CHAPTER 47
Breathing hard, shivering, Harrison hauled
himself to his knees. He couldn’t slow down. Had to push forward.
Up the steep path that wound to the crown of this tiny scrap of
land. He had to climb over a sagging, useless chain-link fence, but
he kept moving, the salt water in his jeans squishing and feeling
like dead weight.
He reached the top of the trail and
stared through the dark to the lighthouse. No one in
sight.
But she was here. She had to
be.
And someone else. The owner of the
Dodge Charger.
He crept forward, Glock in hand,
breathing hard, squinting in the darkness, staring at the
lighthouse.
Blam!
The sound of a gun blast rocked the
island.
“Shit!”
A quick fire flash flared bright in the
windows of the dome.
Then it was dark again.
Eerily so.
Laura!
In his mind’s eye, Harrison saw her,
bleeding from the bullet wound in her chest, staggering and
pitching over the railing, her hair streaming behind her, blood
spraying as she fell to her death.
He took off at a dead
sprint.
All hell broke loose!
With a roar, Justice fell backward,
blood blooming on the shirt visible beneath his open
coat.
Two boys, hidden by the huge lamp,
screamed and leapt to their feet, exposing themselves. Oh, Jesus!
Kids? There were kids here?
Laura pointed the gun at her attacker
again but couldn’t shoot, not with the boys in the tiny room. The
bullet could ricochet. . . .
Unless she got close enough to him to
jab the gun under his ribs.
She didn’t have time to think. He
caught himself on the door and, glowering at her, raised his damned
knife and lunged again. “Run!!!” she screamed to the boys as she
backed up, her fingers finding the latch to the window exit. If she
could get him outside, she’d fire every damned bullet she had into
his filthy flesh.
Justice, stunned, eyed the
kids.
She aimed. “Leave them alone, you son
of a bitch!”
He glared at her from the doorway, and
the blind rage she’d seen before entered his eyes. “Sssisterrr!
Filthy whore!” He took a step forward, and she backed up, holding
her .38 as steady as she could.
“Run!!!” she screamed again as Justice
raised his knife and reeled forward.
The boys were huddled against the far
wall, behind the lamp.
Her fingers scraped against the rusted
latch. Please open . . . please . .
.
She pulled on the latch.
Nothing!
She was trapped! The only way out was
behind Justice, down the stairs the way she’d come up. Unless there
was a ladder on the exterior of the lighthouse . . . Come on, come on! Her fingers coiled over the window’s
latch, and she gave it another hard tug. Something creaked, started
to give way, but at that moment, Justice raised his knife and
swung, throwing himself forward.
The blade sliced downward.
She dived to one side and Justice was
thrown off balance. He fell against the lamp.
With a shriek the boys ran behind him,
throwing themselves through the open doorway and clattering down
the stairs. Their voices echoed upward, their footsteps ringing
loudly on the weak metal steps.
Justice lunged again and she pushed her
gun into his gut, but he grabbed her hand and thrust it aside as
she pulled the trigger. The bullet went wild, pinging back and
forth through the small space, shattering the lamp in a deafening
blast.
Glass sprayed. Justice threw his weight
onto her, pressing her to the wall, twisting her arm back at her
wrist.
Pain rocketed up her arm.
She sucked in her breath but couldn’t
let go. Wouldn’t! Scrabbling backward, she pushed against the outer
door.
With a shrieking groan, the latch gave
way and the window exit flew open. Rain and wind burst into the
dome as the window opened. They toppled together onto the rickety
metal platform surrounding the dome. It shimmied and creaked under
their weight, barely attached to the lighthouse. Her back was to
the rail, and Justice’s body, heavy and smelling of sour sweat,
pinned her tight.
She fired another shot and it went
wild, into the air.
Snap!
Pain screamed through her
arm.
The gun went sliding away, across the
mesh platform.
“No!”
She watched in horror as the Smith
& Wesson slid over the edge, spinning down into the
darkness.
Gasping for breath, Harrison ran up the
stairs. “Laura!” he yelled, his voice echoing within the hollow
tower of the lighthouse, the wind screaming outside. “Laura! Hold
on!” If that sicko hurt her . . . oh, hell. Up he ran, holding onto
the rail, taking the steps two at a time.
He heard the footsteps hurrying toward
him, and he flattened against the wall, his gun drawn. “Laura!” he
cried.
“She’s up there!” a boy’s voice cried,
and then he saw them, two kids in their teens. “He’s got her!” the
younger one said, staring into the muzzle of Harrison’s gun.
“Justice Turnbull. He’s got her!”
“Get out of here!” Harrison
yelled.
They plowed past him, running,
tumbling, racing to the bottom.
Harrison hurtled upward, adrenaline
fueling him, rage burning in his soul. “Turnbull!” he yelled. “Come
on, you son of a bitch! Come the hell after me!”
