She’d been fine earlier when he’d left her to come down to help finish setting up for the festival. Now, she looked upset. “Abby, what’s wrong?”
A little frown creased her brow. “Was Miranda hurt, Dev?”
“Let’s find someplace quiet where we can talk.”
They were halfway across the village green when two boys scampered up. They were dressed as soldiers, their faces painted up with camouflage. “Hey, surrender your weapon and hit the deck.” They each pointed a fake gun at Devlin.
Abby laughed as she walked away. “I’ll meet you over by Otis.” In a moment, the crowd swallowed her up. His gaze darted over the sea of people until he spotted Otis. In a few seconds, he saw Abby standing in front of Otis’s stall and he relaxed.
He returned his gaze to the kids. “You dare threaten a Musketeer?”
One of the boys squared his shoulders. “We’re Navy SEALS, mister. Hand over your sword.”
He supposed a Musketeer was no match for a SEAL. Dev unhooked his sword and held it out.
The boy took the sword and tried to stick the point end into the earth, but the rubber bent against the pressure. He tossed it on the ground instead and placed his booted foot over the handle. “You are charged with treason. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty.”
“Too bad. Off to the firing squad with you.” The other boy pronounced his sentence.
Devlin cut his gaze over to Otis’s booth. “Don’t I get a last meal?”
The boys looked at each other. “Sure, why not. But report back to us at 0700.”
Devlin tipped his hat and bowed. “You have my word as a gentleman.”
Spiderman ran up to the boys and sprayed them with a water pistol. The boys whirled around and gave chase. Dev strode toward Abby, wondering what was on her mind.
When he got to the booth, Abby sat in a chair in front, with a plastic bowl of rice covered in jambalaya. The scent of shrimp, tomatoes, and spices filled the air. When he walked up, Abby looked at him, then spooned in another mouthful of the jambalaya; she didn’t seem to be making much headway.
“Smells great.” Devlin sat in one of the chairs next to her.
“Nice festival this year.” Otis handed him a bowl filled to the brim. “The two of you been dancing yet? Sounds like the guys are playing real good. Got them a new fiddle player, I see.” Otis cut his eyes to Abby and back to Dev. “You two been scrapping?”
Abby looked up at Otis, then back to Devlin. “No. I was starving and wanted to get something to eat first.”
“You sure that’s all?”
Devlin ate another spoonful of food. “This is your best batch yet, Otis.”
Otis stirred the huge pot. “You say that every year.”
A group of tourists strolled up dressed like the Brady Bunch. Otis turned on the charm and thickened his Cajun accent.
Devlin rose from his chair, tossed his bowl in the nearest trashcan, and looked at Abby. “Come on.” He held out his hand to her. “Let’s go talk.”
Abby rose from her chair, dumped her bowl in the trash, and took his hand. They headed toward the cool shadows under a large elm tree. The sounds of the festival faded into the background.
Devlin felt the worry radiating off Abby’s body. She reached up and fingered the tassel hanging from her cap. He recognized that nervous gesture immediately. When nervous or worried, Abby played with a button on her blouse, the belt on her robe, a strand of hair. But the costume gave her no other item to worry with. “What’s wrong, honey?”
She glanced toward the village green, then back at him. “Since I arrived on the island, you know I’ve been worried sick about Miranda. You told me she was okay because she was with J.D. and he would protect her. I believed you.” She paused and looked away.
“Yes, that’s true. So what’s the problem?”
She gazed down at her hands, then back up at him. She held an object up for his inspection.
Miranda’s bracelet dangled from her fingers.
“I found it in your room. It has blood on it. Was Miranda hurt along with J.D.? Did you keep it from me because you were trying to protect me?”
Devlin shook his head. “No, Miranda wasn’t hurt. She helped me tend J.D.’s wound while we waited for the helicopter to arrive. Her bracelet must have fallen off at that time.
Abby frowned and stared at him for a moment. “If Miranda was hurt, Dev, just tell me.”
