Wolf Island (28 page)

He
leaped down the short flight of stairs to find Victor. Devlin held the gun out
in front of him with both hands. He jerked the barrel to the left and right,
looking for his target.

Behind
him, a sound, a scuffle. Before he could whirl around, a rope slipped over his
head and looped around his neck.

Victor
yanked on the rope. Devlin’s feet slid out from under him, and the gun jolted
from his hands. He hit the wet, slippery deck, and the noose tightened sharply.
He clawed at the rope, trying in vain to loosen it, but his fingers slid
helplessly over the rain-soaked hemp.

With
every flash of lightning, Devlin saw Victor’s contorted face, his glazed eyes.
Victor twisted the rope in his hands, tightening it slowly, causing the rope to
cut viciously into Devlin’s windpipe. Devlin struggled to fill his lungs with
air, but the breath barely wheezed down his throat.

Devlin
groped frantically around him on the deck, trying to find anything he could use
to stop Victor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a gaffing pole. Stretching
his arms and hands as far as he could, he fought to wrap his fingers around the
pole.
Oh, God, just a little more.

The
noose grew tighter and tighter. He blinked his eyes as the world slid in and
out of focus. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t. Abby would be at Victor’s mercy.
With that thought blaring through his head, Devlin’s fingers slid around the
pole. He gripped it with both hands and swung the gaffing pole upward. It
slammed into Victor’s upper arm.

Victor
screamed in fury as his hands jerked from their hold on the rope. Devlin threw
him off, pried the rope from his neck, and heaved in a deep breath. Just as he
pulled the rope over his head, Victor came at him again. Devlin struggled to
his feet and crunched his fist into Victor’s nose. Blood spurted from Victor’s
face in a grotesque stream.

The
boat lurched sharply, and Devlin stumbled headfirst into the stern. As his
skull bounced against the gunwale, one lucid thought reverberated through the
blinding pain.

Abby.

He
sank into darkness.

·
        
* * * *

With
her distress call answered, Abby ran down the stairs to find Devlin. Her feet
skated over the waterlogged deck, and for a moment, she teetered on the tips of
her toes.

Another
wave slammed into the boat, rocking the vessel to starboard. Abby slid over the
deck toward the edge and the dark, boiling sea. Her stomach hit the gunwale.
Her upper body swung down toward the water, her feet lifting into the air
behind her. She clung to the railing for dear life, the momentum of the boat
nearly pulling her arms from their sockets.

The
ocean heaved, tossing the boat back to port. Her fingers slipped from the rail,
and she hit the deck on her bottom, skidding into the port side of the boat.

She
sucked in a breath and snapped her head around. Her gaze darted over the deck.
Her heart seized in her chest when she saw Devlin’s still body lying on the
deck. Rain splashed around him, over him. A trickle of red oozed from his
temple.

Abby
raced to him and pressed two fingers against the side of his neck. His weak
pulse beat against the tips of her fingers.

Thank God.

Before
she could spring up and find a first aid kit, Victor’s large hand gripped a
handful of her hair. With a brutal yank, he pulled her ruthlessly to her feet.
She bumped against his chest, and the breath whooshed from her lungs.

Splinters
of pain spread over her scalp until her eyes watered and nausea swam into her
throat. Abby fought to loosen his hands from her hair. She had to help Devlin
or he would die. No way would she let that happen.

Suddenly,
she forgot about the pain ripping into her head. Rage like she’d never felt
before suffused her mind and body in a thick, red torrent. Tired of feeling
like a helpless doll as Victor grabbed and pushed and threw her around, Abby
fought back.

She
lowered her chin, then threw her head back sharply, ramming her skull into
Victor’s jaw. He yowled.

His
arms fell away from her body, and with one last look at Devlin, Abby flew down
the steps to the lower deck. Just as she’d hoped, Victor followed her. If she
didn’t stop him, Devlin would die.

Abby
made her way to the darkened galley and fumbled for the light switch. Victor’s
savage curses echoed in the hallway. His footsteps lumbered closer. And closer.

Oh, God, help me. He’s coming. He’s coming!

She
jerked open a drawer. The tines of a cooking fork gleamed in the light. She
snatched the utensil from the drawer just as Victor lurched into the galley.

“There
you are, whore.” His evil voice edged out of control.

He
grabbed her by the shoulders and tossed her to the floor. The cooking fork flew
from her hand. Her head banged sharply against the tile, causing stars to dance
in front of her eyes.

Before
she could try to escape, Victor straddled her body and closed one hand around
her throat. Desperately, she grabbed at his fingers to pull them away from her
neck, but his strength overwhelmed her. With his other hand, he unzipped his
pants.

Sweet Jesus. No!

“I’m
going to have you now, bitch.” His raspy voice made her skin sting with fear.
His eyes grew wide, and sweat glistened on his pasty skin. It was as though
he’d completely slipped from reality. His mind had twisted into some
unrecognizable shape, and any humanity left inside him had been wiped away by
the madness.

Abby
choked and opened her mouth to try to suck in air. With one hand still clawing
at his ever-tightening fingers, she groped around on the floor with her other
hand, trying desperately to find the cooking fork.

Her
fingertips bumped into the handle. She cut her gaze sharply to the left. The
fork lay an inch, maybe two, from her reach. Stretching her arm until her
muscles and joints ached, she brushed the pads of her fingers over the handle
and moved it slightly closer.

Victor’s
grip tightened. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and darkness crept in. With
one last stretch, Abby closed her fingers around the thick wooden handle.

A
shot ran through the small galley. Victor’s mouth opened, and his eyes widened
in shock before he slumped on top of her. Abby screamed, the high-pitched wail
rising deep from within her soul. She pushed against his chest.

