“Leave her alone, Trask.” Blood roaring in his ears, Dale took a menacing step towards his uncle before belatedly realizing something other than violence was thrumming through the room. He didn’t need Tansy’s touch on his arm to suggest he back down. The snap of temper in Hazel’s eyes and the dull red flush climbing his uncle’s neck was enough to drive Dale back a step. “I…uh—”
“We’ve brought something for Eddie.” Tansy calmly stepped into the room. “It’s a homeopathic remedy for PSP, but there’s evidence that it works.”
“Thank God. If we don’t do something for him soon…” Hazel glanced down at the boy in the bed. He seemed smaller than he had before, as though the toxin was sucking him dry, ounce by ounce. Then she looked from Dale to Trask and back. Her lips firmed with decision. “Tansy and I will deal with this. Dale, I want you to go with your uncle.”
“I’m not leaving Tansy,” he said quickly. She would only be on the island a few more hours. He planned on sticking with her until then, keeping her safe from the faceless enemy that wanted them dead.
And once she was gone? He’d face the questions alone, as it was meant to be.
“Mickey is outside to keep watch, and it’s almost daylight. We’re safe.” Hazel’s voice hardened. “Go with Trask. You owe it to Kristin and Thomas to see what he’s found.”
Kristin. Thomas. Dale hadn’t consciously thought of his parents’ names in many years, but there they were, hovering at the edges of his mind. Along with the words I think your parents were murdered and I have proof.
Dale looked at Trask, saw that his eyes were clear of drink, though bloodshot from the night before. For a moment, it seemed that he could see the hero he’d once loved in the face of the man Trask had become.
Tansy touched Dale’s shoulder before she moved to the boy’s bedside. “I’ll be okay with Hazel. We’ll take care of Eddie and the others. You go ahead.”
A part of him was surprised by Tansy’s urging. He’d expected her to be put off by his roots, and to be ashamed of his drunken uncle and the questions surrounding his parents’ deaths. By the fact that he’d run rather than stand up for them.
Or maybe, Dale thought as he watched Tansy brush a wisp of hair from Eddie’s brow, maybe he’d been wrong all along.
Maybe he was the one that was ashamed.
He looked from Trask to Hazel and back again, conscious of the way the two stood shoulder-to-shoulder, united against him. Or maybe for him. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Show me your ‘proof.’”
“I have something else you’ll need to see first,” Trask grunted, laconic even in victory. He turned away and strode out the door to the parking lot.
Before he followed, Dale crossed to Tansy and briefly touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be careful.”
She nodded but didn’t speak, and the wariness at the back of her eyes tore at him. He knew he was sending mixed signals, but he couldn’t help himself. The danger to her was breaking through the layers of self-defense and laying him bare. He wanted her, but he didn’t want to need her. In caring lay pain.
He stepped away and repeated, “Be careful.”
Outside, he glanced at the sky. Clouds were gathering above the island, and a low, sullen sky glow ered from the west, cutting them off from the mainland. A dank-smelling breeze touched his face.
The storm was coming. And it was going to be a bad one.
WHEN DALE WAS GONE, TANSY felt his absence like an ache. Or maybe that was the rawness from the burned places and the bruises from the airplane crash. She couldn’t even tell anymore. She was in the midst of the Mad Hatter’s tea party and wasn’t sure where she was supposed to sit anymore.
Patients were dying. Someone had tried to kill her and Dale. Someone, it seemed, might have killed his parents a long time ago. Was it the same someone? Who knew?
Certainly not Tansy. She knew nothing. Knowledge is power. She had no power here.
What sort of a place was this Lobster Island? What sort of a man grew up here, then spent half his life trying to pretend he hadn’t?
“Come on. Help me with this stomach tube.” Hazel stood beside Eddie’s bed holding a bottle filled with a slurry of coconut and brown sugar. “Then we’ll sit and wait.”