And then he heard Laura scream, a
piercing shriek of pure terror.
“Die, Ssissterr!” Justice hissed, the
stench of his breath fanning over her face. He raised his blade
high, and she screamed, flinging herself upward, trying to throw
off his heavy weight.
The blade glinted wickedly above
her.
The platform groaned, metal twisting
over the shriek of the wind.
He swung downward, intent on slicing
her throat, but she kicked him hard. Brought her knee fast to his
groin and the blade struck his own leg.
Bellowing, he convulsed, and she rolled
away, the railing of the platform against her back.
She sprang for the open window to the
inner dome, but the platform shifted, ancient bolts giving way. Her
wet hands slipped. Rain pelted her. The metal footing listed and
she began to slide, toward the place where the platform had torn
from the wall and dangled precariously over the rocks
below.
Justice leapt for her, clawing on top
of her. She kicked again, swinging hard! Her booted foot jammed
into his crotch.
With a shriek, he doubled over. His
knife fell from his hands, skittering across the metal flooring,
sliding toward the edge as it listed, then falling, as if in slow
motion, to be swallowed in the darkness below.
Justice’s fingers, slick with his own
blood and the rain, scrabbled for purchase on the railing. His
weight dragged him downward. Laura held on to the platform with her
good arm, trying to inch toward the open window, praying the
platform would hold. Its groaning metal hurt her ears. She clawed
her way upward, grabbing, struggling. She wrapped her good arm
around a rusted metal post, wedging it against her shoulder,
flattening her body over the flooring.
With a horrible scream of twisting
metal, the entire platform tore away from the wall of the
lighthouse. Part of the flooring gave way and fell to the sea.
Laura closed her eyes, held tight, and prayed. Then she felt the
clamp of steely fingers around her ankle.
Justice had grabbed her, his weight too
much, dragging her downward.
No! God, help
me. She struggled upward. Her leg felt as if it would pop
out of its hip socket. The world started to spin, darkness
threatening to shroud her, the wind gusting and
keening.
Her boot began to slip from her
foot.
God, the pain.
She struggled to hang on, to stay
conscious, to not give in to the desperate need to let
go.
Setting her jaw against the agony
clawing through her, she kicked back with her free foot and
connected with the monster’s arms. Bam!
He howled again.
She kicked again, but he twisted. She
missed, and it was all she could do not to black out.
“Laura!” For a moment she thought she
heard Harrison’s voice. Oh, God. Her heart wrenched at the thought
of him. Again, the blackness came, luring her to let go . . . to
fall to the sea like her namesake.
“Laura, hang on!”
The world seemed to swim before her
eyes. Clouds roiling above, sea swirling below. The blackness
tugged at her consciousness, dragging her under.
Hang on, she
told herself, for God’s sake . . . oh, but the
pain. Her body felt as if it were being ripped in
two.
Fight, Laura. Do not
let him win. For the love of God! Do not let Justice
win!
“You miserable bastard.” One more kick!
Smack! She connected with his
wrist.
He screamed, a piercing,
soul-splintering cry.
Suddenly the hand clasping her ankle
gave way.
“Sissterrr! Nooo!”
She glanced back. Justice tumbled into
the night, arms and legs kicking wildly, down, down, down into the
darkness. Through the mesh of the platform she watched him
disappear to the rocky shoals below.
He cast out one final threat.
You will never be rid of me . . . Lorelei . . .
Sisst—
“Laura!” She looked up and saw Harrison
in the open window of the lighthouse. He stood before the dark
hole, his gaze on hers, his face white with terror. “Hang on. Do
you hear me? Hang on!” He leaned forward, one hand holding on to
the broken latch, the other stretched far as he could
reach.
His hand caught only air. “Grab my
hand!” he ordered.
But she couldn’t lift her bad arm. Her
wrist throbbed and wouldn’t respond as she flailed.
His fingers brushed hers.
“Harrison!” she cried, but it was too
late.
With one final deep, echoing groan, the
final bolt gave way and the platform ripped free, wrenching away
from the lighthouse.
Laura, still grasping the rail, began
to tumble and fall, spinning out of control. Sky and ground one
dark, horrifying blur . . .
“Lorelei!” Harrison called, his voice
drowned by the surf.
The platform swung downward, then
released, Laura with it. The wind rushed. There was a sense of
flying. She closed her eyes, expecting death.
She hit the water so hard, every bone
in her body screamed. Arctic cold water poured over her as she sank
into the salty depths. Waves crashed and tossed her, yanking her
free of the platform. She scraped on rocks and looked up through
the watery depths, seeing a light, bright and round, above
her.
Harrison . . . love . .
. I’m sorry . . . . so, so sorry . . . I should have told you. . .
.
The blackness came again, seducing her,
dragging her under, salt water seeping into her lungs.
