Endless Night (21 page)

Gordon brushed at his hair again, even though the gel was of such strength as to contain his steely cap. “Maybe I said something to Vlad, Andre’s father. Maybe I made some small suggestion that if Andre’s scholarship was revoked, their party here in the United States would be over. And Andre and Vlad would be shipped back to Russia where his chances of returning to professional basketball of any sort would be nonexistent after their traitorous actions.” The flex of Gordon’s shoulder spelled out the rest of the story.

“You
suggested
that Andre kill Greg Barnes? You preyed on Vladimir’s desperation and manipulated him into convincing his son to commit murder? Were they really that desperate?”

“Vlad was that desperate,” Gordon said. “Maybe his son was not, but the same drugs that attributed to Andre’s sudden death by overdose were some of the same drugs used to help induce Andre to commit murder. Perhaps Vlad didn’t mind me drugging his son and convincing him to murder Barnes, but I don’t think Vlad liked the overdose part too much. Oh well.” His musing came to an end and his perfunctory tone returned. “Look. I’m tired of this talk, and I’m cold, and I have work to get back to. This excursion has been an inconvenience.”

Without thrusting the gun any farther, Gordon stepped up into it so that he was directly before her face.

“It was convenient of you to erase Margaret Simmons from existence,” he praised. “The woman who washes up on shore tomorrow will be a ghost.”

One moment the heat of fury staved off the wind chill, but everything shifted with the mild thrust of Gordon’s gun. Megan’s precarious balance became an afterthought as she felt gravity draw her back. She had often wondered what death would be like. It wasn’t like floating to a warm, benevolent light. It was darkness—darkness that sucked at you and drew you into its serrated teeth and frigid throat.

Whether it was a last ditch effort for balance, or perhaps a hysterical attempt to reach toward the Devil for support, whatever the motivation, Megan’s arm lashed forward and the flashlight collided with Gordon’s bejeweled hand. As her foot slipped into the air, she was vaguely aware of his gun spiraling past her into the void.

Struggling even as she felt herself going over, she flailed her arms, hoping to latch on to Gordon and drag him to hell with her. Her eyes were clamped shut, but she smiled when she felt her fingers wrap around a forearm. With a snarl, she tugged for all she was worth.

“Dammit, Meg, I’m trying to save you!”

That voice.

Megan stopped struggling, but the bedrock began to disintegrate beneath her foot. Her other foot dangled in open space, now drenched from the frigid geyser spouting up at her.

“Easy, baby, just reach for me.” Jake tried to sound reassuring, but fear made his voice rough.

Her fingers greedily wrapped around the strength in Jake’s arm as she used that grip for leverage to swing her dangling limb back to the bedrock foundation. The wind picked up and she caught and used a harsh gust as impetus to roll toward Jake, his grip more welcome than a ray of sunshine on this, the darkest of nights.

“I got you, Meg. Easy, honey, I have you. Easy…”

His arms were around her as they stumbled backward, putting distance between themselves and the precipice.

Megan crowded into Jake’s arms, pressing herself closer into his chest, not even certain he was real until she felt the thunderous beat of his heart. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, but she dug her fingers inside his coat and dipped her head into his collar.

Jake.
Wild gasps of breath drew in the heat of his pulse until she could finally grasp what had just transpired.

“J—Jake.” Her teeth chattered, and now her head lurched from the shelter of his chest so that wild eyes could span the night. “Gordon—he—”

Jake’s voice drew her back. It was as strong as the powerful arms that hauled her from her demise. “I was never going to let you fall. I’m sorry. I had to wait for him to be distracted.” His embrace constricted. “You took care of that with the flashlight.”

“But—but—” Megan used her hands now to push back from him. She had to see. She had to see Gordon. He could easily kill them both. They had to run!

Several feet away, a shadowed mound rested, inert. Beside it were silhouettes of other boulders tossed at the edge of the cliff, or systematically stacked there a thousand years ago as a barrier that had long since scattered. This form had substance though. It was hard to resist the urge to kick it. So hard to resist, that even with an inhuman grip still on Jake’s arm, Megan reached out and jabbed her numb toes into a sprawled leg. It wasn’t a strong kick, but the body flipped over in reaction.

“Is he dead?”

“No.” Jake’s arm slipped around her back and his mouth dipped to her ear to be heard
over the shriek of the wind. “You threw him off balance when the flashlight knocked his gun loose, and I finished it with the barrel of the gun.”

Jake held his hand out as they both stared at her gun. “God help me, it felt good.” He shuddered. “The scary part is that if you weren’t so close by, I probably would have shot him.”

