Her Man To Remember

by Suzanne McMinn

  Her throat almost closed up as she said those words. She was terrified that Roman wouldn’t be able to live with it. Her unsavory past was how Mark had just put it. All her fears were true, then. Something awful was in her past.

  “I know you’re worried about Roman, but he’s in New York now, and if your parents tell him whatever you apparently already know, maybe he’ll never come back.” She managed a casual shrug, as if she didn’t care. As if her heart weren’t shattering. “But right now, we need to get out of here. I’m going to go upstairs, grab some things. So, if you don’t mind…”

  Leave. She wanted him to leave. But if he wouldn’t leave, then she would.

  If he wanted to sit here at the bar with a hurricane on the way, fine. Whatever. She didn’t care. She was leaving. She wasn’t even going upstairs to get her things. The keys were in her pocket. That was all she needed. That, and Roman. She hoped to God when she got to the Grand Palm, he’d be there. And that he would still want her.

  She scooped her keys up from the bar counter. “I’m leaving now.”

  Mark reached for his slicker, pulled something dark and solid-looking out of it and pointed it straight at her chest. “I don’t think so.”

  Thunder Key was two hours from Miami on a good day. This wasn’t a good day.

  Roman punched in the number to the Grand Palm as he steered the rented sedan through the blustering hell that was now the Overseas Highway. He’d picked up the cell phone with its prepaid minutes at the airport shop right after he hit ground in Miami. They’d told him his was one of the last flights in for the night. The airport was shutting down due to worsening conditions.

  “Has a Leah Wells or a Leah Bradshaw checked in?” he asked for the third time since he’d left Miami.

  “No, sir, she still hasn’t checked in.”

  Roman punched the phone off and tossed it on the passenger seat, gripping the wheel again with both hands. Leah still wasn’t at the Grand Palm.

  And sometime today Mark had been headed for Thunder Key.

  Roman had been in touch several times with his father in New York. Walter had contacted the U.S. Attorney’s Office to let them know Mark was in Florida, but with a hurricane lashing its way toward shore, there wasn’t much hope coordinating authorities in the state were going to move on the information tonight. Police in Miami and the Keys were consumed by emergency preparations. The only piece of luck Roman had had all afternoon was picking up a direct flight to Miami on standby within thirty minutes of arriving back at LaGuardia Airport.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t a chance in hell he could connect with a flight to any of the small airports in the Keys. They were all shut down. And the drive to Thunder Key was killing him. He wanted to be there now. He wanted Leah in his arms now.

  Tension speared through every nerve of his body as Roman struggled to maintain control of the car in the wind and rain. Thank God the side of the highway heading into the Keys was empty. The side heading out was packed with evacuating residents and vacationers. Roman had been stopped at a Key Largo barricade where authorities were turning around cars trying to head into the Keys.

  Roman had wasted ten minutes arguing with the officer who was insisting that only emergency vehicles were being allowed to pass in this direction before he finally agreed to turn back. Then he got in his car and blew around the barriers.

  He’d spent desperate hours getting back to south Florida today. No one was going to stop him from getting to Thunder Key and Leah. He only prayed he wasn’t too late.

  Leah stared dazedly down the barrel of Mark’s gun. It was unreal. She couldn’t understand what was going on. Why would Roman’s brother-in-law want to shoot her? It didn’t make sense.

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re planning to do with that thing,” she said carefully. “But if you really want a beer that bad, okay.” She had to buy time. All she had to do was get the hell out of the bar, get to Morrie’s truck, and she’d be fine.

  No way was she going to consider the possibility that she wouldn’t get out of this bar alive. She had a chance—a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless—of starting her life over with Roman. A chance that no matter what she’d done, he might still love her. A chance to tell him how much she loved him.

  But none of that could happen if she didn’t make it out of this bar tonight.

  She started to reach for another beer.

