by Jean Barrett
Jennifer didn’t hesitate. She turned and ran, plunging through the wall of fog, counting on its thickness to hide her from her captor. If she could avoid him long enough to reach the path back to the castle…
Within seconds, she realized she was lost in the fog, unable to get her bearings. Higher ground. She needed to get to the higher ground, away from the deadly bogs. But in which direction was the higher ground?
Puffing from her flight, she knew she’d be better off ridding herself of the heavy canvas bag. But abandoning it was unthinkable. She wasn’t about to let Roger Harding get his hands on the Madonna again. Clinging stubbornly to her burden, she went on.
Her lungs were burning by now, forcing her to stop long enough to recover her wind. The fog hadn’t lightened at all. It was thicker than ever. Buried in the stuff, she could feel its rawness licking at her, was able to both taste and smell it in her nostrils.
Where was he? Striving not to panic, her senses on full alert, she listened for any sound that would betray his presence. There was only the stillness, so hushed that she could hear nothing at all. Unless they were no longer in the area, even the ponies were silent.
But Jennifer knew that Roger was out there somewhere. She could feel him stalking her.
It wasn’t safe for her to remain here. Fear clawing at her, she moved on through the sinister shroud. She’d gone less than three yards when she became aware that she was no longer on firm turf. The ground was squishy under her boots, evidence that she’d chosen the wrong direction. She hadn’t gone up, she’d gone down and was in the peat bogs again!
This was no good. One wrong step could have her sinking in the mire. Afraid to go on, and equally afraid to try going back, she stood there in helpless indecision.
It was then that she heard it. The soft, cautious tread of approaching footsteps behind her. Gasping, she whirled around to confront her enemy, prepared to slam the bag into him if he attempted to grab her.
Tense seconds passed. Then, with every nerve in her body screaming, she watched as a tall figure emerged like a phantom from the fog. Disbelief seized her, followed by pure joy.
Leo!
Not caring how he had gotten here, only that he had managed to find her, Jennifer rushed toward him with relief. His waiting arms folded her tightly against his solid, blessed length. Oblivious to the bulky bag that got in the way, he lowered his head and kissed her with a ferocity that needed no translation. His mouth on hers plainly said that she was safe in his arms where she belonged.
When he finally held her away from him, there was a fierceness in the whiskey-colored eyes that searched her face. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice like a rasp. “Did he hurt you? If the bastard touched you, I swear I’ll—”
“I’m not hurt.”
It was then she noticed he wasn’t wearing a coat. It was an absurd thing to worry about at a time like this, but she couldn’t help herself from caring. He mattered that much to her.
“Where is he?” Leo asked her gruffly.
“He’s right here, Mr. McKenzie.”
The menacing voice spoke from somewhere behind her. Jennifer wheeled around. She and Leo had been so busy with each other they had failed to notice that the fog had started to melt away. It had lifted enough to reveal Roger Harding standing only yards away, the pistol in his hand leveled at them.
“Put the bag down, Jennifer,” he ordered her calmly. “Yes, that’s right. Now both of you back away from it.”
Having placed the bag on the ground as he’d instructed, she put her hand on Leo’s arm, feeling his angry resistance as she drew him into a quick retreat. His steely gaze remained fixed on Roger when they stopped several feet away from the bag.
Nodding his approval, Roger approached the bag. He was bending over, reaching eagerly for the prize, when a rook somewhere out in the lingering shreds of mist uttered his shrill call. Startled by the sound, Roger made the mistake of turning his head in the direction of the cry.
Leo didn’t hesitate. He launched himself at Harding, catching him off guard in a state of vulnerability. The two men went down under the fury of Leo’s impact, struggling for possession of the pistol.
Though Leo delivered several powerful blows, his opponent hung on tightly to the gun, refusing to release it. For a moment Jennifer watched the battle in stunned surprise. Then, collecting herself, she started forward to help Leo.
Her effort proved unnecessary. Before she could act, Leo, gripping Roger by the wrist, succeeded in banging his arm down on the wet earth with such force that the pistol leaped out of his hand. Arcing through the air, the weapon landed amid tufts of grass several yards away.
With a heaving body and curses of rage, Roger managed to shove himself free. Leo made a grab for his legs, but before he could capture his adversary again, Roger had sprung to his feet and was on his way to retrieve the gun.
He had traveled only a few yards toward the tufts when the deceptive surface began to quake, sagging under his weight. Only then, with an expression of horror on his face, did he re alize that in his rush to get the gun, he had plunged into one of the treacherous quagmires.
By the time he turned and tried to go back, it was too late. He was already floundering in mud up to his calves and sinking with an astonishing rapidity. Held fast, he was unable to lift a foot out of the ooze.
“We’ve got to help him!” Jennifer cried. “We can’t let him die like that!”
Her appeal had already been answered by Leo, who was crawling on hands and knees toward the edge of the path.
“Stay back,” he ordered her.
Flattening himself where the earth was still solid, he stretched out a hand toward Harding. Useless. Though he strained to reach him, the gap between the two men was too wide.
Jennifer looked around wildly, searching for a limb. But there were no trees out here in the marshes. Nothing they could extend to Roger, no line they could throw to him.
When she looked back, he was up to his waist in mire and whimpering in terror.
“What can we do?” she implored Leo. “There must be something.”
Getting to his feet, Leo came to her. “There’s nothing,” he said quietly.
Roger was praying now, a series of garbled supplications as the mud continued to suck him down. Jennifer couldn’t bear to watch the gruesome scene, to hear the prayers that turned into the terrible howls of a trapped animal. Leo held her tightly while she buried her head against his chest.
“It’s over,” he said a moment later.