Dev raked a hand through his hair. “Miranda wasn’t hurt. She didn’t find one scrap of evidence that the castle was haunted, but she insisted on reporting her findings.” He could tell by the look on Abby’s face that she still had her doubts. “I didn’t want the information to be made public because I was afraid it might affect the flow of tourists to the island. So I offered Miranda some cash and access to an estate.”
“You offered her a bribe?
“Well, yes.”
“Where is the estate?”
“On the mainland. My family owns it, and we’ve denied access to ghost hunters until now. I thought it would keep her quiet.” He paused. “But you have a very stubborn sister, almost as stubborn as you. She refused my offer of cash, but accepted the estate.”
The frown smoothed away from her brow. Devlin felt a wave of relief. “That sounds like Miranda. Honest to a fault. Is she at this estate now?”
“Yes, J.D. was released from the hospital this morning.”
“What’s the number? I want to call and talk to her.”
“No one has stayed there in quite some time. The lines were disconnected, the power turned off.”
He stepped close to her and drew her into his arms. Her scent infused him. Devlin buried his nose in her hair. “She’s okay, Abby, I promise. J.D. should have the power restored by this evening. As soon as the festival is over, we’ll go straight home and call her.” Home. The castle and Wolf Island were truly his home now that Abby had come into his life and made him complete.
“Welcome to Wolf Island’s Twentieth Annual Midsummer Festival!” a voice called over the village green’s speaker system. “It’s time for our island’s most prominent citizen, Devlin Morgan, to say a few words. Devlin, come on up!”
Devlin turned to Abby and laid his hands on her shoulders. He looked directly into her eyes. “That’s my cue. The head of the island’s village council insists I speak every year, so ... I just spoke to the sheriff. He thinks Victor is here.” He smoothed a hand over Abby’s cheek. “Dutton’s cops are in position, but sweetheart, be careful. If that bastard tries to grab you, zap him with that damn Taser thing.” He looked down into her beautiful, innocent face and prayed she would stay safe. “I still don’t like the idea of leaving you here on the fringes of the crowd while I go make a speech.”
“Don’t worry, Dev. You’ll only be gone for a few minutes. I’ll be in the face-painting booth.” She nodded in that direction. “I promised I’d fill in for a while and give Mrs. Watts a break. You’ll be able to see me clearly from the stage, and the authorities will be waiting if Victor makes a move.” She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand. “Now, go.”
Devlin gave Abby a quick kiss and reluctantly headed toward the stage.
Chapter Fifteen
Abby scanned the crush of clapping, cheering people and tried to locate Devlin in the middle of the swarm, but he was nowhere in sight.
A man walked past her dressed as the Grim Reaper. The hooded black cloak he wore hid his face. In his hand he held a sickle. He turned his head, and she thought for a moment he looked straight at her. A chill crawled over her skin. The man continued walking and disappeared into the crowd.
She hurried over to the face-painting booth and stood to the side. One of the sheriff’s men, dressed as Batman, stood a few feet to her right. Daylight had faded, but even with the deputy close by to protect her, she felt alone and vulnerable without Devlin by her side. Everyone crowded together in front of the stage, waiting for Dev to make his speech. Out of the corner of her eye, a move
ment caught Abby’s attention. She jerked her head around and saw the deputy lying on the ground. Black fear swept through her.
Abby grabbed the Taser from her fanny pack and wrapped her hand around the grip of the compact weapon. A sharp blow to the side of her head radiated through her brain, temporarily stunning her. She swayed slightly as the Taser slipped from her fingers. Before she could regain her equilibrium and pick up the weapon, a large hand clamped hard over her mouth.
She slammed against a hard male body. A sob rushed into her throat.
“Look what Daddy’s got,” a man’s gravelly voice breathed into her ear. His putrid breath turned her stomach. “Devlin’s little whore.” Madness laced his rough whisper.
Victor.
His name roared through her brain like a shrill scream as he dragged her toward the trees and away from the crowd. When they reached the trees, he squeezed her left breast with his free hand. Hard. Pain lanced across her chest, and her eyes rolled back in her head as terror sucked the air from her lungs.
