Maxine (20 page)

While he started the laundry, Cara cleaned up and dressed, grabbed her suitcase, and started down the beach, tears streaming down her face. As much as she loved Nick and wanted to be with him, she didn’t belong here. Her presence complicated his life.

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Lance found the address where Cara’s computer had been delivered. The car she’d bought in Tacoma was parked at the top of the hill above the house, or what was left of the house. Was she inside when it collapsed like that? Too bad it didn’t kill her.

He walked down the road, checking out mailboxes. They all had street numbers and names. The last one said Donatelli and Lance knew he’d hit the jackpot.

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Cara walked out to the dock and tossed her suitcase onto the boat. Nick came running out, yelling, “Where in the hell are you going?”

She swiped the back of her hand across her face, wiping tears off her cheeks. She couldn’t leave him yet. “I’ll stay on the boat for a few days and then go home.”

He unlocked the door and took her suitcase inside the main cabin. She stood on the other side of the room, hugging her arms. “How long until you build my house?”

“It’ll take months to build, Cara. You don’t have the land or the permits or the design or anything.” He stepped closer. “Honey, it isn’t that I don’t want you with me. It’s that you need someone with you all the time until someone catches Lance, and if I don’t go back to work...” He sat down and pulled her down beside him. “I’m just a working guy, Cara. I know you don’t have to worry about money, but I do. I don’t have enough left to make the mortgage payment. I gotta find a job, and I don’t want to come home one day and find you gone because your husband found you and took you to that sanitarium.”

Cara stood and reached for a tissue to wipe her face. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, a flash of light, like the sun reflecting off something. She turned to look and gasped. “Nick, look.” A man was snooping around his house, looking in the windows.

“Aw, shit! I left the door unlocked.”

She looked around. “Where are those binoculars?”

He handed them to her. She fiddled with the adjustments until the man came into focus. “Oh, my God.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Lance, and he has a gun.” She dropped the binoculars on the chair, grabbed her purse, and pulled out her cell phone.

Seconds later, Nick had the lines cut and the boat pushed away from the dock. As it drifted a few feet into the sound, he turned on the blowers and started the engines. Nick pushed Cara’s head down as he backed the boat away from the dock.

The sound of the engines echoed off the still water. It was so loud, Lance would know right where to find them. Could they get away in time?

Cara heard a ping, then another. “Is he shooting at us?”

“Sounds like it.”

She started to stand to look, but Nick yelled, “Get the hell down and stay down.”

She heard another ping. The window shattered and Nick yowled. Blood stained his shirt and the hand he pressed to his chest, oozing through his fingers.

“Oh, my God.” Panic clutched at Cara’s head and chest. The sight of blood made her sick to her stomach, but she couldn’t let Nick die.

Nick pushed the engine lever to idle and slumped against the wheel. Cara told the 911 operator what happened. “He’s losing blood fast.”

The operator asked if she could take the boat to another dock.

“I don’t know how to drive the damn thing,” Cara yelled. “Send someone for us. Hurry. Please hurry.”

As Nick slid to the floor, Cara dropped the phone and did what she knew had to be done. “Please don’t die,” she whispered, and then yelled, “Damn it, Nick. Don’t you dare die on me.”

Chapter Twelve

S
eeing his wife with another man infuriated Lance. Donatelli must be using Cara to get money, but he wouldn’t get away with it. Lance took aim and fired off one shot, then another and another, until he emptied the gun. One shot went through the window and the boat stopped moving out into the sound. He hit someone, probably Donatelli, since Cara’s head ducked below the window before he started shooting.

Anxious to cover his tracks, he ran into Donatelli’s house and threw his gun down. He pushed the barbecue grill inside and started it with the propane on full blast. The smoke alarm went off. One punch sent the battery to the floor, silencing the ear-splitting screech.

Using a wick of wadded newspapers, he lit the furniture in the living room and the pillows in the bedrooms. Ripping off his latex gloves, he tossed them on the fire and ran out the door and up the stairs. By the time he reached the road, flames licked the walls and burned through the roof. “That’ll teach you to steal my meal ticket, Donatelli,” he said to the wind.

Hearing sirens in the distance, he stripped off his clothes and threw them under the collapsed house Cara had lived in. No one in their right mind would go in there to search. He dressed in the clean clothes he’d left on the backseat of his car and drove away. If the cops picked him up, and they would if they discovered he was in Gig Harbor, they wouldn’t find gunshot residue or propane on his hands or clothes.

He didn’t kill Cara, as he’d intended, but there would be another time, another chance to do what must be done. He would not allow her to cut him off from the money that was rightfully his. The woman in San Diego had tried to do that and no one would ever see her face again.

Nobody screwed with him and got away with it.

Nobody.

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Alone and desperate, Cara fought down the panic. Nick’s life was in her hands. She pressed on his chest to stop the blood from pouring out. “Please don’t die,” she whispered over and over as the minutes passed and her fingers and hands, then her arms and shoulders, ached from the constant pressure, but no matter how much she hurt, she couldn’t let go. If she did, Nick would bleed to death.

The boat with the paramedics finally arrived and they took over. Cara stood by in shock, barely aware of anyone or anything except the activity around Nick. He was still breathing, still alive. The pain in her shoulder reminded her that she was still alive, too.

Footsteps sounded on the ladder as someone climbed on top and raced the boat to Tacoma, where an ambulance, sirens blaring, took them both to Tacoma General Hospital.

Men and women dressed in green or white rushed Nick away, and Cara stood in the emergency room, numb with shock and covered in Nick’s blood.

