Land's End

by Marta Perry

The shudder that ran through Sarah reverberated through him. “Is that true?” He tilted her chin up and read the answer in her eyes. “Did you see who it was?”

  “No.” Her voice was husky. “Dark glasses, dark clothing. That’s all I saw.”

  “What about you?” He frowned at the boy.

  “Fancy boat.” The kid jerked his head toward the Gypsy. “Like that’un. Belong to one of the big houses, I reckon.”

  “Wait a second.” Trent reached for his wallet, but the kid just shook his head and pushed off.

  “Don’t want nothin’, no, sir. Just take care of the lady.”

  He hadn’t done well so far. His stomach twisted at the thought of what might have happened to her. Sarah, gone in an instant, all because she was too stubborn to ask for help.

  He snapped open his cell phone, punched in the number for the house and cut Geneva off before she could say anything. “Get down to the dock and bring a blanket.” He didn’t need to say more.

  He brushed wet hair back from Sarah’s cheek. “What were you thinking?” he muttered.

  A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “I thought I had it under control. Guess I owe you a jet boat.”

  “No. Someone else does.”

  Someone who owned a fancy white boat, from one of the big houses. That limited it to a relative few, and only one of the island residents with fancy white boats had been having an affair with Lynette. Anger seared along his veins.

  “What made you go out alone?” He tried to control the rage, but it seeped into his voice.

  “You weren’t here.”

  Her words stabbed at him. He hadn’t been here.

  She pushed wet hair back from her face. “I got a note at the clinic.”

  His fists clenched, and she shook her head.

  “Not like those. This was printed, nearly illiterate, saying that he had Lynette’s letter and would sell it to me.”

  “And you went? It was a trap!” Something was shaking inside him at the thought of the danger she’d wandered into. No, not wandered. Gone into deliberately.

  “Well, now it’s obvious it was a trap.” The snap was back in her voice, even though she still shivered. “I thought I’d be safe enough out on the water in broad daylight. I thought I was dealing with a sneak thief, not a murderer.”

  “Obviously Lizbet was wrong. The thief wanted the note, not her cash. And now he’s desperate.”

  His arms tightened around her, and she turned her face into his shoulder. Somehow that simple gesture robbed him of the ability to speak. He could only hold her, pressing his face against her wet hair.

  “What’s happened to Sarah?” Geneva sounded as shaken as he was. She reached them, throwing a blanket around Sarah and gathering her into her arms. “Child, are you hurt?”

  She spoke to Sarah as if she spoke to Melissa. Geneva, at least, thought Sarah belonged here.

  “Take her up to the house and tend to her, Geneva. There’s something I have to do.” The need burned in him. Get to Jonathan now, before the motor of that fancy white boat of his had time to cool off. Confront him with what had happened to Sarah. His fists clenched. Get the truth this time.

  He stepped lightly from the dock to the deck of the Gypsy. She was gassed up, of course. He paid someone well to see that the boat was ready at a moment’s notice. He turned the ignition, and the motor roared to life.

  Leaving it idling, he turned to cast off the lines and found Sarah charging toward him, leaving Geneva shaking her head. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “To see Jonathan. See if he’s had his boat out.”

  “Trent, no. Not now. Let Gifford handle it.”

  His mouth twisted. “You’re advising me to depend on Gifford?”

  She stood well back on the dock. “Will you at least come up here and talk to me about it? I don’t feel like being this close to the water right now.”

  The urgency still burned in him, but he could hardly say no to that. Grasping the upright, he pulled himself up onto the dock and took one step toward her.

  “What—”

  The Gypsy exploded behind him in a sheet of flame, the concussion throwing him toward Sarah. Somehow he registered her horrified face before everything went black.

  SEVENTEEN

  She couldn’t see Trent. Sarah tried to peer around Gifford’s bulk, barely hearing the questions he pounded at her. Trent sat on the rear of the EMS vehicle, bent over as an emergency worker tended his back. Gifford had pulled her away from him, onto the veranda.

