by Gayle Roper
“We?” Clooney asked.
Abby nodded. “Marsh and me.”
For the first time Clooney seemed to see Marsh. “Yo! What’s wrong with him?” He started forward to help.
“It’s okay! Don’t bother!” Abby yelled at the same time the masked man ordered, “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”
Clooney froze, then turned, arms held away from his body so the man could see he had nothing but the detector dangling from his right hand. “You shouldn’t do this, you know. It’s not very nice.”
“Oh, but I will anyway. And you’re first.” He aimed at Clooney and pulled the trigger.
Abby screamed as Clooney went to his knees. As he fell, he threw himself forward, swinging his detector in a broad arc. It curled behind the man, catching him behind the knees. He staggered, almost falling, swearing violently.
Abby watched, sick with horror as the man struggled to regain his footing. He pointed his gun at Clooney for a second shot.
“Don’t!” she screamed. “That’s murder!”
“Shut up!” He swung the gun toward her, then back to Clooney. “You’re both as good as dead.”
He assumed the position, arms straight ahead of him, when a black shadow appeared out of the night, launching itself at him, growling deep in its throat. The gunman screamed in genuine, well-founded fear as Fargo sent him to the ground and stood growling over him, saliva dripping onto his vulnerable throat. The gun dropped into the sand as the man pushed vainly against Fargo’s chest.
“Get him off me! Help me!”
Clooney looked over at Abby, a hand gripping his arm where blood ran red. “Like we’re going to call off that beast so the man can try to do us in again.” He shook his head. “We’re not that stupid.”
Sirens sounded, growing louder by the second.
“That should be the cops and an ambulance. I called 911 before I showed myself. Always have backup if you can.”
“Clooney!” Tears of relief streamed down her face and clogged her throat. “You’re wonderful!”
He glowed, patting his fanny pack. “I carry a cell phone. You never know when you’ll need it.”
Abby’s tears turned to hysterical giggling. Something about an iconoclast like Clooney carrying a cell phone hit her weary sense of humor dead on. “Are you hurt badly?” she wheezed between giggles.
“Nah. Small stuff, especially compared to your man.” Walking on his knees he came to her side. “Here. Let me help.”
Using Clooney’s good arm and Abby’s waning strength, they inched Marsh out of the water. She slid beneath his upper torso to keep the wound out of the sand and stared at his shoulder. Blood still oozed, but the cold water had slowed it.
“Must be vascular if it’s still pumping,” Clooney said. He pulled his shirt over his head. “Use this for applying pressure.”
She took the shirt and did as he said to both the front and back of Marsh’s shoulder. She looked up. “Thank you for everything. You saved our lives.”
Suddenly they were surrounded by people. Abby watched in a daze as the policeman who talked to her after the hit-and-run—her fuzzy brain would not call up his name—took charge. EMTs appeared and began working on Marsh, hollering things like hypotensive and 60 systolic. Abby didn’t know what it all meant, but she knew that Marsh was now receiving good care. She was dimly aware of Rick standing behind her and Celia crouching beside her.
But her attention was directed to the man on the ground. She laid her hand on Marsh’s cheek and stroked, careful to stay out of the EMTs’ way. She had to touch him. She had to. If she touched him, he was here, not gone, and he had to be here. He had to be! Oh, Lord, save him!
The medical team also helped Clooney, who had been grazed in the arm. “I knew he was going to shoot,” he told the police. “I’ve had lots of experience with pistol-toting folks a lot scarier than him. I was an MP in Nam. I threw myself before he pulled the trigger. Is my detector okay?”
Other men tried to take the man in black prisoner, but Fargo’s growls kept them at bay as he loomed over the prone figure, fangs bared.
“Can anyone do anything with this dog?” Greg Barnes—yes, that was his name—asked. “I don’t want to have to call the animal control guys.”
Abby looked at Marsh. He was unconscious, no help with Fargo. Then she remembered the animal leaning against her thigh when she and Marsh were arguing.
She staggered upright and was relieved when Rick’s hand was there to steady her. “I might be able to talk to the dog.”
