“But—but—” Megan used her hands now to push back from him. She had to see. She had to see Gordon. He could easily kill them both. They had to run!
Several feet away, a shadowed mound rested, inert. Beside it were silhouettes of other boulders tossed at the edge of the cliff, or systematically stacked there a thousand years ago as a barrier that had long since scattered. This form had substance though. It was hard to resist the urge to kick it. So hard to resist, that even with an inhuman grip still on Jake’s arm, Megan reached out and jabbed her numb toes into a sprawled leg. It wasn’t a strong kick, but the body flipped over in reaction.
“Is he dead?”
“No.” Jake’s arm slipped around her back and his mouth dipped to her ear to be heard over the shriek of the wind. “You threw him off balance when the flashlight knocked his gun loose, and I finished it with the barrel of the gun.”
Jake held his hand out as they both stared at her gun. “God help me, it felt good.” He shuddered. “The scary part is that if you weren’t so close by, I probably would have shot him.”
“You should have.” She trembled. “He would kill you if he had the chance.”
Jake drew her back into his arms and their foreheads touched. “No, I want him to do his time. I want him to suffer. It’s over, Meg. It’s time to heal.”
Heal. He meant it was time to let the revenge go. Time to let the anger go. How could she release those companions so easily when they were all she had known for the past year?
“Serge,” she moaned.
“Serge is fine. I just came from him.”
“He said he killed him.” Her voice caught. “I thought he killed you.”
Jake clutched her tighter. “Gordon was the ultimate manipulator. Maybe he thought he could intimidate you with fear alone into jumping. That way you would be another murder he didn’t commit.”
She whimpered as he breathed in her hair.
“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely.
Heal, Megan thought. Those words made her believe she could.
“Here’s what I need you to do,” Jake continued after her prolonged silence. “I need you to go inside and find something to secure Gordon with. I’ll keep the gun on him in case he comes around.”
“Let me do it. Let me watch him.”
In the chaos, the flashlight had landed on the ground several feet away and cast a diminishing glow on the scene. It was enough for her to see Jake’s head shake. “No. I’ll never let this man come near you again.”
The gravity with which he said those words brought tears to her eyes.
“Now hurry,” he commanded softly, “hurry inside before I start thinking about what this lowlife did to you and change my mind about his fate.”
It felt unnatural, but she smiled. The gesture actually hurt her frozen cheeks, but still the smile grew. It was a caricature, bred by intense relief that her drama was nearly over. “Watch it, Grogan, you’re starting to sound like me.”
“Megan!”
Icy turf cracked against her face.
Megan sprawled her hands on the hard ground and propped herself up, shaking her head against the buzzing sound in her ears. Jake had shoved her aside and sent her flying.
Then she heard the skirmish behind her. She feared turning around—feared what she was about to see. Her mind shut down, almost refusing to look. But on hands and knees, she swung her head toward the sea…and screamed.
Under the muted light, the bodies parodied a macabre dance. Two men engaged in battle. One man she loved. One man she hated. Their conflict was moving them near the cliff and left them as only silhouettes, nearly indistinguishable—night’s soldiers engaged in an epic battle.
Jake was tall and lean, with an athlete’s body. When the men broke apart, he was easy to recognize. Gordon’s raincoat flapped in the wind—something by which to identify him.
She crawled toward them, calling Jake’s name.
Amidst the clamor, one shot rang out.
Then there was silence.
A lone siren filled the night. Even from a great distance the pulsing red light throbbed through the black sky, like Victory Cove’s own aurora borealis. This was one of the redeeming features of Wakefield House, the ability to herald in advance someone’s approach.
“How did they know?” Jake asked, clamping a hand over the blood that stained his flannel sleeve.
Fingers trembling and uncooperative, Megan struggled to wrap a dishtowel around the wound. She felt faint with worry and kept looking at his face, making sure he wasn’t too pale, making sure he didn’t look like he’d pass out, making sure he was alive.
