“Be quiet now.” His dispassionate voice seemed so far above her.
She managed to lift her eyelids enough to see he was standing over her. She felt his pants fall on her abdomen. He stepped out of them then bent to gather them in one hand before tossing them aside.
Her head lolled as she watched their progress, noting they landed in the spot where she had been standing when Philip had come into the room. A glittering caught her eye. There was something beneath the pants, something shiny. She furrowed her brow. It seemed important she identify what the partially concealed object was. Shiny, shiny, shiny, played in her head like the fragment of an annoying song.
Philip’s grunt was hot in her ear as he dropped down to sprawl on top of her. He wedged his legs between her knees and began to force her thighs apart.
“I’ll make you forget Drumlin.”
Dylan. Morgan couldn’t bear to think how he would react. Philip had to be stopped, for all of their sakes. But how? Shiny, shiny, shiny.
She looked over again at the discarded pants. She forced herself to focus even as Philip continued to work on separating her legs. He had angled himself up on his hands and was worming one knee between her calves.
The corkscrew, the one she’d dropped when he’d startled her. If she twisted to the side, she could reach it. But once she had it, then what?
Morgan hesitated. She looked at Philip. He didn’t notice. He was too intent on his goal. She knew he was intoxicated beyond reasoning. And he had hurt her and would go on hurting her unless she stopped him. She had to stop him.
He beamed at her then, triumph shining in his eyes. He’d managed to insinuate his knee between hers. He shifted his weight to force the other one in place. It was now or never.
She opened her legs wide, bending them at the knees. Philip snorted his pleasure, pulling back to position himself to enter her. Moving like liquid metal, she pushed herself up and extended her arm to the side. It took a split second for her to acquire her target. She nimbly flipped the tool in her hand until the business end of it was protruding from between her ring and middle finger. Gathering all the strength she could muster, she punched into Philip’s side.
He reared up on his knees, howling in pain, twisting sideways to grab at the handle of the corkscrew protruding from the flesh of his hip.
Morgan scrambled backward until she could get her feet beneath her then bolted for the stairs. Once she made it to the safety of the kitchen, she slammed and locked the cellar door.
Stumbling to the phone, she managed to grab the receiver before sinking to the floor. The numbers on the keypad blurred. Her teeth chattered together as her body succumbed to chills. She knew she was going into shock. She didn’t know how much time she had. With a badly shaking finger she managed to hit the 1 button.
“Please be there. Please,” she prayed.
* * * *
Dylan discretely retrieved his vibrating cell from the inside pocket of his suit coat in order to check the caller ID.
“Excuse me,” he apologized to the young woman sitting across from him. “I have to take this.”
She shrugged and took a cigarette and lighter out of her purse. Dylan pushed the ash tray on his desk toward her before swiveling his chair to face the window behind him.
“Morgan?”
“Dylan…” Her voice broke on his name and then he heard her sobs.
He sprang to his feet, his chair cracking against his desk.
“Morgan!”
“I’m okay. I’m okay.”
He bent forward, a hand to his ear, in an effort to hear her.
“What’s happened?”
“I…I can’t explain. Send an ambulance. Dylan, please. I need your help. I…I’ve stabbed Philip…I…can’t…”
Her whispers faded to indecipherable mumbling as he crossed the room to fling open the door.
“Adam!”
His startled assistant looked up questioningly.
“Call 911. Get an ambulance to Seascape.” When Adam continued to stare, Dylan bellowed, “Now!”
Then, cell phone clutched to his ear, he ran.
Through the hall to the elevator, and during the interminable descent to the garage, he kept talking to her. One handed, because he refused to chance losing the connection to switch to speaker, he backed out of his parking space and maneuvered into the early evening traffic. For long minutes there was only agonizing silence on the other end of the line. He had no way of knowing if she even had the phone to her ear any longer but he kept talking.
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon. Help is on the way. I promise. Hold on, sweet. Hold on. I’m coming. I’m coming.”
“Ah, hello?” A man’s voice came through.
Unnerved, Dylan swerved slightly as he was merging onto the highway, setting off a chorus of honking horns.
“Who is this?” he demanded, a cold knot of fear forming in his stomach. “Philip!”
“No, Paul. Paul Aulderide. I’m an EMT.”
“This is Dylan Drumlin, Ms. Shore’s, ah, attorney. Do you have her? Is she all right?”
“She’s right here, but she’s unconscious. My partner is examining her now. Do you have any idea what happened?”
“No, not really. She wasn’t able to say much before she passed out. She did say she thought she’d stabbed someone, Philip Field.”
“Is he the one who attacked her?”
For a moment, Dylan couldn’t speak.
“Mr. Drumlin?”
“I’m here. Did you say she’s been assaulted?”
“It appears so. Hold on.”
Dylan silently cursed the distance separating him from Morgan. It was killing him to have strangers relaying her condition to him. He’d never felt so entirely helpless. Finally, Paul came back on the line.
“Sorry. We’ve made her more comfortable.”
“Thank you,” Dylan managed. “How is she?”
