With Her Last Breath (36 page)

At that, Brent stopped squirming. He straightened and looked haughtily down at her.

“You heard me, Mr. High and Mighty. I spat in your food every time Ed took it up to you. You didn’t think poor old Ed was doing all the cooking, did you? He couldn’t fry an egg. I’ve been waiting. I saw Nick’s boat go out and I knew. I knew that one or the other of you would come back, and I didn’t care who I finished off. Take off the tape on his mouth. I want to hear what he has to say, before all of you die—The Crazy because he killed Ed, Maggie because she brought The Crazy here, and Nick…well, he has to die because he’ll be a witness. I can’t let him live,” Shirley said.

Nick didn’t waste time with a slow, gentle removal and ripped away the tape. Brent grimaced with pain and then smiled slowly. Previously, that smile might have charmed, but now it was a crooked grimace. “I didn’t kill Ed, Shirley. It was Maggie. She tried to get Ed and when he wouldn’t have her, she worked Nick, getting him to help her. Nick is in on it with her.”

Shirley’s gun moved slightly, aimed at Maggie. Then Nick reached to put her behind him.

“So it’s like that,” Shirley murmured. “You’d die for her.”

“I would. But you don’t want to do this, Shirley. You’ve lost Ed, isn’t that enough?”

“Get out of my way, Nick,” Maggie said beneath her breath.

Brent leaned forward, eager to sway Shirley. “They planned it.”

The gun swung back to Brent. “Ed never should have got mixed up with you. I told him that you were trouble, a real crazy. But he thought he could handle you.”

Brent hissed, “I am not crazy. Ed died raving about how much he loved the girl, you old hag—”

The blast was deafening, the flash of light from Shirley’s gun brilliant in the night—just before Brent toppled forward.

Nick and Maggie swung into action; Nick grabbed Shirley, controlling her. When she was secure, Maggie crouched to listen to Brent. The fallen man was fatally injured, his raspy whisper punctuated by a deathly rattle.

She nodded, and in a soothing gesture stroked his forehead. “You can go now, Brent. You’re tired of fighting, aren’t you? Just let go; there’s nothing more for you to do here.”

With a last rattle, Brent’s head fell limply aside and he lay still.

Maggie looked at him for a long time. “He’s dead.”

“What did he say?” Nick asked when Maggie stood. On the porch was the man who had ruined so many lives, twining inside them, insidiously tearing them apart.

Her hand found her sister’s locket once more. “He said that Celeste said he would die if he didn’t leave after killing her. She was right. He said that Celeste gave her power to me.”

Maggie was too stunned to do anything but stand and look at the dead man, the man of her nightmares, who had finally found her.

Nick hovered near her, lifting Shirley’s arms high behind her back. In his expression was torment mixed with love. “Maggie, come inside. I’ve got to call Lorenzo.”

“No, go ahead. I just want to stand here and know that he will never hurt anyone again. That it’s done, finally done now. I…always felt somehow, someplace inside me that it wasn’t finished, and now it is.”

In the eerie aftermath of the violence, the sound of the chimes curled through the fresh, rain-washed air.

“She’s out there, needing me, Nick. I can feel it.” Maggie looked out of the old lighthouse windows, the panes slashed by rain. A streak of summer lightning split, forking across the night, outlining her taut body and gleaming on her tearstained cheeks.

Nick sat on the arm of the wooden chair. Hours after Shirley had been collected and jailed, Maggie’s fear for her dog hadn’t eased. Nick had immediately pushed her chilled body into the shower, chafing and holding her as the warmth set in. He’d dried and dressed her. She should have been exhausted; she wasn’t, and Nick ached for her grief.

“We had to come back, Maggie. The squall was getting worse. We did everything we could.”

“She was wounded. I should have—”

“Maggie, stop it. You were ready to shove Brent overboard and you with him to save us. We’ll go out again in the morning. Meanwhile, let’s get some sleep. You’re running on nerves.”

She turned to him suddenly. “You see what I mean, Nick? That I’m bad luck?”

“If you are, then why are we both alive?” Nick rose to his feet, waiting for her to decide she needed him. His own emotions were unsteady, the aftermath of seeing his love, his heart in danger, of understanding what she must have gone through years ago.