  “Careful,” Mark warned. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Slowly she opened the refrigerated case behind the bar and pulled out a beer. She popped the top with the stationary lid opener and slid the beer across the counter. Under the counter, there was a drawer of knives and assorted utensils. Heavy stainless steel mixers and other equipment. Lemon squeezers and heavy bottles of liquor. Anything would do.

  Mark picked up the beer. She noticed for the first time that his hand holding the gun was slightly shaking. He looked—God, scared! He was scared. She didn’t know if that boded well or badly for her chances of getting away from him, but she had to keep him talking till she figured it out.

  “I know Roman’s family doesn’t like me, but this is a little extreme, don’t you think?” She worked to keep her voice steady, calm.

  He took a pull on the beer. A long one. But his eyes never left her. He set the beer down. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the Bradshaws. This is all about me and you, Leah.”

  Me and you. Now he sounded scared and nuts.

  “Okay, well, you’re going to have to give me a little more information. I have amnesia, remember? So if there’s something you want me to do—”

  She broke off at his bark of laughter. Against the pounding storm, it echoed eerily in the empty bar.

  “So you’re ready to do whatever I say, are you? You weren’t this accommodating eighteen months ago.” He lowered the hand holding the gun to rest it on the bar counter, but he didn’t loosen his grip on it any.

  She tried to estimate how many seconds it would take her to grab one of those stainless steel mixers and chuck it at his head. Could she do it before he lifted that gun and aimed it at her heart again?

  “Maybe eighteen months ago I didn’t understand how serious you were,” she said. He was real serious now.

  Deadly serious.

  “You made a mistake,” Mark said.

  “Definitely.” What mistake had she made?

  “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

  “I’ll leave it alone now.” No problem. Anything he wanted, she’d comply.

  “Too late.”

  “Why?” She made an effort to sound simply curious while fear was making her tingle all over. She had to struggle to keep from staring at his gun. Not that his nervous, crazy eyes made her feel any better.

  “You started this. It’s all because of you. I thought it was over when your car went over that bridge, but it wasn’t. Turns out they’ve been investigating me all this time. All because of you and that stupid Nikki Bates.”

  Leah swallowed thickly. Nikki Bates? Something in her mind clicked. Roman had told her Nikki Bates was the name of her maid of honor. What could her maid of honor have to do with Mark?

  “Meanwhile,” Mark went on angrily, “you just disappear. Nice. Screw up my life, and when yours starts to go down the toilet, you just disappear. Amnesia. How handy. But I know who you are. I know what you’ve done.”

  Leah froze, couldn’t speak.

  “No facing the music for you, Leah, is that it? But I have to face it. You screwed up my life, Leah.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” Oh, God, what had she done? What would ever have possessed her to mess with her raving lunatic brother-in-law?

  I know who you are. I know what you’ve done.

  Nausea rose even as cold washed down her veins.

  “You should have stayed dead. But maybe this is better. Now I get to kill you twice.” Mark lifted the gun again, pointed it at her. His hand shook. “I’m going down. But I’m not going alone. Don’t think yo
u can get away with this. Don’t think you can ruin my life.”

  Nightmare reels tangled in her mind, like broken movies. She was on a sidewalk, surrounded by soaring buildings, running, running. The man in the white coat chased her—

  Mark!

  Don’t think you can get away with this! Don’t think you can ruin my life.

  The panic attack struck full force. She was going to be sick. She couldn’t think. Sweat and chills attacked her with equal force.

  She couldn’t breathe. She was going to choke.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Mark’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  “I’m having a—” she struggled to gasp out the words “—panic attack.” She threw her hand over her mouth, afraid she was going to throw up.

  And somewhere in her racing mind she realized—this man who was already scared and on the edge of his rocker—was freaked out even more by her panic attack, and that this was her chance. She blinked fast a couple of times, deep breath, deep breath. She didn’t think—couldn’t think—just grabbed for the mixer so fast, he didn’t see her.

  With one adrenaline-laced lunge, she lifted and lugged the heavy stainless steel mixer over the bar, smacking him hard across the head. The gun dropped, and she heard a grunt as he stumbled backward.

