by Jill Jones
As the doctor left the room, a knot tied itself in Jack’s throat. Despite Garrison’s controlling nature, he had always been family that cared. For Brad. For Jack. And he’d pulled them both through. His was a love Jack was only now just beginning to understand.
Jack thought of Keely, and his heart went out to her. She had left behind all the family she had ever known. Jack had promised to be there for her, and like Garrison had for him and Brad, he would see Keely through her time of crisis as well. Not out of loyalty, or duty. But out of love.
He would be her family who cared.
Lost in his reverie, he didn’t hear Garrison approach, and he jumped when he touched his arm.
“He wants you.”
Jack furrowed his brows but gave a nod in answer. He moved to Brad’s bedside. At first, he could discern no difference in his friend who lay inert on the bed, as he had now for nearly a week. The room was darkened, quiet except for the steady blip of one of the monitors. Jack leaned against the guardrail on the bed. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered.
He heard no reply but thought he saw Brad’s lips move ever so slightly. He bent to where his face was within inches of Brad’s.
“Knew him.” Brad’s words were barely audible.
“Say again.”
But there was no reply. Jack waited, holding his breath, but Brad seemed to have slipped over the edge again into the twilight world of coma. Garrison came to the other side of the bed.
“What did he say?”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not sure. It sounded like ‘knew him.’ But it could have been anything.”
“He said your name. I heard it clearly.”
Jack gave him a smile. “He’s going to make it, Garrison. We’ll just have to give him some time.”
“Can you stay awhile? He might come to again. If he asked for you once…”
“I’ll be here for him,” Jack broke in. Keely was safe in the hotel room and needed rest. He was needed more here at the moment. “I think I’d better let Sandringham know Brad might be able to talk soon, though. If he can just tell us what happened that night, Scotland Yard can go after the killer, and I can rest easier for Keely’s safety.”
Jack left Garrison and went to a pay telephone in the lobby. Before dialing Sandringham’s number, he called the hotel. The phone rang and rang, but when Keely did not answer, Jack wasn’t too concerned. He had told her, half in jest, not to answer the phone. After the harassing phone calls from that creepy kid on Keinadraig, Jack wondered if Keely would ever answer another telephone.
Sandringham was more prompt. “I’ll be right there,” he said. “Your friend holds the key to the whole thing. We’ll move on it as soon as we know who to go after.”
An hour later, the inspector entered Brad’s room, where Jack and Garrison both motioned with finger to lip for him not to speak. The three kept a tense vigil, the will among them for Brad to wake up so strong Jack could almost feel it.
The hands of the clock on the wall opposite the bed moved steadily through the afternoon, but Brad’s early signs of consciousness did not repeat themselves. At last, Jack motioned for Sandringham to accompany him for a break.
In the lounge, they bought cold drinks from a vending machine. Then Jack spoke. “I didn’t have a chance this morning to tell you, but Keely and I found out last night how Brad became acquainted with Genevieve Sloan.” He described their foray into the pubs in the area of the hotel. “I know it looks at first glance like he picked up a hooker. But according to Keely, and the date on the train ticket, Genevieve had only run away earlier the same day. Not much time to set up business. I sincerely believe he was with her because he befriended her.”
The inspector looked thoughtful. “That phone number you found in the room rang in her village. Do you think she might have tried to call for someone to come get her?”
Jack let out a sigh. “Could be. Too bad it was too late.” Then a sudden thought struck him. “Unless…that was how someone from Keinadraig managed to find her. Good God, do you suppose…?”
“The timing doesn’t work, like you just said. Good try, Mr. Knight, but Cornwall is hours from here. Unless this cult flies a jet, there’s no way someone could have received her phone call and come here so quickly to do the deed. Unless the Dragon has a hit man,” he added wryly.
Their conjecture was interrupted as Garrison came toward them, gesturing urgently. “Come quickly, both of you. He’s trying to talk again.”
