by Rita Herron
“You think you know everything,” Hogan said. “But you don’t. You didn’t know Claire had lost your child.”
Mark’s chest squeezed. “No, but that wouldn’t have changed things for me.”
Claire’s breath hitched. He hoped she understood that he meant it.
“But her sight loss—how would that have changed your feelings?” Hogan paced over to Claire, then traced a thumb down her cheek. Claire breathed in deeply, but reined in her control and managed not to flinch. Mark couldn’t control his rage though. He nearly bolted up from the chair.
“I know how people act when they think you’re different, Claire,” Hogan said. “You didn’t tell Steele because you knew he wouldn’t want an imperfect wife.”
“She was wrong,” Mark said, unweaving the knots. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“You came for me,” Hogan said simply. Then he turned to Claire. “You know I’m different. I can accept your blindness. In fact, I understand the reason you can’t see, and I can help you.”
He knelt beside her, and twisted a strand of hair around his finger. Fury shot through Mark. “You can’t stand to look at yourself now, because you blame yourself for that accident.”
Claire’s lower lip trembled.
“You blame yourself because you were careless. You ignored the storm just so you could chase after Steele when he was leaving you and your baby behind.”
“He didn’t know I was pregnant,” Claire whispered. “But I wanted him to…in case.”
In case he didn’t come back.
Mark’s heart broke. For both of them and all they had lost.
“You told yourself a thousand times that you shouldn’ have driven in the rain,” Hogan taunted. “Your baby would be alive today if you hadn’t been so foolish. So now, you don’t want to see yourself. That’s why you’re blind. You like living in the darkness—it’s your way of punishing yourself.”
Claire shook her head back and forth, a tear escaping, then getting trapped in a strand of hair lying against her cheek.
Mark’s throat closed. So that was the reason Claire hadn’t tried to see another doctor. Hogan was right—she was punishing herself. Mark ached to reach out, drag her into his arms and absolve her guilt.
“You knew you were losing the baby when the car went into the river, that’s why you begged me not to save you.” He wheezed. “I understood that, too, Claire.”
Mark’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Yes,” Hogan said, swinging his gaze toward Mark. “I was there. I dragged Claire out of the water and called the paramedics.”
“You were following her?”
“Yes,” Claire cried. “His headlights blinded me.”
The man’s taunting song, “Blinded by the light,” suddenly made sense.
So Hogan had saved Claire’s life. How sick was he? Had he caused her accident, too?
A rage unlike anything he’d ever known splintered through Mark. Hogan’s obsession had cost Claire her sight and their child.
Somehow, he had to save Claire and make her realize that none of this was her fault.
Hogan reached over and removed a hypodermic from the scarred wooden table.
“What’s that for?” Mark asked.
Hogan wiped Claire’s arm, then raised the needle. “So Claire won’t suffer anymore. Neither of us will.”
Mark gritted his teeth and slid the last strand of rope from its knot. He saw a second hypodermic on the table. Was Hogan planning a murder/suicide? Or did he intend the shot for Mark?
Determination and anger driving him, Mark suddenly lunged at Hogan and knocked the shot from his hand. Hogan reached for his gun, but Mark rammed a fist into his gut. Hogan buckled. Mark dove for the gun, but Hogan kicked his wounded shoulder, sending him staggering backward. Then Hogan picked up the gun, aimed it at Mark’s chest and fired again.
Mark’s body flew backward as the bullet pierced his chest. He’d let his men down and lost them, and now he’d failed Claire. Again.
And this time it would cost them their lives.
CLAIRE CRIED OUT, panic robbing her of breath. “Mark?”
He groaned and she realized he’d been shot again. How bad was it? She wished she could see him so she’d know…
“Please stop this, Al,” Claire pleaded. “Please, let me help you. No one else needs to d
“I told you it’s too late,” Hogan mumbled.
