by Sylvie Kurtz
Nora rocked onto her shaky knees, her relief nothing more than a flicker as she expected the Colonel’s men to take over where he’d left off. She frowned at the barren landscape. Where had all the Colonel’s men gone? Scattered like the cowards they were now that their leader couldn’t sign their paychecks? She snorted. That was so like them.
Then Tommy, lying there so still, met her gaze. She shot to her feet and ran to him. She dropped to her knees and moaned at the blood-soaked fleece and the heart-wrenching sound of air gurgling out of the open wound. Too much blood. Too much. “Tommy?”
“Nora,” Tommy said, his voice no more than a thread.
“Stay still, Tommy. I’ll get you help.”
“Too late.” He reached for her wrist. His grasp feeble and ice cold. “I did it…for you…For Scotty.”
“I know.”
His eyes implored her. “I did good?”
“You were amazing.”
“So were you. Nice shot.”
Her throat jammed tight with tears. In this instant, he looked at peace—like the man she’d met and fallen in love with all those years ago. The man who’d made her think he was the answer to her fears, when all along she’d been his. She forgave him, forgave herself. They’d both been doing the best they could in a difficult situation. “The Colonel’s dead. He can’t hurt us anymore.”
“Go find Scotty,” Tommy said, his hand slipping from her wrist. “Tell him I love him.”
“I’ll tell him his father was a hero.”
“Mission accomplished.” With one last whoosh of air, Tommy went limp in Nora’s arms. She checked for a pulse at his neck, but found none. Tears clouded her vision.
“Nora!” Sabriel’s voice ripped through the air.
Too late, she noticed Hutt bearing down on her, gun raised.
* * *
SABRIEL TOOK the legs right out from under Costlow, knocked him out with a well-placed blow to the temple, binding him so he couldn’t cause any more trouble, and was about to maneuver to Hutt when Nora launched Scotty’s monkey fist at the Colonel.
Seeing Hutt take aim at Nora, Sabriel reached for his weapon.
Fear pressed on him like ice, dark and cold.
He was close, so close. He couldn’t lose her.
Don’t look at Nora. Concentrate on Hutt.
Sweating, cursing, pain jarring him with every step, with no time for finesse, Sabriel steadied his grip and aimed.
Hutt’s pistol discharged with a boom.
* * *
NORA FLATTENED against Tommy’s body. Hutt’s gun went flying out of his hand. He fell, swearing and holding his hand.
From the rugged granite Sabriel arose, a wild man, streaked with dirt and blood, looking solid and competent. A beautiful, magnificent sight. He kicked Hutt’s gun over the side of the mountain and tied him up.
She ran to Sabriel, held him with a ferocity that shook her to the core. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “You?”
She kissed his brow, his eyes, his mouth until the legs went weak and her knees gave out and let him hold her tight until her jumbled thoughts wound back to sanity. She pulled away, hands clamped around Sabriel’s biceps. “Tommy. The Colonel shot him. I think he’s—” she gulped “—dead. Scotty. We have to find Scotty.”
Sabriel gave her shoulders a bolstering squeeze. “Take it easy. We’ll find Scotty.” He released her, bent to check on Tommy, and cursed softly.
Grief whispered through Nora’s voice. “He left a songline. ‘Gimme Shelter,’ ‘Norwegian Wood,’ ‘Atlantic City.’ Do you know what that means?”
“I know where it is.” He covered Tommy with the crinkly space blanket, pressed his palm against the wound beneath. “I’ll find your son, buddy.”
She hugged her elbows, cold now that the heat of battle was gone. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “We can’t leave Tommy here. Not like this.”
“We’ll get Tommy down,” Sabriel promised as he rose and took her hand, infusing her with strength. “We’ll get him home. After we find Scotty.”
“Which way?” She looked around, scenery nothing but a blur. “Scotty’s got to be scared, all alone.”
Sabriel limped toward the pines. “It’s not far. A cave hidden by some spruce trees with a view of the boardwalk around the Lake Atlas resort.”