“And pray,” Tansy added. Pray for the little boy, and for Mickey and Libby, who were sitting outside holding hands. Pray for Dale, who was looking more anguished each moment, though he hid those emotions almost as well as he hid all the others. Pray for their safety against the faceless danger that seemed to have targeted two doctors who only wanted to help. And pray for an island that was sick at its soul, an island that saw more deaths than it should, and would see hunger come wintertime.
“Yes, pray,” Hazel agreed. The women worked together to dose the little boy. Though neither mentioned it, both were hoping for an instant recovery, for Eddie’s eyes to open and his mouth to turn up in a smile. But of course that didn’t happen. The respirator continued its whoosh-chug, and little Eddie didn’t move. Not even his eyelids flickered.
“Damn it,” Tansy murmured after a moment. “Just damn it.”
“It’s too soon. Give it time to work.” Hazel handed her an alcohol-soaked wipe. “Let’s clean up the mess and dose the other patients. He’ll be back for you soon.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Dale,” Tansy answered too quickly, then turned away on the pretext of wiping up a spot of sugar.
After a moment, Hazel said, “You’re good for him, you know.”
Tansy’s throat closed and the words backed up in her chest. No, she wasn’t good for him. Wasn’t good enough for him. Just wasn’t enough.
When there was no reply, Hazel continued, “He wrote to Mickey, maybe once or twice a year, and Mick passed the letters around. The last few mentioned you.”
“Oh.” Tansy told herself it shouldn’t still hurt after all these months. She’d had plenty of practice telling her colleagues about the breakup, since Dale hadn’t told anyone. He’d pretended as though the affair had never happened. Had never ended. And that had hurt just as much as it tore at Tansy now to say, “We broke up. Three months ago.”
She dropped her wipe and crossed to stand by the window, staring out at the ugly parking lot.
Hazel’s touch on her shoulder was gentle. “He’d never mentioned a woman in his letters before. Not once in fifteen years.”
Tansy closed her eyes, telling herself it meant nothing. “We’re too different. He won’t let me in.”
“He’s just like his uncle, then.”
She turned at the flatness in the older woman’s voice. Hazel fiddled with the respirator, though it needed no adjustment.
And in that moment, Tansy realized she wasn’t alone. For the first time in a long, long while, someone else understood what she was going through. What she was feeling. “Trask mentioned you last night.” She wasn’t sure if the knowledge would help or hurt. “When he was…”
“Drunk,” Hazel finished for her. She frowned. “That was a surprise, as he hasn’t touched a drop in fifteen years. When Dale left, Trask realized what he’d done, what he’d become, and he stopped drinking.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “But he never got past what happened. Maybe it’s the island. Maybe the tragedy. I don’t know. But whatever it was, it left him closed off. Hard. He’ll let me into his bed, into his life, but only so far.” Her lips thinned. “Sometimes, I hate him for it.”
Sex without deep emotion. Love without its return. Tansy winced, knowing she could so easily fall into Hazel’s role. Her mother’s role.
But would it truly be worse than the loneliness of the past three months?
Wishing she didn’t still care, she said, “Tell me about it. Dale’s parents died?”
“And Trask’s wife. Sue.” There was a complex layer of feeling in Hazel’s voice when she said the other woman’s name. Regret. Compassion.
Resentment.
“What happened to them? Why does Trask t
hink they were—”
A noise from the doorway interrupted her, and Dale’s voice finished the question with a single word.
“Murdered.”
Tansy turned to find him standing just inside the room, filling it with the punch of power that she always felt when he was near. He shook his head. “I don’t know yet.” He gestured out to the parking lot, where Mickey’s jeep sat waiting. “I need to show you something on the airstrip. Then we’ll go to Trask’s house together.”
Together. Though she’d often longed for the word, Tansy’s heart chilled at their destination, and at the dangerous calm on Dale’s face that usually meant he was hiding some deep, unwanted emotion.
Like fear.
She traded glances with Hazel, then nodded. “Of course. Let’s go.” He didn’t touch her as they walked to the jeep, but she noticed he stayed close. Very close.