Claire struggled against her ties, but the sharp point of a needle pierced her arm. She tried to fight the effects of the drug but they slowly seeped into her system, blurring her senses and deflating her strength. When Hogan lifted her in his arms and began to carry her outside, she was barely cognizant of the motion.
She remembered the way the other women had been found. She only hoped that somehow Mark managed to survive. If she’d only regained her sight, maybe she could have helped them somehow.
The wind brushed her cheek, the salty air filtering through the haze of her fear as Hogan walked toward the ocean. His steps were unsteady, as if his feet kept slipping in the sand, and she realized that he dragged one leg behind him. A brief memory surfaced of a man carrying her from the river. Al Hogan had rescued her from drowning the same day he’d destroyed her life by causing her accident. But now he intended to end her life.
So much had happened in between.
She had thought she’d lost Mark, but then he’d returned. An image of his tall, muscular body, and his handsome face flashed into her mind. She wished she could see him, touch him one more time before she left the world.
She wanted to tell him that she loved him.
Hogan stopped and whispered a few words, although Claire couldn’t understand his mutterings. Then he rubbed something soft against her cheek. A rose petal; the delicate fragrance now seemed pungent.
Tears drifted down her cheeks. She didn’t want to die. She wanted another chance to make everything right with Mark.
But Hogan lowered her to the ground, then she felt the soft fabric of a scarf slipping around her neck….
MARK ROUSED HIMSELF by sheer will, his heart racing when he realized Claire was gone. Where had Hogan taken her?
To the beach…
Dear God. Fear clouded his brain, mingling with the pain from the bullet wounds. But he jerked the dish-cloth off the table, pressed it against the blood seeping from his chest, grabbed his gun, and staggered upright. Holding on to the wall for support, he groped his way through the open screen door, stumbling down the darkened path to the beach. Loose sand and wild sea oats complicated his journey, but he trudged forward. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t pass out. Not yet. He had to save Claire.
Nothing mattered except getting to Claire right now. What had happened to Hogan to drive him to this point? Mark had lost his own men, had thought he couldn’t survive that tragedy.
Now he had a second chance, someone else to care for. He couldn’t lose Claire again. Especially to a crazy man like Hogan.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, he squinted through the darkness, searching the beach for Hogan and Claire. A shadow moved in the distance. He spotted them. Hogan was bending over Claire.
Mark ran, stumbling, battling to remain conscious until he reached the brush surrounding the area. Hogan pivoted to search behind him. Mark ducked behind the sea ohoping for a clear shot. If Hogan would only move away from Claire…
His opportunity came a second later. Hogan kicked some underbrush aside, then positioned Claire’s head on a thick patch of sea oats as if it was a pillow. He held his breath that Claire was all right, that the drugs he’d given her hadn’t already killed her, but it was too dark to judge if she was breathing. Then he noticed the scarf. Hogan had already slipped it around her neck.
Was he too late?
He aimed to kill, but Hogan kept weaving back and forth. What if he hit Claire?
Pure rage pushed Mark forward. He vaulted out of the brush like a madman and fired, catching Hogan in the shoulder. Damn
, he’d meant to kill him.
Hogan was amazingly quick. He threw up a fist and knocked the gun from Mark’s hands. The two of them hit the dirt, rolling, fighting, struggling. They traded blow for blow, resorting to the marital arts training they’d both used in the military. Mark flipped Hogan off of him, rolled to his back, then kicked upward, catching Hogan in his weak knee. Hogan flew backward, and Mark grabbed his Glock, then fired again, this time his shot on target.
Hogan’s body bounced backward with the impact. He grabbed his chest, blood spurting. His eyes went wide with fear, but a second later, a calmness fell over his features. Then Hogan took a step backward. Mark realized his intentions and crawled forward to save him, but Hogan stepped off the ledge and fell into the ocean. His final cry echoed in the wind as the waves swallowed his body.
Mark dragged himself toward Claire, weak and dizzy. He was losing more blood now, but he had to make it. Another inch. Then another. Close the distance. Then he could touch her.
