One Summer’s Knight

Chapter 14

The next three days were a time of waiting. Hurricane Angela, now a category-three storm, wobbled her way through the Atlantic, gathering strength. She would only grow more powerful the longer she vacillated, drawing energy from the warm ocean waters. Storm flags were up all along the coast from Savannah to the Outer Banks, with the National Guard positioned to help with the evacuations, if necessary. The weather stayed overcast, hot and oppressive.

While the Southeast waited to see what Hurricane Angela would do, Riley and Summer waited for a phone call. The trap had been set; now all they could do was wait and see if the quarry they sought would take the bait.

To Riley, the atmosphere in his house seemed to have turned as gray and heavy as the weather, sultry with unvoiced passion and weighed down by the awareness that regardless of the outcome of the FBI’s “sting,” there could be no happy ever-after outcome for what had begun between himself and Summer. Once the threat to her and her children had been eliminated, by whatever means, she would leave his life forever; she was adamant about that. And he was left on the horns of a terrible dilemma, knowing that the circumstances that would give her back her life would, in effect, take away his.

Because he was in love with her. Of that he was no longer in any doubt. The thought of his life beyond her leaving loomed like the vast emptiness he’d known all his life, and felt sometimes now even as he held her in his arms.

Sometimes when he looked at her, when he looked at the children…when Helen squinched up her face in that imp-look she got just before she bopped him on the nose with one of her pile-driver kisses, or when David looked up from the computer at him with that sudden brightening of joy that erased the pleat of worry between his eyes…then he’d teeter on the brink, thinking, Maybe… maybe I could. But each time, the fear drove him back from the edge.

Meanwhile, the schedule of their days had reverted to that awkward time right after she and the children had first come to stay with him, when she’d been avoiding him and doing her best to keep the kids and animals out of his way as well. But at night, after the children were asleep and the house was quiet, she would come to him as he swam, dropping her clothing on the flagstones and slipping silently into the pool and into his arms. She would not sleep with him, nor share his bed, nor any other bed in his house, no matter how briefly; but in the warm, dark, womblike water, it seemed she could allow herself to shed the constraints of motherhood and revel in the primitive joy of simply being a woman.

They made love in and out of the water and in every imaginable way, with the fervent abandon of wartime lovers, knowing it could all end tomorrow with the ringing of a telephone.

Midway through Friday morning Danell beeped Riley out of a conference with a client. Because he knew she wouldn’t do such a thing unless it was urgent, his heart gave a lurch and accelerated as he went to meet her in the hallway.

“Who is it?” His voice sounded like a truckload of gravel.

Danell shrugged and said with a frown, “Sounds like one of those guys on the commercials, you know-‘Don’ worry, be happy’. Hey-he swore you’d want to talk to him. Man, he better be right Said it was personal-”

“It’s okay,” Riley passed her with a reassuring touch on her arm and headed for his office. He picked up the phone, gripped it hard. “Hey, Brasher, what’s up?”

“They say we got to go now,” the deep musical voice answered without preamble. “Say the hurricane be here by tonight.” There was a pause and an apologetic sigh. “Well…she’s pretty upset, you know…doesn’t want to go.”

“Oh, Lord.” Riley closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead hard with his fingertips.

“Well… she’s scared, you know.” Brasher’s chuckle sounded almost tender. “She’s lackin’ up a fuss pretty good, too.” There was a pause, and then in a voice as gentle and inexorable as the tide, he said, “Boy, you know you’re the only one can quiet her down… make her go. You bettah come now. She’ll listen to you.”

Riley nodded, though there was no one there to see. He felt as though a lead weight had settled on his heart. “I’ll be there,” he said finally. “As soon as I can.”

He broke the connection and sat for a moment frowning at the windows, at skies that matched his mood. Then he went and stuck his head around the corner into Danell’s office. “Give me five minutes to wrap this up,” he said, indicating the conference room. “Cancel the rest of the day, and then go on home and batten down the hatches. You got plenty of milk, bread and flashlight batteries?”

