Maxine (37 page)

Nick hurried back to the bed. Cara threw the knotted sheets through the hole and poked her head through the skylight. “I tied the other end around the chimney. Where is Lance?”

“On the beach. He can’t see the skylight or the chimney from there.” He probably couldn’t see through the dense smoke, either.

Nick stabbed the mattress on the bed several times, hoping the water would slow the fire. He pushed the heavy dresser on top of it and water spilled out over the sides. Standing on the dresser, he gripped the side of the skylight. Cara reached down and wrapped the sheet around his chest, under his arms, and pulled, giving him the extra boost he needed to get through. Seconds later, they both lay on the roof, gasping for air.

Cara’s eyes were wide with fear. “Did I ever tell you I was afraid of heights?”

“Yeah, well it’s kinda late now. We have to jump. There’s no other way.”

He looked around at the flames licking the sides of the cabin and the smoke pouring out the skylight. The roof was warm already, and they couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed her hand and walked to the edge. “One... two... three... jump.”

They sailed through the air, landing in the salal and huckleberry bushes on the hill behind the cabin. Nick was scratched and sore, but he was alive. Cara moaned and he struggled to get to her. She had a big scratch on her neck. The sleeve of her shirt was torn and her arm was bleeding. He ran his hands over her. No broken bones.

“Remind me never to do that again,” she whispered, and he knew she’d be all right.

He helped her up and pushed her toward the woodpile. They ducked behind it just in time. Lance walked around the cabin toward the steps to the beach road, so close Nick could almost reach out and touch him. Cara gasped and Nick clamped his hand over her mouth. Lance walked right on by, whistling.

As Lance reached the road, Cara whispered, “He thinks he killed us.”

“Yeah, I know. The guy looks real torn up about it, too, doesn’t he?”

Nick took Cara’s hand and they ran past the burning cabin to the boat. He grabbed the phone and handed it to her. “Call for help. Now.” He didn’t have time to turn on the blowers before the first shot hit the boat, and Nick knew they couldn’t outrun the bullets. He couldn’t risk a repeat of the last time. He had to stand and fight, and he would to save Cara’s life.

“Oh, God, not again,” she whispered. “Please not again.”

Nick grabbed the flare gun and slid the side window open. He didn’t know if the thing worked, but he had to try. His little handgun wouldn’t hit anything at that range. He’d have to wait until Lance got closer.

He fired the first flare, but it was a dud. Another shot pinged against the side of the boat and he ducked. Loading another flare, he took aim while Cara sat on the floor, talking to the 911 operator. He fired and the flare went off about three feet in front of Lance. “Damn, I missed him.”

Lance fired again and again, as Nick huddled on the floor with Cara. Two windows were broken, but the bullets didn’t hit them. And then the shooting stopped. In some ways, the sudden silence was more worrisome than the bullets, because now they didn’t know where he was. Nick raised his head and peeked out the window, but Lance was nowhere in sight.

“Is he gone?” asked Cara.

“No, he’s out there somewhere.” Lance was too close to his goal to give up now.

Smoke from the burning cabin obscured the hill, and Nick knew Lance was hiding out there somewhere. He must know he was running out of time, and that meant he’d make his move soon, before the cops or fire department arrived.

<>

Lance hunched down in the bushes, hot with anger. How in the hell had they gotten out of the cabin? He’d been watching the only door, and the windows in the back weren’t big enough to get through.

The boat rocked and Lance knew Nick and Cara were still on board. He moved fast, circling the fire, making his way down the beach toward the boat. The gun was jammed, so he tossed it into the water. This wasn’t over by any means. She wasn’t cheating him out of what was rightfully his. He’d kill her and lover boy, too.

He reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a small handgun, his spare. This one could be traced to him, but he wouldn’t let a little thing like that get in the way. He’d burn the boat, too. With all that gasoline on board, the bullets would melt along with the bodies.

<>

The late afternoon light had faded, obscured by smoke mixed with gathering rain clouds. Nick left the lights off in the boat and kept his head down, unwilling to give Lance a target to shoot at. The light on the dock sent a warm glow through the boat windows.

“Where is he?” whispered Cara.

Nick shrugged.

She pointed to the gaff clipped to the wall by the door. It was a long pole with a big, sharp hook on the end, like an oversized fish hook on a pole. On his knees, Nick grabbed the gaff. The gun was loaded and ready. It should be enough. He prayed it would be enough to protect Cara.

Nick caught a glimpse of a man darting from bush to bush, making his way toward the boat. “Here he comes.” He shoved Cara into the head with the gun so she could defend herself if necessary. Nick grabbed the gaff and ducked behind the cabinets in the galley and waited.

Lance opened the door and stepped inside the cabin. As he crept closer to the galley, past the head, Nick knew he’d have only one chance to disarm him. The door to the head opened slightly behind Lance and Nick prayed Cara would stay there, where she couldn’t get hurt.

A siren sounded on the beach road and, as Lance glanced toward the window, Nick grabbed his chance. Gripping the gaff, he stepped out and hit Lance in the arm that held the gun, and then in the crotch. He hit him hard there, then yanked the gaff back, sinking the hook into the bastard’s gonads from behind. Lance dropped the little gun and hollered, grabbing his crotch and the gaff, screaming and swearing in pain.

“That one’s for Gwen Billings,” said Nick. He yanked the gaff again, and blood darkened Lance’s pants. “And that one’s for me.”

Cara opened the door to the head, whamming it into the back of Lance’s head. “And that’s for me.”

A stream of profanity poured from Lance’s mouth as blood pooled on the floor around his feet, but he didn’t let go of the gaff. He held it so tightly, his fingers turned white.

