Sailing out of Darkness (Carolina Coast Book 4)

by Normandie Fischer

  Her expression seemed watchful, even wary. His eyes slid closed, and he wondered what that meant. Everything meant something.

  “When do you see the doctor again?” she asked. “When will he have the test results?”

  “Maybe today.”

  She stood over him for a few moments before bending toward his lips. Jack turned to offer a cheek. His breath was foul. He tasted like a body gone wrong, as if he were rusting on the inside.

  Then the door clicked shut behind her, and he was alone.

  Too many places hurt. Edgy, nervous, unable to sleep, he longed for the strength to get out of bed.

  It was ten-thirty when the phone rang. Jack reached for the receiver. “Hello,” he said, expecting to hear his secretary’s voice. “Hello?” he repeated.

  He was about to hang up when a faint voice whispered something.

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  “It’s the alcohol.” The voice scratched out the words.

  “What’s the alcohol?”

  “Examine it.”

  And then Jack heard a click.

  He stared at the phone, wishing they’d invested in caller ID. Star sixty-nine’s droning voice stated the number was unknown. Someone had called who didn’t want to be identified. Why? What did he—or had it been a woman?—mean by “Examine it”?

  Jack tossed off the covers, shoved his feet in slippers, and shuffled into the kitchen, bracing himself on furniture as he went. India had decanted the stuff she’d given him into an empty vodka bottle because she claimed it sat better on the shelf. Two vodka bottles stared at him. He took down the first, dabbed some on his tongue. Okay, vodka. The second had to be it.

  He sniffed the open bottle. Nothing odd.

  What had the caller meant? Was there something wrong with the stuff, some mistake the bootlegger had made in this batch? How did the caller even know Jack had it?

  He wished he could get hold of India, but she was halfway to someplace. He hadn’t paid any attention to her destination, just knew that she’d be gone until tomorrow. So it was up to him to figure out what to do, and, considering the state of his faculties these days, that would take some effort.

  “Think, brain, think.” He supposed moonshine could be lethal, assuming the bootlegger used faulty mechanics or bad grain. But India said she’d gotten this from a friend at the airlines. A co-pilot. Besides, it tasted great.

  Jack shook his head. No, she’d been drinking it, too. Maybe not as much as he had, because she really liked her vodka, but she was fine. It couldn’t be the liquor.

  But what if it were bad and had somehow gotten to him first? Maybe he was already debilitated because of stress, the mess of Sam leaving, trying to get himself together. Okay. He needed to have the stuff examined and right away, because India could become ill any day now. He hated to think of her on the road as much as she was and suddenly tossing up her lunch or passing out.

  Lumbering back to the bedroom, he yanked on a pair of jeans and a shirt, then went to the bathroom to splash water on his face and brush his teeth. He wasn’t going to take the time to shave. The lab wouldn’t care anyway.

  Dr. Lennon’s nurse said the doctor was with a patient. Jack didn’t let her finish. “Tell him this is Jack Waters, and I may have found out what is poisoning me. I need to get it tested.”

  “Hold on a minute, Mr. Waters.”

  He held on. It didn’t take long. “Jack, what’s this about poison?” Jack told him about the phone call. “Are you the only one who has had any? Okay, I’ll call the lab. No, better the Health Department. They can expedite things, get the tests done right away so we can find out if we’ve got some kind of epidemic brewing.”

  “It was just India.”

  “What about the person who gave it to her? We don’t know how far back this goes, who’s going to be affected. Take it in. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

  Jack forced himself to sit up so he could answer the phone. It was five-fifteen.

  “Your informant was correct, Jack. Remember back when I asked if you’d been chewing on lead paint? I couldn’t guess you’d been drinking it instead.”

  “Lead paint?”

  “Lead. You are being slowly poisoned with lead and mercury. The alcohol we tested is lethal.”

  “Sure doesn’t taste like it.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  “So, what’s next? Will I just get better if I quit drinking it? What about India?”