“You should have.” She trembled. “He would kill you if he had the chance.”

Jake drew her back into his arms and their foreheads touched. “No, I want him to do his time. I want him to suffer. It’s over, Meg. It’s time to heal.”

Heal
.
He meant it was time to let the revenge go. Time to let the anger go. How could she release those companions so easily when they were all she had known for the past year?

“Serge,” she moaned.

“Serge is fine. I just came from him.”

“He said he killed him.” Her voice caught. “I thought he killed
you.
”

Jake clutched her tighter. “Gordon was the ultimate manipulator. Maybe he thought he could intimidate you with fear alone into jumping. That way you would be another murder he
didn’t
commit.”

She whimpered as he breathed in her hair.

“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Heal,
Megan thought. Those words made her believe she could.

“Here’s what I need you to do,” Jake continued after her prolonged silence. “I need you to go inside and find something to secure Gordon with. I’ll keep the gun on him in case he comes around.”

“Let me do it. Let me watch him.”

In the chaos, the flashlight had landed on the ground several feet away and cast a diminishing glow on the scene. It was enough for her to see Jake’s head shake. “No. I’ll never let this man come near you again.”

The gravity with which he said those words brought tears to her eyes.

“Now hurry,” he commanded softly, “hurry inside before I start thinking about what this lowlife did to you and change my mind about his fate.”

It felt unnatural, but she smiled. The gesture actually hurt her frozen cheeks, but still the smile grew. It was a caricature, bred by intense relief that her drama was nearly over. “Watch it, Grogan, you’re starting to sound like me.”

“Megan!”

Icy turf cracked against her face.

Megan sprawled her hands on the hard ground and propped herself up, shaking her head against the buzzing sound in her ears. Jake had shoved her aside and sent her flying.

Then she heard the skirmish behind her. She feared turning around—feared what she was about to see. Her mind shut down, almost refusing to look. But on hands and knees, she swung her head toward the sea…and screamed.

Under the muted light, the bodies parodied a macabre dance. Two men engaged in battle. One man she loved. One man she hated. Their conflict was moving them near the cliff and left them as only silhouettes, nearly indistinguishable—night’s soldiers engaged in an epic battle.

Jake was tall and lean, with an athlete’s body. When the men broke apart, he was easy to recognize. Gordon’s raincoat flapped in the wind—something by which to identify him.

She crawled toward them, calling Jake’s name.

Amidst the clamor, one shot rang out.

Then there was silence.

A lone siren filled the night. Even from a great distance the pulsing red light throbbed through the black sky, like Victory Cove’s own aurora borealis. This was one of the redeeming features of Wakefield House, the ability to herald in advance someone’s approach.

“How did they know?” Jake asked, clamping a hand over the blood that stained his flannel sleeve.

Fingers trembling and uncooperative, Megan struggled to wrap a dishtowel around the wound. She felt faint with worry and kept looking at his face, making sure he wasn’t too pale, making sure he didn’t look like he’d pass out, making sure he was alive.

“I guess what I assumed was just static on the radio before it went dead was actually someone out there listening.”

Jake winced when she squeezed too tight. He smiled, trying to reassure her and then slumped back against the kitchen chair, studying her with tired, but amused eyes. “I still can’t believe you shot me. So much for all that practice.”

Now it was her turn to flinch. The recollection was too fresh and much more painful than the surface wound he had sustained.

“Well damn,” she muttered, “it wasn’t on purpose, and you didn’t stand still.”

He couldn’t have been in too much agony if he enjoyed goading her like this. Still, she could not stop staring. As thoroughly as she studied Jake’s prominent cheekbones, satisfied that they were infused with color, as methodically as she watched the straight slash of his jaw to see if it clenched in pain, he did the same to her. Warm golden eyes caressed her.

Somehow, scrambling on hands and knees in the dark, her palm had connected with the gun. Her fingers had wrapped around it, as familiar with the steel curves as she was her own flesh. Only, these were not immobile soda cans stacked before her. These were two men locked in combat, and if she missed—just the slightest mistake, Jake might die.

But Gordon was drawing him toward the edge. Death was imminent either way.

The wind proved another foe as its random gusts threatened the steadiness of her grip. She concentrated and targeted on the flapping tails of Gordon’s raincoat, and when he slipped into focus, she pulled the trigger.