She went to Fargo but didn’t touch him. “Hello, guy. It’s me, Abby. Puppy’s mom. Remember? You are such a wonderful doggie. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” She talked to him in a gentle, soft manner, telling him over and over how wonderful he was. He remained frozen in position, but his ears twitched as she talked. The growling slowly lessened, then stilled. His tail trembled.
“Come here, Fargo, baby.” She went to her knees, holding out her hand. “Let the police take care of the bad man. You just come to me and let me hug you.” He looked at her, his eyes filled with emotions she couldn’t decipher. “Come here, guy. I’ll take you to Marsh.”
Whether it was the magic of Marsh’s name or just Fargo’s tiring of guard duty, she didn’t know, but he stepped away from the whimpering man in the sand and came to her. She wrapped her arms around his warm, solid body and hugged him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, hugging her back.
The man in black was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. Greg ripped his ski mask away. There were gasps all around when they saw who it was, gasps from everyone but Abby, who had known.
She stared up at him. “I probably would never have remembered, you know.”
“We couldn’t take that chance.”
“We?”
“This is about the hit-and-run?” Greg Barnes asked, astonished.
Abby nodded. “Ironically it was him chasing us tonight that jogged whatever was blocking my recall. I do now remember that black car.” She looked into Sean McCoy Schofield’s face. “And the vanity license plate. KID DOC.”
Forty-three
ABBY STEPPED BACK as Sean was cuffed and read his rights. As she did so, she lost her balance, strained with Fargo’s great weight resting against her. Rick reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her. She smiled her thanks automatically, her eyes seeking out Marsh once again.
“It’s all your fault!” Sean suddenly screamed at her.
Abby flinched but didn’t acknowledge the hit.
“Shut up.” Greg grabbed him, pulling him across the sand.
Sean struggled, twisting and turning, bucking and kicking. He screamed over his shoulder, “I was just protecting myself. It’s self-defense! It’s all her fault!”
“I’d like to see him sell that to the judge and jury,” Rick muttered in Abby’s ear.
“It is my fault.” Abby wrapped her arms about herself, trying to get warm. Her shivers made her voice sound wobbly. “He wanted to shoot me, but I lost my footing. Marsh reached for me, and he got shot.” A harsh sob closed her throat. She swallowed. “It really is my fault.” Her voice was a mere whisper.
“Abby, look at me.” Rick took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. She could feel the heat from his large hands through her shirt. “It is not your fault. He chose to break several laws. You did not make him do that.” He searched her face. “Do you understand? It’s not your fault.”
Abby sniffed and nodded. “I know, at least up here.” She touched her temple. “But here.” She laid her hand upon her heart. “Here it feels like it is my fault.”
Rick pulled her close and hugged her. His concern, his bulk of body offered her a sense of protection. She wrapped her arms about him and began to sob in reaction to all that had gone before.
“Rick!”
Abby straightened and turned with Rick. Celia stood nearby with Fargo, a piece of rope attached to his collar for a leash. The dog was straining after the paramedics as they carried Ma
rsh to the ambulance. It was all Celia could do to restrain him.
Rick took the rope, and though Fargo still pulled, Rick was a match for his efforts.
“Marsh!” Abby felt her heart wrench. They were taking him away from her. “Wait for me! I have to come along.” She tried to hurry over the sand, but her feet were leaden with fatigue. When the treacherous surface rearranged itself beneath her, she fell to her knees. “Marsh!”
The medics kept walking.
Celia dropped to the sand beside Abby, wrapping her arm about Abby’s waist. “Shush, honey. It’ll be all right.”
Abby turned to Celia, uncaring of the tears wetting her face. “I have to go with him,” she whispered. “I have to. What if …?” She shuddered. She couldn’t finish. The what-if was too terrible to articulate.
“You can’t do anything for Marsh right now, honey,” Celia said. “He needs the hospital, and the faster they get him there, the better. We don’t want to hold them up even for a minute.”
Abby both saw and heard the doors of the ambulance slam shut. The siren whirred once as the vehicle disappeared down the street, red strobe washing the houses as they passed.