“Her injuries seem to be relatively minor. We’d still like to get her to the hospital. We’ll be taking her to…hold on.”
There was a clatter, as if the phone had been dropped on the tile floor or kitchen counter. Dylan slammed his hand against the steering wheel. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw an opening in the traffic to his left. Slipping his car into the passing lane, he felt a slight satisfaction at being able to accelerate.
“Mr. Drumlin?”
“Still here.”
“We found Mr. Field. He was at the base of the stairs off the kitchen.”
“The wine cell…”
“Mr. Drumlin, I’m sorry to cut you off, but Mr. Field has been stabbed with what appears to be a corkscrew. We’ve got to transport him and Ms. Shore immediately. We’re taking them to the Rock Bluffs Campus of UMass Medical. You can check on their condition there.”
The line went dead. Dylan hadn’t realized until then how much he had been depending upon the connection. He continued to hold the phone to his ear for a few moments before finally tossing it onto the seat next to him. He looked at it longingly before turning his full attention to the road in front of him. There were miles and miles of it between him and Morgan.
In the ensuing quiet, the drone of the car’s wheels against the pavement the only sound, one question after another plagued Dylan’s mind. What the hell had happened? Philip had attacked her, but why? Dylan had known something was wrong with Philip last night, why hadn’t he said anything? Told Morgan? Warned her?
It was typical; he’d been too preoccupied by his own selfish concerns to think about her. The odd conversation with Philip had been forced from his mind. Dylan had spent the long, sleepless night composing and rehearsing a brilliant monologue he had been sure would convince Morgan they had to find their way back to a purely professional relationship. It had to do with what they owed Aaron. He’d put his trust in them and they couldn’t risk endangering the future of the Field Foundation with a failed relationship. It played on Morgan’s fear of disappointing Aaron. It assured her any r
elationship with him was doomed to failure. It was brilliant and complete bullshit.
He might have convinced Morgan, but he couldn’t convince himself. All the time he was coming up with talking points he was remembering her in his arms in the sand, the sounds of the surf mingling with her sighs and moans. His foot flexed against the accelerator.
Dylan had resigned himself to loosing Morgan. He’d expected pushing her away would drive her toward another life, a better life. One she would ultimately share with a man who could love her as she deserved to be loved.
What Dylan hadn’t been able to conceive of was no matter how much distance—physical or emotional—he put between himself and Morgan, she still loved him. Nothing he did or said seemed capable of changing that simple fact. And he’d been too much of a coward to even let her say the words to him. He’d even been prepared to let her suffer alone the grief of unanswered adoration so he wouldn’t have to test his weaknesses or rouse his fears. Lillian had been right. He was a goddamn coward.
Coward! The word chased behind him as he exited the highway and navigated the secondary roads to the hospital. It echoed in his head as he searched for a parking spot in the garage then dashed into the emergency room. It became a mocking undertone as the nursing staff assured him Morgan’s injuries were not life threatening and directed him to her room.
Dylan hesitated, his gaze locked on his fingers curled around the door handle. The chilling fact he had allowed fear to run his life and almost ruin Morgan’s became a shame as cold and hard as the steel beneath his skin. She had told him he couldn’t keep doing this to her and she was right.
He had to decide, right then. Either walk out of the hospital and get the hell out of her life for good, or go through the door and accept whatever waited for him on the other side. In the end, it was an astonishingly easy decision.
With a slow twist of his wrist, he unlatched the door and quietly pushed it open, stepping inside the darkened room.
Chapter 13
Standing in the doorway to Philip’s room, Morgan paused to collect her thoughts. On his side with his face turned to her, he slept peacefully. The physically demanding nature of his work had given him a well-muscled, mature body, and sometimes she forgot he was only two years older than her. Right then, at rest, he reminded her of the boyish, blue-eyed blond he’d been when she’d first come to Seascape to live. What had happened? How had things gone so wrong?
She decided to wait to talk with him. Sidestepping out, she guided the door to quietly close.
“Morgan?” She heard his raspy voice.
Putting her head into the room she whispered, “Yes, I wanted to see if you were all right.”
“If I’m…you can’t be serious?”
“Of course I am.” She came fully into the room, letting the door sweep shut behind her. “I, well, I stabbed you.”
“You stopped me, Morgan. From doing something I…” He coughed dryly and looked at his bedside table. “Is there any water in that thing?”
She walked closer to lift the plastic pitcher; it was half-full. Uncapping the empty cup she found there, she poured some water into it and snapped the top back on before handing it to him. He drank without sitting up, drawing from the straw out of the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you.” He handed the cup back to her.
“Does it hurt very much?” Her eyes trained on his hip.
He looked down at his body. “Not as much as I deserve.” He brought his gaze back to her. “Not nearly as much as I deserve.”
“Please, don’t say that. I feel terrible about hurting you. Tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” he reassured her. “A few stitches and a tetanus shot.”
“And it doesn’t hurt too badly?”
“No, it doesn’t.” He looked up at her out of the corners of his eyes. “What about you?”