Danell rolled her eyes at him. Like him, she lived far enough from the coast not to have to worry about tidal surges and such, and when the last big hurricane-Hugo-had come through Charleston she’d been in high school somewhere in Alabama. She didn’t really have any idea what they might be in for.

It took him three times longer than normal to get home. Although the Charleston area hadn’t been given the official order to evacuate, the tourists and the faint of heart-those who remembered Hugo all too well-were already heading out. At the last minute he stopped in at the Wal-Mart where he’d lately become a regular customer and picked up milk, some lanterns, a portable radio and a good supply of batteries, just in case. The lines were long there, too.

Even with all that, it was early enough that when he pulled into his driveway, Summer met him at the door, sure something must be up. Her face was pale and set, but her eyes were bright and battle-ready.

“Have you heard? Did they call?”

Resisting a powerful desire to gather her into his arms and shelter her, he shook his head and moved past her to set his shopping bags on the island countertop. He could hear the children’s shouts and laughter out by the pool.

“Something’s come up,” he said quietly as he put the gallon jugs of milk in the refrigerator, closed the door, wadded up the plastic bags and tossed them under the sink. “I’m gonna have to go and take care of something.” He heard her little gasp of dismay and steeled himself against it.

“These are for you,” he continued, keeping his tone matter-of-fact, not letting himself look at Summer’s face as he calmly spread the radio, flashlights and batteries he’d bought out on the counter. “In case I don’t get back…in case the power goes out-as you know it can.” His mouth twisted, more a quirk than a smile. He took a breath, then headed for the stairs, jerking at his tie and talking as he went. She followed him silently. “If it does, the security system for the house has a battery-powered backup that should last for a couple power’s never been out for more than an hour or so at the most, so you should be okay. Let’s see…there’s bottled water in the cupboards, and you can use what’s in the pool for washing and flushing and such…”

He turned into his bedroom, and she stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame. He could feel her watching him as he undressed, tossed his jacket, shirt and tie on the bed, then sat down on it to take off his shoes. His movements were jerky with anger-not at her, although she couldn’t know that. How could she know he felt guilty for leaving her, resentful for having to, and defensive because of it? He strode into his dressing room wearing only trousers, footsteps heavy with his anger, resentment and guilt.

“They’re evacuating the islands,” he called back to her as he rummaged for Dockers and windbreaker, polo shirt and athletic shoes. “I’ve got to go and help somebody…somebody I’m responsible for.”

“Is it Brasher?” Summer asked, though she didn’t want to.

For a moment there was silence, and then quietly from the depths of the closet, he replied, “Yeah, Brasher’s one…”

“And the woman…the one I saw you talking to?” Oh, she wished she hadn’t said that! She’d tried not to, felt miserable the moment she did, but somehow it just wouldn’t be denied. Too late to contain the words, she stood dumbly with her hand clamped over her mouth and watched Riley come slowly around the corner from the dressing room, carrying his shoes in one hand and holding his pants together at the waist with the other. Neither Rhett nor Prince nor hero now, but just a man, an ordinary man with a life and secrets she couldn’t share.

He came across the room, his face hard, his eyes shielded from her, and sat down on the bed. She watched him as he methodically peeled off one dress sock, put on a cotton athletic sock and then the shoe. Watched him repeat it with the other foot. Finally, with both feet once more on the floor, he rested his forearms on his knees and raised his face to hers. What she saw in his eyes shocked her There was no anger there at all, but only a deep, incomprehensible sadness.

She muttered a stricken, “I’m sorry-”

He shook his head, stopping her there. And then said, in a slow, careful way, as if every word pained him, “Her name is Modeen Kemp-the woman you saw me talking to. She’s Brasher’s granddaughter. She’s a licensed practical nurse, and I pay her to take care of…someone…for me.” He paused and looked away, but she saw his throat move and suddenly knew how he was aching. And her throat, her chest, every part of her ached for him. “That someone,” he said harshly, “is my mother.”

