“You’re getting dead!” Camy said, and started laughing.
“Camy, you are a monster,” Jon said. “Sabrina, we are getting married?”
“As soon as possible. Life is too short to waste any time,” she told him.
Camy, disgruntled that they seemed to be ignoring her, exclaimed, “You don’t know how short!”
“You are the one and only real monster, Camy, and you’ve played havoc with my life long enough!” Jon announced. He limped toward her.
“Keep your distance, Jon. I’ll shoot you.”
“Then do it! And you’d better aim well!” he said furiously. “Shoot to kill, because if I get my hands on you—”
“Wait, Jon! Camy, we’ve got to stop. We’re done—” Joshua began, but Camy was grimly taking aim.
“No!” Sabrina shrieked.
The gun went off.
“Jesus!” Sabrina swore.
Camy had shot Joshua. With a bullet in his shoulder, he slammed against the wall, sinking down to the floor.
Sabrina started toward Joshua, and Camy turned the gun on her, firing. She missed. Sabrina dove to the ground while Jon rushed for Camy.
Camy fired two haphazard shots, diving behind one of the tableaux as she did so.
“Jon!” Sabrina shrieked, rising.
“Stay down!” Jon commanded.
She couldn’t stay down. Jon knew as well as she did that they should make Camy keep firing wildly until she was out of bullets.
And Sabrina had to pray that the gun was a six-shooter.
Sabrina started to streak across the room again. Camy fired again. Missed.
One bullet left.
“Damn you, Sabrina, stay down!” Jon commanded.
At the moment, she did. They were all hiding among the wax tableaux, no one knowing exactly where anyone else was.
Then Camy suddenly rose from right behind Sabrina. She smiled, taking aim. “I kill you, and Jon is just as good as dead,” she said softly.
Her finger started to move on the trigger.
But Jon suddenly rose from behind Lady Ariana Stuart like a wave, a force of nature, a vengeful phoenix rising from ashes. He came hurtling across the room, tackling Camy at the ankles.
Camy shrieked, trying to aim and shoot.
But she teetered. Falling, she tried to take aim at Jon.
Her gun exploded.
So did a second weapon from somewhere else in the room.
Camy went limp, her eyes open, staring. Dead.
Brett, white as a ghost and still festooned in Sabrina’s makeshift bandages, stood wobbling at the entry from the hidden passage.
“Jon?” he said quietly. “Jesus, am I too late?”
“Just a flesh wound or two,” Jon said, rising, his hand on his upper arm.
“I know you’re a fighter, buddy,” Brett told Jon. “And you might have disarmed her, but I couldn’t risk losing my best friend.” Brett smiled, then crumpled to the floor.
Jon walked to Sabrina, reaching to help.
Camy lay dead. Joshua was wounded or dead. Brett was on the floor, passed out cold. She and Jon were alone among the carnage.
“It’s over,” he said softly. “Jesus, it’s over,” he repeated. “See if Joshua is alive, if he has a chance. I’m going to get Brett upstairs, stop the bleeding again, get him stabilized. Amazing, isn’t it? He did just turn out to be my best friend.” He knelt by Brett, carefully lifting the other man.
Then he looked up at Sabrina. “Did you really believe in me?” he asked.
“Always, in my heart.”
“But you were suspicious.”
“Logically, in my mind. But…”
“But what?”
“My heart would never listen,” she told him.
He smiled and, limping, led the way out of the chamber of horrors.
Epilogue
“Jon!”
He heard his name called, and he looked back.
There she stood, on the balcony. Calling to him.
He paused, smiled and waved back.
It had been two years since the night the medics and evacuation team had rushed up to the castle and the police had followed.
Both Reggie and Brett had made it. Jon’s own wound had healed easily, leaving only a tiny scar. Joshua had died on the operating table.
The media had hopped on Joshua Valine’s death, having a field day with the pathology of the unusual artist. His work garnered great publicity and attention—posthumously. But the gossip made Jon sad. Joshua had been guilty, but more of falling in love and refusing to think with his mind instead of his heart. He had become an accessory to brutal acts, though, and Jon often wondered if the artist could have survived year after year in jail. Camy’s bullet and Brett’s determination to protect his host and friend had written finis to the case before it ever went to a court of law.
Sabrina had left with the medical team that night to be with Brett—as a friend. And as soon as the police had finished with him, two weeks after the event, Jon had taken off from Lochlyre Castle, as well. He had needed to get away. To come to terms with everything that had happened. And he’d needed to do it alone.
Then, at last, he’d managed to go after Sabrina. And it was only with her that he’d broken down. He thought he had forgotten how to cry, and he hadn’t realized that he’d blamed himself for Cassie and for Susan and for all the pain suffered in his castle. But that first night back with Sabrina, he’d begun to forgive himself. And to fall in love all over again.
They were married quietly, with her folks, her sister and brother-in-law and baby nephew in attendance. He’d never been happier.
On their first anniversary, they were gifted with the birth of a son. And soon after that, Sabrina had insisted that they leave the States and come back here. To Lochlyre Castle. The castle wasn’t evil, she reminded him. Only some people were. She loved the estate, and vowed that it should be a place of happiness. That they could make it so.
And she had.
“Jon!”
“What?”
“You’re just staring at me.”
“Well, you called me.”
“I got a card from V.J. and Tom. They’re in Spain, and they want to come here for a week to visit.”
“Great! Tell them to come!”
He was surprised at the happiness he felt. He did love his castle. And, thank God, others wanted to come back, as well.
“V.J. says we need to host another Mystery Week sometime soon.”
“We’ll think about that one, okay?”
“Okay!”
Sabrina’s eyes were dancing in the sunlight. The breeze stirred her hair, making it flow around her face. She looked gorgeous, seductive, on the castle balcony. He’d gotten rid of the Poseidon statue, and the courtyard was planted with a vast variety of flowers.
She smoothed her hair back. “Jon…”
“Was there something else?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“What?”
“The baby is sleeping….”
“Yeah?”
“I thought you might want to come back for a while….”
He grinned, waved and started back to his castle. It was exactly where he wanted to be.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2862-1
NEVER SLEEP WITH STRANGERS
Copyright © 1998 by Heather Graham Pozzessere.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown
to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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