“I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth for just one second. If you scream, if you utter one little sound, I’ll filet you like a flounder. Got it?” His voice had turned hard, almost angry.
Panic twisted through Abby’s body. Words stuck in her throat. She nodded her head in a short, jerky motion.
“Good.” His tone was patronizing. He took his hand away for a couple of seconds, but only long enough for Abby to inhale a shallow breath and try to calm the horror that gripped her mind. Still groggy from the blow he’d given her, she struggled to pull herself together so she could think clearly. If she didn’t, she might not survive the night.
And she had every intention of surviving.
Victor slapped a piece of tape over her mouth and smoothed out the edges. He bound her hands behind her tightly, then knelt to tie a length of rope around her ankles. Abby saw her chance and tried to run, but he grabbed her around one ankle and yanked. She fell down, like a stone dropping from the sky. The breath whooshed from her lungs, and twigs cut into her face. Dust flew into her eyes and up her nose. She sneezed once before he yanked her onto her back.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and loomed over her, his face barely inches from hers, teeth bared and eyes wild.
The Grim Reaper.
Her mouth went dry. No wonder he’d given her a case of the creeps when she saw him earlier. Victor removed the cloak and tilted his face into a ray of moonlight shining down between the branches of the trees. Her eyes widened, and an icy surge of renewed fear scraped over her spine at what she saw.
The resemblance was there, but insanity had destroyed his mind and his looks. Lines creased his once handsome face; his hair was dirty and matted against his scalp, his clothes ragged. “Don’t ever run from me again, bitch, if you want to see your precious Devlin one more time before I kill you both.” The anger in his voice made Abby’s heart grow cold and still.
He secured her ankles together with rope, then dug his fingers into the front of her costume. For one gut-wrenching moment, she thought he would rip off her clothes and rape her right there, but instead he jerked her to her feet. Her heart slid back down into her chest, and she gasped as a tangled mixture of hope that she could escape and fear that she might not be able to spun through her brain.
Victor wrapped the cloak quickly around her, covered her face with the hood, and tied some rope around her body so she couldn’t move.
As thoughts of murder flashed in hideous Technicolor through her brain, he hoisted her up onto his shoulder and started walking. She bumped against his back, and with each jolt, pain sliced into her ribs, along with the horror that she might never see Devlin again.
Darkness. Suffocating darkness. Panic made her heart flop in her chest and the breath wheeze from her lungs. The hot, itchy cloak caused sweat to trickle down her face and back. Nausea rose from her belly into her throat as she listened to the sounds of the festival fading into the distance, along with hopes of rescue.
She heard nothing now but the echo of his footsteps crunching over brush and the labored sound of his breathing. His arms banded tightly around her legs and held her firmly against his shoulder. She tried to listen for any familiar sounds that might give her a clue as to where he was taking her, but she heard nothing more than the sad call of a mourning dove.
Think, Abby. Think.
She refused to die like poor Alice and be another victim of Victor Morgan’s insatiable violence. Somehow she must find a way to escape and return to Devlin. She squeezed her hands together in tight fists and closed her eyes. I have to get back to Devlin.
Victor carried her for what seemed like hours before she heard his feet slap against wood and the sound of the ocean lapping onto the shore. He walked for a couple more minutes, then abruptly stopped.
In a few seconds he started moving again, but she felt a sensation as though he were climbing. Before she had a chance to think where he might be taking her, he dropped her unceremoniously onto the ground. Needling jabs of pain darted through her back muscles and into her head.
The surface she lay on swayed beneath her.
A boat. He’d taken her to a boat.
Unsettled, mysterious, and breathing a watery sigh, the ocean splashed against the boat’s hull. Abby felt him wrap a hand around one of the ropes he’d secured her with and start dragging her over the boat’s deck. Did he plan to take her out to sea, then rape and murder her before dumping her body into the ocean?
Catherine’s words from a day or two earlier flashed through Abby’s mind.
“He’s a good man, Abby. The danger you will face won’t come from him. The monster is here on this island, waiting in the shadows ...”