As they hurried as fast as they could down the rocky slope, the first drops of rain fell from the sky.
* * *
THE STORM RAGED, following them into the narrow col and into the spruce woods, across a brook to a granite loaf, then sputtered out as they reached a level area.
A beam of fragile light broke through the clouds, revealing the curled up shape of her son with his bright yellow jacket at the mouth of a cave, struggling to breathe. Nora flew to him, fell on her knees and scooped him in her arms.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” She buried her face in his hair, her chest hurting at the sight of his labored breathing. “Breathe, Scotty, breathe for Mommy.”
But he wasn’t okay, and he couldn’t breathe. His tiny chest strained to reach for the next breath. His voice was a thin, gurgly wheeze. “Mom-my…”
Tears clouded her vision. Her fault. She’d lost his medicine. Now they were hours away from help.
Sabriel, using Boggs’s satellite phone, called in coordinates, then unclamped her arms from around her son. “Let me.”
“He needs medicine.” Her throat burned. “He can’t catch his breath.”
Remembering the inhaler she’d found on the trail, she groped around her jacket pocket. There might be a drop, enough to help loosen the iron grip of inflammation in his lungs. “Sweetie? Look at me. I’m going to help you with your inhaler.”
But all he could manage was another soul-wrenching wheeze. The pitiful sound was a knife to her heart.
“You’re going to have to calm down, Nora, or you’re going to make him worse.”
A moaning wail tore from her as Sabriel gently extricated her son from her arms. “No.”
“I can help him.”
Magic hands, she remembered. They’d helped her. Maybe they could help Scotty. “What can I do?”
“Get the Jetboil and boil some water for coffee. It’s a bronchodilator. It’ll help open up his lungs.”
She knew that. How could she have forgotten? She rushed to pull the coffee grounds and the stove from the pack.
“Hey, Scotty,” Sabriel said, his voice calm and gentle as he crouched next to her anxious son. “You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your mom’s.”
“Green-eyed man,” Scotty wheezed. “Dad…”
“Shh. Don’t talk. I’m going to try and make you breathe again, okay? I’m going to press on your back with my fingers, then on your chest. It’s not going to hurt, just feel like you’ve got a marble stuck under your shirt.”
Acupressure. Please, please let it work. Was it the force of her will or the figment of her imagination? Before the water had even started to boil, she could swear Scotty’s breathing was less labored.
Sabriel moved his hands to cover his chest. “And it might feel hot or tingly.”
Tears of relief overtook her anxiety as Scotty visibly relaxed and color returned to his skin.
“How’s that coffee coming along?”
She poured the brew with shaky hands and handed it to Sabriel. “It’s hot. Be careful.”
Scotty drank and the wheezing lessened. She wanted to cheer at the miracle Sabriel had performed.
Dizzy with relief, she pulled Scotty into her arms and rocked him. I found you, Scotty. I found you.
Then she looked up at Sabriel and her heart squeezed hard. I found you, too.
Tommy was dead and because of him, she and Scotty were alive. The Colonel and his unyielding control were gone. And for the first time in…forever…she was at the helm of her fate.
In the distance the whir of helicopter blades sliced through the air. With a gasp, she searched
the sky, ready to pull Scotty deeper into the cover of the cave.
“It’s okay.” Sabriel stood and sent up a flare to signal the pilot. “It’s the cavalry. We need to get back to the clearing.”
He reached a hand toward her. “Ready to go home?”
Her gaze filled with Scotty in her arms, breathing freely, and Sabriel at her side, solid and supporting—her fair-haired boy and her dark-haired hero—and her heart was at peace. “I’m already there.”
Three weeks later.
* * *
THE BROKEN HAND was healing, but not fast enough for Sabriel’s taste. Sitting, doing nothing wasn’t his style. The immobilized finger joints made it impossible to work out his frustration pounding nails or sawing wood.
He wanted to see Nora. Be with her. But she needed time to find her own footing. Her and Scotty. Get used to their freedom. He wasn’t good at strings anyway, he reminded himself, and she came with a whole ballful.
