Alexis tried to suppress the hope welling inside her. "What no one understands is that Charles believes he's infallible. We may think he has a lot to lose, but Charles doesn't think that way. He thinks he can get away with anything at anytime."
"And that's why Ron went to him on your behalf."
She stared at him, appalled. "He didn't!"
"He didn't tell him where you were, Alexis. He went to recite a few facts of life."
"What facts?"
"He just reminded Cahill that he had some paperwork that the media should find interesting. If Cahill touches you, or if anything happens to you, regardless of whether it can be linked to Cahill or not, Ron wanted him to know that he was going to send copies to Cahill's fiancée, the chairman of the board of his company and all the major wire services and news networks."
Alexis tried to imagine that meeting. "Ron's told him that before."
"But Cahill didn't have anything to lose then," Gray repeated patiently. "Now he does. And he knows what it's like to be a loser. When your book came out, he lost just about everything. He must know the same thing can happen to him again if he's not careful."
"But Gray, he's so clever. Not one thing he did after the divorce could be traced to him. If we'd gone to the press then, they'd have characterized me as a hysteric, or a vengeful wife. No one would have believed Charles had anything to do with my accident, or that he'd broken into my apartment under the noses of two security guards—"
"Cahill told Ron that he no longer cares where you are or what you do. He told him to tell you to stay out of his way and he'll stay out of yours."
"And Ron believes him?"
"Ron believes the detective who's been trailing Cahill."
"Detective?"
"Ron hired someone to see if Cahill's still searching for you. The guy's topnotch, apparently. He can tell you what Cahill's done every minute of every day for the last month. There's absolutely no indication that he's looking for you now."
"How can he know that for sure?"
Gray grinned. "Don't ask, honey. Not all of it was legal."
"I'm afraid to believe it," Alexis said at last.
"Ron doesn't feel you should suddenly reappear on Charles's doorstep or do a round of talk shows, but he does think you can breathe easier. At least you can begin to make a home for yourself without constantly looking over your shoulder."
"And I could come to visit you?"
"By Christmas, probably. Julianna and I want to have a reunion of everyone who weathered Hurricane Eve together. It wouldn't be the same without you and Jody. By then we should know more about how safe you really are."
"Safe." She said the word like the dream it was.
Gray put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to rest against him. "I think the worst is over," he said, giving her an encouraging hug. "There's a very good chance you can begin planning your life again."
Chapter 12
PLANNING HER LIFE. It seemed much too good to be true.
Alexis sat on her front porch and listened to the noises of a Kangaroo Island night. Jody had returned and with complete delight accepted an offer from Gray and Julianna to spend the night at their hotel in Kingscote. Since spring holiday was right around the corner and school for the restless children more of a formality than a challenge, Alexis had agreed to let her go. She would drive into Kingscote the next morning and pick Jody up before the Sheridans' plane left; then they would spend the rest of the day shopping. It would be a welcome break for both of them.
Alone now, Alexis wondered what Gray's news really meant to her. She had lived with Charles Cahill for six years, but she couldn't guess whether he had told Ron the truth or if he was just hoping she would get careless. Ron seemed to believe him, and that, as much as anything, made her hope, although hope could be dangerous.
She didn't believe Charles had repented or reformed. She knew him too well to believe that either were a possibility. It was possible, though, that in his own self-interest, Charles had decided to stop the chase. There was nothing in it for him except revenge. And perhaps revenge was less important to him now than his own self-aggrandizement. If so, she thanked God for his greed.
If she really could stop looking over her shoulder, she wondered what that would mean for her life. If she didn't have to stay hidden in this remote foreign land, should she pack her suitcases and move somewhere more like home? Somewhere urban enough that there were schools for children with Jody's abilities, and culture at her fingertips? Should she forget what she and Jody had found here? And Matthew.
What about Matthew?
She would have liked to share Gray's news with Matthew, but when she had called to invite him for dinner, telling him that she was alone for the night, he'd refused. There had been no explanation why, only a perfunctory no. She had felt somehow chastened and more than a little hurt. She'd had the undeniable feeling that Matthew was putting the brakes on their relationship without telling her. Since there had been no brakes last night, she could only assume it was because of something that had happened today. She remembered his withdrawal when she had pressed him to talk about his son. Now she wondered if he feared she was getting too close.
When she'd first met Matthew, Alexis would have said that the seven miles between their houses was too close. They were both too wounded, too frightened, for intimacy. Oddly their suffering had been for opposite reasons. Hers, because her marriage had been so horrible, his, because his marriage had been so good.
She wondered if taking her to the bed he had shared with his wife had reminded him of his marriage, if he now suffered guilt that he had brought another woman there.
In the past twenty-four hours the fears she had been living with had begun to ease. The poachers had been caught in the act and were no longer a threat. And Charles? Charles might have found enough revenge in just making her leave the country.
But as those fears receded she was left with a new one. The intimacy and joy she had found with Matthew might be ending. Perhaps his feelings had been based on nothing more than concern for her safety. Now he could retreat again, become the man who never smiled, who never laughed and who kept the memories of his wife and son inviolate.