At that second, Jake thrust forward and the bullet ripped across his arm and grazed Gordon’s chest. Neither was debilitated by their wounds, but it was a means to knock them off balance. Gordon bellowed and charged, but Jake maneuvered around him. Like a matador himself, Jake flailed his arm, to which the bull of a man aimed and charged. Whether it was the impetus of his motion, or the disintegration of the bedrock beneath his foot, Gordon lost his balance and was propelled into the night.

And there, the roar of the Atlantic silenced his cry.

“What will they do, Jake? Will they come after me for murder?”

Jake leaned forward, resting his wounded arm on his knee. It hurt, but he barely noticed it. Instead he was alert to the revealing tremble in Megan’s limbs. Her feet were wrapped in white blankets up to her calves, making her look like a deer in a snowdrift. Her bottom lip quivered and she bit down on it just as she had done the first time he met her.

How long ago was that? A week? A lifetime? Enough time to know that he needed her in his life. She was fragile now, but he would heal her. Together they would put Gordon Fortran behind them and start a new life—a new era where they were both certain of their identities.

“No, they’re not going to come after you. You have a witness.” He waved his hand in front of her. “Remember me?”

The feeble smile she offered made his heart clench.

“Listen,” he continued, “the proof had been there all along. You found it, you documented it. You just had more time and inclination than the Boston police, or the Feds even. His fraud crossed state lines.”

Even as he spoke, Megan shook her head and negated his words. Jake touched her chin, his palm slipping around to cup her cheek and brush her wind-strewn hair.

“All that bravado,” he whispered, “that’s what this is about.”

Her eyes came into clarity—quickly. “What do you mean?” Her tone was sharp.

“For a year your life wasn’t your own. Every waking moment was preparation for the day you confronted Gordon. The GLOCK. The lay of the house. You were mounting your own battle, and you wanted to hurt him. You may have even thought that you wanted to kill him.” His hand slipped behind her neck and he pulled her close enough to touch his lips to her forehead.

“And when the time came—” he breathed against her temple, “—and you actually
had
to hurt him—” Jake heard her whimper, “—it didn’t feel like you expected, did it? You don’t feel victorious, do you? You don’t feel a rush knowing that he’s dead. All those factors go against everything you believed in for the past year.”

Tears streamed down Megan’s cheeks and some slid down her neck to warm his hand. She closed her eyes, the wet eyelashes feathering across pale flesh. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

“I know.”

A car could be heard pulling up the driveway, followed by the slam of a car door. Neither of them moved.

“The gun,” Megan began in a tremulous voice. “I once thought it was my best friend.” She giggled as more tears slipped from her eyes. “How psychotic is that?”

Jake dipped his head and kissed her wet cheek. “Not at all. Not at all, baby.”

A low groan bubbled in her throat. “Now I don’t think I can ever touch a weapon again. I—it revolts me.”

“I know.”

At the door came the sound of fists banging against the mottled screen, and booming voices called Megan’s name. “Miss Summers, are you okay? We got your call.”

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” Jake continued, ignoring the persistent appeals,

“but you will get by this. You won’t be alone.” His mouth brushed across her forehead as he uttered the words.

Her head snapped back out of his reach. Wide azure eyes gaped at him. “You would want me? After all this? I’m not right, Jake. You deserve a
whole
woman.”

Something seemed to swell inside his throat. He coughed to clear it, but still a vise wrapped around it. “You
are
a whole woman.” He tried for a lascivious grin as he boldly sculpted her body with his eyes, but neither of them was deceived by the false levity. “We both have some hang-ups to deal with. Let’s do it together, because honestly,” he breathed, “I am quite in love with you.”

To his relief, a hint of a smile toyed at her lips. In quiet declaration she whispered, “I’m quite in love with you too.”

“Miss Summers?” the male voice at the door boomed.

“Jake, we better get that.”

Jake sat back and turned to look at the clock. 5:07 a.m. The weather report said there was supposed to be sun today for the first time in a week.

Soon. Soon it would rise.

“All right,” he said, “but just one thing first.”

Megan cocked her head and arched an eyebrow. She brushed at the tears on her cheek.

“And that is?”

“Well, this name issue.”

He could see it all—the fall of her smile as it occurred to her that she had been living a false life for a year. Now who would she be? Her lips started to tremble.

“So we have the Meg part,” he started. “I mean, that’s what you always favored, right? And Meg is short for Megan as well.” He dragged in a deep breath and plunged ahead. “So let’s take care of the last name part and just call you Meg Grogan.”

For a moment she stared at him blankly. Her eyebrows knitted together. “Was there a proposal somewhere in that whole spiel?”

Jake grinned. For perhaps the worst night in their combined lives, he felt remarkably good. “Yeah, I guess there was.”