When she lifted her head and looked, Roger was gone, a victim of his own frenzy. Nothing remained on the surface of the bog that had claimed him but his last bubbles of air.
Except for the croak of the rook, there was silence again in the valley.
JENNIFER AND LEO SAT side by side on a bench situated in a corner of the bailey where they warmed themselves in the late afternoon sun.
“You okay?” he asked her, reaching for her hand.
She nodded, her fingers curling gratefully around his. “I will be as soon as the police tell me I’m no longer a suspect in Guy’s death.”
“With all we’ve got to give them, there won’t be any question of it,” he promised her.
She was lying. She wasn’t worried about that. Nor could she be all right when she and Leo’s future remained unresolved. Perhaps what she longed for so passionately, she and Leo making a life together, would never be possible. Not if he didn’t feel what she felt for him. It was a subject that had yet to be addressed. And it scared her.
She wondered if Leo sensed her anxiety, if he was avoiding the issue with something safe and unemotional because he didn’t want to hurt her. Maybe that’s why he asked, “What did Father Stephen say when you told him the Madonna was probably not made out of any part of the cross?”
“He accepted it, especially when I told him that, cross or not, the Madonna was sure to realize a big sum when it was sold. At this point, I think he’s more concerned about G
eoffrey.”
“He has reason to be. Even though Harding committed all of the crimes, there’s every likelihood Geoffrey will be charged as an accessory.”
“Father Stephen knows that, but it doesn’t matter to him.”
Jennifer remembered what the abbot had told her after he had locked the Madonna back in the strong room. “Whatever happens,” he’d said, “Geoffrey is still one of us. We won’t abandon him.”
While she’d been in the office with Father Stephen, Leo had gone to the infirmary to check on Sybil. And since he seemed to want to stick to safe subjects, Jennifer asked him about that.
“You already mentioned Brother Timothy told you Sybil was conscious for a brief time and that he was encouraged by that. Did he say anything else about her condition?”
“Just that he thought she had a good chance of recovering, providing the ambulance got her to the Heathside hospital in time. And since the paramedics are already on the way…”
Yes, Jennifer thought, the road was open now. They were no longer isolated. This, together with the repair of the power and phone lines, had enabled Father Stephen to contact both the hospital and the police. The police were also on their way to the monastery, which was why she and Leo were waiting in the bailey for their arrival.
“Poor Sybil,” Jennifer said. “We thought Roger was spending all that time in the chapel praying for her survival. And all along it was just an excuse to be near the infirmary so that, if he got the chance, he could make certain she didn’t talk before he was able to put the Madonna away in the mine.”
“He actually tell you that?”
“On the way from his room to the abbot’s office.”
“Nice guy,” Leo said dryly.
Yes, she thought, but even though Roger Harding had been an atrocious human being, no one deserved to die like that. She shuddered over the memory of it.
“He tell you anything else?” Leo wanted to know. “Like how he planned to get away once he’d accomplished his wacky scheme?”
She shook her head. “He was so completely obsessed with making sure the Madonna never left Warley that I don’t think he thought about or cared what happened to him afterwards.”
Explanations exchanged, they sat in silence on the bench with Jennifer still wondering when, and if, they would ever get around to talking about them.
A moment later a restless Leo, who was still holding her hand, drew her to her feet. “Let’s go see if there’s any sign of the cops.”
They strolled across the bailey, through the portal of the gatehouse and out into the open beyond. Standing there side by side on the lane, they scanned the ribbon of road that wound across the moors where the last of the snow under the strong March sun would soon be nothing but a memory. As yet, there were no vehicles in sight.
Leo had released her hand. She glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at her. His attention was on the road, leaving her still wondering. Would he ever express his feelings one way or another? She couldn’t take any more of this. She had to know.
“What happens after we’ve all been questioned and released?”
He turned his head then to gaze at her. “How do you mean?”
“Us,” she said impatiently. “You and me.”
“Right. We take your car and go and get my car out of that ditch. I’ll need it.”
“To go back to London?”
“No. To follow you back to that cozy little inn in Heathside. I plan for us to take up where we left off last night.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I figure on one room with one wide bed. That’s all we’ll need.”
“Uh-huh. What else do you intend on doing in that cozy room?”
“Telling you what a fool I was to ever question your innocence. Well, that and just how much I love you.”
“And that’s it?” she asked, wondering how she could sound so casual when she was glowing with relief and joy.
“Not quite. I’ve got to convince you, whatever it takes and whatever I have to promise…”
“What?”
“That, lout or not, you just gotta love me. I’m thinking, Jenny, I’m not going to make it if you don’t.”
“Then you can relax, because I do. Love you, that is.”
“Yeah?” His eyes shone with an eager happiness.
“Yeah. So, you see, you don’t have to wait until Heathside for that.”
“Or to waste any more words on it either,” he growled softly. “Not when action can say it a whole lot better.”
He demonstrated that by sliding his arms around her, squeezing her against him and angling his mouth across her in a deep, rapturous kiss. A kiss that, just as he’d indicated, was far more convincing than any verbal declaration.
“Of course,” he said when his mouth finally lifted from hers, “we do have a few other things to settle.”
“Like?”
“Where we’re going to live.”
“You know, Boston is a good place.”
“So is Philly.”
“And your work is there, while mine is basically in Boston. We’ve got a problem then.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out,” he said, holding her close. “There isn’t anything that we can’t work out. You and me. Together. Way I see it, we’ve got a whole, beautiful lifetime for it.”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-2250-2
TO THE RESCUE
Copyright © 2006 by Jean Barrett
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, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 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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*The Hawke Detective Agency
Table of Contents
Dedication
About the Author
Books by Jean Barrett
Cast of Characters
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Copyright