With Garrison on one side of the bed, and Jack and the inspector on the other, they watched Brad struggle to rejoin the world of the living. He opened his eyes, blinked, then focused on his father.
“Hi, Dad,” he said weakly.
Garrison took his hand, his eyes filling with tears. “Welcome back, son.” Jack had to fight tears of his own.
Brad stared blankly for a few seconds. “Where am I?”
“In the hospital. In London. You…you were shot, son.”
Brad made no effort to respond, but he did not close his eyes. His focus shifted to somewhere far away, as if he were groping for memory. Jack held his breath. The doctors had warned that even if he were to regain consciousness, Brad could suffer severe memory loss, or worse, loss of virtually all mental function. The effects of head injuries were difficult to predict.
Brad stirred at last. “Someone else.” He cast his glance in Jack’s direction. “A girl.”
Jack nodded. “She was killed, Brad.”
Now Brad closed his eyes, and Jack saw Garrison give him a warning wag of the head. Jack remembered what the doctor had said. He must come out of this in his own time. He noted Sandringham was showing remarkable restraint for a police investigator. As eager as he was, Jack had to wait until Brad was ready. They had waited a week. They could wait longer. Brad was coming back, and in time he would be able to tell them everything that happened.
Jack just hoped Keely had time.
But without prompting from any of them, Brad spoke again. “She knew him,” he murmured, this time clearly enough that they all heard. “She knew the man who killed her.”
Jack wasn’t eager to tell Keely that Brad had all but confirmed that the killer was someone from Keinadraig. He had been unable to give a description, as he had fallen again into unconsciousness, but his claim that Genevieve Sloan had known her assailant was enough for Scotland Yard to turn its search in that direction. Sandringham had reasonably asked Jack to bring Keely back to his office for questioning. It wasn’t going to be easy on her, but she would have to come to grips with the truth sooner or later. The sooner the better, Jack thought, for she, too, might make the same fatal mistake he believed Genny had made. She might open her door to someone she recognized, never dreaming a friend or kinsman might be a killer.
Hurrying through the traffic on his way back to the hotel, Jack’s anxiety grew. He shouldn’t have left Keely alone for so long. He hoped she had ordered something from room service by now. He did not knock, but used his key and opened the door to their suite, and he knew in an instant something was wrong. It was too quiet. The room felt empty, devoid of life and breath. “Keely!” He ran to the bedroom. “Keely!”
He tried not to panic. There was a logical reason why she was not here. Maybe she’d gone downstairs to the restaurant for the lunch he’d promised and never brought her. He turned to go search for her in the hotel when his eye fell on the small tote bag standing next to his suitcase. It looked full, as if she’d packed it to leave. Unzipping it, he confirmed that it indeed held everything she owned—both dresses, the nightclothes, cosmetics—everything he’d bought for her in Fowey. The only thing missing was the clothing she’d been wearing when he had taken her away from Keinadraig.
Panic mounting, Jack stood and ran his hands through his hair. If she’d just gone downstairs for a late lunch, why would she have changed into those old clothes? A terrible premonition swept over him, and he knew that Keely had not gone for lunch. She had left for good. Dear God, he thought, breaking out in an icy swea
t, had she returned to the cult? Had seeing Genevieve’s body this morning renewed her fear of the dragon’s retribution and caused her to run back to the island, thinking to escape a similar fate? Jack felt sick to his stomach. If she had, she was running right into the arms of the killer.
Tormented, Jack returned to the sitting area at the front of the suite, where he spied a small white piece of paper on the coffee table, next to the spare room key.
“Dear Jack…”
The writing was square, printed and childlike. “Please forgive me for leaving, but I must. My heart is torn. Thank you for your many kindnesses. You have been a good friend. Keely Cochrane.”
Beneath was added a post script: “Could I beg of you yet one more kindness? Please see to…” Jack turned the page over. “…Genevieve? I will find a way to repay you. K.C.”