She swayed and looked at him helplessly. “I love her so, Nick. She’s a part of me. Just like Glenda. And Celeste, and you—I couldn’t bear the thought of him killing you, Nick—I love you so.”

So he was human, Nick decided. He needed that much from her. “Maggie, come here. Let me hold you.”

She came into his arms, holding him tightly, while the storm tore into the night, lightning streaked like crooked
spears, and thunder rattled the windows. “If anything would have happened to you…”

“Nothing did. You were protecting me.”

Maggie was silent for a moment, and then she said, “And you didn’t like it one bit.”

He nuzzled her damp hair, inhaling the fragrance, and reveled in Maggie, safe in his arms. “Men like to play heroes, you know.”

She shook her head. “Brent was mad. I should have done more years ago. I should have stopped him.”

This time, Nick shook her lightly. “You tried. Why does everything have to be your fault?”

Maggie was still for a moment, then she eased away, looking small and vulnerable in his T-shirt. “Nick, you have to let Alyssa go.”

“Where did that come from?” Nick rammed his hand through his damp hair and down his unshaven jaw. One minute he was comforting her, and in the next, Maggie had turned to his guilt about Alyssa. “Now, that one was my fault. She should have been wearing a helmet. I should have made her put it on.”

“Think of it this way—you saved me tonight. That evens the score, doesn’t it?” Maggie came to look up at him, her hands smoothing his jaw. “You look awful.”

“I wanted to protect you tonight—and I couldn’t. I walked right into a trap that endangered you.”

She eased his head down to lightly kiss his bruised face, his swollen eyelid, the bruises on his forehead and jaw. “But you did. You’re my hero. You were wonderful.”

A little of his ego slithered back, and Nick angled his jaw for her kiss. “You missed a place.”

Maggie held him tightly, her face warm against his throat. “Just hold me.”

Nick sipped coffee from his thermos as he steered the boat out onto the lake, searching for Scout’s body. Leaves and
branches rolled on the waves, evidence of the storm’s violence. The ghostly gray, the predawn spread out onto the peaceful lake.

He’d left Maggie sleeping deeply to climb up to the old lighthouse.

Maybe she was sleeping. Or maybe she just couldn’t take any more pain until she was ready. He’d opened the windows to the damp, chilly air, needing the clean freshness to sweep through him. There was the sound of the waves, the gentle wind twining through Celeste’s chimes, the steady drip of last night’s rain from the branches. He had to give Maggie peace, even if it was Scout’s body, and suddenly he’d been in motion.

Taking care not to make noise, Nick had descended the stairs and dressed quickly in the kitchen. He had scooped up the keys to the cabin cruiser, and automatically reached for the thermos of coffee left by a sheriff’s deputy.

On second thought, he didn’t want Maggie to hope or to worry about him. He’d reached for a pad and pencil and said, “Be back soon. Wanted to check on damage at the vineyard. Wait for me.”

The stolen cruiser was still aground on the sand, just as they had left it last night. Straining with all his strength, Nick had managed to free it from the sand.

In the approximate location where the cruiser had been last night, Nick cut the motor and held very still, surveying the huge black swells for a sign—anything to take back to Maggie.

He saw something in the water, lying low and flat, and started the motor, steering toward it. Close now, Nick identified it as a log, and once more cut the motor, scanning the swells.

The wind rose slightly and Nick tilted his head, listening to the faint sound. It could have been Mac Donovan’s collie down the road. Or a tourist’s dog on a leash.

Or it just could be Scout.

He tossed the remainder of the coffee into the lake and powered the motor, traveling toward the sound and then stopping once more.

In the predawn and the fog, Monique’s tiny island was an impossible distance for a wounded dog to swim—especially in a storm.

Yet the sound came again, a dog’s excited bark, and Nick shoved the controls into full forward, heading for the island.

“He should have waited for me.”

Maggie stalked the beach, watching the cruiser moving swiftly over the water toward her. She’d already made a fast run up and down the shore. She’d searched for Scout’s body and
Nick had gone searching on the lake without her
.

She braced her hands on her hips and decided that he could just take her out again.

“Look at that,” she muttered to herself as the cruiser came closer. “He’s grinning, proud of himself. He’s been out conquering the world, doing the dirty work to save little old delicate me from—”

Then Scout’s black head popped up beside Nick, and Maggie held her breath—and prayed that she wasn’t dreaming.