At the sound of a car bumping its way slowly down his dirt drive, Sabriel walked to the door and leaned against the door frame.
Stupid to feel nervous. It wasn’t her. A navy SUV—one of Seekers’ vehicles. Just Liv. Falconer’s wife had made it her mission to provide him with casserole dinners so he wouldn’t starve while his hand was healing.
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth until the car door opened and long legs came out. His breath hitched. Nora. Coming toward him with a curious mixture of anxiety and anticipation. She looked good. More than good. Life painted her cheeks pink, shone gold in her dark hair, gleamed stars in her brown eyes.
Their gazes met. His stomach jittered. He tried to meet her halfway, but he couldn’t make his legs move.
“How’s Scotty doing?” he asked when she reached the walkway.
She stopped at the dirt path leading to the door, rocked on her toes, then back on her heels. “He’s doing great. He hasn’t had an asthma attack since we’ve been back. He’s in a new school, making new friends. He even has a play date for the next hour or so. It’s all good.” A small smile curved her lips. “He’s been asking for the green-eyed man Tommy told him he was sending to take care of him and me.”
Tommy, Sabriel had found out through Kingsley’s digging into Tommy’s medical records, had been dying of a fast-moving cancer. He’d meant for Sabriel to follow him to the mountains, for Sabriel to find the signs to Scotty while Tommy faced the Colonel. Whether he’d planned to kill the Colonel or have the Colonel kill him, Sabriel would never know. The ultimate result, though, was meant to have been Scotty and Nora’s freedom.
“I hear you got a job,” Sabriel said, the words not quite what he had in mind.
Her smile widened and her eyes flared into a brilliant kaleidoscope of gold and brown. “Your friend Kingsley mentioned a job opening at a radio station in Keene. I’m working behind the scenes for now, but it’s close to Scotty’s new school and the hours are good.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“It is.” The rocking increased, as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to move forward or go back. “I, uh, wanted to thank you. In person. For rescuing Scotty. For the loan of your apartment in Keene until I can get on my feet.” She shrugged and shook her head. “For…everything.”
“No problem.” Big problem, actually. A thank-you note wasn’t what he was looking for.
Her fingers knitted in front of her. She closed her eyes and huffed out a breath before turning those big, brown eyes at him. “It’s fast, I know. Too fast. I don’t understand it, really. But…” She licked her dry lips. “I want you, Sabriel. I love you. I’d like to…I’d like to see where you and me, well, where it leads.”
Emotion clogged his throat and before he quite realized what he was doing, he’d taken the two steps separating them and gathered her in his arms. The sweet almond scent of her messed with his mind, the soft feel of her was a lightning rod straight to his gut, the potent taste of her blew down whatever fence was left around his heart. The thought of a future with a whole net of strings didn’t seem scary. It seemed…like what he’d been waiting for. “God, I missed you.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Hell, yes.” He kissed hard and long, reveled in the melting of her body to his, then slung an arm around her shoulder and turned her around. “What do you think about the house?”
She curled back into the circle of his arms. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a work in progress.” Like him. Like her. Like their future with Scotty and maybe another kid or two. “I’ve been thinking that maybe it needs an addition.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Want to see the inside?”
Her smile turned wicked. “I want to see it all.”
He took her hand and led her over the threshold, her laughter tripping into the room the sweetest music he’d ever heard. A spoke of sun spilled through the skylight lighting their way. The empty hole inside him since Anna had died and the Colonel had tried to destroy his life filled with comforting warmth. Having Nora here in this house felt…right and good.
* * * * *
SABRIEL’S ENERGY BARS
1 cup rolled oats
1 cup of your favorite crunchy cereal
¼ cup sesame seeds
1½ cups chopped dried apricots
1 cup raisins
¼ cup chopped almonds
¼ cup wheat germ (or ground flaxseed)
½ cup protein powder
1 tbsp butter
¾ cup brown rice syrup
½ cup almond butter
1 tsp cinnamon (or vanilla powder)
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Lightly spray a 9-x-13-inch pan with nonstick cooking spray.