  “Can’t this wait?” She interrupted Gifford in midspate. “I’m a physician. I should be taking care of Mr. Donner.”

  “You?” His goggling eyes reminded her unpleasantly of a frog’s. “I’m not letting you anywhere near him. Nothing happened around here ’til you came back.”

  “You can’t think I had anything to do with this.” How many kinds of an idiot was the man? “Why would I?”

  He shrugged beefy shoulders. “Revenge. Jealousy.” He fingered the handcuffs that hung from his belt.

  Queasiness snaked through her stomach. Gifford could arrest her on nothing more than his own suspicion.

  “That’s nonsense.” She forced strength into her voice. “I came here to find out the truth about what happened to my husband. If you’d done your job, I wouldn’t have to.”

  Gifford purpled, yanking the handcuffs free. “You’re coming with me. We’ll talk down at the station.” He reached for her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Trent’s harsh voice slammed between them like a barricade. “Get away from her.”

  She could breathe again. She swung, to find him striding toward them, face dark with anger. His shirt was in shreds and a bruise darkened the side of his face. But he was alive. Her knees didn’t want to hold her up. He was alive.

  “She knows something,” Gifford said stubbornly.

  “Trent, you should go to the clinic and let Dr. Sam check you out.”

  “I’m all right.” He swung on Gifford. “Dr. Wainwright has told us everything she knows. You just don’t want to hear it.”

  Gifford shook his head. “You’re not thinkin’ straight, sir. It’s my job to protect you.”

  “Protect me from what?” Trent’s voice took on a deadly tone. “Wake up and see what’s in front of your face. Ask yourself why someone tried to kill Dr. Wainwright and me as soon as the investigation was reopened.”

  “We’ve only got her word for it somebody tried to kill her.”

  “That, and the shreds of a jet boat, and an eyewitness.” He jerked a nod toward the dock. “You’ve also got the remains of my boat. Obviously someone knew that when she didn’t come back, I’d take the Gypsy to look for her. Ending his problem nicely.”

  “She could’a set that bomb herself, then lured you down to the boat.”

  Trent’s fists doubled. “If Dr. Wainwright hadn’t called me back from the boat, you’d be picking up pieces of me. Now go do your job.” He seized Sarah’s arm and headed for the door.

  They reached the hall, and Trent slammed the door behind them, cutting off the turmoil outside. The house was blessedly quiet.

  She took a deep breath. Trent was all right. She was all right. They’d both come too close to death in the past hour, but they’d come through. Thank You, Father.

  “Turn around and let me look at your back.” She tried to sound as if she talked to any patient.

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. The paramedics took care of me.”

  “I’m sure they wanted to take you to the clinic, and you refused.”

  “I don’t need the clinic. And there’s too much to do here.” He frowned at her. “Do you think I’m leaving you and my daughter alone at this point? Sarah, he’s desperate. He’s willing to do anything.”

  “You think it’s Jonathan, don’t you?”

  His face tightened in pain. “Who else could it be?” He started to turn. “I should tell Gifford to get over there—”

  Foo
tsteps sounded on the stairs, and a slight figure hurtled toward him. He opened his arms, and Melissa flew into them. He held his child, rocking her back and forth. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m all right.”

  His voice held a tenderness Sarah had never heard. Her throat choked, and a few hot tears splashed onto her cheeks.

  This was how it should be between father and daughter.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Melissa hugged him tightly, her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m sorry I thought—”

  Tell him, Melissa. Tell him.

  Trent stroked her head. “You thought what, sugar?”

  She raised her face to his. “That day, you know. When I told you about Mommy telling a lie. And then you went out in the boat, and then I heard that Mommy was dead.”

  The progression was a child’s inevitable logic, nurtured by another’s evil intent. Now that it was out, perhaps Melissa could begin to heal.

  “Oh, honey.” Trent held her small face between his hands. “Is that what you’ve been thinking all this time?”

  “I didn’t believe it, not really.” Melissa’s lips trembled. “But I couldn’t make it go away.”

