legs. She didn’t cry out, though a scream of rage and horror spewed into her throat. Instead she drew her power down like armor. Punched it out like a fist.
Remington’s head snapped back, and his eyes went wide with shock.
“He uses,” she said calmly. “You pay. Did you think threats and ploys would make me tremble? I am of the Three. What works in me is beyond your scope. I can help you. I can save you from the horror he will bring you. If you’ll trust me and help yourself, I can close you off from him. I can shield you so that he can’t use or harm you.”
“Why?”
“To save myself and what I love, I would save you.”
He inched closer to the glass. She could hear his raspy breathing over the receiver. For a moment true pity stirred in her.
“Mia Devlin.” He licked his lips, then they spread into a wide, mad smile. “You’ll burn! Burn the witch!” He cackled even as the guard rushed over to restrain him. “I’ll watch while you die screaming.”
Though Remington dropped the phone when the guard dragged him away, she heard his wild laughter long after the door slammed and locked behind him.
The laughter, she thought, of the damned.
Sam had a meeting with his accountant. Revenue was up, but so were expenses and overhead. The Magick Inn was operating in the red for the first time in thirty years, but as Sam saw it that would change. He’d booked two conventions for the fall, and with the winter holiday package he was putting together, he expected to recoup some of the loss over that historically slow reservation period.
Until that time he could, and would, continue to plow his own money into the hotel.
If the hotel, and the island, went down in a matter of weeks, it wouldn’t be because of lack of faith on his part.
Where the hell was she? Couldn’t she have waited to go off on some shopping spree until after their lives, their fates, their futures were more secure?
How many pairs of shoes did the woman need, for God’s sake?
It was just an excuse to get away from him, he thought. He’d told her he loved her, and she’d run like a rabbit. Things got a little bit sticky, and instead of staying put and dealing with it, she’d bolted to the mainland and . . .
He stopped, scowled down at his own half-finished signature on the correspondence in front of him.
“Moron,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head at his assistant and completed his signature. “Check on the winter brochures, Mrs. Farley,” he told her as he signed the next letter. “I want to be certain that the corrections are made before the end of the month. I want to meet with the head of sales tomorrow. Find me the time.”
She flipped through his calendar. “You’re free at eleven, and at two.”
“Eleven.”
“And send a memo to Housekeeping re . . . How long have you been married?”
“You want to know how long the housekeeping staff has been married?”
“No, Mrs. Farley. How long have you been married?”
“Thirty-nine years last February.”
“Thirty-nine years. How do you do it?”
Mrs. Farley laid her pad down, took off her glasses. “I could say it’s a bit like alcoholism. One day at a time.”
“I never thought of it like that. Marriage as an addiction.”
“Certainly as a condition. It’s also a job that requires attention and work, cooperation and creativity.”
“That doesn’t sound particularly romantic.”
“There’s nothing more romantic than going through life, with all of its spins, with someone you love. Someone who loves and understands you. Someone who’ll be there for the big bouquets. Children, grandchildren, a new house, a well-earned promotion. And for the weeds. Illness, a burned dinner, a bad day at work.”
“There are people who get used to taking care of the bouquets and the weeds alone.”
“I admire independence. The world would be a stronger place if we were all capable of handling life on our own. But being capable of it doesn’t mean being unable to share and depend on someone else. It shouldn’t mean being unwilling to. That’s the romance.”
“I never saw my parents share much more than an affection for Italian designers and a box at the opera.”
“That’s a shame for them, isn’t it? Some people don’t know how to give love, or how to ask for it.”
“Sometimes the answer’s no.”
“And sometimes it isn’t.” The faint edge of irritation worked into her voice. “Some people expect things to fall into their lap. Oh, they might work a bit for it. I’ll just shake this tree, and if I shake it long enough that pretty red apple will plop right into my hand. Never occurs to them that they might have to climb the damn tree, fall out a couple of times, get some scrapes and bruises before they get to that apple. Because if the apple’s worth wanting, it’s worth risking a broken neck.”
On a huff, she got to her feet. “I need to type up this memo.”
He was so surprised when she strode out of his office and shut the door smartly, he didn’t call her back to tell her he’d never dictated the memo.
“Look what happens when I have a conversation about marriage,” he thought aloud. “My assistant bites my head off. And I know how to climb a damn tree. I’ve climbed plenty of trees.”
And right now, he felt as if he were hanging by his fingertips from a very unstable branch. And the prettiest apple was still just out of his reach.
He picked up a file, intending to bury his frustrations in work. And a light went on inside him.
