She had spent the afternoon since leaving Matthew's planning the next months of her life. Running had been a temptation. She could fly to Coober Pedy and pick up Jody, then begin the long journey to nowhere again. She owed Jody more than that, though. Just as she had fought for Matthew, now she knew she must fight for the right to stay on the island.
In a way that nowhere else had ever been, the Hanson Bay house was home. Two days before, when she had discussed the progress of the repairs with Peter, he had told her that when she was ready to make a decision about putting down permanent roots, he would sell her the property if she wanted it.
She wanted to stay, although the prospect of sometimes seeing Matthew was enough to make her want to run. But she was bone weary of the race. She had been running for a year. Now the pursued had turned to wait for the pursuer. And he was no longer there.
She told herself that Charles was no longer there. She told herself that he had balanced revenge and greed and chosen the latter. She was free of him as long as she stayed out of sight.
Charles wasn't there, but Matthew was. Now it was love, not hate, that tempted her to run. And she had decided that she wouldn't run from either.
A small surge of warmth spread through a body chilled from more than the cold Antarctic wind. She was becoming the woman she had so often longed to be. But why, if she had finally gotten the courage she had needed for so long, hadn't happiness come with it?
She heard no answer in the wind, only the faint rumble of an engine. She listened intently, surprised the sound would carry so many miles from the main road. As she listened, the sound grew louder, and she realized that the vehicle wasn't on the main road, but on the track leading up to her house.
She was going to have a visitor.
Matthew had come. Whether to hold or revile her she didn't know. But he had come; he had not erased her from his life as she had feared. He had come, and perhaps now they could begin again.
She wondered what he would see when he drove up. Would he see the woman who had cried for his family today? The woman who had cried for him? Her hand went to her hair, and she felt a pang of self-consciousness. Her hair was tangled from the wind, her cheeks and eyes reddened. She had changed into faded jeans and an old yellow sweater, and there wasn't time to do anything about that. But she could comb her hair and wash her face.
She stood and went into the house. When she lifted the brush to her hair, she saw, dispassionately, that her hand trembled.
She was ready in a minute. She was afraid to take longer because she wanted to greet Matthew on the steps. She didn't want to give him a chance to change his mind about seeing her.
She opened the new front door and peered out into the darkness. Her eyes took seconds to adjust and seconds more to see that there was no ute parked in front of the house. She listened intently, but there was no longer the sound of an engine on the wind. There was only the lapping of the surf.
Disappointment filled her. Either she had imagined the sound or her visitor, whoever it had been, had turned around and gone. She had been a fool once again. She had believed that, after everything, Matthew would seek her out tonight. When would she learn to be a realist? When would she stop believing in happy endings?
She descended the steps and gazed into the darkness. She had believed that she'd cried every tear inside her, but, surprisingly, tears clouded her eyes once more.
She was the very worst kind of fool, the kind who had let herself cry over two men. She was not going to cry again. The time for tears was done.
There was a faint rustling noise at the edge of the clearing, near the gum tree that held her koala friend. She knew that if she went inside she wouldn't find the strength to fight off her grief. She needed to be outside, face to the wind, watching the moon rise. The rustling grew louder. She knew that koalas moved along the ground after dark. She wondered if she could approach silently enough to see the koala scurrying to another tree. Forcing herself to try, she walked carefully across the clearing, past her car, to the gum tree.
The light of the rising moon diffused through the tree branches. A dim silhouette was outlined against the sky, but she couldn't tell if the silhouette was a koala or an intersection of branches. There were no soft grunts to guide her, only a peculiar stillness, as if the night creatures were listening intently.
The stillness took on a new, ominous tinge. The moon was rising, yet even the insects seemed to keep their counsel, as if they were waiting for another signal before they began their evening song. Alexis felt a chill run down her spine. The day had been too emotion laden. The last months had been too emotion laden. She was so completely alone now that she was imagining danger when for the first time danger seemed behind her.
Yet it was just such a sense of foreboding that had told her the poachers were on her land the night she had warned them away with a gunshot.
She listened intently, searching the areas nearest her for movement. The rustling she had heard could have been anything, the koala, a wallaby, possums. It could even have been a gust of wind rattling branches. But if so, why was her alarm growing? Was she overwrought, emotionally exhausted from the events of the day, or was a sixth sense telling her to beware?
The house was yards behind her, and so was the gun locked securely in her bedside drawer. She had left the house's sanctuary to fight off her grief. Now grief seemed preferable to the fear that was rapidly growing inside her.
She started to cross the clearing and go inside before what courage she had left was gone completely.
"A remote, desolate spot for a woman afraid of dying, Dana."
Alexis whirled, searching for the voice. But even before the man materialized from the edge of the clearing at the side of the house, she knew who she would see. The voice was the substance of her nightmares.
"Charles." The name was said through a throat constricted with horror.
"Dana," he said, taunting her by using the same tone.