His hand found hers. She was still warm. Thank God she was breathing.
Darkness came over him as he collapsed in the sand beside her.
MARK HAD NO IDEA how long he’d been unconscious. But he had to pull himself out of it and see Claire. Hold her. Tell her loved her.
Even if she never wanted to see him again.
He was the reason Hogan had become obsessed with her in the first place. He had set the path of destruction that had almost cost her her life. Twice.
Would she hate him now that it was over?
He groaned and opened his eyes, but it took him several minutes to focus. A blur of white filled his vision, then faded and returned, this time bringing with it a man’s face. Devlin.
“Well, hell, I thought I told you to call for backup before you went out to Hogan’s place.”
A bubble of laughter caught in his chest, but it hurt too damn much to release it. He had to clear his throat twice to find his voice. Then his mouth was so dry his lips practically stuck together. “I did.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t wait for them.”
“No time.”
Devlin nodded, a small smile curving his mouth just before he turned serious. “You were in surgery for hour
So he was in the hospital. How long had he been there? “Did you find Hogan’s body?”
Devlin nodded. “Yeah. He had a suspicious rash, the doctors suspect he was exposed to some chemical warfare. CIRP is already researching it.”
Mark nodded, but even that movement hurt. “Where’s Claire? I want to see her.”
“She’s in another room.”
His tone sent alarm up Mark’s aching spine. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”
Devlin’s expression gave nothing away, but his silence did. “She’s alive.”
He cleared his throat again, pried his parched lips apart, his heart pounding. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“You need to rest, Mark. You’ve just had two bullets removed, the second one came within an inch of piercing your heart.”
He didn’t give a rat’s ass about his injuries. “Tell me about Claire, dammit.”
Devlin’s gaze shot sideways to the drawn curtains as if they held a reprieve. “She hasn’t awakened yet. The dose of Percoset Hogan gave her was pretty strong, and she hit her head.”
“How long have I been here?”
“About six hours.” Devlin chuckled sardonically. “You were damn lucky, that shrapnel you caught from the war stopped the bullet, making it ricochet away from your heart. Saved your life.”
“Claire should have come out of it by now.”
“The doctor said it may take time. She suffered a pretty bad shock.”
Mark gritted his teeth and tasted sand. “Take me to her.” He tried to sit up, but Devlin pushed him back down. “Hold on before you tear something loose.”
Mark grabbed Devlin’s sleeve. “Either help me, or I’ll drag my butt over there myself.”
Devlin stared at him long and hard, then nodded. “Let me get a nurse so you don’t rip your stitches.”
Mark lay back and silently cursed, the minutes between his request and the nurse’s arrival dragging by. Finally, a plump woman named Brenda Lou showed up. “I hear you’re being stubborn.”
“I have to see Claire Kos,” Mark said. “She has to know that I love her.”
Brenda Lou burst into a big smile. “After my divorce, I thought all the good ones were gone.”
Mark hoped Claire saw it that way, too, that somehow he could get through to her.
CLAIRE COULD SEE the red. She had been blind so long, she had shut out the color, but now it was back like a ghost haunting her dreams, only the ghost didn’t float in white, it floated in the color of the devil, the color of blood.
Red water swirled around her, choking her. Drownin her life, taking her baby with her. No, the blood was Mark’s. He’d been shot.
He was dead.
And she was lying in the sand. Facedown. A scarf around her neck.
The killer had finally taken everything away she had ever cared for, loved. She welcomed the darkness, shut out the light, the colors, that awful bloodred.
“Claire?”
Mark’s voice drifted through the haze. “Claire, wake up, honey. It’s all over.”
She didn’t believe him. He was gone. And she wanted to be with him.
“Claire, don’t leave me now, please. I need you.” His voice wavered. “I don’t care if you never see again, Claire. I don’t care, do you hear me? I love you just the way you are. I just want you by my side.”