Jack crushed the note in his fist and dropped into a chair, awash in alarm and nearly unbearable pain. What did she mean, “my heart is torn?” Torn between her old life and her new? Or torn because of what had happened between them last night? Or both? He damned himself for letting things get so out of hand. She had been a virgin, an innocent, and even though she’d acted like their lovemaking gave her pleasure in the night, by the light of day, their interlude in bed, and all its implications, had probably frightened her. She had told him she wanted him as a friend, but he’d let his own desires take him way beyond those limits. That and the shock of seeing Genevieve, not only dead, but with her Dragon symbol cut away, must have been enough to send Keely flying back to that dreadful place.
Jack felt as if his heart had been cut away as well. Damn it, he’d known better than to become involved with her. He’d known the risk, the many risks, of losing his heart to someone like Keely Cochrane. And yet, his heart had given him no choice. It had demanded that he love her, it seemed, from the very first time he’d encountered her high on that windy hill amidst the mysterious circle of stones. But he’d pushed her too hard, taken things too fast. And now he’d lost her. His selfish desires might even cost her her life.
He must go after her, even though she would not welcome him. He’d vowed to protect her, but now her life was in danger because of him. He glanced at his watch. Five-thirty. How long had she been gone? In the three hours he’d spent at the hospital, she could have caught a train and be halfway to Cornwall. But Keely had no money. What would she use for train fare? A flicker of hope lit within him. Maybe she hadn’t gone back to Keinadraig after all. But then he recalled the two bags lined up neatly in the bedroom and remembered that his had been sitting open on the chaise when he’d left. A quick check confirmed that half of his emergency money was missing. Enough to buy a ticket to Penzance.
If she was on the train, he would never be able to catch her, even if he drove like a madman. But he must prevent her from going to the island. He doubted the cult would accept her back, especially if she let them know what she’d seen on Genevieve’s neck. Jack doubted that Alyn Runyon or whoever had killed Genny would want to share that dark little secret, and he suspected that if Keely returned to Keinadraig, she would meet with one of those nasty little “accidents” the Dragoners celebrated in their ballad.
Taking the telephone from his belt, Jack dialed Inspector Sandringham. “She’s gone.”
Thirty minutes later, he was in Sandringham’s office, waiting impatiently while the inspector spoke with the Penzance police. Hanging up, he looked across at Jack. “They’ll cover the train station and try to intercept her when she arrives. Guess all we can do now is wait.”
“Wait?” Jack exploded. “There’s a killer loose down there. Don’t you people have a helicopter or something?”
Sandringham gave him a patient smile. “This isn’t California,” he said. “We think the killer might be from there. But we don’t know for certain. All we have to go on is a whisper from a man just coming out of a coma. We don’t go rushing off until we have some idea of who we are looking for.”
Jack knew the inspector was technically correct in his procedures, but he didn’t like it one bit. “I’m going back to the hospital,” he snarled.
When he got there, he found a guard posted by Brad’s door who challenged his entry until Garrison gave him the okay. “Scotland Yard thought it wise, in case the gunman learned that Brad might pull through and try to strike again,” he explained.
Inside Brad’s room, another investigator sat by Brad’s bed. “In case he comes to again and can give us more information.”
Jack begrudgingly had to admit that Sandringham was more on top of things than he’d given him credit for. Still, he could not just stand by and wait. Taking Garrison out into the hall, he explained what had happened, and what he feared might happen to Keely.
“Sandringham told me the Penzance police could detain her, but only for a while. She is returning of her own will, and she’s committed no crime, so if she still wants to go back to Keinadraig after being warned that the killer could be one of her own people, they’ll have no way to stop her.”
“Surely she wouldn’t do that?” Garrison said.
“I think she suspected when she left here that it could have been one of her own who killed Genevieve, because of the removal of the kiss of the Dragon,” Jack said gloomily. “I think part of why she went back was because she was afraid they would do the same to her.”
He didn’t mention the other part of why.
“Will they let her return?”
“I think they’ll let her onto the island, where they can kill her, too, but in the privacy of their little dragon’s lair.”