  “Melissa, I promise you, I didn’t go anywhere near Cat Isle. I took the boat out, like I always do when I need to cool off. That’s all. I didn’t hurt Mommy. I would never do that.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then Melissa gave a sharp little nod. “I know, Daddy. I know.”

  Tears stung Sarah’s eyes. It was going to be all right between them.

  Trent held her close, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Thank you, sugar. You’ll see. It’ll be better now that you’ve told me.”

  Melissa nodded. “That’s what Sarah said, too.”

  Trent stiffened. “You told Sarah about this?”

  Melissa was happily unaware that she’d said anything to upset him. “She said I should tell you, and she was right.”

  “Will you run out to the kitchen and tell Geneva I sure could use some coffee? I want to talk to Sarah for a minute.”

  She nodded, practically skipping toward the door that led to the kitchen. “I’ll tell her.”

  He waited until the door had swung shut behind her. Then he turned to Sarah, his face forbidding. “You knew about this. You didn’t tell me.”

  “Just since last night. She had to tell somebody.” She had known, and she’d kept it secret.

  “You should have told me!” The words came out in a barely suppressed explosion. “She’s my daughter, Sarah. Not yours. You didn’t have the right.”

  Her temples throbbed, and her legs had turned to rubber. Apparently her body thought she’d had enough.

  She swallowed. She wasn’t going to apologize for this. “Melissa was nearly hysterical when she came to my room. She made me promise I wouldn’t tell you.”

  He stared at her, and the distance between them widened in the iciness of that stare. “She’s my child,” he repeated.

  Why couldn’t he understand? “I did what I thought was best for Melissa at that moment. I urged her to tell you.”

  “You should have told me. I won’t have you interfering between me and my daughter.”

  “I promised her. I couldn’t break my word.”

  “I’m not interested in your ethics, Sarah. She’s my daughter. Don’t interfere again.”

  His implacable tone set the barriers firmly in place. He might hold her, confide in her, let her care about him. But this boundary she couldn’t cross.

  She understood what was driving him. He had to be the one to protect his daughter. He had to. Protecting his own drove his every action. He’d tried to protect Lynette, even after she was dead. He’d protect Melissa, with his life, if necessary.

  And she was on the outside, looking in.

  The lump in her throat would choke her if she tried to speak. She could only nod, turn away from him and blindly stumble to her room.

  She’d expected to talk with Trent after he’d cooled off, but the chance never came. Land’s End was more than usually full of people after the accident, between the police guards Gifford posted, the staff that rallied around and Dr. Sam, who showed up as soon as he heard.

  Finally Sarah went to bed, exhausted enough to sleep without resorting to any of the white tablets Dr. Sam pressed on her. By morning, without consciously thinking it through, she’d come to a decision.

  She’d move back to the inn. Her presence was only making the situation more difficult for Trent. He thought he had to protect her, even while he was furious with her for what he saw as her interference with Melissa.

  She could hardly blame him, under the circumstances. And maybe that anger would make leaving easier to bear. But she didn’t think so. She’d go, but she was leaving part of her heart at Land’s End.

  She’d packed up most of her belongings by the time she walked toward the breakfast room. If Trent was there, she’d tell him. He might make some token objection, but he’d probably be secretly relieved to have her out of the house.

  Was the danger over? Possibly not, since the police hadn’t charged anyone yet. But after the wholesale attempt to wipe out both her and Trent had been unsuccessful, surely he wouldn’t try anything again. Not now that the police were investigating.

  Jonathan. She still couldn’t quite believe it, but who else had a motive? She understood Trent’s reasoning.

  The house was quiet—the breakfast room empty. Where was everyone?

  She poured a cup of coffee and sat with it warming her fingers, staring out at the merciless sunshine beating on the flagstones. Unfortunately it was Trent’s face she saw.

  Was I wrong not to tell him? I took responsibility for Melissa by not telling him, I suppose, but that’s what I do. I take responsibility when I see someone hurting. Isn’t that what I should do?