“Me?” she asked as she turned to put down the cup she’d been holding.
“Yes, you.”
She felt him hook the fingers of her right hand and tug her closer. She dropped her head, trying to hide from his searching gaze.
“I’m fine.”
He reached up and brushed her hair back behind her shoulders. Morgan heard his gasp.
“What did I do?”
“It looks a lot worse than it feels,” she asserted.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true though. I know it looks terrible, but it doesn’t really hurt.”
He continued to study her, seemingly wanting to torture himself with each bump and bruise. When he finally brought his eyes to hers they were bright with tears and self-loathing. Without thought, she reached for him placing her hand on his cheek.
“It’s all right.”
“It’s not.” He groaned, twisting into the mattress and away from her touch. “You can’t be nice to me. You can’t be good and kind and so damn nice.”
“What do you expect?” She sat carefully on the edge of the bed bringing her hands together in her lap. “You’re hurt and in trouble.”
He turned to look at her with disbelief.
“I expect you to hate me.”
“Well, I don’t. I care about you, and you need help. Unfortunately, the police are involved now and some things may be out of our control. But…” She smiled. “I happen to know where we can get a good lawyer.”
“Drumlin.” He looked to the door as if expecting Dylan to be standing there. “Does he know?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I wasn’t thinking clearly last night. When I got to the phone I punched the autodial.”
Philip looked at her like he couldn’t decipher what she was saying.
“Are you apologizing for calling him?”
“Well, he’s not the most underst…”
“Jesus, Morgan. You’ve got to stop. You want to forgive me? Fine. But first you have to be furious with me. I’ve been a self-involved, drunken asshole. I’ve embarrassed you, harassed you, and last night I tried to rape you. Do you think you could spare me a little contempt?”
“I’m sorry.” Tears of frustration blurred her vision. “I just…I’ve failed you and…” Her breath hitched on a sob. “And Aaron. I’ve failed Aaron.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded covering her hands with one of his own.
“I knew you were in trouble. I knew as soon as I saw you after Aaron died, something was terribly wrong. But I ignored it and have kept on ignoring it. I pretended everything was going to be all right; you needed time. But you didn’t need time, you needed help. You needed me to demand you get help.”
“And why, exactly, was it your responsibility?”
“Who else? Who else, but me?” she cried. “Your father’s gone. Mr. and Mrs. Tibbe love us, but they’re our employees. Who else, Philip? Me. Just me. I’m your family, and I should have been there for you. That’s why Aaron left Seascape to both of us, so we could be each other’s family, take care of each other. And when you needed me most, I failed. And here we are, having this discussion in the hospital.”
“I…” He paused and swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. It’s simply the truth.” She looked at him carefully before continuing. “Like this is the truth, you’re an alcoholic, and you’re going to get treatment. I’m hoping we can get you time in a facility instead of prison. I expect you to do this. I expect you to be a highly successful recovered alcoholic.” She tangled her fingers with his and held on tight. “Don’t disappoint me, Philip.”
“I won’t,” he pledged despite his troubled expression.
“You’re going to be okay,” Morgan insisted. “We’re both going to be all right.”
He nodded solemnly.
“I’m going to go.” She stood up, pausing to sweep her hand over his forehead his eyes fluttering closed at her gentle touch. “You should rest.”
“So should you,” he countered sleepily.
She straightened and started
for the door before remembering something else she needed to ask.
“Philip, do you know how long they’re keeping you here?”
He opened his eyes with difficulty. “I think I’ll be released for arraignment sometime tomorrow.”
“You’ll let me know?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you leaving today?”
“I’d like to, but my doctor said something about keeping me another night. I really want to go home.” Her voice broke with longing.
“I know the feeling.”
“Oh, Philip,” she said softly. “We’ll both get there.”
He smiled for a moment before closing his eyes again.
She turned toward the door, stepping forward and pushing it open. There was someone just outside.
“Excuse me,” she apologized, startled.
“You’re forgiven,” was Dylan’s brusque response.
* * * *
Dylan struggled to manage his fear and anger. His heart had been in his throat for the last thirty minutes while Morgan had been supplicating herself to the man who’d put her in the hospital.
It was partly his fault. He never should have left her. He’d let the night nurse bully him into a hot shower and a few hours’ sleep at a nearby motel. She had insidiously suggested Morgan needed private time to deal with her injuries and the events of the last twenty-four hours. It had made perfect sense, at the time, and Dylan had to admit the rest had done him good. But his improved disposition had waned considerably when he’d opened the door to Morgan’s room and found her bed empty.
He’d covered the distance to the nurses’ station in short measure.
“Where is Morgan Shore?”
“Excuse me?” the nurse behind the counter had asked without taking her eyes off the charts in front of her.
Dylan had leaned forward, dipping his head to read her nametag.
“Ms. Fisher, where is Morgan Shore, room 319?”
“She’s still not in her room?” The woman had glanced at him, eyebrows raised.
He had sighed, running his hand through his hair and trying, unsuccessfully, to count to ten before speaking.
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