The farmhouse seemed achingly empty when she went inside to go to bed. She locked it with her usual caution and left a nightlight burning in the bathroom. But the rooms that usually cheered her with their whispered memories of family love seemed bleak and desolate tonight. Afraid that she might not sleep, she fixed herself a toddy, drinking it with little pleasure. When the whiskey finally began to work its magic, she fell asleep hoping that morning would come soon.
* * *
MIDNIGHT CAME, THEN half past, before Matthew gave up the pretense of working. He was filling out forms, the endless lengthy forms for requisitioning supplies and accounting for park expenditures, but the forms weren't due for a fortnight. He was making work for himself to forget that Alexis was alone at her house and that he could be there making love to her.
He wondered what she'd thought of his refusal. No emotion had showed in her voice. She had repeated a few pleasantries, then said goodbye. He wondered if she'd had the same sense of parting that he had.
Since morning he had been haunted by voices from his past. He had toiled for three years to silence them, yet today just a question about Todd and a short conversation with the Sheridans had amplified the voices again. Perhaps the pain was always there, hiding just below the surface, but he'd learned how to suppress it.
Until Alexis and Jody had come into his life.
Now the warmth flowing back into his soul brought with it memories of other days filled with warmth. A little boy who talked to animals and knew they understood, a woman who gave far more than she would ever take, those brief, shining moments when he had been a part of something greater than himself.
Like blood returning to a sleeping limb, the warmth brought pain. He was coming back to life, but the pain was more terrible than he could bear. He had
thought of himself as a man with courage; there was little he was afraid of, and nothing that had ever stopped him from doing and having what he wanted.
Except memories that he couldn't face.
He slammed down the top of the desk in his study and stood to stretch. He knew what had caused the tension in his body and what he had to do about it. Either he had to go to Alexis or make a decision never to go to her again. He was suspended between desire and fear, and every muscle in his body felt the stress.
A sharp rapping at his front door brought him upright. Late-night visitors meant trouble. Injury to a camper, the destruction of property, some other emergency that he would have to assist with. He was almost glad for the distraction as he strode to the door to throw it open.
Harry stood on the porch. There were no preliminaries. "One of the bush campers spotted a red glow in the sky to the east, over toward Hanson Bay. I've called in a fire alarm, but I'm on my way to check it out now. I've already called Teleford and Whitney and told them to come. We'll need every man."
In the Chase a bush fire was always a danger to forest and animals alike. All the rangers, whether they lived at the park like Matthew and Harry, or in the vicinity, like Sam Teleford and Hugh Whitney, were constantly alert to potential danger. But spring, with all its storms, was not the time of year when they were most alert. Particularly not this spring, which had been wetter than usual.
"Alexis!" Matthew felt a knot of fear coiling in his gut.
"Ring her and see what you can find out. Then meet me at the bay."
Matthew was already dialing the telephone.
* * *
THE WHISKEY HAD hit her harder than she'd expected. Somewhere in the farthest reaches of consciousness, Alexis struggled to wake and blamed the struggle on the toddy. But each time she struggled, she sank farther back into sleep. Sleep? This drugged lethargy couldn't be sleep.
Then there were no more words in her mind, only the struggle and finally the surrender.
Smoke filled the room, but if part of her knew the danger, the greater part of her didn't. She was pulled down deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, filling her oxygen deprived lungs with gases that were slowly choking her.
Pulling her farther and farther
There was a ringing somewhere. The microscopic part of her that still registered reality could hear the ringing. She wanted to shut it out, to surrender completely to the lethargy, but the ringing continued. Over and over and over
She stirred, as if to try to shut out the sound, but there was no way to do so. She stirred again, then coughed. She had coughed before, but this cough racked her body; as the ringing continued, her mind cleared fractionally. An instinct, not a conscious thought, forced her eyelids open.
She stared into the darkness as another cough shook her. She was neither awake nor asleep but in some sinister in-between. And then, as she gasped for air to fill her lungs, she found there was little air to breathe.
Smoke! She battled for consciousness. She forced herself upright, then bent forward as another cough sent her lungs into spasms. The house was on fire. Her mind was so foggy that she could only think that she had to get to Jody before the house burned down around them.
She slid to the side of the bed and tried to stand, but her legs gave way, and she tumbled to the floor.
There was air there, purer, nourishing air that helped clear her lungs and her mind enough for her to realize what she must do. She crawled toward her bedroom door, keeping her face low to the ground. Once there, she put her hands against the wood. It was cool to the touch, and she rose on her knees to open it.
The smoke in the hallway wasn't as thick. She stumbled to her feet, keeping her head low, and staggered toward Jody's room. She pushed the door open and stared through the darkness. The room was empty.
Jody was with Gray and Julianna. The relief that filled her wiped the last cobwebs from her brain. Jody was safe. She had to save herself now.
Turning, she stumbled through the hallway toward the kitchen. The source of the smoke seemed to be at the front of the house near her bedroom. Her best escape lay through the kitchen door. She reached the kitchen in seconds, stopping only once as her smoke-filled lungs rebelled and she doubled over in agony.