Several sirens blared on the beach road above them, a symphony of help on the way. Sirens had never sounded so good.

Lance sank to his knees, screaming and crying in pain. “I’ll kill you for this,” he screamed at Nick, and he grabbed the gun from the floor. Nick froze. Still holding the gaff with one hand, Lance took aim with the other.

Cara screamed, “No,” and kicked Lance as Nick jerked the gaff again. Lance pulled the trigger, but his shot went wild and the bullet went through the window behind Nick’s head. Footsteps pounded down the dock and, as Lance took aim again, so did Cara.

A single shot rang out, but it came from outside the door. The officer’s shot hit the mark. Lance slumped to the floor and Cara went white.

Nick stepped over Lance and grabbed her. He put the gun on the table and pulled her out to the deck, where her color gradually returned. Shielding her from the gruesome view of Lance’s bloody body, he glanced over his shoulder and watched the officer bend over, feel for a pulse, and shake his head.

“It’s over, baby,” he whispered to Cara. “It’s over.”

<>

Bruce was found unconscious near the beach road. He was taken to the hospital in Tacoma for observation, where he was diagnosed with a concussion.

Dirty, bruised, scratched, and smelling like smoke, Cara and Nick checked into a hotel suite in Gig Harbor. The manager promised tight security and privacy.

Cara stood in the window, hugging her arms. She was an emotional wreck. Her husband was dead. She should feel something for him, but she couldn’t. He’d come to kill her like he’d killed the woman in San Diego. It could have been her in that body bag they carried off the boat, and Lance wouldn’t have stopped with her. He would have killed Nick, too.

“Are you hungry?” asked Nick.

“I’m numb. If you want something, go ahead and order it. I’m going to take a hot shower. I smell like smoke and I need to wash out these scratches.”

“If you need some help...” Nick let the words trail off, and she knew what he wanted.

“Yes, I could use some help, and the shower...” She motioned to her bathroom. “. . . looks like it’s big enough for two.”

Nick walked slowly toward her, and her heart filled with love. Without speaking, he took her hand and they walked into the bathroom together. Dirty, smoky clothes fell in a heap on the floor and they stepped into the shower. He gently washed her achy body, kissing scratches and bruises, shampooing her hair, and caressing her tenderly. Using a washcloth, he carefully cleaned around the scratch on her neck and the cut on her arm, taking care of her like he’d taken care of her after the earthquake.

When Nick finished washing her, he dropped to his knees in front of her and pointed to his hair. She shampooed his hair, lovingly massaging his head and neck and shoulders. He buried his face between her breasts and she cradled his head in her arms.

He spoke then, breaking the sensuous silence. “I know what you need.” He gazed up into her face. “You need a real husband, someone who will treat you like a regular person, someone who doesn’t care about your money, a man who will love you and take care of you until the day he dies. Cara, I love you, honey. I’ll always love you. Nothing is as important as being with you.”

Her eyes filled and one little tear slid down her cheek. He kissed it away. “Teach a girl to cry...”

Cara gazed at the look of love in his eyes and knew anything was possible as long as they were together. She touched his face and kissed him gently. “I love you so much.”

“So, what do you think? Could you put up with me for the rest of your life? Because once we tie the knot, I’ll never let you out of my sight again. How ’bout it, Maxine? Will you marry me?”

She swiped away tears. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, on one condition.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I want to make a baby right away.”

He grinned. “We’ll start working on it tonight and we won’t stop until...” He waved his hand. “Hell, we won’t ever stop.”

“What about when we’re old?”

His chuckle bounced off the tiled walls of the shower. “I’ll never be too old for that. After all, I am...”

“Italian,” they said together.

“I love you, Nick. I’ll always love you.”

“My wife, Maxine Donatelli. I like the way that sounds.”

*Thank you for reading
Maxine
. Please turn the page for an excerpt of
Blind Love
, Book Two of the Donatelli Family series.*

BLIND LOVE

by

Sue Fineman

Chapter One

“
I
’ll tell you what’s real,” said Catherine Timmons.  “Real is a thirty-something guy who’s still living at home and lying to his dates about what he does for a living.  He may be charming and great looking, but if he’s working at all, he doesn’t make enough to pay rent, and his mother provides him with home-cooked meals and clean laundry.  He’s getting everything he needs at home with Mama.  Everything except sex.” 

“Speaking from experience, Cat?” said Mitzi, and a soft
meow
came from somewhere in the room. 

It was nearly midnight, and as other residents of the Los Angeles basin were breathing the brown hazy air outside, ten people sat around a table littered with coffee cups and crumpled paper, trying to come up with an idea for a new television show.  Reality TV was the going thing these days, and everything Catherine had seen was either stupid, dangerous, or it had been done to death. 

Ignoring Catherine’s remarks, Mitzi, a cute blonde who’d recently traded her breast implants for bigger ones, said, “Instead of having people playing games for money, why don’t we use rich people vying for love?”

As if she had to vie for love.  Mitzi was so gorgeous she had every man in the building drooling after her.  Catherine couldn’t figure out why anyone would want bigger breasts.  Hers were big enough to be a nuisance, and she wore baggy shirts to hide them.  She hated having men staring at her breasts instead of looking at her face when they spoke with her. 

Scooter, a busy little man whose real name Catherine could never remember, said, “Rich people don’t have problems finding love.  We’re talking reality television here.”

Someone asked, “What about the women?”

“
Not beauty queens.  I never could figure out why a beautiful woman would humiliate herself on national television to make a play for a guy who has a ninety-five percent chance of rejecting her.  No matter how rich or good looking the guy is, it makes her look desperate.”

“
Women want to find true love,” said Mitzi.