  This was unbelievable. Any minute India might tilt into this unreality with him.

  Dr. Lennon was saying something. Jack forced himself to listen. “I need to run some more tests on you. But we’ve got to begin chelation therapy as soon as possible.”

  “Chelation?” The words made no sense. None of it made sense.

  “It’s not something we can manage here. There’s a clinic in Durham. I’m going to see about getting you in right away.”

  “So what’s this, this chelation?”

  “We introduce a chelating agent into your system to bond with the metals and flush them out. I’m afraid it’s quite a long process, and it doesn’t correct any damage that’s already occurred. But it will stop the progress.” Dr. Lennon cleared his throat. “I want you to check into the hospital today, now, so we can begin the necessary tests. We’ll move you to Durham as soon as we can get you a bed.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I’ve already called and made the arrangements. They’re expecting you.”

  Jack pressed his fingers to his temples, picked up the phone, and left India a message.

  He lay half-naked on a bed on the third floor. They’d taken more vials of blood. He stared down at the bandages covering the holes they’d poked. Tainted blood. It had looked normal enough as it filled the syringe. But it wasn’t, was it?

  A bag dripped something into his hand, through his veins, into his system. He wished they’d knock him out. If they let him sleep, maybe he’d wake to find the nightmare ended.

  Instead, he let his gaze travel up toward the ceiling. He was tucked in this hard bed with time to think. But who wanted to think?

  Odd that India had no symptoms. None at all.

  She was smaller, slighter. Anything poisonous should have affected her a lot sooner than it had him. Her liver had already been compromised by heavy drinking. No way it could filter better than his. Oh, sure, he drank, but nothing like India. So, if she had consumed even half the amount he had, she ought to be the one done in and dragged out.

  She wasn’t sick. Not even a headache. No nausea. No diarrhea. No coughing. Nothing.

  26

  Samantha

  The vision’s waiting out there, the impetus to see,

  To soar to other places, to grasp at something more,

  To dare for something higher

  Than you’ve ever known before.

  The elevator to the top of the Campanile of St. Mark’s Basilica overflowed with bodies, some of them malodorous. “I hope this thing doesn’t collapse again.” Breathing through her mouth made her sound adenoidal.

  “Not likely,” Teo said, smiling with those crinkly blue eyes of his. “Unless all of Venice sinks. Look, down there to the right. That’s our hotel.”

  Sam tried to ignore the gentle pressure of his hand at her back, the limey scent of him when he pointed over her shoulder at something.

  Stop. Her eyes slammed shut. She concentrated...on... Rhea.

  Rhea had warned her. Rhea knew her truth, and she mustn’t let Rhea down again.

  She mustn’t let herself down again.

  She would not imagine herself attracted to every stray male who paid attention to her. Or who made her laugh. Or whose touch lit something in her.

  She squinted at the view. What was it with this laughter thing? So Teo made her laugh. Big deal.

  She could just go watch a funny movie. Read a funny book. That should do the trick.

  She was strong. Strong, independent, and happy in her
own skin.

  Not needy.

  She should never have picked up a romance novel. Ever. Look at the expectations she’d fostered of happy-ever-afters.

  She should never have daydreamed.

  Or grown intimate with another woman’s man. Or with any man who hadn’t put a ring on her finger.

  She shuddered at that particular memory. She couldn’t help it.

  “Samantha?” Teo’s voice startled her.

  Oh, right. Teo. The person with his arm around her. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

  “Thinking about your vandal?”

  After a momentary pause, she was able to say, “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for sure.”

  “Just don’t worry about Tootie.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  As they ambled through the Basilica—and she did her best to keep to his slower pace and not run far and fast, just to get away—she tried to listen to the facts he presented. But she couldn’t care about them. Because, really, what did it matter in the scheme of things that the remains of St. Mark the Evangelist were smuggled out of Egypt and reburied in 828 AD?