She stared at him, horror growing. In the moonlight his brown hair shone with silver. Time had left hardly a mark. He was still trim and fit, and if his hair was grayer, his face was still unlined and youthful. Like Dorian Gray, nothing of the man inside showed.
"Aren't you going to ask me why I've come?" He advanced slowly toward her.
More than anything in the world she wanted to retreat. But she stood her ground. As he had begun to move, she'd seen moonlight reflect off the barrel of a revolver. If she turned.to run, she would be dead in seconds. Charles would shoot her in the back without a second thought.
Frantically she searched for a way to escape, but her face showed none of her desperation.
He raised one eyebrow, and she knew he was surprised that she hadn't dissolved at his feet. He had always counted on her fear to make him strong. She had no time to reflect on what was happening, but she did know that she wasn't going to let him see she was afraid. If she died tonight, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she'd been terrified. It would be her revenge.
"I can guess why you've come," she answered at last.
"Then your memory serves you well."
"How did you find me?"
"I've known where you were since the day you arrived."
She didn't doubt him, but his answer drained more of her courage. Nothing she had done had fooled him. He couldn't be beaten.
"Don't you want to know how?" he continued. His voice was as silky, as warm as a lover's, except that Charles had never had a drop of love inside him.
She nodded, not because she wanted an answer, but because she wanted to keep him talking. As long as he talked, he needed an audience—a living one.
"Did you think I wouldn't check out every name in Bartow's address book, every contact he made in the last year and a half?"
"I couldn't run far enough, could I?"
"No."
She made herself look into his eyes. "We knew you'd quit searching. We just didn't know why."
"You underestimated me."
He had moved close enough that he could touch her now. He stretched out his hand to brush a lock of hair off her face. He was surprisingly gentle, but she knew he was always most gentle right before he struck.
"No," she said softly, forcing herself not to flinch. "I never doubted you could find me. I only hoped you wouldn't bother."
"Ah, Dana." He shook his head sadly. "I told you I would kill you."
"Why, Charles? What will you gain?"
He smiled a little. "The memory of your blood turning cold and the breath leaving your body."
Horror threatened to overwhelm her. She pushed through it. "That's very little. You have so much to lose. If you leave now we can both forget you were ever here. You can have a real life, not a sadistic memory—"
His fingertips caressed her cheek before he slapped her. Alexis's head spun, and her knees buckled. She stumbled backward, catching herself just before she fell.
His eyes lit with pleasure at what he saw as a retreat. "Are you going to run from me, Dana?"
Involuntarily her hand covered her cheek. "So you can shoot me in the back?"
He held the gun in front of his chest, aimed directly at her. "Go ahead. I'll give you a head start."
"There are people here who know my story. If my body's riddled with bullet holes you'll be the first one they suspect."
He smiled a little. "There's a big, beautiful ocean out there."
"With tides that wash back in to the island."
"Not if I take you out deep enough."
Reasoning with him was a waste of time. His mind was so twisted, his hatred so extraordinary, his intellect so powerful. He was right, and they both knew it. He would commit this crime, and he would get away with it.
"When your house almost burned down around you, did you think of me?" Charles lowered the gun just a fraction.
"When anything evil happens I think of you."
He nodded, almost as if he admired the courage her answer had taken. "I hired someone to do it."
That was a possibility she hadn't considered, but then, she'd almost believed that Charles hadn't found her, too. She had a brief flash of sympathy for Yvonne Carson and her brother. "I'm sure you have the connections."
"That piece of trash you wrote was even more realistic than you'd thought. My connections are extensive."
"The fire fizzled."
"It was meant to. I was hoping the fire would make you run somewhere where no one knew you. It would have made this easier for me, and I would have liked to see you run again."
"Why didn't your friend just finish me off?"
"Because I wanted that pleasure myself."
She couldn't listen to any more. The courage that had carried her this far was almost used up. He was playing with her; his sadism had never been more apparent. He wanted her to cry, to grovel, to plead. But no matter what she did, she was going to die.
Unless she took him by surprise.
He was already surprised at her courage. She had seen just the faintest trace of admiration cross his features. It was the same quality of emotion a snake probably felt before it devoured a valiantly resisting mouse, as much emotion as he was capable of. She had become a worthy opponent. But he would relish killing her just the same.
Unless she took him by surprise. Completely by surprise.
She moved toward him until they were within touching distance again. She could not bear to continue talking as if they were old friends exchanging a year's worth of chitchat. She knew that in moments he would begin to talk about his plans for Jody, and she would cry. She wouldn't die with tears on her cheeks.
She delivered her surprise with no emotion. "Then take your pleasure, Charles." She forced herself to stare into his soulless brown eyes. "I'm not afraid of you anymore."
For a split second his eyes showed confusion. Then the hand holding the gun lifted, as if to strike her down for her disrespect. She tensed, ready to spring forward.
