Patricia Potter (59 page)

Chris crashed into Weimer before he could grab Meara again, the impact sending Chris’s pistol to the floor. He had known instantly that Weimer was crazy enough at the moment to kill her now, regardless of the consequences. The threat of a gun wouldn’t stop him. Not now. Weimer’s eyes were wild, wild with frustration and fury and hate.

Chris’s hands clutched Weimer’s fist which enclosed the handle of the knife, and the two of them rolled against a hall table and down the wall, both fighting with all their strength for control of the weapon.

Weimer had the advantage of youth, but Chris had the muscles developed from years in the logging industry. Even during the last office-bound years, he had occasionally surprised crews by joining them, enjoying the hard physical labor that brought relief to emotional wounds. It had another practical effect, strengthening the loyalty of loggers to the company. He was one of them, not merely a bean counter. Now it paid off.

With one quick movement of his other hand, he slammed Weimer’s fist so hard against the wall, the fingers released the knife, which skittered down the hall. Just then, he heard a gunshot echoing through the house, and he realized that Meara, even bound as she was, had somehow reached the gun and managed to fire it, alerting the neighbors.

Weimer also realized at the same moment what had happened. Again everything was lost because of one interfering woman. He had lost, but he would take her with him. He used the momentary distraction of the gunshot to reach for the Luger he had strapped to his leg. His opponent saw the movement and reached for it just as Weimer was extracting it from the holster. The hands of both men closed on it. Weimer pressed the trigger the same second Chris forced the gun down and away from him. Weimer heard the loud report and felt fire envelop the lower half of his torso. His hand went slack and he knew the gun was sliding from it, but it didn’t matter now. The fire was stronger, excruciating in its fury and heat, and yet another part of him felt cold, very, very cold. He tried to move, but nothing obeyed, nothing worked. He looked up at the man over him. “Who are you?” he whispered.

There was a pounding at the door, but the noise grew dimmer as he asked again, “Who are you?” He knew his voice was weaker, and he was getting colder. Fire and ice. His body was fire and ice. He was dying. He knew it. He had to know who had killed him. It was important. He didn’t know why, but it was.

But his killer just sat there, his dark eyes cold and expressionless. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw that Meara had risen and was trying to get around him to the door. He wanted to reach out, but he couldn’t, and then even the man so close to him was fading away. He struggled a moment longer to keep his eyes open, to live, but the ice and fire were consuming him. “I’m sorry, Father,” he whispered to the ghostlike figure above him. “I tried…” He closed his eyes for a moment. Only for a moment.

Chris leaned over and felt the pulse at his neck. It was still. Just then a window shattered, and he heard voices.

“Meara,” one called. “Are you all right?” But she couldn’t answer, Chris realized. The gag was still in her mouth.

“This is Chandler,” he yelled. “She’s all right. Call the police.” He rose and untied the gag and then her wrists, his fingers uncustomarily clumsy. She turned to him, desperately needing his strength, his warmth. His arms clasped her to him tightly as they heard sirens outside and more shouts.

After several seconds, he released her. “We’d better let them in.”

“Andy…,” she said pleadingly. “He…woke up and tried to help…Weimer kicked him.”

Chris went into the bedroom. Andy was trying to stand. Chris ran his hands over him, hearing a brief whimper where there was a soreness, but other than that, the dog seemed fine. Andy finally got to his feet and staggered toward Meara, who knelt to reach him. The dog planted an apologetic swipe of a tongue on her face as Meara buried her hand in his fur. “Poor, brave Andy,” she whispered.

Chris reached down a hand to her, and together, his arm around her, supporting her, they walked to the front door. Kelly was there, a hunting rifle in his hand along with several other neighbors, carrying everything from brooms to baseball bats. Looking past them, he could see the flashing lights of a police car.

“What in the hell happened?” Kelly said.

Chris nodded inside. “Weimer. He’s dead.” The corners of his mouth turned upward, but it wasn’t a smile. “I might need your services.”

Kelly went in and stooped beside the body. The bullet had ripped a hole through Weimer’s stomach, hitting some vital artery, and blood was pooling around him. He nodded for Chris to come over to him; the other neighbors were crowded around Meara.

“What happened?”

“He apparently got in through a window. He got to Meara before I could stop him. She’s the one who saved everything; she jerked away from him when she saw me.”

They heard car doors slamming.

“The police,” Kelly said. “I called them when I heard the gunshot. Quick. Is there anything I should know?”

Chris looked at him steadily. “He’s a rejected suitor. Nothing more.”

Kelly’s gaze was level, penetrating. “All right,” he said finally. “But tell me one thing. Might Lisa be in any more danger?”

“No.”

“When this is over then, I’ll call her,” Kelly said. “Meara might need her. You’ll be busy with questioning for a while, but I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank you,” Chris said, grateful beyond words for Kelly’s silent and unquestioning support.

Kelly grinned a bit weakly. “Let’s go face them.”

When they reached the living room, Meara turned again to him, and he saw the shock in it, the unfocused eyes which still held horror. Her hands were trembling as they reached for him.

He looked around, at the curious faces of the neighbors, the hard ones of the police, the body on the floor. Twice in her life, Meara had gone through something no one should experience. Terror and violent death. Because of him. Twice because of him. He swallowed against the sickness rising in him.

Chris held her shoulders as the police went over to the body and checked it once more for life. One officer went to the telephone to make some phone calls and another came over to Meara, his hard face softening. He knew Meara, knew her husband had been a federal agent who had recently been killed. There was a bond there, a bond that stretched between all police at all levels.

“What happened, Mrs. Evans?”

