Blackwater Sound (31 page)

“Good plan,” Thorn said.

He cut a look back at the house, but didn't see Alexandra anywhere.

Thirty feet down the shore, Morgan eased her bow up to the rocky bank, gave it some throttle and ran aground. Blocking his way back to the house. Nowhere to run in the other direction, with a thick stand of mangroves running all the way to the waterline.

She had on pink shorts and a yellow jersey underneath a neon blue Hawaiian shirt. The pistol was in her right hand. Not trying to hide it.

“And yet again we meet,” she said. Coming closer, a little wary now that he hadn't tried to flee. “Houdini and his assistant. Putting on another show.”

Lawton's reel started to spin, the grouper confused, making a run. Over the years Thorn had hooked it a half dozen times but never landed it. Always going back in the hole, sawing the line in two. Must have a lip full of rusty hooks. A wily fish, but somehow Lawton had managed to fool it.

Thorn stepped away from the old man, facing Morgan. Nothing in his peripheral vision, no sign of Alex. A quick stab of worry that Morgan was working a double-team, someone outflanking them from the highway side.

He took another step away from Lawton, trying for as much separation as possible. The old man was intent on his fish, working it, fiddling with the drag, cursing, talking to it.

“You killed my brother,” she said as if it amused her. “You killed Johnny. You tore his throat open.”

“I understand you've been fairly busy yourself.”

She smiled. Pulled off her sunglasses and pitched them into the water.

“Yes, it's true. I've been severing a few of my ties.”

“A new beginning,” Thorn said. “Like that's possible.”

“Oh, it's possible.”

“Dye your hair. Easy as that.”

“Damn right it is. Cut the knot in one swipe. Born again.”

“I don't know,” Thorn said. “Bullshitting yourself is one thing, bullshitting God might be a little tougher.”

Lawton was cranking the fish in. It flopped once, splashed. But it didn't break Morgan's concentration. She raised the pistol and sighted on Thorn's chest.

She was about to say something more when a pistol shot flared and a chunk of limestone at Morgan's feet blasted away and sprayed the water. She lurched backwards, but kept her aim solidly on Thorn.

“Hey,” Lawton said. “Cut the horseplay. There's some serious fishing going on here.”

Alex shouted from thirty feet away.

“Drop it, Morgan, or you're finished.”

Alexandra stood beside the pink buffalo, using both hands to aim Sugarman's pistol. She was taking small steps forward.

“Last chance,” Alex said. “Drop it now.”

Morgan waited. Alexandra came closer, holding her aim steady.

“Good-bye, Thorn,” Morgan said.

She whirled and dropped to one knee and fired. Pink plaster flew off the buffalo's mane. Her second shot hit home. Alexandra crumpled sideways into the grass as Thorn dove onto Morgan's back, wrenched the pistol from her hands, and clubbed her skull, once, twice, feeling her go soft beneath him, raising the pistol again, then catching himself. He dropped his hold on her and stood up and slung the pistol into the shallows. Blood was darkening her blond hair. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't going to be awake for a long while.

He ran across the rocky ground and fell to his knees beside Alexandra.

Her eyes were open. The slug had torn through the outer edge of her thigh. He ripped off his shirt and knotted it tight against the blood flow.

Alex gave him a faint grin.

“Here we are again,” she said.

“Save it,” he said. “I'm taking you to the hospital.”

“Not going to undress me this time?”

“Later,” he said. “I'll do it over and over. I promise.”

“Good,” she said. “I like it when you undress me.”

He pulled her up in his arms and held her for a moment, both of them watching as Lawton hauled the grouper up from the shallows. The old man bent down and scooped up the fish and turned around, holding up his silver prize with both hands.

“This one's a keeper,” he yelled.

He was walking up the bank, smiling. A happy old man.

“Damn right it is,” Thorn said. “Damn right.”