A shrill grunting wheeze filled the stillness. Above them the koala was calling for a mate. Charles faltered, his head snapping back to look up in the tree. Alexis dove for the arm holding the gun. Astoundingly, she caught him off balance. He slipped backward, and as he fell, the gun flew through the air, disappearing into the dense scrub that hadn't burned in the fire. She knew that his fall had given her only a second's advantage, but she took it, stumbling, then running full speed toward her wagon.
He didn't follow immediately, screaming curses instead as she ran away. She couldn't risk a glance behind her, but she suspected he was searching for his gun. She expected any moment to hear the whine, to feel the shattering impact of a bullet. She was inside the wagon, turning the key she always left in the ignition before she dared to breathe.
She was escaping. Somehow, she was escaping Charles. Her tires screeched as they spun in the loose dirt, but the four-wheel-drive vehicle was made for moments like this, and in seconds she was speeding down the track. She switched on her lights just in time to see a car blocking her path. Charles had parked his rental car squarely in the middle, as insurance against anyone coming or going. But he hadn't taken into account her terror fueled daring. She swerved into the mallee lining the track and listened to it being ground under her wheels. Miraculously the wagon kept moving, gathering speed when she was once more on the road.
She was escaping! Alexis focused on her driving, taking the track at a speed she would never have dared for any other reason. She had the advantage of knowing the road, and with a concentration born of her will to survive, she skirted potholes and ruts, taking the jolts of those she couldn't avoid by bracing herself against the steering wheel.
She was almost out to the main road before she saw lights behind her. They were diffused and weak, indicating that Charles was coming, but still a distance behind.
Charles was coming. She shot onto the main road and instinctively turned left toward Flinders Chase. Parndana was thirty-five miles away, and although there were houses and farms set back from the road before the town, there was no one she knew, no one who would understand the danger before she could take the time to tell them. Somewhere along the track out to the road she had realized that she was going to have to run to Matthew.
She switched off her lights and prayed that Charles would think she had taken the route toward town. She floored the accelerator, frantically searching the moon shadowed road for ruts and crevices. The steering wheel jerked from her hand as she bounced into a deep hole she hadn't seen. She was barely able to keep the car on the road, but she didn't slow down because she knew she was racing death.
She had taken Charles completely by surprise. It was the only thing that had saved her life. He had expected terror, expected her to plead and cower. Instead she had stood up to him, and when she'd had the chance, she had defended herself. Still, she wouldn't have expected to escape him, not in her wildest, most hopeful fantasies.
She was not going to let him kill her now. She would fight with everything inside her.
A mile had flown by before she knew that he was still following her. She couldn't risk a glance in her rearview mirror because of the speed she was traveling, but she could see the reflection of lights on her windshield. She had hoped to outsmart him, but he had second-guessed her. She realized then that if he'd been keeping track of her, he knew about Matthew. He had guessed correctly that she would flee to her lover.
The head start was still hers. She had the better car; she knew the roads. He might be fueled by hatred and a need for revenge, but she was fueled by the desire to live. She was going to live.
She swerved around a deep crater, brushing tree limbs on the roadside. She heard the sound of shattering glass and wood gouging metal but ignored it. Broken windows were nothing.
The car jumped a rut so deep that she knew if she'd hit it wrong, she would have stalled. The rut didn't matter. Nothing mattered except living. She was going to live.
The reflected lights seemed brighter, but her only response was to try to coax more speed
from the wagon for the last mile before Flinders Chase. When she entered the park, she was forced to slow down and switch on her lights. The road here was narrower, although well graded. A more important consideration was the park's tame kangaroos and emus, which wandered back and forth across the roadway looking for tourists to feed them. If she hit a kangaroo at high speed, she would be killed as surely as it would.
As she slowed she risked a glance in her mirror. There were no lights visible, but she doubted her luck would hold. False hope was an emotion she couldn't afford. Charles would come, and unless she found a haven at Matthew's, he would kill her.
Matthew. For the first time she doubted whether he would open his door to her. He had been coldly furious; he had looked at her as if he never wanted to see her again. Now she would be pleading for his help. She had needed his help before, and he had given it, although he hadn't wanted her in his life then, either. Surely he wouldn't turn her away now.
He wouldn't. No matter what she had done today, he wouldn't turn her away. He would take her in, shelter her, call the police. She would be safe there until. . .
Until Charles came for her again.
For the first time Alexis felt threads of panic take root. She might succeed in eluding Charles this time, but he would be back. Even if she ran, he would find her. And next time she wouldn't be able to surprise him. She would never be safe.
She realized there was nothing she could do about the future. She had to take the present one moment at a time. And right now her task was to survive this encounter. There would be time to plan for the next.
She sped up onto a grassy plain leading into the rangers' homestead. Her headlights illuminated the two houses sitting on the edge of the sugar gum grove.
No lights were on in Matthew's house. Nor was his ute parked in front.
She couldn't believe he was gone. He had to be there. She leaned on the horn once, then again. There was no response.
Alexis slammed on her brakes. There was a steadily intensifying glow from the road behind her. Charles hadn't given up. Perhaps he had known from the start that Matthew wasn't there.
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