Garrison frowned. “Will she listen to you?”
It was a question Jack couldn’t answer. “I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve got to go to her before it gets that far. I have to try to stop her.” He’d never asked anything of Garrison before, because he’d never had to. Now, he needed his help more than anything he’d needed in a long while. “Do you still know how to fly helicopters?”
Heavy clouds obscured the night sky when Kevin Spearman led Keely to his small car and drove through the shadowy streets of Penzance to a boat docked privately far from the bright lights of the marina. Her hands were still tied behind her, and the gag remained in her mouth, although the man’s wife had had the mercy to release her for a time and give her food and water and let her use the loo.
Neither man nor wife had spoken to her during the course of the evening, even when she’d questioned them. It was as if she were being shunned. But these were not Dragoners. Why would they shun her? She supposed they had been instructed to do so by whoever had paid Mr. Spearman to hire those dreadful men to kidnap her.
Keely never doubted that she was being taken back to Keinadraig, and if she weren’t so terrified, she would have laughed at the irony of someone spending money to drag her home when she’d been on the way on her own. She had planned to sneak onto the island unseen, make her way to Alyn’s office, and hopefully, find the gun nestled at the back of his drawer where it always was, thus proving once and for all that the murderer was not one of her own people.
With that knowledge, she could have breathed easier, at least for Jack. She’d believed that as long as she stayed away from him, Jack would come to no harm, although for herself, she would not have been surprised if she’d been run over by a bus. For even if the murderer was not someone from Keinadraig, Genny was just as dead. A bad thing had happened to her, and Keely believed something bad could happen to her as well, even if quite by accident. It could be her fate, but she would take no chances with Jack’s life.
But when she was kidnapped, she could no longer deny the truth of what Jack and Inspector Sandringham had been trying to tell her. Genny’s death was not some mysterious accident brought about by the Dragon. Someone very human had pulled those triggers.
Jack had told her once that he thought Genevieve was killed because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but after seeing the murder weapon, Keely believed it was Jack’s friend, Brad, who ha
d the misfortune of being in that position. With the kidnapping and subsequent travel back to Penzance, Keely no longer expected to find Alyn’s gun in the drawer, even if she got the chance to search for it. She would not have believed it possible that her own people were responsible for Genny’s death, until somehow the kidnappers found her. In that respect, the Dragon’s claw was indeed long. She prayed that Ninian would never know.
Keely was unsure of what lay ahead as they motored into the bay. Her most hopeful thought was that her uncle, maybe urged by Ninian, had found her and brought her home, either to protect her, or more likely, to bend her to his will. She would not allow herself to consider a darker fate. Alyn, or the Council, might have hired a killer to take revenge far away, but surely to God they wouldn’t commit cold blooded murder on the island. It was unthinkable.
Whatever her fate, she would soon learn it, for the black shadow of Keinadraig loomed dead ahead.
Keely was surprised when the boat man bypassed the entrance to the harbor and continued around the circumference of the island, beaching the boat at last in almost the identical spot where Jack had first landed, near the caves at the far end of the island. Keely swallowed the lump of fear that formed in her throat. This was not good.
The beach appeared deserted, but a strange faint glow emitted from the mouth of the caves. Suddenly a figure stepped from the shadows and helped heave the boat higher onto the sand. A stout figure, wearing a flat hat.
Alyn.
“Your contacts are very…efficient, Reave Spearman,” said her uncle. “I thank ye for your help in returning what was lost.”
“Aye, they’re good men t’ know.”
“Did they take th’ shipment?”
“Aye. Safely away. Do ye need me further tonight?” Kevin Spearman sounded nervous. Keely wondered what “shipment” he was talking about. And why had Alyn addressed him as “Reave Spearman?”
“Nay. Th’ rest is between us. Ye understand th’ oath of silence…”
Even in the darkness, Keely saw the grim look on Spearman’s face. “I do.” He glanced in her direction. “And I’ve no doubt of th’ consequences.”