“Oh,
God, oh, God.” She repeated the words over and over in a broken voice.

Suddenly,
Victor’s limp body lifted off of her.

Abby
slid away, her eyes glued to Victor’s still form. Blood dripped steadily from
the side of his head and pooled on the tile floor.

Otis
knelt at her side, gripped her head in his hands, and turned her face toward
his. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

His
gentle words broke through the stifling grip of fear and revulsion clouding her
mind and pressing on her chest. She swallowed and grasped his arm. “Dev. Did
you see him? Is he all right?”

Abby
pushed to her feet. For a moment, she stared down at Victor’s body, at the hole
in his temple, his lifeblood dripping onto the floor.

She
inhaled a couple of deep breaths to push the bile back down her throat. She had
to get to Devlin.

Abby
sprinted to the upper deck to Devlin, her love, her life. She knelt beside him
in the pouring rain as two paramedics covered him with a blanket and a waterproof
poncho. Then they put a neck brace on him to immobilize his head. Abby pushed
his sodden hair from his face. “Hang on, Dev. Don’t die. Please don’t die.” She
heard the desperate plea in her voice as tears welled in her eyes. She hoped to
God Devlin heard her as the paramedics rushed him away.

Later,
at the Wolf Island clinic, the nurses stripped his wet clothes from his bruised
and battered body, X-rayed him from head to toe, and put him into a room for observation.
When he was settled, Abby sat in a chair beside his bed, clasped his hand, and
prayed with everything inside her that he would be all right.

After
what seemed an eternity, his eyes finally fluttered open, and he looked at her.
A bubble of relief and happiness burst inside her and spread throughout her
body.

A
tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He brought her hand to his lips and
kissed her skin. His mouth felt cool and wet, but his breath felt warm as it
blew over her skin. “Abby.” She’d never heard weakness or strain in Devlin’s
voice before, and it frightened her. He had to be okay. “Sweetheart, thank God
you’re okay. Where’s Victor? What happened?”

She
thought about Victor lying in the galley -- the man Otis had killed to
save her and Devlin, the man she loved. “He’s dead.” She still couldn’t quite
believe that Victor was dead. Devlin pulled her gently down to his chest and
wrapped his arms around her. She listened to the thud of his heart, closed her
eyes, and clung to him.

Epilogue

Devlin
slipped out of the car and turned to look at Abby smiling up at him. Sunlight
sailed in through the window, casting dappled shadows over her beautiful face.
Red-gold highlights glimmered in her hair; a smile curved her lips. He couldn’t
believe how lucky he was. If she had never come along, would he have ever grown
this much? Would he have been able to go do what he’d needed to do since he was
a child?

Valerie
Tate’s house sat on a fashionable street in Boston. Miniature yellow roses
lined the walkway leading to the wide white porch overlooking manicured
grounds. He remembered how she’d been tending them when his grandmother had
brought him here all those years ago.

Devlin
opened the iron gate, walked down the path to the porch, and rang the bell. He
heard the doorbell ring lightly inside. He waited for only a moment before the
door swung wide. His mother stood just on the other side of the threshold.
“What are
you
doing here?” Contempt oozed from her voice. This time
Devlin didn’t feel hurt or anger, only pity.

“I’m
here to forgive you.”

She
tried to slam the door in his face, but he reached out and held it open with
his hand. “Please, I have something to say to you. When I’m done, I’ll leave,
and you’ll never have to see me again.”

His
mother straightened her shoulders. There were a few lines in her face, a
smattering of gray in the auburn strands of her hair; otherwise, she looked the
same.

Beautiful,
cold, distant.

“Very
well.” Her tone, as sharp as the point of an icicle, jabbed him. But for the first
time in his life, he felt no pain.

“I
came to tell you that I forgive you. You can’t hurt me anymore, and I don’t
feel angry for what you did,” he said firmly, realizing that he believed it.

“How
dare you!” Her voice grew bright with scorn. “What do I need your forgiveness
for?”

“For
rejecting me.”

“You
were never meant to be.”

Her
harsh, bitter words couldn’t hurt him anymore. “I
was
meant to be. I
deserve to be here. For you, I only feel pity.”

Her
eyes grew hard; her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped smile. “Is that all?”

“Yes,
that’s all.”

She
closed the door in his face.

* * * * *

Later
that evening, Abby opened the set of French doors and stepped out onto a small
balcony off their hotel room in Boston. A warm breeze caressed her skin, fluttering
the blue silk nightgown around her body. She rested her hands on the railing
and looked out into the moon-washed night.

Traffic
flowed past on the street below her, but she barely noticed. She gazed up at
the moon cruising big and white through a black sky glittering with stars. In
the midst of such beauty, it was hard to believe that anything bad had ever
happened on the island.

J.D.
and Miranda had arrived the next day, after the events on the boat. Despite
J.D’s own injuries, both he and Miranda had needed to see that their siblings
were still in one piece. Then the two of them had proceeded to fuss over and
pamper Abby and Dev for a week before they could be convinced that Abby and Dev
were okay.

A
vase of white roses and irises sat in a corner of the balcony, surrounded by
the glow of a dozen white candles. The flowers’ fragrance perfumed the air and
made her smile. Devlin had placed them there himself, along with candles in the
bedroom and petals sprinkled over the bed.

She
felt Devlin’s arms slide around her waist and draw her back against his warm,
bare chest. Abby closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of the man she loved.
Three weeks had passed since that horrible day, and he had been by her side
every minute. Otis had pampered them both to see that they healed.

Devlin
lowered his head and nibbled on her neck. She felt the achingly familiar rise
of desire swell inside her. All it took was a look, a touch, a gentle kiss from
him, and she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms. “How are you feeling?”