by Cait London
With a look, Nick warned Maggie not to challenge Brent.
Her look said she wasn’t finished with Brent, even though revenge now could cost her life. “Some things are better let go, Maggie,” he cautioned quietly.
“I heard that,” Brent yelled. “She can’t let go. She’s tied to me, the same as I am tied to her.”
Maggie’s eyes held Nick’s, willing him to understand. “He’s right, Nick. I’m just sorry that you’re in this, too. I think I always knew it would come to this. That we’d meet someday in different circumstances.”
His anger slashed at her. “Just you and him, right? I’m not in the picture? You take care of things yourself, cutting me out?”
“I’m so sorry you’re involved.” When Maggie was finished, her fingers gripped Nick’s briefly. His frustration and anger throbbed in the stormy air, nipping at her. When Brent checked her work, her eyes locked with Nick’s, telling him of her fear, her sorrow, her love for him. Then her stare turned, purposely directing his to a sliver of broken glass, caught in a crevice at the back of a seat.
When Brent straightened, Maggie shoved Nick’s chest, seating him near the glass, and he went to work. “Quiet,” he ordered Scout, who was growling at Brent.
If Nick could just get his hands free…
Only a few feet from Nick and Scout, Maggie prayed that he could work free, and tried to ignore Brent’s hand squeezing her bottom—an obvious show of ownership. Repulsed by his touch, she followed Brent’s orders, expertly steering the cruiser into the waves. Not even a strong swimmer could make the distance to shore now, even in calm, warmer water.
Nick could drown, just as her father had…
Working to distract and upset Brent, Maggie chipped away at him. “You shouldn’t have killed Ed. You should have kept him, made it look like he did this. You could have used that gun. Then we’d be away free.”
“Shut up.” The rage in Brent’s expression said that he’d lost his temper with Ed and acted sooner than he had planned.
Maggie glanced back and saw that Scout’s choke collar was gone. That she was obeying Nick’s quiet command to stay still. That meant Nick’s hands were free and he was just waiting for the right moment…He could be killed if she failed to distract Brent… “Oh, I see. The original plan didn’t work when Ed started—”
“He was a liability. If he got pushed hard enough, he’d tell everything, and they were certain to do a thorough interrogation. I couldn’t have him ruining my plans. He was frantic and he thought I might hurt his little girlfriend, Beth. When he started playing hero, I knew he had to die.”
“That was smart.” She pulled Brent back by the compliment, playing to his confidence, then served him another flaw. “What was the plan the day you went into the Alessandros Restaurant for Scout? Didn’t that expose you too soon? But then, you probably—”
“I said, shut up.”
But Maggie had successfully placed the nudge—the reminder that Brent’s furious temper had erupted and escaped his control.
Then she pushed again, tilting that same confidence. “Celeste knew you were coming. She’s here…on the lake. Can you feel her?”
Brent shivered and looked fearfully into the windy night, the clouds sweeping across the moon. In the distance, Blanchefleur’s lighthouse sent a rhythmic dull beam into the night; it seemed almost like a living pulse, a slight hope to grasp.
Maggie decided to push once more, preying on Brent’s exposed fear, fueling it. “Celeste felt she had bonded with Monique, the Frenchman’s lost fiancée—she went down on a ship, just off that tiny island in the far distance. Oh, you can’t see it now, but they say Monique walks beneath the water, waiting to show a drowning person her home. Do you think that can be true? Or that he waits for her?”
“Shut up. I don’t believe in ghosts.” But she had scored a hit; Brent nervously searched the lake as the wind whistled eerily around them.
Maggie played to the violence of the storm, the sound of the wind. “You can’t see them. You can only feel them. Or hear them.”
“Maggie,” Nick cautioned behind her, the sound soft and dangerous, carried by the wind.
With her hands on the controls, she braced herself; when Brent turned once more, she would pit her weight against him—taking them both over the side.
When Brent looked back at Nick, Maggie feared he planned to kill Nick right then. If she shoved now, the gun could go off, wounding Nick. She played for time, attempting to draw Brent’s attention back to her. “Then believe this. You can’t breed Scout. She’s been spayed. She isn’t going to be your private puppy mill—and that’s what you had planned, wasn’t it? To get back what you’d lost? Get back into your buddies’ good favor? Gee, another plan gone wrong.”