“I guess what I assumed was just static on the radio before it went dead was actually someone out there listening.”
Jake winced when she squeezed too tight. He smiled, trying to reassure her and then slumped back against the kitchen chair, studying her with tired, but amused eyes. “I still can’t believe you shot me. So much for all that practice.”
Now it was her turn to flinch. The recollection was too fresh and much more painful than the surface wound he had sustained.
“Well damn,” she muttered, “it wasn’t on purpose, and you didn’t stand still.”
He couldn’t have been in too much agony if he enjoyed goading her like this. Still, she could not stop staring. As thoroughly as she studied Jake’s prominent cheekbones, satisfied that they were infused with color, as methodically as she watched the straight slash of his jaw to see if it clenched in pain, he did the same to her. Warm golden eyes caressed her.
Somehow, scrambling on hands and knees in the dark, her palm had connected with the gun. Her fingers had wrapped around it, as familiar with the steel curves as she was her own flesh. Only, these were not immobile soda cans stacked before her. These were two men locked in combat, and if she missed—just the slightest mistake, Jake might die.
But Gordon was drawing him toward the edge. Death was imminent either way.
The wind proved another foe as its random gusts threatened the steadiness of her grip. She concentrated and targeted on the flapping tails of Gordon’s raincoat, and when he slipped into focus, she pulled the trigger.
At that second, Jake thrust forward and the bullet ripped across his arm and grazed Gordon’s chest. Neither was debilitated by their wounds, but it was a means to knock them off balance. Gordon bellowed and charged, but Jake maneuvered around him. Like a matador himself, Jake flailed his arm, to which the bull of a man aimed and charged. Whether it was the impetus of his motion, or the disintegration of the bedrock beneath his foot, Gordon lost his balance and was propelled into the night.
And there, the roar of the Atlantic silenced his cry.
“What will they do, Jake? Will they come after me for murder?”
Jake leaned forward, resting his wounded arm on his knee. It hurt, but he barely noticed it. Instead he was alert to the revealing tremble in Megan’s limbs. Her feet were wrapped in white blankets up to her calves, making her look like a deer in a snowdrift. Her bottom lip quivered and she bit down on it just as she had done the first time he met her.
How long ago was that? A week? A lifetime? Enough time to know that he needed her in his life. She was fragile now, but he would heal her. Together they would put Gordon Fortran behind them and start a new life—a new era where they were both certain of their identities.
“No, they’re not going to come after you. You have a witness.” He waved his hand in front of her. “Remember me?”
The feeble smile she offered made his heart clench.
“Listen,” he continued, “the proof had been there all along. You found it, you documented it. You just had more time and inclination than the Boston police, or the Feds even. His fraud crossed state lines.”
Even as he spoke, Megan shook her head and negated his words. Jake touched her chin, his palm slipping around to cup her cheek and brush her wind-strewn hair.
“All that bravado,” he whispered, “that’s what this is about.
”
Her eyes came into clarity—quickly. “What do you mean?” Her tone was sharp.
“For a year your life wasn’t your own. Every waking moment was preparation for the day you confronted Gordon. The GLOCK. The lay of the house. You were mounting your own battle, and you wanted to hurt him. You may have even thought that you wanted to kill him.” His hand slipped behind her neck and he pulled her close enough to touch his lips to her forehead.
“And when the time came—” he breathed against her temple, “—and you actually had to hurt him—” Jake heard her whimper, “—it didn’t feel like you expected, did it? You don’t feel victorious, do you? You don’t feel a rush knowing that he’s dead. All those factors go against everything you believed in for the past year.”
Tears streamed down Megan’s cheeks and some slid down her neck to warm his hand. She closed her eyes, the wet eyelashes feathering across pale flesh. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
“I know.”
A car could be heard pulling up the driveway, followed by the slam of a car door. Neither of them moved.
“The gun,” Megan began in a tremulous voice. “I once thought it was my best friend.” She giggled as more tears slipped from her eyes. “How psychotic is that?”