“Come on, Abby.” Celia pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get you home and into dry clothes. Fargo needs to go home too. Then Rick and I will take you to the hospital. We’ll make sure you’re there when he wakes up.”
Abby nodded, knowing Celia was right, letting her and Rick lead the way home. Oh, God, please let him wake up! Fargo walked beside them, turning frequently to look at Abby, his brown brows arched in question.
She reached for him, running her hand over his soft fur. “I wish I knew what to tell you, old man. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
When they reached the house, Abby welcomed Celia’s arm around her waist as they climbed the stairs. First there was a quick hot shower to wash the ocean out of her hair, and then warm clothes. They came downstairs to find Rick sitting in Marsh’s Adirondack chair, Fargo resting his head on Rick’s knee, Rick’s fingers fondling the dog’s ears. Abby thought Fargo looked as forlorn as she felt.
“Fargo.” Abby took the dog’s head between her hands. “You are a hero, guy. You saved our lives.” She gave him a great kiss between his eyes. He gave her a great slurp over her entire face. “Marsh’ll be okay, boy. Just you wait and see.”
Fargo whimpered, his confusion and hurt sounding clearly. She fell to her knees, wrapping her arms about him and burying her face in his neck.
“How did he get free to rescue us?” Abby looked up at Rick and Celia though her hands continued to caress Fargo’s head. “I know he was in the house when Marsh and I left to see the meteors.”
“When we got back here after dinner,” Rick said, “he was scratching frantically to get out. He was up on his hind legs, his forepaws clawing the glass. The door was coated with saliva where he had drooled in his desperation. Somehow he knew something was wrong.” Rick gave a solid couple of thumps to Fargo’s chest, and the dog’s tail managed a small wag.
“When Rick opened the door,” Celia continued the story, “Fargo burst out and shot straight off the porch. I’ve never seen anything like it. He hurtled down the beach, barking and snarling and whining.” She shivered. “I hope he never has reason to come after me.”
Rick stood and put the reluctant dog inside the house. Fargo stared out at them, decidedly unhappy. Lauded as a hero one minute, discarded like a chewed-up bone the next. He gave a snort that clouded the glass.
Abby spent the trip to the hospital wedged between Rick and Celia, trying still to get warm. She struggled to beat back her panic, but if she was this hypothermic, what about Marsh? And how did his body temperature complicate his injury?
Abby let her head rest against Celia’s shoulder. “I’m so scared.”
Celia swallowed. “I know, honey. Me too.”
“If he dies, I don’t know what I’ll do.” Abby paused a minute to swallow the threatening tears. “This is worse than Sam. I haven’t even known Marsh long, and already losing him would be worse than losing Sam. Oh, God, please!” Her voice broke on the last word.
Celia stroked Abby’s hair. “Shh. It’ll be all right.”
“I love him so much. And he loves me. He said so.”
They spent the rest of the trip in silence. When they arrived, Rick drove directly to the emergency room. Abby and Celia climbed out and hurried inside.
“Marsh Winslow,” Abby told the woman at the desk.
“He’s being treated now.”
“Can I see him? Please?”
The woman looked dubious. “Let me check.” She slipped through a door at the back of her cubicle, returning a few minutes later. “I’m sorry. Let me take you to the surgical waiting area.”
“Not until I talk to somebody.” She could be stubborn if she had to. She could lie down on the floor and kick and scream if she had to. “I need to talk to somebody.”
The woman heard Abby’s implacable desperation and excused herself again.
“We’ll wait right here until someone comes,” Rick assured Abby, slipping a comforting arm across her shoulders.
Abby blinked at his kindness. “You need to see him too. You love him too.”
Rick cleared his throat. “Yeah, I do.” His voice was rough.
After what seemed forever to Abby, a nurse in green scrubs came into the emergency waiting room. She smiled at Abby and Celia and did a double take when she saw Rick.
“How is he?” Abby demanded, having no patience for any Duke Beldon nonsense.
“When the paramedics brought him in he was in shock from blood loss and hypothermia, to say nothing of the bullet wound. We’re warming him and giving him packed RBOs.”