For a moment, Brent’s expression went blank; then with a wild scream, his fist lashed out, catching her jaw. “I need those pups for my friends!”
Maggie staggered backward with the blow, just as she heard Scout’s warning growl. In the night and the rain, Scout leaped toward Brent, his gun flashed, and the dog yelped.
Then Nick was on Brent and Maggie pushed herself to her feet, instantly killing the motor. She plunged at the two struggling men, and Nick’s open hand found her face and thrust her back gently. “Could you trust me, just this once? Get out of the way!”
Balancing against the toss of the waves, Maggie fought leaping back into the battle to protect the man she loved. “I love you! You can’t expect me to not help you!”
“Give me a break, will you?” Nick’s grip on Brent was that of a fit workman against a much frailer man. He tossed the gun into the water and reached for a coil of rope, quickly binding Brent, who was muttering wildly.
Muscling Brent past Maggie, Nick pushed him down on the deck and, placing a knee on Brent, jerked up a cushioned seat. He prowled through the tools and came up with duct tape. In minutes, Brent’s arms and legs were secured and when he didn’t stop raving, Nick applied a strip across his mouth.
He turned to look at Maggie who was leaning over the side, her flashlight searching for Scout. “Scout? Scout? Nick, she must have gone overboard!”
Terrified for her dog, Maggie called until her throat was hoarse, but the flashlight showed nothing in the water. The wind rose, lightning fingered down from the clouds and rolling thunder followed. After a half hour of searching, Nick said quietly, “Maggie, it’s getting rougher. We have to leave.”
“Just a bit more—”
“Maggie…”
She recognized the warning in Nick’s tone, and defeated by odds she could not control, sat as he steered the cruiser toward shore. Nick eased it onto the sandy beach and cut the tape on Brent’s ankles. “Jump in.”
The force of the waves took Brent under, but Nick jerked him up. “One wrong move and I let you drown. Freezing, isn’t it?”
He turned to Maggie, saw that she was managing and pushed Brent to shore. When Maggie stood on shore, scanning the lake one more time, Nick said, “We’ll hunt for her in the morning. Come on, Maggie. We’ve got to take care of this garbage.”
Cold, wet, and exhausted, they worked their way up the sandy knoll. Maggie’s mind was on Scout, grieving for her, and she moved automatically. “You took the key to the cruiser.”
“I wanted to make certain you didn’t go back out without me. It’s too dangerous.”
“Nick—” She started to cry, unable to control herself any longer.
Nick couldn’t bear to see her grieve, seeming to fold within herself, coming apart before him. There was no way Scout could have been wounded and survived out in the lake. Her body would probably wash up onshore.
Maggie had lived through a real nightmare with her father’s death, and her sister’s, a good friend, and now a pet that she loved dearly. Her pale, tear streaked face turned to him, but Nick couldn’t give her the answer she wanted.
“You’ll get through this. We’ll look for her tomorrow. Come on,” he said gently, and pushed Brent ahead of
them. “Get up on the porch.”
Brent shook his head, the tape over his mouth muffling a terrified, high-pitched protest, and pushed back against Nick’s hand. Nick hauled the slighter man up by the collar and shoved him up the steps to the porch. “Maggie, come on.”
Nick watched her move slowly, painfully up the steps. Brent was twisting now, trying to get away, his eyes wide with fear. Busy holding him and watching Maggie, Nick barely noticed the hooded slight figure moving out from behind the huge, tropical plants that had been Celeste’s.
Maggie grabbed Nick’s arm in warning, and lightning lit the hard face of Shirley within her plastic raincoat. In her hand was an automatic.
“Hello, Shirley,” Nick said quietly and frowned when he noted Maggie edging in front of him.
“You want me, Shirley. I’m the reason Ed got tangled up with this man. Let Nick go.”
“I’ve had enough of your sacrificing-hero stuff for tonight, sweetheart.” Nick reached his free hand out to capture Maggie’s arm, dragging her back.