Mia was back on the Si
sters.
She’d called Lulu from the ferry and had gotten an update on bookstore business, and on island news. As she’d asked Lulu to come up to the house that evening to fill in the gaps, there was no need to drop by work. Tomorrow was soon enough to face the pile of phone messages and the backlog generated over her three-day absence.
She’d called Ripley as well, and Nell. Since she thought the best way to pass on the details of her meeting with Remington was during a civilized meal at her own house the following evening, she needed to drop by Island Market for some supplies.
She’d yet to call Sam.
She would call him. She wheeled her cart over to the produce section and stared at the arugula. As soon as she figured out how to handle him, and what had been said between them, she’d call him.
Life ran more smoothly with a clear-cut, but flexible, plan.
“Still shopping?”
And sometimes, Mia realized as she turned and looked at Sam, fate wasn’t content to hang back until the plan was formulated and refined.
“I consider shopping a work in progress.” She selected lettuce, contemplated the Roma tomatoes. “It’s an odd time of day to see a businessman in the market.”
“I’m out of milk.”
“I’m quite sure you won’t find it in produce.”
“I’m thinking about getting an apple. A pretty red apple.”
She continued to select items for a salad. “The plums look good today.”
“Sometimes only one thing will do.” He let his fingers tangle in her hair. “Did you enjoy your time away?”
“It was . . . productive.” Because he made her feel uneasy, she wheeled into dairy. “I found a nice little Wicca shop. They had a wonderful selection of bell jars.”
“You can never have too many.”
“My sentiments,” she agreed, and picked up a quart of milk.
“Thanks.” He took it from her, tucked it under his arm. “Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight? You can tell me about your trip.”
He wasn’t behaving the way she’d anticipated. There was no flare of temper over her abrupt departure, no demands to know where she’d been, what she’d been doing. As a result, she felt guilty and small.
Damn clever of him.
“Actually, Lulu’s coming up tonight so that we can deal with some store business. But I’m having a little dinner party tomorrow. I was going to call you.” She put a small wheel of Brie in her cart. “I’ve some things to discuss with everyone. Will seven o’clock work for you?”
“Sure.”
He leaned in, cupping her cheek with his free hand, laying his lips on hers. Softly, warmly, lingering over the kiss until it shifted from the casual to something more suited to the dark.
“I love you, Mia.” His fingers skimmed over her cheek before he stepped back. “See you tomorrow.”
She stood where she was, her hands vised on the handle of the cart, as he strolled away with a quart of milk under his arm.
For years, so many years of her life, she’d have given everything to have him look at her in the way he’d just done, to tell her he loved her, in just that way.
Now that he had, why should it be so hard?
Why should it make her want to weep?
Lulu got behind the wheel of her battered and beloved orange VW bug. Since the night she’d taken the unexpected swim, she’d felt safe, solid, secure.
She didn’t know what charms Ripley and Nell had conjured up, but they were working like—well, charms. Whatever you wanted to call the thing that was hovering over the island, her girls were going to screw it to the wall.
Still, she felt better knowing Mia was back on-island, tucked into the cliff house, getting back to her routine. And though it had been a pill to swallow, she felt more at ease about Mia since she had Sam fretting over her.
The boy’d been an idiot, she decided as she drove through the village with the classic sounds of Pink Floyd blasting through the speakers. But he’d been young. She’d done plenty of stupid things when she was young.
Every one of them had led her here. She supposed, if she was going to be fair, everything Sam had done had led him right back to the Sisters, and Mia.
Not that she was finished giving him grief, but she would dispense it in smaller doses now.
Only one thing mattered, and that was Mia’s happiness. If Sam Logan was the answer to that, then he was going to damn well come up to the mark.
If she had to kick him up to it.
The idea made her grin wickedly as she started up the cliff road. And was oblivious to the mist that rose and rolled behind her.
When the music turned to a hiss of static, she glanced down at the radio, slapped irritably at the little tape player installed under it.
“Damn it, you better not eat The Wall, you cheap bastard.”
The response, a long, deep howl through the speaker, had her hands jerking on the wheel. The car shuddered around her as the fog poured, cold as death, through her open windows.
Yelping, she hit the brakes first, an automatic response as her vision was obscured. Instead of stopping, the little car speeded up, its cheerful rubber band pinging now a machine gun’s rat-a-tat. Under her hands the wheel vibrated, iced, and began to spin on its own. Though it felt like a slick and frozen snake, she gripped it, hard, and yanked. The scream of the tires echoed her own as she caught a glimpse of the edge of the cliff.
