Moon Dance (40 page)

They had almost made it to the opposite side of the road when the first explosion hit, throwing them both face first into a ravine. A second, larger, explosion, blasted the front door off. From somewhere in the distance, a siren began to wail.

"Laura
…
" She sat bolt upright, then sought to stand on legs wobbly with fright.

"She's fine. Look. There, down the road
…
"

Georgia squinted through the billowing smoke with eyes already sorely irritated by smoke. "Where's Jeremy?"

"He's here someplace. I'm sure he got out." Matt gathered her into his arms and held her. It was then that she began to cry, softly at first.

"Matt
…
Matt
…"
She was shaking all over.

"Shush. It's done, sweetheart. It's over."

"Those men were so crazy—" Shock taking over, Georgia began to babble. "They had this tape of Gary Harmon. I know it was him, I could see it in Laura's face
…
calmly reading verses from the Bible
…
And gasoline. Matt, I cou
ld smell gasoline…"

Matt began to rock her, rubbing his cheek on hers, his arms beginning to shake even as she had, as the
reality of what had happened began to sink in. Her life had come down to a matter of seconds. He'd almost lost her. And Laura. The enormity of it rattled him to his soul.

"You two all right?" Jeremy called to him from the road, where the fire trucks and an ambulance had come to a screeching halt.

"Scared. Shaken. I think Georgia's in shock." Matt said, his mouth still dry from fear.

"Stay right here." Jeremy told him.

He was back in less than a minute with a paramedic who carried blankets in one arm and pulled a folded gu
rn
ey on wheels with the other.

Matt took the blankets and wrapped them around Georgia, snuggling her into his body and holding on to her for dear life.

"Help me lift her," Georgia heard the paramedic say,
"and we'll get her onto the gurn
ey
…
"

"No, no," she pushed herself closer into Mat
t. "I just want to go home…
"

"We should check your bu
rn
s," the young man told her.

"I don't have any bu
rn
s. I just want to go home. Or back to the inn. Matt, we need to call the inn. We need to let Mom know
…
"

"I think we need to talk to these gentlemen first," Matt told her, raising himself slightly and calling to the policeman who was at that moment getting out of a black and white patrol car not ten feet away, "Officer, please, over here
…
"

I
t was hours before they were able to return to Bishop's Cove and the welcome warmth of the inn.

Delia had been white-knuckled and rigidly composed when they had arrived in the wee hours of the morning, and had all but fainted with relief when she saw that both her daughters, though frightened from the horror of their ordeal, had survived. Jody had made tea and served it in the sun room, where Laura had requested a fire be built in the fireplace so that she could, hopefully, get warm. Ally had awakened with the commotion and had climbed into her mother's lap. And there by her side, every minute, was Tucker.

As the sun began to rise, Delia shooed all to their rooms for well-needed rest.

"I forgot all about Spam," Georgia said wearily. "Spam's still in the little garden. She prob
ably needs water. I should…
"

"I'll call a neighbor," Matt said as he helped her to her feet. "Your piggy will be fine. Go get some sleep."

"You
…
" she began, and he cut her off.

"…
will be right here."

"Jody," Georgia called to her from the doorway.

Jody turned to her, a tray tucked under one arm.

"Save the cups," Georgia said as she yawned into her hand.

twenty-six

M
att sat in the wing chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes burning with fatigue, every muscle in his body aching in the aftermath of the conflagration, but still, he could not sleep. All he could do, it seemed, was stare at the woman sleeping fitfully on the bed. Occasionally he would look out the window to the sky and whisper, "Thank you," to the heavens, but other than that—and his efforts to wet his lips with a mouth still dry from terror, neither actions requiring more than a small movement of his head—he was motionless.

They had spent hours at the police station, trying to explain how a man who was incarcerated hundreds of miles away had tried, unsuccessfully, to kill two women. The fact that the accomplices had seemingly vanished into thin air had not helped their case. It had taken calls to Delia's lawyers and several old friends of Jeremy's—federal law enforcement agents—to convince the local police that Laura and Georgia were not crazy, and that neither Tucker, Matt nor
Jeremy had torched the house, and that, inasmuch as kidnapping had been one of the crimes, the FBI should become involved. They were finally released after a telephone call from the warden at the prison where Gary was housed confirmed that, in his expert opinion, the former minister was, indeed, quite capable of such action, and did in fact have a widespread following of devotees who could be called upon to do his bidding. Whether or not those suspicions could be proven, whether or not those accomplices would ever be identified or located, whether or not there would, in time, be evidence sufficient to press charges, all remained to be seen.

