The only thing that seemed to be troubling the proprietor was Jane. Looking at her quizzically, the man obviously noticed she was homegrown. She was dressed like a Mainer who knew these woods; she wore wool and sensible boots, and the shotgun leaning against the stove was practical and well-used, not fancy.
Jane suddenly stood up and turned to face them. His wallet still open in his hands, Mark looked from her lopsided smile to the man behind the counter.
The change was instantaneous and quite telling.
“Jane Abbot! Is that you, girl?” the proprietor shouted, forgetting all about his plump victim and scurrying around the counter. “Now don’t you look a mess for my sore eyes! What’s the matter with you?”
“Hi, Silas,” she croaked, her smile warm. “I have a little cold, is all. You got a cabin for us?” she quietly asked, letting Silas enfold her inside an awkward embrace.
“Sure do, girl. Number two is all clean and ready. You just go on over and lay down before you fall down. I’ll run upstairs and get you a kettle of tea and some medicine.” He stepped away and frowned at Mark. “This guy with you?” he asked, sounding suspicious.
Jane patted his arm. “He is, Si. So you be nice to him.”
Silas, it seemed, was duly chastised, hiding his chagrin behind his hand as he cleared his throat. “You . . . ah, you gotta get to Milo, Jane?”
“I think that’s the wrong direction,” she said, turning questioning eyes to Mark. “Aren’t you trying to get to Bangor?”
Mark shook his head. “There’s been a change of plans. I need to get to a town on the coast called Stonington.”
“Stonington? But I thought you wanted to go to the airport.”
“The friend I just called asked me to meet him in Stonington.”
Giving him a quizzical look, then snuffing and rubbing her nose, Jane nodded. “Okay,” she said, turning to Silas. “My car broke down, so can you help me find a way to get him to Stonington? I think it’s on Deere Isle, on the east side of Penobscot Bay.”
“You . . . ah, I could let you take Manly.”
“Your truck? Silas, that’s so sweet of you.” Jane rested her hand on his arm. “I can get it back to you tomorrow or the day after. Will you trust me with your baby for two whole days?”
“You know I’d trust you with Manly seven days a week. Hell, girl, I owe you my life.”
“Thanks, Si. And you don’t owe me anything,” she answered wearily.
Mark saw her eyelids drooping and hurried over to her, putting his wallet away as he went. He placed a hand behind her knees and swept her up in his arms, ignoring her squeak of alarm, which promptly turned into another sneeze.
“Lead the way, Silas, to number two,” Mark told the gawking man.
Silas worriedly eyed Jane. “Maybe you should carry her to my place upstairs.”
“The cabin will do fine for us,” Mark answered, using his don’t-argue-with-me voice.
Silas obviously thought about arguing, though, but only for a second before he spun on his heel, grabbed up Jane’s pack and gun, and led the way out of the store.
“You settle her on the bed and I’ll go get some lemon tea and honey,” Silas said in a rush, pushing open the door to the cabin. “And I’ve got some cold medicine she should take,” he added, busying himself with lighting a match to the waiting kindling in the stove.
“That’s fine,” Mark agreed, straightening from laying Jane on the bed. “Do you have a map of Maine? I need to see how long it will take us to get to Stonington.”
“I know it’s two hours to Bangor,” Silas offered, rubbing his chin again. “But I don’t know how far it is from there to Deere Isle. I got a map I’ll bring back with the tea.”
As soon as Silas was gone, Mark began unbuttoning Jane’s jacket. She protested at first and then tried to help, but he brushed her hands away and told her to be quiet. She tried glaring at that command, but finally conceded and went as limp as a rag doll.
Mark was starting to worry. Her forehead was burning, her cheeks were bright red, and she was becoming even more listless, the hike up from the stream probably doing her in. But it was the fact that she was obeying him that was most frightening. And she remained docile until he tried to take off her boots. Jane bolted upright and slapped his hand away from the laces on her right boot. Mark tried undoing them again, so she hit him on the shoulder. It was a weak protest, but enough for him to remember the brace.
“Go away and leave me alone,” she said in a winded croak. “Maine woods-women prefer to die with our boots on.”
Mark thought about kissing her—until he remembered her cold. Then he thought about ignoring her protests and making her comfortable—until he remembered her hiding the brace from him last night. So, not wanting to upset or embarrass her, he left her boots on and went to add some wood to the stove.
Silas came back with the tea and medicine, and the map. They managed to get the first two down Jane’s throat, then spread the map out on the scarred, wobbly table.
“Here’s Stonington,” Silas said, pointing to the southern tip of an island connected to the east coast of Penobscot Bay by a bridge and causeway. “It looks to be a good hour and a half, maybe two, past Bangor,” he guessed.
Mark looked at his watch. “We should leave no later than seven, then. That will give me an extra hour.”
“You’re meeting your friend at midnight?” Silas asked, his eyes going to Jane on the bed.
“Yes,” Mark responded. He softened at the sight of the man’s genuine worry. “Don’t worry, I promise to take good care of her.”
Silas straightened to his full height as he pulled his pants up by the belt and stuck out his chest. “Just what is she to you?”