The air in the kitchen was clearer than that in the hallway. The stench of smoke filled the room, but breathing was easier here. She tried the light switch, but there was no response. She fumbled her way toward the back door, wanting nothing more than to escape into the night.
Her hand grasped the doorknob, and she twisted the dead bolt. Then she pulled. Nothing happened. She was aware that she still wasn't functioning at full capacity. Smoke, not whiskey, had dulled her senses and drained her strength. She pushed, sure she'd made a mistake and tried to open the door in the wrong direction. But the door wouldn't budge. She tried again and again, frantic now to get outside. She turned the key until she was satisfied that the dead bolt wasn't the problem and kicked weakly. Her head began to swim and she was forced to stop and draw several deep breaths.
The night was eerily dark, and without light from the kitchen to illuminate the porch, she couldn't tell if something was blocking the door from the outside. With rising panic, she only knew that the door was useless as an escape.
She felt her way to the windows and labored to lift one. They had been painted shut by the man who had helped ready the house for her arrival, and she grappled with it for a full minute before it responded. Once it was open she peered down to the ground below. Since the house was built on a hillside there was a drop of eight feet to the ground, which sloped sharply beyond the house. The space beneath the kitchen was a root cellar that could only be reached from an outside door; she couldn't get there from the house. Her choice was to jump from the windows and risk tumbling down the rock-strewn hill, or to find a side window that would allow an easier escape.
Her dizziness retreated as the fresh air from the open window reached her aching lungs. She drew a sobbing breath; then, with her choice made, she swung her feet over the window ledge and, holding tightly, lowered herself out the window.
* * *
MATTHEW LISTENED FOR the wail of a siren as he raced down the road toward Alexis's house. Apparently no one had called the fire brigade before Harry, because there was no sign of them. With distances what they were and the roads in poor condition, they wouldn't arrive quickly.
As he neared Hanson Bay, he was sure that the smoke plainly visible from the road was coming from Alexis's house. The forest was too lush, too saturated, to burn. Later in the year, when the sun turned the scrub and forest floor to tinder, the oil rich eucalyptus and ti trees would be in danger and there would be days of total fire bans. But for now the forests were relatively safe, unless someone deliberately set and fueled a blaze.
Deliberately set and fueled a blaze.
Still straining to hear a siren, he made the turn onto the dirt track that led to the farmhouse. He drove the road as if it weren't night and the road weren't rutted, taking chances no sane man would take.
He arrived at the farmhouse clearing to find the house ablaze.
"Over here."
Through a thick wall of smoke Matthew could see a small cluster of men beating the flaming shrubs with blankets and canvas tarps. He jumped down from his ute and sprinted toward them. Harry was there, along with Hugh Whitney and several men who Matthew recognized as having homes off the South Coast Road. Harry came to his side, pulling down a bandanna he'd tied around his mouth and nose.
"It's mostly the scrub and the porch so far." Harry filled him in without greeting. "Stay back," he commanded, clamping his fingers on Matthew's arm. "The smoke is tremendous up closer. That's the worst of it."
"Alexis?"
"Teleford and a mate got inside through the back door. There's nobody inside."
"Then where is she?"
"They're searching the grounds in the back right now looking for her. There was a window open in the kitchen. She and the little gi
rl may have jumped."
Matthew didn't wait to hear more. He was almost to the back of the house when Sam Teleford materialized out of the thick smoke carrying Alexis in his arms. Matthew reached out for her, lifting her against his chest. "Is she breathing?"
"Yes. Fitfully. She's gotten quite a dose of smoke, I think. I would have gone right past her, but I heard a wheezing sound. Get her down to the beach where the air is clearer." Sam coughed as if to make a point. "We'll see what we can do about finding the little girl."
"She's not here. She's with friends."
Sam clapped him on the back and turned toward the house.
Alexis felt dangerously light in Matthew's arms, as if some part of her had already given up the fight to survive. Realistically he knew she was going to be fine. Her breathing was harsh but even, and his fingers had already found and measured a steady pulse. He turned and hurried away from the fire, searching for pure air to help speed her recovery. At the bottom of the hill he took a sandy path that veered toward the ocean. The air was clear and salty, laden with moisture to help ease her breathing. He lowered himself to the beach and sat her upright against him, rubbing her back.
Her eyelids fluttered open and she began to cough. He spoke encouraging words into her hair, not even aware of what he was saying, and he rocked her gently against him as she struggled for more air.
"You're going to be fine, dear one. Just cough out all that smoke. There's plenty of air here for you to breathe."
She alternately coughed and gulped until at last she was breathing more normally. She wasn't sure how she had ended up on the beach in Matthew's arms, but she had the good sense not to ask him now.
"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured, still rocking her. "I thought I'd lost you."
She began to remember events. She had swung herself out the window, then dropped the distance to the ground. She had fallen on rocks and lurched backward, just catching herself with her hands. But the impact had thrown her off balance, and she had rolled, scraping against rocks and clumps of vegetation, until she had come to rest at the base of stunted mallee.
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