  Teo took her arm to lead her out and across the square. “Come, this is Florian’s. A landmark. Shall we have some tea?”

  Sam preceded him into one of the most opulent restaurants she’d ever seen. Red velvet covered the seats. Ornate woodwork surrounded doors and painted wall panels. The staff wore white, with white or black bow ties and black vests. Their jackets had gold braid on the shoulders. Sam straightened her back and held her head just a little higher as they trooped after their gorgeous host.

  And there, behind some ferns, was India.

  Sam jerked to a halt, bringing Teo up short. “What?” He touched her arm as she peeked around him at the plants.

  She looked more closely. No, not India. Thank God.

  But it gave her pause. Did India ever fly internationally? And would India ever escalate beyond localized warfare?

  The waiter held out her chair. As Sam slid into the seat, she hesitated only a moment. “I thought that was India back there. It wasn’t, of course.”

  Teo studied her face. “But you’re afraid it could be?”

  She nodded, picking up the menu without seeing it. “I don’t even know if she flies to places like Italy. But she could. I imagine she could find out where I am.”

  Teo nodded when the waiter offered tea and pastries. “Would she?”

  “I don’t know.” Sam spread an overlarge linen cloth on her lap and pointed to a chocolate croissant from the tray. “Grazie,” she told the waiter, who aligned the cup and plate just so. The chocolate was warm enough to ooze from the side as she bit into it. She stirred in sugar, sighed, and said, “India once threatened me with Rick, some friend of hers.”

  Teo took his time as he sliced into a portion of cheesecake. “Do you think this Rick could be a danger to Tootie? Is India that far out of control?”

  At that, the pastry stuck in Sam’s throat. “Oh, Teo. I don’t know.”

  “Finish your treat, and then let’s call home.”

  “Perhaps just the tea? Maybe they’d let me save the croissant.”

  “Of course.”

  Tootie answered on the third ring. “I’m fine, really. Holland is here again. You don’t have to worry.”

  Sam needed to mention this Rick person, but her eyes snapped closed. Each time she spoke of India or Jack and those days, she exposed more of herself, and a little bit more of her shriveled inside.

  Maybe humbling herself was a good thing, some extra bit of pride that needed to die. Maybe. But she didn’t have to like it.

  She heard Tootie’s voice, but the words didn’t register. Instead, a picture intruded of her, the mother, trying to get across some lesson to Stefi or Daniel. Had they ever once been grateful or enjoyed the process?

  Never. So what made her think she’d get to?

  Her sense of the ridiculous rose momentarily. Very momentarily.

  And then she fell back into worry. Because she’d like to know when the check marks or stars or whatever she was trying to earn here would fill enough spaces so she could quit.

  Too bad her own penance wasn’t enough. Too bad she had to drag someone as innocent and sweet as Tootie into the slime.

  Sam took a deep breath. “I remembered something.” This was just information. Best get it out there. “India actually threatened me with a friend of hers, somebody named Rick. I don’t remember her exact words—although you’d think they’d be seared in my brain.” She paused, and Teo rubbed a hand up her arm, smiling sympathetically. “I’m worried she might escalate things.”

  “Whenever I’ve heard Ms. Monroe mention Rick,” Tootie said, “I thought she was talking about her brother. That was his name. Only, isn’t he dead?”

  “Oh?” Sam turned to Teo, mouthed her brother. He did that facial-shrug thing. “Then why would she say she’d been talking to him and that he was angry? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I don’t know,” Tootie said. “Unless there are two Ricks in her world. I’ll ask Jack next time I see him.”

  “I really am worried about you, Tootie. What if this man is someone dangerous?”

  Through the phone, Sam heard the door chimes announce store customers. Tootie’s voice called that she’d be right there. “I’ve got to go. Can you call me later?”

  “Look, just be careful, will you? Call or send me an e-mail if you learn anything, and I’ll contact you immediately. And talk to Jack again. See what you can find out.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  Sam turned to Teo. “India had a brother named Rick. And he’s dead.”