  She didn’t wait, just grabbed the keys, almost blinded by the nausea and fear. She didn’t feel her hand on the door, didn’t feel the rain thudding down on her bare head, the water splashing up at her legs, didn’t even hear the roar of the engine. The next thing she knew she was in Morrie’s truck careening down the black, sodden road. Breathe, breathe. Spots flickered in front of her eyes. She was going to black out if she didn’t breathe.

  The vehicle skidded on the wet blacktop as she slammed down on the brake. Panic attack plus driving—not a good combination.

  Rain and wind lashed at the small truck as it skidded to a stop. Her hand trembled on the wheel, her fingers numbly gripping it. Breathe, breathe. She had to keep driving. She had to get out of Thunder Key, before Mark—

  Lights flashed in the rearview mirror.

  She spun, her gaze piercing the stormy dark. Lights. A car was coming from the Shark and Fin!

  Desperate, she slammed the truck back into gear, the tires hydroplaning on the wet road as she accelerated. But Mark’s rental car, newer and more powerful than Morrie’s little truck, was coming faster. The little humpbacked bridge spanning the lagoon was just ahead, and beyond that, the Overseas Highway, and possibly other people, maybe police or other emergency vehicles that might be out in the storm.

  She pushed the truck to its limits, but the old engine and the buffeting wind made it impossible to go any faster. Terror choked her throat as the lights grew brighter, closer, in the rearview mirror.

  Another stormy night, another bridge, exploded in her mind. He was going to drive her off the road. He was going to kill her—again!

  She felt as if her head was being torn apart. Thoughts, images, crashed against one another. New York City. Mark’s office. Nikki’s apartment. Bottles and bottles of prescribed pills. Far more pills than Nikki needed, in far higher doses and dangerous combinations. Leah had done the research, had taken the pills to her own doctor and then to the police. She’d started asking questions. And Mark had found out.

  I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. Stop talking to the police! I’ll tell Roman everything about your past. Divorce him and he’ll never know.

  Dizzy shock spun through Leah. He was talking about her foster father, she knew that suddenly, sharply. The one who’d thrown her against the refrigerator door for wearing makeup. Blood everywhere, screams. But she didn’t do it. She didn’t kill her foster father. Her mind reeled with desperate snatches of memory that wouldn’t come together.

  Do you want to ruin Roman’s life? Mark had the divorce papers all ready. Roman’s father had had his lawyer draw them up. All she had to do was take them to Roman.

  But she didn’t want to do it. She wasn’t ready to give up on her marriage. And she couldn’t stop talking to the police about Nikki. She remembered Roman! And she loved him. God, she loved him. But she didn’t want to ruin his life.

  The car swerved up alongside her as she reached the bridge, slamming into the driver’s side door. There were new lights up ahead, coming toward them from the Overseas Highway! She struggled to keep the small truck on the road as Mark’s car struck her again. The wheel spun in her hands as the truck flew through the guardrail. The lagoon crashed up to meet her scream.

  Roman’s car swooped down the tiny road leading to the Shark and Fin, battling the wind and rain as he raced straight toward the bridge, almost running head-first into a car careening over the bridge. Skidding sideways, he barely avoided a collision as a wind-lashed tree smacked down in the middle of the road, striking the other car’s windshield with thunderous force.

  Leah. Oh, God, was that Leah?

  He hit the brakes, slipped into a dangerous spin, stopping short of the bridge just as a figure staggered out from the car.

  Reaching instinctively for the cell phone, Roman punched in the emergency number even as he burst out of the car. Rain gushed around him. He was drenched instantly. He couldn’t hear the operator’s response over the storm, but he clipped out the information and prayed for a miracle. The figure lurched out of the thick storm, close enough now to identify. Fear, heavier than rain, washed down.

  “Mark?” A gust whipped the word away.

