"Hey, Mrs. Prince," he called to her, trying to keep his tone light, as he sidled the mare closer to the fence. "You need to come back over here."
"Why don’t you come on this side and get me?" she taunted though she moved a little ways down from the top as she gestured at the chain link. "You don’t even have to climb. I cut a hole in the fence when I was out here the other day."
So she’d planned this? Exactly how cold and calculating is this woman? Tate wondered while he continued to speak in a calm, steady tone. "You don’t want to be over there, Mrs. Prince. You could get muddy or hurt."
For a moment, she paused, and brushed at a streak of dirt on the knee of her jodhpurs. But then she gave her head a slight shake and seemed to shift gears. "You seemed very anxious to talk to me that day about the dead girl. Well, I’m ready to talk now, Mr. Madison, but you have to get off your horse and join me."
Tate still wasn’t sure how lucid the woman truly was. He could hear a slight manic edge to her voice that made him question her mental state. Or was it only an act? Damned if he could tell.
"Hurry up before I change my mind," she threatened, looking back at the top of the arch.
"Just let me tie up my horse." He kept his tone soothing, but his mind raced.
He turned the mare at an angle so that when he dismounted, he eased his phone into his hand without letting her see him. But his efforts were for naught because he couldn’t get a signal. Cursing silently, Tate tied the mare’s reins to a nearby bush, loosely in case he needed to make a fast exit. The weight of the Glock in his shoulder holster felt reassuring.
Behind him, he heard Cristina Woodleigh Prince’s riding boots sliding on loose rocks. "I knew one or both of you would follow me here. I’m almost sorry it’s you instead of her." The manic notes turned to anger. "She needs to know that slut sister of hers got what she deserved."
Deciding to shift gears too, Tate went for a dose of sarcasm. "Come on, Cristina. It’s not like Jessica was Michael’s first. I know the guy ran around on you."
The woman stiffened, drew herself up to her full height and glared down her aristocratic nose at him. "A man like Michael is bound to have a few indiscretions. But he always came to me and begged forgiveness, and I always forgave him."
Tate edged closer to the hole in the fence, though Cristina Prince didn’t seem to notice. "But Jessica was different, so what? As the injured party, you could take him to the cleaners in a divorce."
"There’s nothing to clean. At least not enough." She gave a nasty, hysteria-edged laugh, then warmed to her subject. "I expected to inherit my mother’s estate, but she’s run through almost everything." She shuddered. "And you can’t actually expect me to work at a job?"
Yeah, perish the thought. Before Tate could speak again, she continued, "I tried to talk to the girl, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept insisting she and Michael were going to be married. Like I would ever allow such a thing."
"I understand." Tate nodded in agreement. "You had to get rid of Jessica."
She gave him another annoyed glare. "But then her sister and you showed up. I tried to scare you off." Her voice quavered and her expression crumpled. "Why can’t you people just leave me alone?"
Time to end this. Ducking through the hole in the fence, he extended his hand. "It’s all over now, Cristina. Come on back to town with me."
With a sob, she turned aside and seemed to draw into herself, her shoulders hunched.
Tate took a step closer, his hand almost touching her. "Come on, Cris- -"
She whirled, grasping his arm to pull him closer. A hypodermic flashed.
Reacting instinctively, Tate lashed out with his arm as the needle stung the side of his neck. But his glancing blow sent the syringe flying to the ground.
"You bastard!" She screeched, and raked her nails across his cheek.
He backhanded her hard and sent her backward right on her upper-class ass. As she sputtered for a moment in the mud, Tate pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster. "On your feet."
Cristina Woodleigh Prince threw back her head and gave another maniacal laugh. "Go ahead. You’ll never make it back to town. You’re a dead man."
***
Straight to voicemail again. Byrony stood in the middle of the sidewalk staring in disbelief at her phone. She’d already left two messages. Tate must be somewhere with no cell service again. But he was supposed to be at the Grand Hotel. Surely Sergeant Brandon hadn’t really arrested him?