Though she’d already guessed by then, she made a tiny, involuntary cry. She would have gone to him, but he held her back with a look. “You asked me if my mother was alive, and if I ever saw her, and I told you yes. What I didn’t tell you was that she has no idea who I am.”

“Alzheimer’s?” Summer whispered.

There was no humor whatsoever in his smile. “Among other things-in recent years, anyway. The alcohol had done its work long before that.”

Once again she whispered, “I’m sorry.” But he had already risen and turned away with a shrug, his face cold.

“She’s happiest on the marshes with Brasher and Modeen, and she’ll stay there as long as they can care for her. Sometimes she gets hard to manage-when she’s upset…scared. I’ve got to go and help get her moved, settled down in a strange place-”

“I understand,” Summer murmured. “Don’t worry about us-we’ll be fine.”

In the doorway he paused and looked down at her for a long, silent moment, then enfolded her in his arms and held her the way he’d held and comforted her when they’d discovered Helen in the tree. Only this time she knew beyond any doubt that it was he who drew comfort from her.

And when he had gone, she went on standing there hugging herself and aching inside, thinking, My God, Riley-what’s wrong? What else is it that you’re not telling me?

Because what she’d seen in the depths of his eyes and felt in the tremors deep within him was as unmistakble as it was bewildering. Why should so strong and capable a man know fear?

Mirabella was frustrated. And when she finally succeeded in getting through to Special Agent Redfield on the telephone number he’d given her, he sounded just as frustrated as she was, maybe more so.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” she said accusingly. “The circuits have been busy.”

“It’s this damned hurricane,” Redfield growled, then apologized for his language with a sigh. “First they had us ready to evacuate, then they changed their minds, said it looks like it’s gonna miss Savannah, after all. It’s complete chaos around here…” All of a sudden it seemed to occur to him who he was talking to, and Mirabella could almost feel the electricity coming through the line. “What’ve you got? You’ve heard?”

“Well, I think so…” But in spite of her caution, she couldn’t keep a thrill of excitement out of her voice. “He said he was from Summer’s class reunion committee. His voice was kind of muffled-you know, like he was talking through cloth? But it was Hal-I know it.”

“And you gave him the address?”

“Of course,” Mirabella said impatiently, “I did exactly what you told me.”

“Okay… okay…” It was an exhalation, almost a sigh. Then, brisk once more, he said, “Okay, thanks very much, Mrs. Starr. Let me know if you hear from anyone else-same procedure, okay? We’ll be in touch.”

And he broke the connection before Mirabella could tell him she hadn’t had any luck getting through to Summer’s number, either. As a result, she felt more frustrated than ever. And more afraid.

“She be fine now.” Brasher’s fingers, gnarled as twigs, briefly touched the lined and haggard face of the woman asleep in the hotel bed. Her sallow skin hung loose over the bones of her skull; gray hair with touches of rusty gold, like tarnish, lay sparse on her blue-veined temples; a snore issued from between thin lips sunken over empty gums, the teeth for which were on the nightstand beside her, submerged in a hotel water glass. “Let her sleep…”

Modeen, who was sitting on the bed taking her patient’s pulse, looked up at Riley and nodded. “It’s just a mild sedative. She’ll sleep now, tomorrow probably be a little bit more disoriented than usual, but once she gets back in her own place, she’ll be okay.” She stood up, coiled the blood-pressure cuff that had been lying across her lap and put it in the medical bag on the other bed, closed it, then went into the bathroom and closed the door.

“She was beautiful once,” said Brasher softly. Tender and sad, his eyes rested on the woman’s gaunt face. “When she was a girl. You know, she had so many dreams.”

Riley said nothing. He felt no connection to the woman in the bed at all. He felt nothing. His heart was like stone. “Well,” he said, “I guess I’d better be getting back.”

Brasher nodded. “You go on home now. Your mama be fine. Best you go now, take care of your woman…those nice kids.”