Matt's tired brain ticked off the highlights of the past twenty-four hours as the clock ticked quietly on the bedside table in one of the guest rooms at the inn. The uneasy feeling that had settled over him as he watched Georgia walk toward the gray stucco house. The growing fear when he realized she had disappeared inside the house and the door had closed behind her. The agonizing wait as he counted the seconds, waiting for the cell phone to ring. The cold gnawing at his gut when it did not. His efforts to leave the van undetected, to find Tucker and Jeremy without being spotted by those inside the house. The sheer terror when the smoke began to pour from the downstairs windows. The slamming of his body against the front door, with no thought to fire or weapons in his single-minded need to reach her. The crackle of gun shots—he still wasn't sure whose. The crash of the door as he and Tucker brought it down.

The suffocating gray inside the house. The search through the cloud for the two women, following Tucker, who had seen them through a side window and managed to navigate Matt through the smoke to the kitchen. His heart stopping in his chest at his first glimpse of her in the chair, her back to him, her long golden hair dancing inches above the flames that encroached from behind. Jeremy's heroic efforts to get the back door open and lead them to s
afety…

That was the long version.

The short version was that his sister had been kidnapped by fanatical followers of an obsessed psychopath, and that she—along with his future wife—had been tied to chairs in a house that had been set on fire.

…
his future wife.

He wondered how best to ask her. When to tell her.

Georgia stirred and shivered visibly. "Matt?" She called to him softly.

"I'm here, baby. Go back to sleep."

"It wasn't a dream…"

"No, love, it wasn't a dream. But it's over." He got up and smoothed the soft blanket over her shoulders.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked, drifting back into welcome oblivion.

"Always, sweetheart." He repeated the promise he had once made to her mother. "Always."

I
t had seemed that the questioning would go on forever. When Georgia awoke, she found not only the FBI, but local police and a dozen television reporters and their accompanying cameramen waiting for her
and Laura so that the questioning could begin all over again. Delia had refused entry to the reporters, and had, effectively, closed the inn to all except Gordon and his crew.

Gary, too, had been questioned extensively from the dayroom of the prison. He staunchly proclaimed his innocence in a calm, benign manner clearly intended to make both Laura and Georgia appear to be crazy to even suggest such a thing. To the horror of everyone under the roof of the Bishop's Inn, one of the interviews ran on network television late on the following afternoon.

"Your wife claims that you have a legion of devoted followers—ex-convicts, all—in every state in the union, at your beck and call," the pretty young reporter said. "That three of these men kidnapped her and attempted to kill her and her sister."

"That's absurd. Where are these men now? Who are these men? Where did they disappear to? You've told me that only my wife and her sister were in the house when they were rescued. Did these men simply vanish into thin air?"

"They've found a tunnel leading from the basement into the woods. It's suspected that they escaped through the tunnel."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"I know nothing of any such tunnel. I won't deny that I minister to a forgotten flock, and on occasion, I have made my home available to followers of my ministry. But to suggest that I would use my position to harm someone
…"
he shook his head, knitting his eyebrows together in consternation, "particularly
my beloved wife
…
I cannot imagine why she would say such a thing."

"Your wife claims that on several occasions she attempted to file for divorce."

"Yes. Yes, she has filed such actions in the past, but she has always had a change of heart. However, if she now wishes a divorce, she's certainly welcome to one.
"

"Just like that." It was clear the reporter wasn't convinced.

"Certainly."

"You would agree to it," the skeptical reporter persisted.

"Well, I am of the belief that marriage is a holy state. That once joined by God, a man and a woman are one for all eternity."

"But you're saying you would be willing to let her have a divorce anyway."

"If she wishes it, I cannot stop her."

"She claims that you threatened her, and
her mother, and her daughter…"

"My daughter," he reminded her.

"
…
every time she attempted to initiate such proceedings."

"I'm afraid my wife is a bit paranoid," he said calmly. "Putting aside for a moment the fact that I love her, in spite of her desire to terminate our marriage, I will always be devoted to her. She is, after all, the mother of my child, the woman to whom I have pledged myself. I do believe that those joined by God—made one
in
God, by God's law—cannot then be made separate by laws of men. All those things
aside, even assuming that I wished her harm, what on earth could I do to her from behind bars, several states away?"

"I believe that's exactly the issue at the heart of the current investigation." The reporter turned back to the camera. "From inside the fede
ral prison, I'm Carole Fox…
"

B
reakfast the following morning was a very late and somber affair, after which a physician brought in by Delia examined and chatted with first Laura, then Georgia.

"Just to check things out, sweetheart," Delia had assured Georgia, "since you both refused treatment last night. I just want to make certain that neither of you are harboring injuries that need tending to."

"I'm fine," Georgia assured her. "At least, I think I will be when the questioning is finished once and for all. I see the local police chief out there on the patio with Jeremy. How could there possibly be any other questions to be asked?"