Brent was fighting furiously now, making terrified noises, and Nick struggled to control him. Terror had given Brent strength and agility.
Nick’s blood stilled as Shirley aimed the gun at Maggie, who now stood a few feet from him.
“Yes, you brought him here. He followed you,” Shirley said slowly. “He killed my Ed. I never told the law, because I wanted to settle his hash myself. I knew he’d be coming out here and I saw you sneak out of the alley.”
She pointed the gun back to Brent. “I knew when I saw how neat everything was—I used to deliberately tilt the picture frames to irritate him. But when Ed died, all the frames and the bottle labels were arranged—just after I had left them deliberately messed up. Ed wouldn’t have killed himself. That note didn’t even sound like him. He loved me. He just played around to make me jealous. But he always came back. I knew everything about Mr. Brent Templeton. Ed had me following you. Who do you think cooked all that fancy food you had to have, Mr. Glove Man? Did you know I spit in every dish you got? I saw you go into that witch woman’s house, and kill her and that fat slob who tore up the winery. Not much goes by old Shirley. We laughed over how crazy you are, up there pacing and raving about Maggie.”
At that, Brent stopped squirming. He straightened and looked haughtily down at her.
“You heard me, Mr. High and Mighty. I spat in your food every time Ed took it up to you. You didn’t think poor old Ed was doing all the cooking, did you? He couldn’t fry an egg. I’ve been waiting. I saw Nick’s boat go out and I knew. I knew that one or the other of you would come back, and I didn’t care who I finished off. Take off the tape on his mouth. I want to hear what he has to say, before all of you die—The Crazy because he killed Ed, Maggie because she brought The Crazy here, and Nick…well, he has to die because he’ll be a witness. I can’t let him live,” Shirley said.
Nick didn’t waste time with a slow, gentle removal and ripped away the tape. Brent grimaced with pain and then smiled slowly. Previously, that smile might have charmed, but now it was a crooked grimace. “I didn’t kill Ed, Shirley. It was Maggie. She tried to get Ed and when he wouldn’t have her, she worked Nick, getting him to help her. Nick is in on it with her.”
Shirley’s gun moved slightly, aimed at Maggie. Then Nick reached to put her behind him.
“So it’s like that,” Shirley murmured. “You’d die for her.”
“I would. But you don’t want to do this, Shirley. You’ve lost Ed, isn’t that enough?”
“Get out of my way, Nick,” Maggie said beneath her breath.
Brent leaned forward, eager to sway Shirley. “They planned it.”
The gun swung back to Brent. “Ed never should have got mixed up with you. I told him that you were trouble, a real crazy. But he thought he could handle you.”
Brent hissed, “I am not crazy. Ed died raving about how much he loved the girl, you old hag—”
The blast was deafening, the flash of light from Shirley’s gun brilliant in the night—just before Brent toppled forward.
Nick and Maggie swung into action; Nick grabbed Shirley, controlling her. When she was secure, Maggie crouched to listen to Brent. The fallen man was fatally injured, his raspy whisper punctuated by a deathly rattle.
She nodded, and in a soothing gesture stroked his forehead. “You can go now, Brent. You’re tired of fighting, aren’t you? Just let go; there’s nothing more for you to do here.”
With a last rattle, Brent’s head fell limply aside and he lay still.
Maggie looked at him for a long time. “He’s dead.”
“What did he say?” Nick asked when Maggie stood. On the porch was the man who had ruined so many lives, twining inside them, insidiously tearing them apart.
Her hand found her sister’s locket once more. “He said that Celeste said he would die if he didn’t leave after killing her. She was right. He said that Celeste gave her power to me.”
Maggie was too stunned to do anything but stand and look at the dead man, the man of her nightmares, who had finally found her.
Nick hovered near her, lifting Shirley’s arms high behind her back. In his expression was torment mixed with love. “Maggie, come inside. I’ve got to call Lorenzo.”
“No, go ahead. I just want to stand here and know that he will never hurt anyone again. That it’s done, finally done now. I…always felt somehow, someplace inside me that it wasn’t finished, and now it is.”
In the eerie aftermath of the violence, the sound of the chimes curled through the fresh, rain-washed air.