Then she remembered, yesterday when Tate had confronted Mrs. Prince at Arch Rock, she couldn’t reach him either. He must be at Arch Rock now. A grim realization suddenly gripped Byrony’s mind, Cristina Woodleigh Prince had purposely lured him to an isolated area. Just like she had lured Jessica somewhere and then murdered her.
No! With trembling fingers, Byrony started to dial Sergeant Brandon, but she stopped halfway through. Nick Brandon had told her to go home and stop upsetting the community. He wouldn’t help her. For all she knew, he might even be in league with Cristina Prince.
She had to help Tate, but she was on her own.
Stupid island with no cars! How was she going to get there?
"Cab!" Byrony shouted as she ran down the sidewalk in the direction of the livery stable. "I need a cab!"
"Take it easy, lady," advised a man she almost collided with. "Here comes a cab." The guy waved his arm and called out, "Hey buddy!"
Byrony leaped off the sidewalk before the carriage completely stopped. Instead of waiting for the cabbie to open the door, she crawled onto the driver’s bench with him. "Take me to Arch Rock, and hurry!"
"Whatever you say, little lady, but Arch Rock is a long way from here." The gray-haired man clucked to his horses, then looked her up and down. "Didn’t I take you and a tall guy to the Grand Hotel the other day?"
"Yes!" Byrony grasped his arm. "You’re Ben, right? Please, the tall guy is in trouble. Get me to Arch Rock fast and I’ll double your fare."
"That’s a lot of money, little lady." But Ben flipped the reins, urging the team faster. "This better be an emergency."
"A matter of life and death," she confirmed.
"In that case…" Ben picked up the driving crop and snapped it over the team’s head. "Hang on."
The horses broke into a lope while the carriage rattled and shook as they dashed down the road. Another buggy plugged along in front of them. While Byrony flinched, Ben swerved into the other lane, overtook and passed the slower vehicle without slowing their pace.
"Is somebody after your friend?" Ben asked as they continued to speed on.
Byrony gripped the bench with her uninjured hand as the carriage bounced around another vehicle. "The person who murdered my sister is after him."
The older man shot her a startled glance. "Was your sister the girl in the green dress?" When Byrony answered with a grim nod, Ben’s expression grew equally determined. "Suppose young Brandon wasn’t any use to you. He means well, but this business with the dead girl was too much for him. Don’t fret, I’ll get you to Arch Rock."
As the wind blew into her face, Byrony’s pent up breath whooshed out of her lungs. She inhaled deeply and clung tight to the bench with her uninjured hand. A small sprig of hope took root in her sub-conscious. Maybe they would get there in time to help Tate. But the hope was short lived for when they turned off the paved roadway, Ben had to slow the horses.
"Sorry little lady," Ben apologized as he hauled on the reins. "Can’t go any faster."
"I understand," Byrony replied, but she couldn’t stop fidgeting on the seat as the road grew steeper and the horses slowed even further.
For the first time since she’d leaped into the cab, she wondered what she’d do when they got to Arch Rock. How would she be able to help Tate if he needed it? And what if she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion? But the fear and urgency churning in her stomach told her she had not. Then her thoughts were jarred by a loud bang.
"Was that – " she gasped.
"Gun
shot!" Ben confirmed as he snapped the crop over the backs of the struggling team and urged them on. "Yo, Ace! Yo, Dolly!" Then he turned a shocked expression toward Byrony. "Your friend really is in trouble."
***
Ignoring the sting on his neck, Tate took aim to the left of her head and squeezed off a round. Cristina Woodleigh Prince gave a satisfyingly terrified squeal.
"The next one will be in the middle of your chest," he vowed, adjusting his bead.
The bitch screamed again and lashed out with her booted foot, hitting him in the knee. His shot went wide as his bad leg buckled under him and his vision suddenly blurred. Damn! Whatever she’d injected him with was fast acting. His only hope was that he’d knocked the syringe away before she’d given him a lethal dose.
She came at him again, grabbing for his gun, knocking it from his hand. But a noisy rumble momentarily froze both of them, as they watched a buggy charge into the clearing behind them. Through his rapidly fading vision, Tate thought he saw Byrony leaping to the ground.
Cristina Prince’s ear-piercing screech of anger echoed over the rocks.