  She didn’t seem to have any answer to that. Maybe she never would. She frowned at the coffee mug. The best thing would be to seek out Trent, try to clear matters between them so she could leave.

  Rapid footsteps sounded on the hall tile. Her heart thudded and she rose. Trent—

  But it was Derek who burst into the room, his hair disheveled, his face anxious. “Sarah, thank goodness. I need your help.” He grasped her arm, pulling her toward the hall.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Her stomach churned. Trouble, more trouble.

  “I saw them. Jonathan and Trent were in one of Jonathan’s boats, headed for Cat Isle.” He tugged her arm. “Hurry.”

  Fear clawed at her. “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes, but we can get there faster from here. Come on. If something’s happened, we might need a doctor.” His voice tightened on the words.

  His urgency infected her. Jonathan and Trent, going to Cat Isle together. That couldn’t be good. If Jonathan was guilty, if Trent confronted him there—

  She hurried alongside Derek, out the hallway, across the veranda, down to the path. She glanced back, seeing Melissa watching them from an upper window.

  “There’s Melissa—I should tell her what’s happening.” Melissa, waiting, wondering, as she had the day her mother died.

  “We don’t have time.” Derek pulled her along the dock. “Nothing she can do, anyway.” He helped her into one of the boats and jumped in lightly. The motor roared to life, and she winced.

  “It’s okay.” He seemed to catch the slight movement. “They checked out all the boats two or three times. It’s safe. Cast off that line, will you?”

  She hurried to do it, her hands fumbling awkwardly with the heavy coil. Trent. Please keep him safe, Lord.

  She stumbled to the bench seat, falling into it as Derek roared away from the dock. “Sorry.” He flung the word back over his shoulder.

  “I’m all right. Just get us there.”

  He accelerated, wake surging out behind them. The motor whined to a higher pitch, echoing the fear that ricocheted through her. Trent. Jonathan.

  “He wouldn’t dare hurt Trent now.
The police—”

  “He probably thinks the police are too stupid to add two and two.” The glance he shot her almost seemed exhilarated as the wind tore his words away. “Aren’t they?”

  “I guess so.” She gripped the side of the boat, wishing she’d taken a moment to put on a life jacket. Still, no matter how fast he was going, Derek handled the boat as if it were an extension of himself.

  “We’ll get there in time. I promise.”

  That was a promise he couldn’t guarantee, but he was trying to ease her fear. He couldn’t. Nothing but the sight of Trent, alive and well, could do that.

  Cat Isle came into view. She strained toward the dock. “I don’t see a boat. Are you sure they were headed here?”

  “Positive.” Derek eased back on the throttle, letting their forward momentum glide them to the dock. “It doesn’t mean anything. There’s a place on the other side of the island where you can take a boat in if the tide’s right.”

  She stood before the boat stopped. “Hurry.”

  “Wait a second.” Derek gestured toward the locker behind her. “My gun is in the locker. I was target-shooting over at Sandy Key the other day. We’d best take it with us.”

  She couldn’t shoot anyone, but maybe she could threaten, if she had to. If Trent were in danger—She flipped the lid up. The gun, stubby and mean looking, lay atop a folded tarp. She forced her fingers to close over it.

  “Here.” She handed it to Derek. “You take it.”

  He stuffed the weapon into his waistband. “Don’t like guns, Sarah?” He climbed onto the dock, reaching out a hand to help her up.

  “I’ve seen what they can do,” she said shortly. She wouldn’t let herself think of Trent lying in a pool of blood, life seeping out of him. She headed up the path, her sandals slipping on wet grass. “Hurry.”

  Derek’s footsteps were soft behind her. Impossible to run up the path—the encroaching undergrowth had eaten away at it since the last time she was here. In a few more weeks it would be completely obliterated.

  “It doesn’t look as if anyone has been here recently.” What if Derek was wrong? What if Jonathan had taken Trent somewhere else? Even now, he could—