"It does seem silly, doesn't it? I don't understand why all of these different agencies can't just get together and each of them concentrate on one aspect of the investigation, then sit down and share information. As it stands, with everyone doing their own, we are subjected to the same questions over and over. Which is fine, I suppose, when you're interrogating suspects, but you and Laura were the victims, and Matt, Jeremy and Tucker were the heroes."

"Is Laura totally traumatized by this whole experience?" Georgia leaned over and touched her mother's arm.

"I can't say that I blame her if she is. It's been a terrible burden for her to have carried around, Gary harassing her, threatening her, all the time trying to go about her business, raise her child, run the inn— not to mention the emotional trauma of having her mother so very ill. I'm hoping that Dr. Jeffers will prescribe a long rest for her. Not that I'd expect her to take one.''

"I think she needs the comfort of the inn right now more than she needs to go away."

"And you, sweetie?" Delia leaned over and patted Georgia's hand. "What do you need right now?"

Georgia smiled, watching Matt jog across the front lawn, Artie trotting playfully at his heels.

"Oh, I think I just need to go back to Pumpkin Hill and watch a few good movies." Georgia smiled. "And I need to dance. Dancing would definitely help."

"Are you thinking about going back? Professionally, I mean." Delia raised a concerned eyebrow. Georgia had seemed so much happier now. She'd almost hate to see her go back to the troupe. Of course, i
f that was what she wanted…

"No. Not right now, anyway. I have a different agenda right now." Georgia sat down in the chair next to her mother. "
I'm registered to attend a two-
week workshop for dance instructors in New York. I leave next Thursday. I'm really looking forward to it. And I'm looking for a new location for my studio. Matt will be meeting with an architect tomorrow morning to go
over the renovations to the barn
for the new clinic."

"What a shame. You did so enjoy dancing there."

"I'll enjoy dancing wherever I go. Matt has dreamed of opening this clinic for years. I'm thrilled and excited for him. I don't mind if I have to find another place for my dancing school. Matt's clinic is much more important. I can find a storefront."

"Well, perhaps I could help you look
…
"

Georgia laughed. "Thank you, Mom, but I think I can find a place."

"Oh, but sweetie
…
"

"I'll be able to take care of it, Mom. I have the rent from my condo."

"Will you ask for my help if you need it? I'd be happy to float a business loan, you know."

"I promise, if I need help, I will ask." Georgia glanced at her watch, then frowned. "I hope Matt comes back soon. I had wanted to be back at the farm before evening. I want to stop and pick up my pig at the neighbors'. I'm sure Spam wonders where I am. I miss Pumpkin Hill, Mom. I understand totally why Laura and Matt want to keep it in the family. I can't wait to get back."

"And I hate for you to leave. I'm almost afraid to let you out of my sight," Delia hugged Georgia tightly to her. "I'm afraid to turn my back on either you or Laura. To think how close we came to losing you both
—my first baby and my last…
"

"Don't, Mom. It's done. Gary's being watched closely and I doubt that he'll try anything else. He's said on national TV that he'll give Laura her divorce. Finally, she'll be free of him."

Delia pushed a long strand of yellow hair back from her daughter's forehead and smoothed it behind
one ear, just as she had a thousand times over the course of her lifetime. The thought that that precious life had come so dangerously close to being snuffed out—along with that of the daughter who had been lost to her for so long—made Delia physically ill every time she thought of the week's events. Later she would deal with that terror and the stress it had inflicted upon her. For now, she would be strong, unflappable, in charge, the way
the Mom
is supposed to be.

"Laura deserves a chance to be happy with someone who truly cares for her," Delia said, forcing calm into her voice. "As do you, my darling girl."

"I am happy with someone who truly cares for me, Mom." Georgia kissed her mother's cheek.

"I'll have to speak with Matt. I need to know that he will take good care of you."

"Now, Mother, I'm not sure that I need someone to take care of me. I'm a grown woman," Georgia reminded her.

"Darling, we all need to know that there's someone who can take care of us from time to time. Not to lean on, certainly, but in times of crisis it's good to know that there's someone you can trust, someone to just hold you up a little till the worst of it has passed."

"And what about you, Mother? Have you finally found someone to hold you up just a little, just till this passes?"

"Perhaps I have, sweetie," Delia smiled thoughtfully. "Perhaps I have."

"Mom, you've had a rough time these past few days, too. Now that this ordeal is over, I think you
should think about taking a week or two off. On an island someplace, with nothing to do except lie on a beach and listen to the water lap against the shore."

"
My thoughts exactly," Gordon appeared in the doorway. From his
jacket pocket he pulled an enve
lope.
"
Plane tickets."