Shattered Blue: A Romantic Thriller
Page 28
Matt stopped outside Shane’s bedroom door and stared into the wrecked room. The mattress lay upside-down on the floor in the moonlight. The nightstand was on its side, the shattered lamp next to it.
He heard Shane coming up the stairs and turned to tell her to stay back.
He sensed movement behind him, but, before he could react, he was tackled to the floor, the breath knocked out of him. The knife fell from his hand, clattered to the floor.
Matt caught a glimpse of crazed gray eyes, and then he was fighting for his life. Ripley slashed at him with a huge knife and pain seared his right forearm. He threw his arm up to block the next strike, and his own blood dripped into his eyes. Everything blurred red. Where was his knife?
A yell, an incoherent scream of rage, came from behind him. Something, or someone, hurtled past him, and suddenly Ripley was gone. He heard a deep, moaning grunt, and then no sound but the unearthly wail of the sirens, coming closer.
Matt sat up and wiped blood from his eyes. His right arm was bleeding heavily.
Shane. Where was Shane?
Then she was kneeling beside him, his beautiful Shane, and he could breathe again. She wrapped something around his throbbing, stinging forearm. Black cloth. A piece of her dress? He watched her rip off narrow strips, tearing the edge of the cloth with her teeth, and tie the makeshift bandage in place.
“Shane?” he said. “What happened? Where is he?”
She was blocking his view into the bedroom. Then she moved, and Matt saw Ripley. He was slumped against the far wall, below the picture window. The handle of a steak knife protruded from between his ribs, a dark trickle of red oozing down. The hunting knife lay on the floor near Ripley’s open hand, gleaming dully, the edge dark with blood. His blood.
Ripley wasn’t moving. His face was slack, his eyes closed.
And then they fluttered open.
His fingers curled, reaching for the hunting knife.
Matt gripped the butcher knife lying next to him and lunged at Ripley, slamming into him, thrusting the blade up under his breastbone, using the momentum of his body to bury it to the hilt.
“Matt!” Shane screamed. “Matt!”
She scrambled to her feet and ran across the room, grabbing the big hunting knife from the floor. Then she turned to see Matt staring down at Jordan. She didn’t want to look, but she forced herself to do it.
The handle of the butcher knife protruded from her stepbrother’s body. His head lolled on his chest, and blood soaked the cloth of his shirt in a dark, spreading stain.
The hands that had touched her, tormented her, lay palms up on the floor beside him; the cruel fingers, now limp and useless and utterly still, curled toward the ceiling.
With an incoherent cry, Shane dropped Jordan’s knife and fell to her knees.
Matt leaned forward and pressed two fingers against the side of Ripley’s neck. There was no pulse. He lifted the eyelids and saw wide black pupils. The flesh he touched was already beginning to cool, and blood had stopped pumping from the wounds.
Matt drew a deep breath and let it out again. He had killed a man. Sooner or later, he knew he would react to that, but right now only one thing mattered: Shane was safe. He gathered her into his arms.
“He’s dead,” he whispered, stroking her hair, rocking her. “It’s over, Shane. It’s over.”
Shane clung to him, sobbing and trembling, but not from fear. Matt was alive. They were both alive, and Jordan was finally, truly, dead.
After a long moment, she began to relax in Matt’s arms. Her tears stopped and her body ceased its trembling. She felt no regret, no pity, only profound relief, and gratitude. Two words echoed through her head: Game over.
Outside, the sirens reached a crescendo and then abruptly cut off. Car doors slammed, voices called. Soon they’d be caught up in the aftermath. But for this moment, there was only Matt, and his arms around her.
It was all she needed. It was everything.
“Let’s not wait,” she whispered. “Let’s get married right away.”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes.” And he held her tight.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel would not exist without the help and encouragement of many people, first and foremost my dear husband, David, who helped me work out some early plot tangles and designed my beautiful cover.
Effusive thanks to my wonderful team of first readers: April, my earliest and biggest fan, who thinks I’m great at writing thrillers; eagle-eyed Hayley, who thinks the women of the world will love it (from your mouth to God’s ear, Hayley!); kick-butt Ann, who encouraged me to reveal more about the evil Jordan; Sue L., the first to tell me she couldn’t put it down; Lynne, who pronounced Matt “perfect” and especially loved the marriage and family part; Ruth, who was hooked by the second “zinger;” and Janet, who clued me in about the ban on the bird-of-prey feathers Shane originally used in her weaving.
Writing a novel is hard but satisfying work, especially when you have first readers like mine. Again, a huge thank-you to each and every one of you. I couldn’t have done it without you.
FROM THE AUTHOR
After a career as an editor and writer of nonfiction, I’ve turned to my greatest pleasure, making up exciting stories and sharing them with readers. “Shattered Blue” is my first novel, and I plan to follow it with many more.
There’s nothing I enjoy more than crafting engaging characters and setting them in the middle of an exciting plot full of twists and turns, carefully interwoven with an intense, sensual love story. Writing a novel takes a lot of time, a lot of work, a lot of hair-pulling, and a lot of chocolate. (Especially chocolate!)
All my efforts are to give you, the reader, the best possible reading experience. You can keep in touch with me and sign up for book news by email at RomancingTheThriller.com.
A little bit of the personal: I’m a long-time resident of Long Island’s North Fork, but I grew up San Diego, California, and survived the crucible of New York City before moving to the beautiful, bountiful North Fork. (I even wrote a book about it: “Long Island Wine Country.”)
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Thanks so much, and happy reading!
~Jane Taylor Starwood