With his last conscious thought, Tate made a grab for his gun and pressed the release on the ammo clip.
Byrony didn’t stop to think. As soon as she saw Cristina Prince bending over Tate, she vaulted from the carriage before it completely stopped. She nearly lost her balance when she hit the ground, but she flailed her arms and stayed on her feet.
Blood roaring in her ears, Byrony hurtled toward Tate’s prone figure, lying face down on the ground. Cristina Prince reared up with a crow of triumph and raised a pistol in the air. But as she lifted the gun, the clip of bullets clattered onto the rocks at her feet. Mouth gaping, she tilted the weapon sideways and inadvertently pulled the trigger.
The round still in the chamber went off. The loud retort caused Cristina to jump in surprise, the weapon falling from her hand while the bullet kicked up dirt a few inches from her boot.
With a wild cry, Byrony scrambled through the hole in the fence and leapt over Tate. Then she lunged and knocked Mrs. Prince to the ground with a flying tackle. Their momentum sent them skidding over the gravel and dirt until they were directly below the tall limestone structure. Below it, the ground sloped away in a precipitous drop that seemed to go on forever.
"Get off me!" The other woman yelled, shoving Byrony to the side and kicking at her with her riding boots.
"You’ll pay for what you’ve done." Byrony vowed, scrambling out of the way. She grabbed the limb of a nearby bush to pull herself upright on the steep terrain.
"Who’ll make me? You?" Cristina Prince laughed as she gained her feet. "I killed your slut sister. I’ve just killed your boyfriend. Now I’m going to kill you."
The much taller woman seized Byrony by the shirt front and shook her so hard her head snapped back. Byrony gasped in shock, as Cristina’s fingers wrapped around her throat. Sharp nails dug into Byrony’s windpipe, cutting off her air.
"Die you little bitch!" Cristina Prince snarled.
Keeping her grip on the branch with one hand, Byrony drew back and smashed the plastic brace into her enemy’s nose.
Intense pain ran up Byrony’s arm like a flame thrower, while stars flashed across her line of vision. But the merciless fingers on her neck disappeared, and warm drops of blood splashed against her cheek. A howl of anguish burst from the other woman as Byrony wheezed in a life-giving breath.
Through her red haze of pain, Byrony saw Cristina Prince lurch toward her, bloody hands reaching like claws. No! Drawing on her last bit of strength, Byrony lashed out and kicked the woman in the side of her knee.
With another yelp, Cristina’s leg buckled. She lost her footing and tumbled head over heels down the sharp, rugged slope in a shower of dirt and rocks.
Byrony didn’t wait to watch the other woman fall. She had to help Tate!
Dropping to her knees so she didn’t slip also, Byrony crawled toward the fence. Tears of pain blurred her vision, but she couldn’t stop to wipe them away. Then the musky scent of horse sweat hit her nostrils, and she saw the bulk of the carriage pulled close to the fence.
Squinting, she made out the stooped figure of the driver Ben. He labored to deposit something large inside the carriage. Tate!
As she struggled to stand, Ben spied her and waved his arm. "Hurry little lady! He’s still breathing."
Alive! But for how long?
A blast of pure adrenaline sent Byrony scrambling through the hole in the fence. "Wh-what did she do to him?" She rasped out, the words ripping at her sore throat.
"Must have injected him with something, near as I can tell." Ben reached for her good arm and pulled her to the open carriage door.
"Diazapam and alprazolam," she whispered, staring at Tate’s ashen face.
"How’d you know?" Ben asked as he boosted her inside.
"Because that’s what she used to kill my sister."
As Byrony collapsed on the floor and cradled Tate’s head in her lap, she heard Ben slap the reins and the carriage lurched forward. At least they were going downhill, but could two already tired horses move fast enough to save Tate?
"Don’t you dare die on me, Cowboy! You hear me?" But as she willed him to keep breathing, she couldn’t help but wonder if the island’s clinic even had the capacity to treat him? Maybe if Dr. Kelly knew they were coming…
She strained to pull her phone from her pocket, only to find the screen cracked. Damn! She tried to dial anyway but couldn’t get a signal. Meanwhile, the carriage careened wildly, bouncing and rocking when Byrony heard another noise. An approaching horse?