“What?” Rick asked.
The nurse smiled. “Blood. We’ve also cleaned the area around the wound where cavitation occurred.” Seeing their blank expressions she explained, “When the bullet entered, the tissue expanded, then collapsed on itself. It sucked in clothing and other debris, in this case sand. Further debridement will be necessary during surgery. We’re waiting now for a surgeon to come in. As soon as one arrives, it’s up to the operating room for Mr. Winslow. Would you like to sit with him until we move him?”
“All of us,” Abby said.
The nurse nodded. “I’m sure we can find three chairs.”
She led them back into the emergency room, to a cubicle closed off by curtains. Marsh lay on a table, pale, unmoving, blood and saline flowing into his arm. A warming blanket lay over him.
“Can he hear us?” Abby asked the nurse, who shrugged an I-don’t-know. “Can you hear me, Marsh?” She brushed back his hair, stiff and sticky with salt water, and kissed his forehead. When he made no response, she sighed and took her seat. She reached under the blanket for his hand and squeezed it. She looked at Rick and Celia and shook her head. No response. It was a good thing the monitors behind him kept up their steady record of his vital signs, or she’d have been in agony.
The three sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs they were given. Mostly they sat in silence, staring at Marsh’s unconscious form. Every so often, Abby leaned forward and spoke, telling him what a hero Fargo had been and how Sean Schofield was the villain of the piece. Several times Rick stood and leaned over Marsh, talking quietly about Shadows at Noon. Other times, Rick prayed aloud. After one joint vocal amen from the three of them, Abby froze. “I think he squeezed my hand!”
When Marsh was whisked away, they were shown to the surgical waiting room where time dragged and anxiety thrived.
Oh, God, please!
Abby was eating a stale doughnut and downing her third Coke when Vivian deMarco walked into the room.
“Vivian!” Abby stared in astonishment. “What a surprise.”
Vivian looked terrible, something Abby would never have thought possible. Her eyes were red from crying and had dark circles beneath them. Her uncombed hair was pulled back, caught carelessly with a rubber band that made little knotted clumps s
tick out. She wore a wrinkled T-shirt that must belong to Rocco if size was any indication, baggy jeans, and plastic flip-flops.
“I had to come.” She looked at Abby and began to sob.
Abby reached for her and held her, sharing a bewildered look with Celia and Rick. She would never have thought Vivian cared that much. “He’ll be all right.” Abby led Vivian to the sofa. “It’s okay.”
Vivian sank into her seat. “I’m so sorry.”
“Aren’t we all.” Rick ran a hand back and forth over the nape of his neck.
Abby watched Vivian and in that instant knew she wasn’t talking about Marsh. “What are you sorry about?”
“Sean. I believed him.” Her face turned ashen, then red. “He used me. He played on my jealousy, and I was too stupid to see what he was doing.” She swiped at her tears with a shaking hand. “ ‘Just think of how dangerous it is to have an unstable woman with a psychiatric record like hers in charge of our children.’ That’s what he told me. He made me feel so important, like he trusted me enough to confide something important, you know? ‘Imagine what she could do to sweet kids like Walker and Jordan,’ he said.”
Abby nodded. She now knew what was coming, and she finally understood what Rocco had been talking about as she and Marsh left last evening. She didn’t interrupt Vivian though. She knew the woman needed to talk. That was why she had come, unkempt and disconsolate, in the very early hours of a summer morning.
Vivian searched through her pockets for a tissue. When it was obvious she would find none, Abby held out one of several boxes placed around the waiting room. Vivian took a handful and blew her nose. Then she continued with her story.
“When I told Sean you needed to be stopped, he asked how would I recommend stopping you. Like I was smart and I would know the answer. I didn’t, of course, so I asked him what he would suggest. Maybe a letter, he said, written to a person’s boss telling her how unqualified or dangerous the person in question was. ‘Why don’t you do that?’ he said, and the next thing I knew, I did. And then I wrote the one that I knew was a lie.”
Rick spoke for the first time since Vivian began her confession. “You know that slander is against the law? Abby could make things very tough for you.”