Spread the oats, cereal and sesame seeds out on an ungreased cookie sheet and toast for about 10 minutes. Cool slightly, then transfer to a large mixing bowl. Add the apricots, raisins, almonds, wheat germ, and protein powder. Mix well.
In a saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the brown rice syrup, stirring until bubbly. Mix in the almond butter and cinnamon. Pour into the dry ingredients and quickly mix together and transfer to the prepared pan. Press the mixture into the pan and refrigerate for at least 4 hours. Cut into 12 bars and wrap each one separately in wax paper; store in the refrigerator.
* * * * *
Award-winning author Stevi Mittman delivers another hysterical mystery, featuring Teddi Bayer, an irrepressible heroine, and her to-die-for hero, Detective Drew Scoones. After all, life on Long Island can be murder!
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the warm and funny fourth book, WHOSE NUMBER IS UP, ANYWAY?, in the Teddi Bayer series, by STEVI MITTMAN.
CHAPTER 1
“Before redecorating a room, I always advise my clients to empty it of everything but one chair. Then I suggest they move that chair from place to place, sitting in it, until the placement feels right. Trust your instincts when deciding on furniture placement. Your room should ‘feel right.’”
—TipsFromTeddi.com
Gut feelings. You know, that gnawing in the pit of your stomach that warns you that you are about to do the absolute stupidest thing you could do? Something that will ruin life as you know it?
I’ve got one now, standing at the butcher counter in King Kullen, the grocery store in the same strip mall as L.I. Lanes, the bowling alley-cum-billiard parlor I’m in the process of redecorating for its “Grand Opening.”
I realize being in the wrong supermarket probably doesn’t sound exactly dire to you, but you aren’t the one buying your father a brisket at a store your mother will somehow know isn’t Waldbaum’s.
And then, June Bayer isn’t your mother.
The woman behind the counter has agreed to go into the freezer to find a brisket for me, since there aren’t any in the case. There are packages of pork tenderloin, piles of spare ribs and rolls of sausage, but no briskets.
Warning Number Two, right? I should be so out of here.
But no, I’m still in the same spot when she comes back o
ut, brisketless, her face ashen. She opens her mouth as if she is going to scream, but only a gurgle comes out.
And then she pinballs out from behind the counter, knocking bottles of Peter Luger Steak Sauce to the floor on her way, now hitting the tower of cans at the end of the prepared foods aisle and sending them sprawling, now making her way down the aisle, careening from side to side as she goes.
Finally, from a distance, I hear her shout, “He’s deeeeeeaaaad! Joey’s deeeeeaaaad.”
My first thought is, You should always trust your gut.
My second thought is that now, somehow, my mother will know I was in King Kullen. For weeks I will have to hear “What did you expect?” as though whenever you go to King Kullen someone turns up dead. And if the detective investigating the case turns out to be Detective Drew Scoones…well, I’ll never hear the end of that from her, either.
She still suspects I murdered the guy who was found dead on my doorstep last Halloween just to get Drew back into my life.
Several people head for the butcher’s freezer and I position myself to block them. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from finding people dead—and the guy on my doorstep wasn’t the first one—it’s that the police get very testy when you mess with their murder scenes.
“You can’t go in there until the police get here,” I say, stationing myself at the end of the butcher’s counter and in front of the Employees Only door, acting as if I’m some sort of authority. “You’ll contaminate the evidence if it turns out to be murder.”
Shouts and chaos. You’d think I’d know better than to throw the word murder around. Cell phones are flipping open and tongues are wagging.
I amend my statement quickly. “Which, of course, it probably isn’t. Murder, I mean. People die all the time, and it’s not always in hospitals or their own beds, or…” I babble when I’m nervous, and the idea of someone dead on the other side of the freezer door makes me very nervous.
So does the idea of seeing Drew Scoones again. Drew and I have this on-again, off-again sort of thing…that I kind of turned off.
Who knew he’d take it so personally when he tried to get serious and I responded by saying we could talk about us tomorrow—and then caught a plane to my parents’ condo in Boca the next day? In July. In the middle of a job.