She let go.
“No!” Harrison watched in horror as
Laura fell away, her body disappearing into the sea. He didn’t
think twice but took a running start and threw himself out of the
lighthouse. He could miss and hit the rocks, or hit the sea and die
from the impact, but he didn’t take the time to second-guess
himself.
Through the night he sailed, arms out,
down to the ocean that he couldn’t see. At the last moment he
tucked himself into a straight arrow and hit the surface tension of
the water feetfirst, a wave immediately catching him and tossing
him closer to shore.
He surfaced, treading water, spitting
salt water, spying a light . . . on the ocean, a beam illuminating
the whirling, foaming surf. In the middle of the beam, he saw her.
Limp. Lifeless. Laura.
He was too late.
No!
He swam for her, intent on reaching
her, fighting the strength of the surf, forcing himself closer,
into that wide swath of light. As he reached her still form, he
realized that the light was from a hovering helicopter that battled
the buffeting storm as a basket was being lowered.
“Laura,” he gasped, his voice a
whisper, the sea a roar in his ears. He’d lost her. God in heaven
he’d lost her. He thought of how he’d reacted when she’d told him
she’d been pregnant, how callous he’d been. What a self-serving
idiot.
His soul seemed ripped from his body as
he held her, watching her hair fan around her white face as the
waves undulated. Her eyes fixed and staring, her skin as cold as
the sea, the rain like the tears of the gods. “Lorelei . . . don’t
die. Please . . . please . . . don’t die!” The words were torn from
him and lost in the thunder of the seas. “Lorelei, I love you! Oh,
God . . . you can’t die. You can’t. If you only knew . .
.”
She awoke in a private room at Ocean
Park Hospital.
She remembered hitting the water and a
bright light, and Harrison hanging out the yawning window of the
lighthouse. In the ensuing moments of lucidity, she recalled images
that were more like postcards than a movie. A helicopter ride over
the ocean, landing at the hospital. Harrison with her . . . or was
that a dream?
She blinked. “Am I in the north wing?”
she asked, getting her bearings.
The window ledge was covered in
flowers, but she was pretty sure the view outside the window was on
the north side of the building.
“Good call. North one-twenty-six.”
Harrison’s voice was a surprise. She turned her head and found him
seated in one of the chairs that stretched into a bed. It was
mussed, as if he’d camped out here. “Lucidity at last,” he said
with a smile.
She tried to lift her arm and found it
strapped down, an IV running into it and, she guessed, from the way
she was feeling, some pain meds flowing through her bloodstream.
She attempted to sit up.
“Slow down,” he said and was at her
side, staring down at her, looking guilty as hell. “Here . . . I
think I can work this.” He found the button to raise her
head.
“If you can’t manage, I’m pretty sure I
can.”
“Hey! Look who joined the living!”
Carlita Solano, dressed in blue scrubs, came bustling up to the
bed. “How’re ya feeling?”
“Like a train ran over me, then backed
up and went at it again.”
She grinned. “That’s about right. But
you’re tough and it looks like you might just live. Let me take
your vitals and then you and he”—she cocked her head in Harrison’s
direction—“can catch up.”
Carlita explained her injuries, that
Laura had suffered a broken wrist, sprained elbow, concussion, and
pulled hip flexor. “All in all, it could have been worse,” Carlita
said, then finished with her temperature, pulse, and blood
pressure, entering the data into a computer by the bed. Once she
finished, she said she’d call the doctor for a more extensive
examination, then slipped out of the room.
“Okay, so tell me,” Laura said as the
door closed behind the nurse. “Why are either of us
alive?”
“Just lucky.”
“That’s a long way down.”
“Tell me about it.”
She slid him a glance. “I do remember
you in the water . . . right?”
He nodded. “I got a little beat up,
scraped and bruised, but that’s about it.”
“No hypothermia?”
“As I said, lucky.”
She drew a long breath.
“Justice?”
“Dead. Fell on the rocks. Not even he
could survive that. Broke his neck and a dozen other
bones.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. She
didn’t feel any remorse that he lost his life. Too many people had
died or been terrorized and wounded because of him. Harrison filled
her in on the crimes Zellman had committed against his family. When
he finished she asked, “How’s Conrad?” The last time she’d checked,
the security guard was still comatose.
“Awake. Was released yesterday. And
Zellman’s still cooling his jets in prison. His son is talking.
Seems as if it wasn’t too dark for Brandt to recognize that his own
father was trying to wound him. The kid thinks he was supposed to
die that night. His father swears not.”
“My God.”
“Zellman used Justice’s escape for his
own means. He’s as sick as any of ’em.”
Laura absorbed that. “How long have I
been out of it?”
“Just a couple of days. You’ve
surfaced, only to submerge again.”
“I think I’m back.”