Someone shouted, “Somebody find her something clean to wear. Get her in the shower or something. Blood spooks her out, for God’s sake. Take care of her.” She didn’t realize it was Tony until someone took her arm and led her to a tiled room. Cara looked at herself for the first time since the shooting. Blood, thick and sticky and crusty, coated her hands. Her clothes were ruined, her shirt glued to her breasts with Nick’s blood.

A mournful wail filled the room and Cara realized it came from her. A nurse dressed in protective clothing and gloves helped peel off the bloody clothes. “It’s all right. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Where did they take Nick?”

“To surgery.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Yes, he is, and one of the best trauma surgeons in the city is working on him right now. If anybody can save him, it’s Dr. Johnson.”

Cara stood under the warm water, sobbing. Blood-streaked water swirled around her feet and down the drain.
Nick’s blood.
Did he have enough left inside him?

“Please don’t die,” she whispered. “Please don’t die.”

After her shower, Cara put on the baggy green scrubs and slipper socks they’d given her to wear. The nurse put all her bloody things in a plastic bag, including her ruined shoes, but Cara couldn’t look at it. “Throw it away,” she told the nurse. “All of it.” The only thing she kept was Nick’s friendship ring, which she’d never taken off.

Someone took her to the surgery waiting room and she saw a familiar face. Tony rushed to Cara and wrapped her in a big hug. “You okay?”

“No.” He rubbed her back and held her close to comfort her, when she should be comforting him. He and Nick were like brothers. “I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“Hey, Nicky is a tough guy. If anybody can come through this in one piece, it’s Nick.”

She pulled back and wiped her eyes. “How did you know?”

“Angelo and I saw the smoke. The police told us what happened. Angelo has the same type blood, so he’s giving some right now. Al and Ma are on their way.”

Cara was almost afraid to ask. “What smoke?”

“Nick’s house. Somebody burned down Nick’s house.”

“Oh, no,” she groaned. Why did Lance have to do that, too? “My husband did this. Did they get him?”

“They got a big manhunt going, dogs and everything. They’ll find him.”

Aunt Sophia rushed in with Al. She swallowed Cara in a big, tearful hug, and Cara cried again.

Tony hollered, “Hey, take my brother down to give blood. Hurry, they need it in surgery. Right now. It’s for Nick Donatelli.”

The nurse gave Tony a withering look and sent Al down the hall to give blood.

Aunt Sophia fussed over Cara, mothering her as no one had in years, and Cara soaked it up. No wonder Nick loved her so much. Tony went to get something to drink while the two women walked down the hall to the chapel. Cara had been raised Catholic, but aside from her mother’s funeral, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to church. Aunt Sophia whipped out her rosary beads and went right to work. Still numb with shock and worry, all Cara could think to say was, “Please don’t let him die. Please, God, don’t let Nick die.”

Cara and Aunt Sophia returned to the surgery waiting room to find a sheriff’s deputy waiting with Tony. “Miss Andrews, your husband has been taken into custody.”

Cara felt a mixture of relief and regret—relief that they’d caught him and regret that they didn’t have to shoot him. If anyone deserved to be shot, it was Michael Lance.

“Did you see him shoot at the boat?” asked the deputy.

“No, but seconds before that I saw him looking in the windows at Nick’s house, and he was holding a gun. Nick pushed me down when Lance started shooting.”

“You saw that from the boat?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We weren’t that far out and I used the binoculars. I’m positive it was Lance.”

“He claims he wasn’t there. He said he heard you were in Gig Harbor, so he came looking for you, but he didn’t go near Nick Donatelli’s house.”

“He’s lying.”

Tony stepped up beside Cara. “Hey, why would the guy admit he shot Nick and burned down his house? He can’t spend his wife’s money from prison. Of course he’s lying. The bastard even lied about his real name. You can’t believe anything the lying son-of-a-bitch says.”

Cara looked up at Tony, who seemed to be stepping into a protective role, taking over until Nick could do it himself. She was grateful to him, to all of Nick’s family, for their love and support.

“What about the fire?” asked the deputy. “Did that start before or after the shooting?”

“Must have been after,” said Cara. “I didn’t even know about the fire until we got to the hospital.”

Angelo came out with a bandage on his arm, and Cara gave him a big hug. The deputy turned to Tony and Angelo. “Did either of you see who set the fire?”

Tony shook his head. “Nah, we didn’t go down until we saw the smoke. We were gonna warn Nick, help him water down his roof, so his place wouldn’t go up, too.”

“We didn’t know it was Nick’s house until we got there,” said Angelo. “We saw the boat out in the sound, all the police and firemen. They told us what happened.”

Cara asked, “How bad was the fire?”

Tony shook his head, and Cara knew the house was gone.

“Don’t tell Nicky about his house when he wakes up,” said Aunt Sophia. “Give him a chance to get better first.”

If he wakes up
, thought Cara. If he didn’t, she’d die herself. She turned away from the others and tried to get herself under control, but she was terrified for Nick. He’d lost so much blood the bullet must have hit his heart. Angelo and Al gave a pint each, but they’d have to use some from the blood bank, too.

She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed for Nick’s life. Strong arms wrapped around her, Angelo’s this time, and Cara sobbed until his shirt was soaked with her tears.

Time passed in a blur. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes seemed like hours, and Cara blamed herself. If she’d filed for divorce and given Lance half her estate, he wouldn’t have tried to kill her. Her obsession with ending her marriage without giving her husband anything could cost Nick his life.

Gerry arrived on the run. “I heard it on the news. How’s Nick?”

“In surgery,” said Cara. Why was it taking so long?

Tony said, “Maybe Angelo and I should go down, check on the boat.”