Refuge Cove
Page 22
Emma tried to keep fighting, but Boone was a powerful man, and by now she was exhausted. He dragged her down the last few steps and shoved her forward into the boat. As she fell, something struck her head. Stunned but still conscious, she lay still.
* * *
John had pulled the tape off David’s mouth, freed his hands, and was about to help him up when he heard the gunshot from inside the warehouse. He recognized the report of a small pistol, most likely the Kel-Tec he’d given Emma. But he had no way of knowing what had happened.
David was sitting up, looking pale and shaken. “I’m fine,” he said. “Go.”
John ran to the jeep, grabbed his .44 from under the seat, and sprinted back to the door of the warehouse. That was when he discovered the door was made of painted sheet metal and securely bolted from the inside. From inside he could hear Boone’s voice, fading with distance. So Boone was still alive, but did he still have Emma?
Mouthing something between a curse and a prayer, he raced around the corner of the building to look for another entrance. Then from underneath the far end of the dock, he heard a sound that made his heart drop. It was the starting roar of a powerful motor.
As John raced down the dock, a boat shot from between the pilings and headed out of the harbor, bound for open water. Boone was at the wheel. Emma, barely glimpsed, was lying across the rear seat. She was struggling to sit up.
By the time John reached the end of the dock, the boat was a hundred yards away. He could see it in the moonlight, headed for the mouth of the harbor, but the distance was too far for an accurate pistol shot. He might hit Emma or shoot a hole in the boat and sink it. All he could think to do was rush back to the Jeep and call the coast guard in the hope of intercepting the boat.
Then it happened. Boone glanced back and saw John, standing there. Whooping like a savage and revving the motor, he did something only a person as crazy as Boone would have done. He made a wide, circular turn and came back around on a course that would take him past the end of the dock at a distance of fifty yards. As he roared past, he shouted something and raised his hand, middle finger up, in an obscene gesture.
John shot him.
And Emma flung herself out of the boat.
* * *
The water felt like striking rough concrete as she hit. Then the icy cold closed around her. Such cold. The shock of it went clear through her.
Instinctively she kicked to the surface. She’d had a swimming class in college, but as a swimmer she was no better than average. And she’d never tried to swim in water this cold.
Her legs were stronger than her arms. She lay on her back, exposing as much of her body as possible to the air as she kicked with her legs. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she should have stayed in the boat with Boone. But drowning or freezing would be a kinder death than what he would have done to her.
A memory flashed through her mind, the movie Titanic, with Jack clinging to the wreckage, slowly freezing to death in the icy water. Jack had taken a long time to die. Something told her that dying for real didn’t take anywhere near that long.
How much distance had she covered? If she couldn’t make it to shore, maybe she could at least reach one of the log rafts she’d seen floating in the cove. But she could feel the water sucking the heat from her limbs. She tried to kick harder but her legs were leaden. She was so cold, and so tired....
Then she felt strong arms around her, supporting her in the water. “Hang on to this.” John’s voice rasped in her ear. He was out of breath, probably just as cold as she was, but when he pushed something in front of her, she managed to grab it. It was a floating log.
Ahead, in the moonlight, she could see one of the rafts, with some kind of shed on it. Then there were men, reaching down to pull them up. Somebody was wrapping her in a coat. In the near distance she could hear the wail of sirens.
John was holding her, his body shivering against hers. “It’s all right, love,” he murmured. “You’re safe. It’s over.”
* * *
Emma spent the night in the hospital, being treated for moderate hypothermia. She woke the next morning with John sitting by her bed. No spooky roses, thank heaven. But he’d picked her up some good chocolates from the gift shop.
They held hands while he caught her up on all that had happened. It was David who’d made the call that brought the troopers and paramedics, followed by another call to his frantic mother. He and John had been checked over by the paramedics and released. Only Emma had needed treatment.
Boone had been shot in the shoulder. He’d blacked out from blood loss and wrecked the boat on one of the rocky islands outside Refuge Cove. Incredibly, he’d survived to be arrested by the state troopers. He was under guard in another part of the hospital, awaiting arraignment for murder and kidnapping as soon as he recovered. His lawyer would likely offer an insanity plea.
John lifted her hand and buried a kiss in her palm. “You did an incredibly brave thing, going with Boone, knowing what he could do to you. I would have given my life to free David, but I couldn’t ask you to risk yours. I love you too much for that.”
“I know. But I knew it had to be done, and that it had to be my decision. I couldn’t lay that burden on you. I love you too much.”
Freeing her hand from his, she reached up and laid it against his cheek. As he bent to kiss her, she felt, for the first time, the peace of knowing complete love and trust. There could be no room for doubt, for fear or even for a Plan B. They would always be there for each other.
EPILOGUE
Eleven months later
The raising of a new totem pole was always a grand occasion. Everyone who attended the ceremony—tribal members, family, and friends—agreed that this totem, which would stand in a place of honor near the Clan House on the Totem Bight, was a masterpiece.
The few elders who remembered John’s grandfather were happy to see his last totem pole finished and standing where it belonged. But of all the people there, no one was prouder than John, for the beautiful carving was the work of three generations. His grandfather had roughed out the design. John had done some work on it, but the gifted hand that had finished it and made it truly beautiful was David’s.
The boy, who’d turned eighteen that spring had not been aware that he’d inherited the spirit of a master carver, but one day, when visiting at John’s cabin, he had seen the unfinished totem pole in the shed and fallen in love. John had shown him the basic techniques of using his grandfather’s tools, but the beauty of every detail had flowed from David as if it had been born in him.
Over his mother’s objections, he had spent the entire summer after graduation working on the totem pole. Now that it was finished and in place, even Marlena, who was here today, had to concede that her son had a gift. David would be starting school at the University of Alaska’s Southeast campus in Ketchikan, planning to become a teacher. But he already had plans to start another totem pole in his great-grandfather’s old workshop.
As John stood at the edge of the crowd, he felt his wife’s hand slip into his. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Emma murmured. “He’s done us all proud.”
He slipped an arm around her waist, his hand resting on the rounded bulge beneath her sweater. Emma had enjoyed her job as a first grade teacher at a local elementary school. But she’d be taking maternity leave after Christmas. Knowing how much they both wanted children, John couldn’t have been happier about the little girl who’d soon be joining their family.
With Emma beside him, he stood back from the crowd and looked up at the magnificent totem pole. It was as if all the generations were here—his grandfather, who’d taught him to value the old ways, John himself, who’d found his own, different path, and David, who seemed to have brought the family full circle.
Then there was John’s father, the warrior, who’d died so young and so tragically. He, too, had possessed the gift of the master carver. Maybe, in spirit, he was here, too.
An eagle, circling overhead,
swooped low, then soared again and vanished into the sunlight.
photo credit: copyright © Sigrid Estrada
About the Author
JANET DAILEY’s first book was published in 1976. Since then she has written more than 100 novels and become one of the top-selling female authors in the world, with 300 million copies of her books sold in nineteen languages in ninety-eight countries. She is known for her strong, decisive characters, her extraordinary ability to recreate a time and a place, and her unerring courage to confront important, controversial issues in her stories. You can learn more about Janet at www.JanetDailey.com.