A small burst of light broke through the empty black sea that consumed her. A sliver that shimmered like a falling star begging her to make a wish. She closed her eyes tighter and sank into her thoughts, knowing her wish had to come from the heart.
She wanted to see again, to look into Mark’s eyes and find that raw emotion that had once brought them together, the passion that had created their baby.
But wishes didn’t come true…she had wished for love and a child before, but she had lost them both…
“PLEASE OPEN THE BLINDS, it’s too damn dark in here,” Mark said. “I want her to feel the sunshine on her face.” Even if she couldn’t see it.
“You’re right, this room needs a little light.” The nurse slid open the white blinds. “Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Steele?”
He had an idea. “Does this hospital have a gift shop?”
She nodded. “Of course. Do you want some flowers?”
“No.” He motioned for her to lean closer, then whispered his request in a low voice.
Her dark brows quirked together as she smiled. “All right, I’ll be right back.” She left, and he picked up Claire’s hand, cradling it between his own. She looked so beautiful with her blond curls spread across the white pillow, like an angel asleep for the night. But nightmares haunted his angel, and he wanted to banish them forever.
A few minutes later, the nurse bustled in and pressed the object in his hand. Then she patted his back and walked out. He turned to Claire and whispered her name. Her face looked pale, then her eyes fluttered, and he thought for a moment that she might respond. But she didn’t move or open her eyes.
“Claire, you have to wake up. I need you.” He dropped his head forward, the pain in his chest nothing compared to the thought of losing her again. “I know I let you down. But none of it was your fault. You were a victim of this crazy man, Hogan.” His words came out choked. “You had no way of knowing he’d become obsessed with you, no way of seeing that he’d followed you.” No, Mark had actually set those events in motion. “It yours. Please come back to me. Let me make it up to you. We can start over.” He envisioned their future, long quiet walks on the beach after work, they could buy a boat and learn to sail, he’d even buy Claire a horse so she could ride again. They could finally take that bareback ride together.
“If you can forgive me, we can have a life together. I want that, Claire. I don’t care if you�
�re blind or not, do you hear me? I just want to be with you.”
She stirred slightly, then nestled further into the covers, and he swallowed back his fear. Other emotions rose to the surface, the feelings he’d experienced the day he’d lost his men on the battlefield. The day his best friend had died in his arms.
The emptiness, the pain, the guilt.
He had never been able to talk about that day. But now, he couldn’t help himself. The words poured out, along with the terrible self-recriminations he’d lived with since the tragedy. He told her about Marie and Kevin and his visit.
“It was my fault, Claire, I was in charge. I should have figured out that that man was a traitor just like it was my fault that Hogan came after you.” His fingers tightened around her hand. “I was trying to help him when I told him about you, trying to give him hope. It never occurred to me that he’d become obsessed with you.”
He blinked back tears, releasing emotions he’d suppressed for a long time. “I probably don’t deserve another chance, not after all you’ve been through, but I swear when you wake up, things will be different.” He pressed a kiss to her hand, then laid it against her cheek, his voice choked. “I love you, Claire. I want you to be my wife.”
He squeezed her hand and pressed the small plastic picture frame inside her palm. “Remember that little picture frame you bought, the one you were bringing to the airport? Here’s a new frame.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll make another baby, and this time we’ll put a picture of our child in it. Then we’ll fill the whole damn wall with pictures of our family.”
MARRY MARK. Make another baby. Fill the little frame with a picture of their baby, the whole wall with pictures of their family.
Claire wanted to believe that was true. That Mark was really beside her, alive, making promises.
She fought the heavy weighted feeling, and felt the warmth of his palm. He was real. She had heard his heartfelt confessions about losing his men and now understood the terrible guilt that had driven him from the military to the FBI.
She understood about guilt.
Al Hogan had been right.
She had hidden away in a blinding sea of darkness because she couldn’t face herself and what she had lost, because she’d blamed herself. But it hadn’t been her fault, no more than it was Mark’s fault that his men had died.