Meara turned to Chris. His hand tightened on her shoulder as he spoke slowly. “This man is Kurt Weimer. He’d been dating Mrs. Evans’s daughter and she’d evidently spurned him. He’d made some threats.” The lies came easily. Too easily. He was so damned tired of lies.

“And you, sir.”

Kelly stepped up. “He’s an old friend of Sanders Evans who’s been staying on the island. He and I have been taking turns looking after Mrs. Evans.” In those few words, he lay gossip and suspicion to rest.

“Why didn’t you call us?” the older police officer said.

“He’s a German government official. We just didn’t really think he would carry out the threat. Mrs. Evans didn’t want an international incident and scandal for no reason.”

The policeman nodded his head. It made sense.

Chris stiffened suddenly. “I also hired a detective agency to keep a watch on the house. There should have been someone outside.”

The older policeman, a sergeant by his stripes, nodded to another man. “Take a look.”

Meara started shaking, her body shivering with the aftermath. She wanted Chris. Dear Mother in heaven, how much she wanted him now. But his hands had fallen from her shoulders, and he had moved slightly away. His eyes were wary and secretive, just as before while he waited tensely for the policeman to return.

Kelly’s mother, who had also arrived, moved over to Meara, guiding her over to a sofa and urging her to sit.

In just seconds, the police officer returned. “There’s a dead man out there. His throat cut.”

“Christ.” Chris groaned. Death followed him around like a shadow.

“I found this on him,” the officer said, handing a wallet and identification to the sergeant.

“George Somers,” the man read, and Chris felt a brief moment of relief that it wasn’t Matt, whom he had come to know and like. Then the sickness settled back down. No matter who it was, he was responsible.

Another wail of a siren came, and an ambulance arrived. The police sergeant ushered everyone out except his officers, Meara, Chris, and Kelly and his mother.

Evelyn Tabor looked at the sergeant. “Can I take her over to our house for some rest.”

The sergeant agreed. “But I need Mr….”

“Chandler. Chris Chandler,” Kelly said.

“I need Mr. Chandler for a while.”

Panic rose in Meara’s face. “I want to stay too.”

Chris shook his head. “You go. Please.”

“No,” she said stubbornly, terrified that they might find out who Chris was, that they might charge him with murder. She couldn’t bear the thought of him in prison.

“Mrs. Evans, I’ll have to talk to him alone anyway.”

“No,” she repeated again.

“Then can you tell us what happened?”

Meara hesitated. “I woke up and
he
was there…in the room. He had a knife. He wanted Lisa.” Shudders ran through her body. “He said he was going to tie us both up and set fire to the house.”

Even the officer’s face went white at the words, and Chris felt a choking sensation in his throat. Kelly wished the man wasn’t dead so he could kill him himself. Evelyn’s hands clutched Meara’s even tighter.

“Where is your daughter?” the sergeant said softly.

“In Chicago,” Kelly said. “With some friends of mine.”

“Another precaution?” the sergeant said dryly.

Kelly nodded, his eyes meeting the sergeant’s. They had known each other for years, known and liked and respected.

The ambulance arrived then, and the four of them watched silently as the body was taken, leaving a huge river of fresh blood. Meara blanched and went into the bathroom, emerging several minutes later, her face pale and strained.

“Everything is exactly as it was when the shooting occurred?” the sergeant said.

Chris nodded.

“The state police are sending over some lab people, and I think Mrs. Evans needs to get away from here. Obviously she won’t go without you. I want your word you won’t leave the island until we talk further. You both can go for now. Where are you staying?”

Chris gave his address.

“And Mrs. Evans?”

“She’ll stay with us,” Evelyn replied quickly.

“All right. I’ll see you in the morning. It seems simple enough. Self-defense.”

“The man outside…”

The sergeant shook his head. “We’ve never had a murder on the island before, leastways not as long as I’ve been here. Heard there was a kidnapping years back—”

“If there’s nothing else?” Chris said quickly.

“No,” the sergeant said slowly.

Chris walked over to the Tabor house. Evelyn had her arm around Meara, and as much as he wanted to touch her, to hold her, to comfort her, he couldn’t do it. He felt dirty, unclean. He had never been anything but misery to her.

At the door, he said good night, ignoring the pleading look Meara gave him.

“We’ll take good care of her,” Kelly said, looking from one to the other, but keeping his own counsel.

Chris walked the short distance to his rented house. The first golden light of dawn was breaking through the darkness, but it held no glow for him, no hope. He went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He was covered with blood. He buried his head in his hands and thought how just hours ago he thought he could have a life with Meara.

How could that be possible when he was a constant reminder of death and terror? He had done enough to her.

He would see the police tomorrow. Then he would leave the moment he was given permission. He would not see Meara again. Zombielike, he took his clothes off and got in the shower. But he knew he could never wash away the smell of death.

Meara woke slowly. Her head felt heavy from the strong sedative she had taken the night before. Evelyn and Kelly had insisted on calling a doctor, and she had been too tired and spiritless to resist.

Now as her brain started to function, she remembered everything, every horrible detail: how the knife had felt against her throat, how she was afraid Kurt Weimer had killed Chris. And then she had seen him as she was pushed out the room, and she’d known everything would be all right. She had known.

Until she had seen his eyes when they reached the Tabor home. They were dead. Dead and hopeless. She had reached for him but he was gone.

Tears started down her face when the door opened and she saw Lisa, her face creased with concern as she ran over to her. Kelly was right behind her.

“Oh, Mother,” Lisa said, burying her head against Meara’s chest as Meara started to sit up. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

Meara felt her heart contract. She didn’t want Lisa to feel the guilt she had all these many years. “No, darling, nothing was your fault. No one could possibly have known.”