He smiled, relief sketched on his
face.
“Have you heard from anyone at the
Colony? My sisters?”
“Actually, this . . .” He walked to the
window and touched a small pot holding a live tea rose, bright
yellow and bursting with blooms, the same kind of small roses that
were grown in a sunny spot at Siren Song, as old-fashioned as the
women housed there. “It’s from Catherine and your sisters.” He
handed her the card. A simple get-well note signed by the women of
Siren Song. “I think Catherine may have had a change of heart since
Justice breached her walls and some of the girls are itching to get
out.”
“Ravinia,” Laura guessed, running her
fingers over Ravinia’s bold scrawl, a large signature next to
Lillibeth’s rounder, more feminine one. Lillibeth dotted her
i’s with a heart. Ravinia didn’t bother
dotting them at all.
“And this one”—he indicated a large
bouquet with tropical flowers, a bird-of-paradise the focal
point—“is from Hudson, Becca, and Rachel.”
“You’ve been going through my
mail.”
“Guilty as charged. And Becca’s been
calling.” He handed her a yellow envelope with a funny card. It was
signed in a woman’s handwriting—Becca’s—with a wild, multi-colored
felt pen scrawl covering most of the message inside.
“Looks like Rachel’s going to be an
author. She’s pretty proud of her signature.” Laura smiled,
thinking of Becca’s daughter. The last time she’d seen the toddler,
she’d been listless. “How is she?”
“Better, I think. From what Becca said.
But she seems worried.”
“About the gift,” Laura said aloud.
“Becca understands.” Growing up being different was difficult
enough for Laura and her sisters. Rachel would have more than her
share of battles to fight. Another thought struck her. “There were
some kids in the lighthouse that night?”
“The enterprising Ferguson boys.”
Harrison nodded. “The younger one had a fascination with all things
Justice Turnbull. Mikey—he felt some kind of weird connection to
him, wanted to see his lair for himself, and maybe to impress his
friends or a girl, I’m thinking, find some kind of memento, proof
that he’d been there. But I think he got enough of that at the
lighthouse.”
“And you know this how?”
“I got to write their story, gave them
their fifteen minutes of fame while their parents intended to give
them their thirty days of no car or cell phone.”
“Death to a teen,” she
observed.
“Yeah, well, hopefully they’ll think
twice before they chase down psychotic killers again.” He touched
the back of her hand. “And what about you? Are you done ‘calling’
homicidal maniacs?”
“Let’s hope,” she said. “One personal
serial killer is more than enough, don’t you think?”
“Way more.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw Justice in
the ocean at the lighthouse again, witnessed his terror; and then,
when she was nearly lost, was filled with a sense of giving up and
letting go, she’d heard Harrison’s frantic voice, felt his warm
arms around her in the frigid water. He’d brought her back. “So,
you saved my life?”
“I don’t think I can take credit.” When
she raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to explain, he said, “It
was actually the Coast Guard. Lieutenant O’Neal. I’ve thanked him
for you.”
“I think I’ll talk to him
myself.”
“That would be good. And then there was
Detective Stone. He called them.”
“Who called him?” she asked, watching
the shift of emotions upon Harrison’s handsome face.
“Me.”
“But you were in the water.” She was
thinking hard, remembering him beside her, talking to her,
insisting she not let go. . . . “You jumped!” she cried, absolutely
astounded, and when he didn’t respond, she added, “You’re crazy,
Frost. And that’s something coming from me. I know
crazy.”
He couldn’t scare up a
smile.
“What?”
“I think I owe you an
apology.”
“For saving my life?”
“For being angry with you about the
pregnancy.”
“Oh.” She sighed, not wanting to go
there yet.
“I’m in love with you, Lorelei. I’d
just figured that out and it scared me. But then . . . thinking I
might have lost you.” His jaw slid to the side and his throat
worked, but he didn’t break down. Instead, he slid his fingers
around her nape, leaned over, and placed a kiss on her lips. “If
you only knew how sorry I am.”
“I should have told you. . . . I didn’t
know how. I was pregnant by my ex-husband, with a baby I intended
to keep.” Her throat caught as she remembered the pain of the
miscarriage, the loss of the baby. But there was more. He was being
honest, and now so was she. “The truth was, I was falling for you.
Hard. Fast. I couldn’t believe it was real. It . . . it just didn’t
make a lot of sense.”
“I know.”
She stared at him long and hard, saw
the depth of his pain, a mirror of her own, then reached up to draw
his mouth to hers once more. “Maybe we should start
over.”
“Think that’s possible?”
“Anything is if you want it badly
enough,” she said, knowing her eyes were twinkling.
“Then, how bad do you want this?” he
asked.
“Bad. You?”
“Even badder,” he said, a slow smile
curving his lips.
She laughed. Then she kissed him. Hard.
Just as he expected.