Jake dipped his head and kissed her wet cheek. “Not at all. Not at all, baby.”
A low groan bubbled in her throat. “Now I don’t think I can ever touch a weapon again. I—it revolts me.”
“I know.”
At the door came the sound of fists banging against the mottled screen, and booming voices called Megan’s name. “Miss Summers, are you okay? We got your call.”
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” Jake continued, ignoring the persistent appeals,
“but you will get by this. You won’t be alone.” His mouth brushed across her forehead as he uttered the words.
Her head snapped back out of his reach. Wide azure eyes gaped at him. “You would want me? After all this? I’m not right, Jake. You deserve a whole woman.”
Something seemed to swell inside his throat. He coughed to clear it, but still a vise wrapped around it. “You are a whole woman.” He tried for a lascivious grin as he boldly sculpted her body with his eyes, but neither of them was deceived by the false levity. “We both have some hang-ups to deal with. Let’s do it together, because honestly,” he breathed, “I am quite in love with you.”
To his relief, a hint of a smile toyed at her lips. In quiet declaration she whispered, “I’m quite in love with you too.”
“Miss Summers?” the male voice at the door boomed.
“Jake, we better get that.”
Jake sat back and turned to look at the clock. 5:07 a.m. The weather report said there was supposed to be sun today for the first time in a week.
Soon. Soon it would rise.
“All right,” he said, “but just one thing first.”
Megan cocked her head and arched an eyebrow. She brushed at the tears on her cheek.
“And that is?”
“Well, this name issue.”
He could see it all—the fall of her smile as it occurred to her that she had been living a false life for a year. Now who would she be? Her lips started to tremble.
“So we have the Meg part,” he started. “I mean, that’s what you always favored, right? And Meg is short for Megan as well.” He dragged in a deep breath and plunged ahead. “So let’s take care of the last name part and just call you Meg Grogan.”
For a moment she stared at him blankly. Her eyebrows knitted together. “Was there a proposal somewhere in that whole spiel?”
Jake grinned. For perhaps the worst night in their combined lives, he felt remarkably good. “Yeah, I guess there was.”
Standing up and running a hand through her hair, Megan hopelessly tried to assemble herself. “I better go get the door.”
Mouth agape, he watched her disappear through the kitchen doorway.
“Sheriff Juenger.” He heard her husky voice and noticed that strength had returned to it. “Harriet got the call? Thank God she sits by that radio. Yes, it’s been a harrowing night…” a slight pause, “…we’re okay, but…”
Jake heard her relay the tale, her voice faltering when delivering the worst of the news, but he could tell that she sensed his presence behind her. The moment he stepped into range, her spine straightened with confidence. “No, I wasn’t hurt. Jake needs to get to a hospital though—and I need to check on Serge.”
“I don’t need the hospital. Go check on Serge,” he injected, nodding to the men congregated on the front doorstep.
If the officers entertained the idea of foul play, they never voiced it. Megan had been here long enough to be considered a citizen of Victory Cove. She was one of them. But there was regulation. There was paperwork. There was a dead man to account for.
Sheriff Juenger ushered her toward the car to use the radio and take Harriet’s anxious call. Jake followed them out onto the porch awaiting his interrogation. Before Megan ducked inside the mud-spattered vehicle she looked up at him. With a smile, her mouth formed the word yes.
Epilogue
“I admire you for doing this.” Megan looped her arm through Jake’s as they stepped up onto the curb. “You have no responsibility to her.”
Jake looked up at the lattice and found that it didn’t look so inhospitable under the sun. As a matter of fact, Victory Cove seemed to have undergone a rebirth. Granted, it was just sunlight on a crisp January day, but façades that had once seemed faded under overcast skies, now offered a bevy of colors. Each shop bore its own distinct veneer, and the combined effect made them look like flowers planted along the ocean’s edge.
“She’s still my grandmother.”