They bumped along the rutted tracks in a silence broken only by the squeak of worn axles and corroded springs. When they reached the airfield, they drove across the parking lot and turned down the runway itself. A quarter mile from the end, Tansy saw a spray of wiring and insulation, a few bolts and the beginnings of a silver scar in the tarmac. Icy fear sliced through her, along with the memory of those last few moments on the runway.
The scrape extended all the way to the end of the island, where a few broken trees leaned drunkenly against each other.
She shuddered, remembering the feeling of the plane slewing wildly, out of control. Falling…
“What the hell is he doing here?” Dale muttered, snapping her from her memories. He wheeled the jeep in beside Churchill’s familiar black SUV and jumped out, leaving her to climb from the vehicle at her own pace. It was just as well. Seeing the crash site had affected her more than she’d expected. She needed a few moments to brace her wobbly legs before she joined the men, who were standing to the side of the runway, amidst the sawgrass.
She walked over to them and stopped dead when she saw the silver glint on the ground. “Oh, God.”
Coiled snakelike, the airplane cable lay waiting, frayed at one end where the force of the plane had snapped the trip wire.
But not before it had sheared off the landing gear.
Tansy’s knees gave out and she was barely aware of Dale’s strong arms holding her up, or of the warmth of his body against hers. Here was the final, irrefutable proof. Someone had tried to kill her and Dale. Worse, they’d come back afterwards to coil the cable, yet they hadn’t taken it with them. To her, that spoke of stupidity.
Or worse, arrogance.
Churchill cursed under his breath. “Trask told me about it just now, but seeing it…makes it worse.” He ran a hand through his neatly-trimmed silver hair and glanced at Dale. “And I have bad news.”
What could be worse than this? Tansy thought. Then, realizing she was clinging to Dale like a helpless, hysterical female, she shoved away and stood on her own. But even gripping her hands tightly together couldn’t stop the trembles. She forced her voice level and said, “I want to go home, Dale.” When both men turned toward her, she lifted her chin. “We should return to Boston and regroup. We can come back in a few days with more manpower, and the authorities.” This was beyond the scope of HFH.
Beyond their control.
“There’s a plane coming today to take you home,” Dale said quietly. But before Tansy could challenge him on the “you” part of the statement, Churchill shook his head.
“That’s the bad news, I’m afraid. No plane.” When Dale spun and snarled, the older man spread his soft-looking hands. “The storm—which is now officially Hurricane Harriet—is moving faster than they originally thought it would. She’s headed straight up the coast, and we’ll feel the first wind and waves later today.” He grimaced. “Sorry. No plane until after the storm passes. Until then…”
Tansy closed her eyes and let the knowledge rattle through her. When Dale touched her shoulder, she didn’t move away.
He voiced her thoughts aloud. “Until then, we’re trapped on an island with an uncontained outbreak, minimal safe food and water, and someone trying to kill us.”
When Tansy opened her eyes, she saw a look of determination cross Churchill’s face. “You’ll be safe with me, Dale. We can batten down the mansion and ride out the storm together.” When Dale hesitated, Churchill stuck out his hand. “You can trust me. Have I ever let you down before?”
After a long moment, Dale shook on it. “No, Churchill. You’ve never let me down before.”
Tansy hoped like hell he wouldn’t start now.
Chapter Seven
When they reached Trask’s house on the outskirts of town, Dale parked the jeep and glanced over at Tansy’s grim expression. The sight of the wire had scared her. Hell, it had unnerved him, too. Even before they’d reached the island, someone had decided to kill them.
Even so, this silent Tansy worried him. He was used to seeing her fight, not withdraw.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Churchill is right. We can hide in the mansion until the weather clears and backup arrives. You’ll be safe there, I promise.”
Her breath hissed out suddenly, and she turned on him, eyes alight with frustration. “Maybe I’ll be safe, but what about the patients, Dale?” Her chin jutted out in a familiar, stubborn expression. “What about your parents?”
Oddly enough, the expected anger didn’t soothe him—it ticked him off. Hadn’t she figured out yet that she was in danger? His temper spiked, and where before he’d been able to counter her hot temper with cold control, now Dale felt his command slip. His voice rose. “This isn’t about the patients or my parents, Tansy. This is about keeping you alive. Or had you forgotten that someone has tried to kill you? Twice?”