  Blood and rain poured down his brother-in-law’s face. He looked dazed, stumbling in the fierce wind. Roman realized Mark wasn’t even looking at him. He hadn’t heard him, and he was focused completely on the other side of the road. On the lagoon. Roman pivoted, seeing only then.

  Morrie’s truck. Leah.

  Anguished fury took him. Cell phone still gripped in his fist, he raced across the road. Not again. This couldn’t be happening again. He’d lost Leah once this way—he couldn’t lose her again. This time had to be different. This time he was here.

  He charged for Mark, knocking him to the ground with one hard blow, then Roman went on, fighting the gale-force winds. He left Mark behind him on the road. Roman didn’t care how badly he was hurt, didn’t stop. If Mark had driven Leah off the road—again—he’d come back and kill him.

  But first he had to find Leah. Had to hold her in his arms. Had to tell her he loved her.

  Sliding feetfirst down the culvert alongside the bridge, into the dark lagoon, he could see the truck sticking crazily nose down in the shallow water and mud. Please, God, let her be alive. Heart in his throat, he dropped the phone by the marshy shore.

  The lagoon felt like syrup as he pushed his feet toward the truck, his gaze piercing desperately into the crashed cab. Wind and rain ripped at his vision, but as he reached the driver’s side door, he saw her.

  Dark, tangled wet hair, blood. Still. So still.

  Roman felt part of himself die even as panicked anger drove him on. He couldn’t even feel his fingers, cold and numb, as he struggled to get the door open in the hurricane’s fury.

  “Leah!”

  And she lifted her head.

  His heart damn near exploded in his chest.

  “Roman.” Her voice was torn away by the storm, but it didn’t matter.

  Gently he cupped his hands on her face. Through the cold and wet, she was warm. She was alive. And he had an irrational sense of complete peace in the midst of the rioting storm. But he had to get her out of there.

  He pulled back to examine her.

  She was bleeding from a nasty-looking cut over one eye, and he could see she was in pain. “Are you all right?” He shouted the words over the wind and rain. She nodded, and he started to pull her out of the cab, into his arms, but she resisted.

  “He’s got a gun! Mark’s got a gun!”

  Dear God. In all the years Mark had been married to Gen, Roman had never known his brother-in-law to own a gun. Roman tore away from Leah, ready to do whateve
r he had to in order to protect her. The joy of finding Leah whole and alive transformed to shattering dread.

  Through the near-blinding rain, he saw Mark stumbling down the culvert, toward the lagoon. Even across the distance, his eyes adjusted to the stormy dark now, he could see Mark’s flat, dead-looking eyes. Blood came out of his mouth and nose. Roman was no doctor, but he knew Mark had to have been badly injured when the tree crashed down on his car.

  “Mark, you’re hurt, don’t make this worse,” Roman shouted, blocking Leah from the gun now waving in Mark’s hand.

  “It can’t get worse!” Mark kept coming, staggering into the lagoon. “She ruined my life. It’s all her fault. She went to the police.” He continued lurching toward them. “She’s a murdering bitch,” he spat thickly, “and she went to the police about me? I was only trying to help people!”

  “You were helping yourself,” Roman shouted. “Illegal drugs. Health care fraud. Kickbacks. Leah didn’t do that to you. You did it to yourself.”

  His gaze pinned Mark even as Roman’s mind tore desperately for a way out, even if all he could do was keep him talking till he got the chance to overpower him or he passed out. But what he feared was he’d shoot the gun before that happened.

  Mark wobbled where he stood, dropped to his knees in the dark muddy water, his face paling under the sluicing blood. Still he waved the gun drunkenly.

  “She’s a murdering, lying bitch!” Mark’s voice was weaker, slurring. “Get out of the way, Roman. If I have to shoot you to get to her, I will. I’m not going down alone. She’s going down with me.”

  “You’re ruined Mark,” Roman ground out. “Shooting either one of us won’t change that. You’ll just make it worse—for yourself, for Gen. You love Gen, Mark. I know you do. Don’t make this worse for her by doing something crazy now.”