In front of her the windshield became a starburst. Ice crackling over ice. Then the stars went black.
The spoon Mia was using to stir sauce for the pasta she’d made for Lulu clattered out of her numb hand. As it bounced to the floor, the vision shrieked through her head, all sound and fury. Her throat tightened as if a hand had squeezed it as she whirled away from the stove and ran.
She flew out of the house, blind with panic, racing to the road on foot. From her hilltop view, she saw the filthy mist spewing behind the little orange car on the road below, and was running, running when she saw the car spin out of control and toward the cliff.
“No, no, no!” Fear blanked her mind, rolled sick in her stomach. “Help me. Help me.” She chanted it over and over as she struggled to find her power through the sheer wall of terror.
All she had, everything she was, she gathered. And heaved the magic inside her toward the car as it crashed into the guardrail and flipped like a toy tossed by a child’s angry hand.
“Hold, hold.” Oh, God, she couldn’t think. “Blow air, come wind, a bridge to form. Hold her safe, keep her from harm. Please, please,” she chanted. “A net, a bridge, a steady wall, keep her from that terrible fall.”
Panting, her vision blurred with tears, she ran the last yards to where the car teetered on the broken guardrail, over the drop to the rocks below. “It will not have what’s dear to me. As I will, so mote it be.”
Her voice broke as she reached the rail. “Lulu!”
The car balanced precariously on its roof, seesawing on the crushed rail. The wind she’d conjured blew the hair back from her face as she climbed over the rail.
“Don’t touch it!”
Small rocks and clumps of earth spilled off the unstable edge when she spun around at the shout. Sam leaped out of his car.
“I don’t know how long it can hold. I feel it slipping, inside me.”
“You can hold it.” He pushed his way through the wind, climbed the rail until he, too, stood on the narrow edge. “Focus. You have to focus. I’ll get her out.”
“No. She’s mine.”
“That’s the point.” He spent a desperate moment to take Mia’s arms, shake her. The car could go at any minute, he knew. And so could the edge where they stood. “Exactly. Hold it. You’re the only one strong enough to do it. Step over the rail.”
“I won’t lose her!” Mia shouted. “Or you.”
Her legs trembled as she climbed over the rail. Her hands shook as she lifted them. And she saw the fog begin to rise again. Saw the dark shape of the wolf fo
rming from it.
Her body stilled. Fury spiked inside her and stabbed away the fear. “You won’t have her.” The hand she flung out was rock-steady now. She faced the wolf, bore the weight of the magic she called on her shoulders. “You may have me, that’s up to fate. But by all I am, all I have, you won’t take her.”
It snarled and started toward her. It could take her life now, she thought, and so be it. Her magic would hold. She risked a glance at Sam and saw, with inner horror, that he was easing a bleeding and unconscious Lulu out of the car. And the car tipped and swayed.
With a last push, she left herself open and defenseless, shoving everything toward the cliffs.
And the wolf bunched to leap.
As he charged, energy shot into her, out from her. It struck him like a lightning bolt. With a furious howl, he vanished into the fog.
“Didn’t count on my sisters, did you? You bastard.”
The wind sucked away the mist, and she saw both Ripley and Nell spring out of their cars before she turned to run toward Sam.
He had Lulu in his arms. The edge of the ground crumbled under his feet and sent him stumbling forward as a chunk of the ledge rained down to the sea. Mia reached out, grabbed him as the car overbalanced and tumbled over the cliffs. He was struggling back over the rail when the gas tank exploded.
“She’s alive,” he managed.
“I know.” She kissed Lulu’s white cheek, laid a hand on her heart. “We’ll take her to the clinic.”
Outside the emergency clinic, where the air was quiet and the breeze balmy, Nell tended the cuts on Mia’s feet.
“Got six million pair of shoes,” Ripley stated while she paced, restless as a cat. “And you run barefoot over broken glass.”
“Yes. Silly, isn’t it?” She hadn’t felt the glass slice into her feet when she’d run to the wrecked car. Under Nell’s gentle healing, she felt no pain now.
“You can fall apart.” Ripley’s tone gentled, and she laid a hand on Mia’s shoulder. “You’re entitled.”
“I don’t need to, but thanks. She’s going to be all right.” Mia did close her eyes for a moment, waited until she felt steadier. “I looked at her injuries. She’ll be unhappy and very pissed off about her car, but she’ll be all right. I never considered, never thought she could be harmed this way. Used this way.”
Books by Nora Roberts Page 228