“Scout!” She waded into the water just as her dog leaped from the boat, swimming toward her.

Scout met her in a final lunge that took her under water. Only knee-deep, she struggled against the sucking waves, and suddenly she was being hauled up by her sweatshirt.

When she sputtered and shook the water from her face, she found Nick frowning at her. While Scout barked and bounded around them, he mopped the water from her face and shook her slightly. “Are you okay?”

Maggie blinked at him. She moved her feet, struggled to find her balance while Nick peered at her, and her left canvas shoe came off. Scout happily snatched it and ran to shore, ready to play fetch. “Am I dreaming?”

“If you are, it’s a good one.” Nick grinned and chuckled
and hefted her up to his shoulder. “Come on, Scout. She’s fine, just a little flesh wound. I don’t know how she managed to make it to a small island. We’ll take her to the vet as soon as you change clothes—”

“No, now—”

“Maggie, sometimes you are just better off not arguing with me.”

She braced her hands on Nick’s backside. “You can put me down now.”

“Not a chance. Scout is too excited to obey and she’ll take you down again. I saw you in danger enough last night.”

“You love this he-man stuff, don’t you?”

Nick didn’t answer, but his pat on her bottom confirmed her accusation.

Maggie smoothed his taut butt, letting her hand wander between his legs. Nick stopped walking up the hill. His body tensed and that little hip-wiggle thing said he wasn’t averse to her prowling hand, which wandered around to firmer fare. “What.”

“All this macho stuff is turning me on.”

This time Nick’s pat turned into a caress, gliding over her backside. “You’re going to have to wait…. I can feel your heat through our clothes. Maggie, you are not starting something we can’t both finish now.”

“My hero. You deserve a nice warm reward. One of those flavor-ripening, peak-temperature, full-fruit-bursting kind of things.”

Nick’s coarse, choked sound said he understood perfectly. But then he served her a simmering invitation of his own. “Harvesting at the perfect time means waiting for that plump, skintight fruit, juicy on the inside, to give a full-bodied taste. It’s going to start at the top of your head and work down to the bottom of your feet. And there are a few interesting areas between, the supple, fruity kind.”

Nick eased her down from his shoulder. He reached for her face, cupping it as his lips and tongue devoured ruthlessly.
“That will have to do, love. Because eventually you’d fret about Scout, and once we start, it could be a very, very long session. I want to know and feel that you are alive and with me and I don’t want any interruptions.”

She nestled close against him, her breasts already peaked and aching and ready for harvest, just like the rest of her. But there was more, so much more, and it ran tender and sweet between them now. “Then it could be a long session. I need to know the same.”

“You’re shivering. You’re getting in the shower before we go anywhere.” He eased her damp hair back from her face. “You didn’t panic under water. You were already surfacing when I hauled you up.”

Maggie hugged him tighter, laying her head on his chest, where his heart beat strong and safe. The sound of Celeste’s chimes seemed happy, and the clumps of grass remained damp from the fog that was slipping away to a beautiful day. “I knew you would fish me out, and Scout was alive. I don’t think I’m afraid of water anymore.”

This time when he lifted her face, his kiss was brief and tender, matching the softness in his dark eyes. “Good. I’m glad.”

When they were in his pickup, driving to Blanchefleur, Maggie held her sister’s locket. It was time to let Glenda rest. “Nick, I want to go to that island.”

“Why?” Nick smiled briefly. “To escape the lecture Lorenzo is set to give you?”

“Oh, I know that is coming for sure, and I appreciate him putting it off this long. I should have called him when I sensed you were in danger. I know now that he would have listened to me, when others hadn’t. And he’s already told me that I’m going to work that mistake out by baby-sitting…There’s something I have to do. After Scout sees the vet and we’re finished with whatever statements we have to make, please take me to that island where you found her.”

Nick sat on his haunches and built the campfire. Through the smoke and ash, he watched Maggie walk along the island’s tiny shoreline, Scout at her side. The late August night was cool, foretelling of fall and Nick’s ripening harvest.

In the exhausting sessions of interviews and statements and working at his winery, Maggie had been withdrawn, speaking little, but curling into his arms every night as if Nick were her safe harbor. They moved through the necessities of day-to-day living, and Nick realized that she was working through the past, trying to heal.