Catherine was right. She’d said that Abby had the power to save Devlin -- but Devlin wasn’t here. What about the dream she’d had where she tried to save Devlin from drowning in the ocean? Would that happen before or after Victor raped and tried to kill her?
She heard a creak. Her feet fell a very short distance, hit a flat object, then fell again and hit another flat object. Stairs. He was taking her down some stairs.
Finally, he reached the bottom. He hauled her another few feet, then dropped her like a sack of rocks. She felt his hands pulling at the rope around her, and then, blessedly, he threw back the cloak. Cool air wafted over her sweaty skin.
He stood over her a moment, his mouth curled in an evil grin, before he pulled her up and practically threw her into a chair. She slammed against the back, and her eyes widened while terror made her dizzy. What would he do with her now? Would he torture her first before he killed her?
Victor dug some ice cubes out of a small refrigerator and tossed them into a dirty glass sitting on the counter. Abby’s gaze darted around the room, looking for something, anything she might use as a weapon. A phone hung from the bulkhead.
Oh, God, if I could only get to it.
All she needed was a few seconds to call for help.
Victor unscrewed the top of a bottle of gin and poured himself a generous drink. He turned, leaned against the counter, and drank, then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.
He leered at her and licked his lips. “You’re a fine little piece, aren’t you?” His voice sounded oily. “No wonder Devlin took up with you.”
He gulped some more of his drink and smacked his lips together. “I’m gonna have some of what Devlin’s been I’ before I call that son of a whore and tell him where you are.” Victor chuckled and curled his upper lip. “But after he sees what I’ve done to you, he might not be so interested anymore.”
With his gaze pinned to her, he reached behind him, opened a drawer, and withdrew a set of chimes. A tag still hung from them, with Alice’s picture on it. Abby felt numb. Had he harmed Catherine to get it?
He walked to her, jingling the chimes as he moved closer. “Yeah, I’m gonna do the same thing to you that I did to those dumb animals I left behind. Not to mention that stupid bitch cop that tried to fool me.”
Fear nearly choked Abby, and her hands trembled, but she refused to let Victor see her fright and take pleasure in it.
Victor leaned forward and ran a dirty finger over her cheek. Abby jerked away from his touch. He gripped her chin hard and pulled her face back around. His eyes shone with lunacy. “You know you like it rough.” A hint of excitement rang in his voice. “I saw you.” His whispered words made her skin crawl.
Oh, God.
Victor had been in the passageway that night. He’d watched them. Her stomach pitched; her head throbbed. He’d seen her naked. She wanted to puke.
“That’s right, bitch.” He chuckled. “You and Devlin rolling around like a couple of sweaty dogs. You aren’t any better than his whore of a mother. She liked it rough, too.” Contempt filled his voice.
He tossed back the last of his drink. “I gave it to her just the way she liked it. Down and dirty.” He spaced the words out evenly; all the while, his eyes raked over Abby’s body.
Bile rose into her throat, but she swallowed it down. She had to gather her wits if she was going to get out of this alive.
He set his empty glass on the table and licked his lips. “Now it’s time for us to have some fun.” He ran his eyes over her from head to toe, his gaze lingering on her breasts. “That’s some outfit, and I’m just dying to see what’s under it.” His raspy voice made loathing crawl over her skin.
Victor moved closer. Abby jammed her body as hard as she could against the back of the chair in an effort to get away from him, but it did no good. He just came closer. And closer.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket and drew out a knife. Black terror like she’d never felt in her life shot through her blood.
He’s going to kill me.
Victor’s mouth lifted at the corners in a sneer. “I like it when they’re afraid.” His voice sounded deceptively quiet. After a moment, he knelt in front of her. The rope binding her ankles snapped in two. Abby rotated her feet. A sensation like needles pricking her skin let her know the blood was flowing once more.
He stepped closer, eyed her crotch, and started to reach out his hand to touch her. Abby brought her knee up and rammed him brutally in the balls. He howled and grabbed his crotch with one hand while he slapped her hard across the face with the other.
Wolf Island Page 18