“She’s my guardian angel.”
Apparently not knowing how to respond to that, the aged Yankee let his chest fall back to his buckle. “Well, she seems to trust you,” he muttered, going over and pulling the blankets up to her chin. He turned and looked at Mark. “You just make sure she stays safe,” he warned. “There’s plenty of folks in these parts that’ll come find you if anything happens to her,” he added, his eyes gleaming with the bravado of all the folks in these parts.
“I understand,” Mark said with a nod, which the old man returned before walking out of the cabin with all the dignity of a prizefight winner.
* * *
Mark woke to the sound of a large, over-powered truck pulling up outside and checked his watch to see it was seven p.m. He carefully untangled himself from Jane and padded over to the door and opened it just as Silas climbed out of the truck from hell, notoriously known as Manly, if the lettering on the bug-shield was any indication. The engine, which didn’t seem to have a muffler attached, was definitely idling with the noise of fifty demons under the hood.
Grinning like an expectant father, Silas sauntered over to the cabin with his thumbs in his suspenders. “Now this here is Manly,” he said, waving behind him. “And seeing how Jane ain’t in no shape to drive, I want to tell you, young fellah, that you better be easy on my boy.”
Mark could only nod.
“And you tell Jane not to try driving back until she’s well,” he instructed. “By the way, where’d her car break down?”
“It’s back in the woods thirty miles. She hit a rock and split open the oil pan,” Mark said, still staring at the large red monster. It looked like he was going to need a ladder to get in the thing. “Am I going to have to stop every fifty miles for gas?” he asked, getting his wits back. But not his eyes. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at that incredible, indescribable truck.
“Maybe, young fellah,” Silas shot back just as dryly. “But most stations take Visa.”
Mark forced himself to look at Silas as he took out his wallet, then held out his Visa card. “Run this through your machine and I’ll sign the slip.”
Si
las shook his head. “Not for Jane. I owe that girl my life.”
“How so?” Mark asked, respectfully putting the card back in his wallet.
“I wouldn’t have all this,” Silas said, gesturing at the store, “if’n it weren’t for Jane. I was working at a set of sporting camps she was managing when she all of a sudden up and told me I was wasting my time working for someone else when I could be running my own camps.” Silas shook his head on a humorless chuckle. “She came storming in my room one night and found every damn one of my bottles of whiskey. Broke every one of them, she did. Then she dragged me outside and pushed me in the lake. Hellfire, she was in a blazing temper. She babysat me for two weeks, then brought me here and told me this place was for sale. She even went to the bank with me.” Silas shook his head again. “She weren’t no more than a slip of a girl of twenty-two.”
Mark pictured his guardian angel rousting the old man out of his drunkenness and pushing him in the lake, even as he remembered her threatening to do the same to him just yesterday. Hellfire was an accurate sentiment, he supposed, when a person was speaking of Jane Abbot. And right then Mark hoped he’d get to witness her blazing temper.
He held out his hand. “Thank you. I’ll see that your truck is back within a few days.”
“Good enough. You tell Jane to take care. If’n you can tell me where her car is, I can have it fetched, fixed, and waiting for her when she gets back.”
“It’s already being taken care of.”
“Good enough,” Silas repeated with a nod, giving Manly a fatherly pat on the fender as he sauntered back to his store.
Picking up his sick angel—and sending a prayer to his sick father in Shelkova—Mark carried Jane to the truck, made another trip carrying her backpack and shotgun, then drove through the star-laced night to his rendezvous.
* * *
Jane woke up stretching and yawning just as they were reaching Bangor.
“Need anything?” Mark asked the red-nosed, blinking woman beside him. “A Pepsi? More medicine?” he offered as he pulled into a gas station. It was his second stop since leaving Twelve Mile Camp, as Manly apparently got one tank an hour for gas mileage—which explained Silas charging five dollars for two aspirin.
“A . . . I need to use the bathroom.”
“They have one here. You go in and I’ll get you a soda. Wait!” Mark rushed on. “Let me help you out. You’ll break your neck if you try it alone.” He walked around to her door and helped her down. “Is this truck legal for the road?”
“I have no idea. Silas usually only goes to Greenville or Millinocket.” She shrugged. “Nobody bothers him.”
Once he was sure Jane was steady on her walk inside, Mark filled the truck with gas and then rushed through the store gathering up a few essentials. He came out carrying a large bag, which he was stuffing under his seat when Jane returned. The poor woman still looked like a rag doll; Mark remembered reaching over every ten minutes on the drive down to feel her forehead and growing more concerned.
“It won’t be long now,” Jane said in a rasped whisper once they were through Bangor. She was greedily sipping a whole liter of Pepsi and looking out at the Penobscot River on their right. “You’ll meet your friend and soon be on your way to your father. I hope he’s all right. Um, would you be willing to give me your address? So I can write and see how your father is?” she added. “I don’t know where in Bar Harbor I’ll be staying yet. I have to find a job first.”
Mark looked over at her. “You’re moving without having a job?”