“But what she did to you.” Megan balked. “She sent you away.”
Jake could feel her arm constrict. Good ole Megan. Ready to take on his foes. Maybe some things didn’t change.
“It was so long ago,” he said. “What she felt or didn’t feel isn’t the point. I had parents who would have loved me. And I have parents who love me. That makes me feel good. Good enough to take care of Estelle.”
Megan smiled up at him. “You have a fiancée who loves you too.”
“And one who’s going to support me through this.” He grinned, enjoying the vibrancy in her eyes.
Megan would heal. She had already begun. Combined with her paperwork, and documents the FBI eventually located, and of course the testimony of Serge Baskov and his father, the matter was still under investigation, but the FBI indicated that Gordon Fortran would be posthumously convicted a murderer. Serge would go back to Uglich, but was pardoned of any wrong-doings. He spoke to Megan before he left and said he was happy to be going home, and that he and his father had a strong relationship from this and would prosper no matter where they were.
Jake still had to return to Boston to finish his final project, but each morning he walked out onto the wraparound veranda of Wakefield House and felt a sense of belonging. An indigo ocean reflected off a pristine sky, as far as the eye could see. In the spring he could lower the porch swing and repair it. He could imagine sitting on it with his arm around Megan, talking about everything and nothing, and feeling totally at home. No more college kids at the bar across the street to keep him up. No more five o’clock alarms. Just peace, and this gorgeous woman who loved him.
Megan was the first to point out that Gabrielle’s will had been read by a lawyer and that the house legally belonged to him upon Estelle’s death. Jake didn’t want to talk about that, he just wanted to know if Megan could live there. Could she stand on those cliffs and see past that night, into the beauty the Atlantic offered?
Seagulls spiraled under puffy white clouds, and the frozen grass nearly looked green with the promise of a spring that would surely come.
“Can you stay here?” he whispered with his arm around her.
She nudged into his chest, and he found he’d never grow tired of that trustin
g gesture.
“Yes. If you’re here.” She looked up at him. “I’ve actually been looking into jobs in Bangor, or maybe our own Victory Cove can use a paralegal.”
“Perfect! I could use a lawyer in the family to cut through the contractual red tape I constantly get tangled up in.”
Megan pinched his biceps. “You need a construction law attorney, not me. But I’ll be able to tell you when they’re giving you a line of—”
Jake laughed. “I knew I was going to like having you around.”
“What about you?” Megan turned to look him full-on. “Can you leave the hectic life back in Boston?”
“Oh heck yeah.” He grinned. “Besides, there are plenty of towns within an hour’s drive that are growing. New shopping centers, hotels, there’s plenty of stuff for me to wire. I can start my own business.”
“How about home security?” Her voice was muffled against his jacket.
“Now there’s a thought.” He chuckled.
“You know, Meg,” he began softly, “I came to Victory Cove, looking for my heritage, and I found you.” Emotion made his voice husky. “I found my family.”
“You,” Estelle spat.
Cataracts didn’t seem to render Estelle Wakefield blind, nor did Alzheimer’s tamper with her memory this morning.
“Hello, Grandmother.” Jake wasn’t intending to be cruel. As a matter of fact, all his fervor faded at the sight of the unkempt woman who had once held an esteemed position with Victory Cove’s elite. She wore a faded pink robe and pink slippers, her white hair cut short but with a wave on top. Steely gray eyes were narrowed and focused on him over a nose that looked rather round and clownish and completely eliminated the pretense of severity that surrounded her.
“What do you want from me?” she hissed through thin lips. “Money?” Frail hands gripped the arms of her wheelchair as she struggled to stand.
Jake strode purposefully toward her and rested his hands atop her bony fingers. “I just came to visit. Actually, I wanted to try and understand.” He took a deep breath. “Was it because he was Native American? Is that really so beneath you? Couldn’t you have been happy that your daughter was in love? I want so much to know more about her.”
Endless Night Page 23