“She’s out there, needing me, Nick. I can feel it.” Maggie looked out of the old lighthouse windows, the panes slashed by rain. A streak of summer lightning split, forking across the night, outlining her taut body and gleaming on her tearstained cheeks.
Nick sat on the arm of the wooden chair. Hours after Shirley had been collected and jailed, Maggie’s fear for her dog hadn’t eased. Nick had immediately pushed her chilled body into the shower, chafing and holding her as the warmth set in. He’d dried and dressed her. She should have been exhausted; she wasn’t, and Nick ached for her grief.
“We had to come back, Maggie. The squall was getting worse. We did everything we could.”
“She was wounded. I should have—”
“Maggie, stop it. You were ready to shove Brent overboard and you with him to save us. We’ll go out again in the morning. Meanwhile, let’s get some sleep. You’re running on nerves.”
She turned to him suddenly. “You see what I mean, Nick? That I’m bad luck?”
“If you are, then why are we both alive?” Nick rose to his feet, waiting for her to decide she needed him. His own emotions were unsteady, the aftermath of seeing his love, his heart in danger, of understanding what she must have gone through years ago.
She swayed and looked at him helplessly. “I love her so, Nick. She’s a part of me. Just like Glenda. And Celeste, and you—I couldn’t bear the thought of him killing you, Nick—I love you so.”
So he was human, Nick decided. He needed that much from her. “Maggie, come here. Let me hold you.”
She came into his arms, holding him tightly, while the storm tore into the night, lightning streaked like crooked spears, and thunder rattled the windows. “If anything would have happened to you…”
“Nothing did. You were protecting me.”
Maggie was silent for a moment, and then she said, “And you didn’t like it one bit.”
He nuzzled her damp hair, inhaling the fragrance, and reveled in Maggie, safe in his arms. “Men like to play heroes, you know.”
She shook her head. “Brent was mad. I should have done more years ago. I should have stopped him.”
This time, Nick shook her lightly. “You tried. Why does everything have to be your fault?”
Maggie was still for a moment, then she eased away, looking small and vulnerable in his T-shirt. “Nick, you have to let Alyssa go.”
“Where did that come fro
m?” Nick rammed his hand through his damp hair and down his unshaven jaw. One minute he was comforting her, and in the next, Maggie had turned to his guilt about Alyssa. “Now, that one was my fault. She should have been wearing a helmet. I should have made her put it on.”
“Think of it this way—you saved me tonight. That evens the score, doesn’t it?” Maggie came to look up at him, her hands smoothing his jaw. “You look awful.”
“I wanted to protect you tonight—and I couldn’t. I walked right into a trap that endangered you.”
She eased his head down to lightly kiss his bruised face, his swollen eyelid, the bruises on his forehead and jaw. “But you did. You’re my hero. You were wonderful.”
A little of his ego slithered back, and Nick angled his jaw for her kiss. “You missed a place.”
Maggie held him tightly, her face warm against his throat. “Just hold me.”
Nick sipped coffee from his thermos as he steered the boat out onto the lake, searching for Scout’s body. Leaves and branches rolled on the waves, evidence of the storm’s violence. The ghostly gray, the predawn spread out onto the peaceful lake.
He’d left Maggie sleeping deeply to climb up to the old lighthouse.
Maybe she was sleeping. Or maybe she just couldn’t take any more pain until she was ready. He’d opened the windows to the damp, chilly air, needing the clean freshness to sweep through him. There was the sound of the waves, the gentle wind twining through Celeste’s chimes, the steady drip of last night’s rain from the branches. He had to give Maggie peace, even if it was Scout’s body, and suddenly he’d been in motion.
Taking care not to make noise, Nick had descended the stairs and dressed quickly in the kitchen. He had scooped up the keys to the cabin cruiser, and automatically reached for the thermos of coffee left by a sheriff’s deputy.
On second thought, he didn’t want Maggie to hope or to worry about him. He’d reached for a pad and pencil and said, “Be back soon. Wanted to check on damage at the vineyard. Wait for me.”
The stolen cruiser was still aground on the sand, just as they had left it last night. Straining with all his strength, Nick had managed to free it from the sand.