"Emergency!" Ben shouted, not slowing the team. "Call life flight!"
A helicopter? She hadn’t considered that as an option. A kernel of hope sprouted inside her. "Hang on, Cowboy. Please hang on."
Choking back tears, her world reduced down to watching the slow rise and fall of Tate’s chest, focusing all her determination on him, praying, willing him to live. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a siren and her concentration splintered. She had no idea how much time had passed, but the carriage slowed and made a sharp right turn.
They must be on the paved road again. But why had they turned right? Wasn’t the town to the left?
Tearing her gaze from Tate, Byrony glanced out the window and saw the sparkling white façade of the Grand Hotel. The horses made another turn, not quite as sharp but still abrupt enough to knock her shoulder against the seat. The siren was considerably louder, and when she took another look out the window, she realized they were on the Grand Hotel golf course.
She heard shouts and other sounds but they were quickly drowned out by the siren. The carriage lurched to a halt and even before it completely stopped, the door flew open. As Byrony gaped , two paramedics reached for Tate and eased him onto a gurney.
"Bird’s on its way," one of the men told her.
Before she could reply, the door behind her opened and a strong arm grasped her around the middle. Byrony stiffened against the guy trying to pull her from the carriage.
"Take care of my horses!" Ben’s shout prevented her from hearing what the man behind her said. The driver appeared beside the stretcher. "It’s a drug overdose, probablydiazepam and alprazolam. Injected."
"Where are you hurt?" The man behind her repeated. "Is this your blood?"
"I don’t – no…" The distinctive chop-chop sound of helicopter blades left Byrony limp with relief, and she let her rescuer lift her onto another stretcher.
Above her, she watched the helicopter descending amid more shouts and people rushing around. She saw a flat pad of concrete with marks painted on it to guide the aircraft in landing. On her other side, a man had unhitched Ben’s horses and led them away from the hubbub.
As the copter hovered lower, the wind blew into Byrony’s face, and she raised her uninjured hand to cover one ear from the loud noise of the blades. Once the vehicle set down, the paramedics pushing Tate’s gurney, hustled toward it. Byrony atte
mpted to jump down, but the fireman standing next to her blocked her movements.
"Let me go!" She thrashed against the burly man. "I need to go with him!"
The man didn’t loosen his grip. "Sorry, but there’s not enough room in the chopper."
"No!" Byrony’s voice went shrill as panic raced through her veins and she continued to strain against the fireman’s hold. "Tate!"
The driver Ben appeared at her side patting the top of her head as if she were a young child. "Take it easy, little lady. Here’s Doc Kelly. He needs to check you out."
A blood pressure cuff encircled her arm, but Byrony didn’t pay it any heed. "Tate!" she yelled hysterically as she watched the gurney slide into the back of the helicopter.
"Try to relax, Miss Long." The doctor soothed as he shined a light in her right eye, then her left. But Byrony shook him away. Whatever else Dr. Kelly said to her was drowned out by the noise of the copter lifting off.
The wind from the chopper blades dried the tears trailing down her cheeks, but it didn’t stop the sobs racking her body. As the copter rose higher and disappeared, she couldn’t escape the horrifying fear that she would never see Tate again.
Chapter 12
With Tate gone, Byrony laid back on the gurney, covered her eyes with her uninjured arm and fought down the sobs. Tate couldn’t die! He simply couldn’t. He hadn’t lain for hours like poor Jessica. Plus, her sister had been petite, not even a hundred pounds, while Tate was a big, hunky guy. Surely he would survive one injection. But all her rationalizations did nothing to ease the weight of the wall of cement pressing down on her shoulders, her mind, her heart. The burden seemed beyond her ability to bear.
Dr. Kelly started an IV line in her right arm, and Byrony didn’t argue. Then she heard him telling the fireman to load her onto the truck and drive them back to town. Past the point of exhaustion, she stopped struggling both mentally and physically and just concentrated on breathing in and out as the fire truck roared down the road.
Dead Girl in a Green Dress Page 13