Tansy fired back, “This is about the patients, Dale. We can’t help them if we’re hiding in Churchill’s house. And it sure as hell is about your parents, unless there’s another reason someone would want you dead.”
“Those are my problems, not yours.” She was right, but Dale didn’t want her anywhere near the questions he’d been asking himself. What had happened that night fifteen years ago on the Curly Sue? Why hadn’t any of the bodies washed up with the wreckage? And why had his parents and his aunt gone out on the boat when they said they were going for a walk?
They were old questions. Unanswered questions.
She sighed and the corners of her mouth turned down. “The patients are my problem because I’m an HFH doctor, Dale. You can’t take that away from me.” She glanced over at him. “And as for the other, I’m making it my problem because I loved you, once. You can’t take that away from me, either.”
Loved. Past tense. And though she had never said the word to him before, Dale had known it was there.
And now he knew it was gone. Funny, he would’ve expected to feel relieved that she was ready to give up on them. Instead, he felt hollow.
He glanced over and saw the shadows in her eyes. Her bravado was a thin mask covering the worry. He wished he could pull her across the vehicle, into his arms, and never let her go. But the time for that, like her love, was past. So he scowled at the gathering clouds instead.
“Let’s see what Trask has to say,” he finally said, unclipping his seat belt and opening the door. “I’ve kept him waiting long enough.”
Dale took Tansy’s hand to help her over the threshold, or maybe to steady himself. He cursed when he saw the same old ratty red sofa, faded now to pink. His eyes glanced over the same afghan, made by his mother’s mother, and the same cabbage rose tea service, brought home by his great-grandfather after World War I.
“Nothing’s changed,” he grumbled softly. “Why hasn’t anything changed?”
The air still smelled of citrus from the bitter orange soap the lobstermen used to cut the smell of their work. But the odor of cinnamon and cloves, which his young mind had always associated with Aunt Sue, was gone. In its absence, the air felt stale.
“Do you want to see this or not?”
Trask’s gruff voice boomed from the kitchen, and Dale clenched his jaw against the memory of other shouts. Other fights.
She wouldn’t have gone out at night, I know it! he’d yelled, full of grief, fury and a teenager’s blind sense of justice. Trask had shouted back, Leave me alone, boy, and stop with the nonsense. They’re gone. Get used to it!
Now, Dale walked toward the kitchen, stopping at the door and remembering how his uncle had followed the words by throwing a half-empty bottle of cheap beer. The bottle had shattered against the wall and a shard had cut deeply into his shoulder.
He’d hidden the scar with that damned tattoo and regretted the impulse for a long time after.
Trask sat at the kitchen table. Dale could picture him sitting there before, hair more yellow than white, sharing a beer with his mirror image, his younger brother, Thomas. Because the memory stung, and because Trask himself had taught Dale that emotions were weak and useless, he set his jaw and forced himself into the room. “What do you want to show us, Trask? And make it quick. We have patients to see.”
He felt Tansy behind him and was grateful for her presence. There was no future for them, but she was here now. And it helped, though he wished it didn’t.
“This,” Trask said. “I wanted to show you this.” He tipped out a coffee tin which had once held household pin money. Now it yielded nothing more than a few colored stones, a pretty seashell and a gold ring.
Trask’s blunt fingertips plucked the ring from the table and held it up. Red and white light glinted from the facets of two gems, and Dale’s throat closed. “Oh, God.”
“What is it?” Tansy touched his hand and he forced himself not to reach for her. Caring was a weakness. He couldn’t be weak. Not now.
Not ever.
He cleared his throat and found the words. “It’s my mother’s engagement ring.”
“Aye.” Trask, too, seemed to have trouble speaking in his normal rasp. “And from the moment my brother Thomas gave it to her, I never saw her without it. Not in the twenty years they were married. Not even once.” He offered the ring to Dale. “Here, boy. It’s yours.”
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