  “You think she knows another man by that name? One she’d use to threaten you?”

  Sam shrugged.

  “Odd, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  Teo took her hand. “Would you like to head back to Reggio tomorrow?”

  Her eyes brightened. “I would. I’m sorry. I hate to break up this perfect vacation.”

  “Not a problem. We can come back again.”

  Sam didn’t think that would ever happen, but she appreciated the offer. And knowing they only had the rest of the afternoon in Venice, she suggested they find more places he could use as backdrops. “Bring your camera and your notebook, and let’s go.”

  Anything to take her mind off home.

  “Oh, look,” Sam said, pointing to a house laden with gargoyles. “There’s your mystery house.”

  Teo shot pictures of the house and those that surrounded it. “Good eye,” he said and followed her across another stone bridge to a maze of alleys and more photo opportunities.

  He snapped picture after picture. He’d taken dozens of shots during their time in Venice, but this was different. Sam actually felt a part of story-making as they tossed out various scenarios to go with the architecture. Eventually, though, all she wanted was a glass of wine and a place to sit and relax.

  Teo must have read her mind. He helped her board a water taxi for the trip back to the hotel and led her to the elevator. “I think it’s time for dinner.”

  Brushing her hair out of her face, she gave him her most brilliant smile. “Yes, please.”

  “I think we should give Florian’s another go as this is our last night.”

  “Really? Then you’ll have to give me a few minutes to get ready.”

  “Take your time,” he called, but she was already heading to her room.

  When she came out, she wore a scooped-neck black dress that Stefi had insisted she buy in Firenze. “Beautiful,” Teo said, again making her feel as if she were.

  That night, everything seemed perfect. Sam relegated the morning’s fears to the place of improbables. If she couldn’t fix things, it seemed best not to dwell on them.

  Sated, she set down her fork and turned her smile on Teo. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this trip.”

  “It’s been my privilege.”

  Even knowing what Floria
n’s could do with pastry, she declined dessert. “I may have to go on a fast just to recover from all you’ve fed me. I’ll pass on the extra calories tonight.”

  “Samantha, you don’t ever need to worry about your weight. You’re perfect as you are, and a few extra pounds won’t change that.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Then bring back that chocolate mousse.”

  Teo opened the long windows to the balcony and let in sounds of music and laughter that carried over the water. Sam sank beside him on the bench, closing her eyes as the gentle evening breeze tickled her face. Replete and feeling the languor that came from being well fed, she laid her head back, finding Teo’s arm instead of the expected wall. He had a nice arm, firmly muscled but not huge, and it made an excellent pillow.

  When his fingers grazed her shoulder, she didn’t move. She should have, but the lazy circular motions just added to the spell of the night air.

  Her stillness must have emboldened him, because the next thing she felt was his other hand on her chin, turning her head toward him. He paused, perhaps waiting for her to draw away. She didn’t. She didn’t think she could have, not really.

  Slowly, he touched her lips with his. The merest touch, and she went weak. When he deepened the kiss, she responded. Boy, did she. As her palm touched his cheek, the electricity stunned her.

  It may have shocked him, too. At any rate, he backed away, causing her to fall toward him.

  She straightened awkwardly, with a whoa zinging through her head. Or as Stefi would say, wowsa.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have.”

  He was apologizing. A man was apologizing for having given her the best kiss of her life.

  “No, no.” Really.

  “I know. I promised I wouldn’t.”

  She touched his cheek, then took his hand. “I enjoyed it.”

  “You did?”

  “I did. I probably shouldn’t have. But, yes, I did.”

  “Oh.”

  “And now, I should go finish packing, and then it’s to bed.” She stood and let him walk her to her room. At the door, she turned, fearful and yet filled with something that felt quite lovely, so different from the heady rush of purely sexual tension she’d felt with Jack. Though there was tension here—oh, yes.