She dropped her gaze to her soda. “I have enough money to tide me over until I find one. And I haven’t decided what kind of job I want yet,” she added, lifting her chin defensively.
“You’re running from something.”
That chin lifted higher. “A woman can go looking for a new adventure if she wants to.”
“What are you running from?” he softly persisted.
“A husband and eight kids,” she shot back.
Mark turned to hide his first smile of the day. Her face was still flushed, her eyes were still bloodshot, and her nose was still running, but she was back to being sassy. “I have something to discuss with you, Jane,” he said quietly.
“What?” she asked, still defensive.
“About what happens in Stonington.”
“I’ll drop you off at your friend’s and find a motel for the night, then head back to Silas in the morning.”
“I want you to come with me.”
“Where? To meet your friend? It’s awfully late, Mark. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be entertaining a stranger.”
“To Shelkova.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to come with me to Shelkova,” he softly repeated.
There was a full minute of dead silence, then, “Thank you, but no.”
“Why not? You’re unemployed right now. You don’t even have a car. And Jane,” Mark went on, lowering his voice, “the men who shot me down will know who you are from your car’s license plate. Staying here is not safe for you right now.”
She looked incredulous. “Why would they come after me? And how could they find me, anyway? I no longer live at my old address. That’s all they could learn from my license plate.”
“Maybe through your family?”
“I don’t have one.”
He watched the road, not knowing what to say at that quietly given declaration. This wasn’t at all going well, and Mark decided he preferred her listless and complaisant. “Then why not come see my country? You just admitted you’re looking for an adventure.”
“But you live on the other side of the world. I’ve never even been out of Maine.”
“Really?” Mark looked over at her. “Never?”
She shook her head before he had to look back at the road.
“But wouldn’t you like to? This is your chance.”
“No. I’m doing just fine right here.”
“Jane, I can’t merely walk away and leave you behind. I’ll worry about you.”
He looked over again in time to see her smile sadly down at the soda bottle. “I’ve been taking care of myself almost my whole life. Go home and see your father, Mark. Give me your address and I’ll write and let you know I’m fine.”
Well, dammit, he had tried. She couldn’t say he hadn’t tried.
Reaching Deere Isle a full hour of stark silence later, Mark pulled off the main road onto an overgrown path marked with a milk crate a couple of miles shy of Stonington. He cringed when he heard branches scraping Manly and hoped they were soft enough not to scratch the paint. He came to a halt at the beach, and from the reflection of the stingy moonlight, could just make out the dock and waiting boat. As soon as he turned out the lights and shut off the noisy engine, a man emerged from the boat and came toward them.
Mark looked over at Jane to see her coming awake. “Feel like stretching your legs?”
“You’re leaving by boat? That boat?” she asked in confusion.
“I am obviously not even safe in my own plane. But I can trust my friend to take me to a connection that will get me out of the country safely. Come with me, Jane.”
She blinked at him as if just hearing his offer for the first time before apparently remembering their conversation. She shook her head. “I told you I can’t. The only place I belong is here.”
Mark sighed and closed his eyes, listening to Jane blow her nose. The only place she belongs. Damnation, the woman belonged in a palace surrounded by servants.
She belonged with him.
“At least come stretch your legs and meet my friend.”
She finally nodded, and Mark rushed around the truck and helped her out, then slipped an arm around her as they walked toward the dock and his waiting friend. Nodding to him over Jane’s head, Mark turned to her and gathered both of he
r hands in his. “I’m sorry, Jane,” he whispered, tightening his grip as a cloth settled over her mouth, effectively stifling her scream. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, holding her firmly while her hands were bound in front of her.
Mark then lifted her onto his shoulder while his friend subdued and bound her flailing feet, then carried her down the dock and onto the boat. “I am sincerely sorry we had to do this the hard way,” he told his struggling angel as he laid her on a narrow bed in the cabin, watching with regret as her expression changed from anger to fear.
Chapter Four
She was going to die.
Jane wanted to close her eyes and weep. And she would, just as soon as her stomach stopped twisting in terror. Her Judas laid her down in the cabin on some poor excuse for a bed, only to pull back and tell her how sorry he was again.
Sorry to be taking her out in the ocean to dump her off? She could see the regret in his eyes as he stood over her. He had to kill her, since she knew right where to find his plane, which probably was loaded to its tail with drugs.
She was so stupid!
When the boat dipped with the weight of his cohort-in-crime coming aboard, Mark muttered that nasty word again and left. As soon as he cleared the doorway, Jane went to work on her gag, dislodging it enough to sneeze. She brought her bound hands up to her mouth and started working on the knots of the cloth tying them together. She had to stop and wipe her nose on her sleeve several times, but when she heard the engines start, she panicked, nearly shredding her hands in an attempt to escape. Finally the cloth came free and she sat up and quickly freed her feet.
Mark reentered the cabin carrying her pack and shotgun and another large paper sack. Jane rushed him with a shout of outrage, knocking him back against the steps, and tried to gouge out his eyes while repeatedly kicking him. He grabbed her shoulders and held her away, giving her a clear shot at his groin—his own angry shout ending abruptly when he doubled over on a pained grunt.
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