Riley made an involuntary movement of denial that involved his whole body. “She’s not my woman,” he said on an exhalation as he twirled his windbreaker over one shoulder. “Wish she could be, but…” He shook his head and walked to the door. “It’s never gonna happen.” He took a deeper breath trying to make room for his heart-still a stone, but too big now for his chest.

“Boy, what you mean by that?” Brasher threw a look toward the bathroom door, then came over and caught Riley by the wrist.

Riley shrugged and looked past him, looking for escape. “Oh, you know…she’s got the children-”

“That’s what’s holdin’ you back? What’s the matter with you, boy? Those kids, they need you-you tell me you don’t see that? That boy, his eyes, they follow you ever’ where you go, ’bout eat you alive. That little girl, she just want a daddy to love her, you can tell that by lookin’.”

“They need a father. They don’t need me.” Now Riley’s face felt like stone, and his voice sounded like it. He opened the door, but Brasher followed him through it and into the deserted hotel hallway.

“Boy,” the older man said in a wondering tone, “I know what you’re thinkin’. You thinkin’ you gonna be like her?” He jerked his head toward the room they’d just left. “Like your daddy was?”

Riley flinched. He said harshly, “I can’t risk that possibility.”

For a few moments Brasher didn’t say anything, just gazed at the floor, his hands hooked in the straps of his overalls. And for some reason, instead of walking off and leaving him there, Riley found himself waiting, while tension hummed behind his eyeballs and through his molars and vibrated in the pit of his belly. Finally, the old man lifted his head and looked not at turn, but dreamily into the distance beyond his shoulder.

“Remember,” he said softly, “that time the big storm come through-you were a little boy, ’bout ten-an’ afterward we went out to the island-”

Riley nodded. He caught a sharp, edgy breath. “And we found the osprey on the beach. I remember. It had been injured in the storm and couldn’t fly.”

“No, boy-he only thought he was injured. He only thought he couldn’t fly.” Brasher chuckled low in his chest. “Poor old osprey so battered and beat-up in the storm, he too scared to fly. He just sittin’ there on the beach, too scared to move.”

“I walked right up to him,” Riley said slowly. “I was going to put my jacket over him so we could take him home…fix him up. But before I could, he started to flap his wings and hop, trying to get away. And then he just…flew away.”

Brasher shook his head, his body jerking with silent laughter. “Just needed a strong-enough incentive to make him try. Found out he wasn’t as banged up as he thought he was. Fact is, he was fine.” He stopped chuckling and gave Riley a sideways look. “That woman, you know, she got the healer’s touch.”

Riley gave a laugh of surprise. “How’d you know that?”

Brasher shrugged. “See it in her eyes…her hands, too. Oh, yeah, she got the touch.” His smile broadened. “Maybe she’s meant, boy-” he pointed toward the ceiling “-you ever think ’bout that? Maybe she meant to heal you.”

Riley laughed again, this time with a growing sense of lightness and hope. He said with a smile of irony, “I told her once I was the doctor that was going to take care of her.”

It was then that his beeper went off.

Summer had never liked wind. She’d grown up in the desert where the winds blew so incessantly they molded the trees and shrubs to their will. She’d lived in a part of the Los Angeles Basin where the Santa Ana winds blew down the valleys and through the passes with enough force to toss tractor-trailer rigs like toys, hot and dry enough to suck every last drop of moisture from plants and people alike. She didn’t mind rain, even in torrents, and actually found thunder and lightning sort of exciting But wind to her seemed like something alive, like a raging beast trying to get to her where she cowered inside her pitiful shelter. When the wind blew hard, she felt small and helpless, and afraid.

But she couldn’t let the children know that. For them she had to be strong, confident and brave. Even when the power went out early on, and they couldn’t make popcorn or watch videos as they had during the big thunderstorm, she stayed cheerful, making an adventure out of it. Instead of popcorn, they made peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches by flashlight, took them upstairs-along with a huge bowlful of grapes-where, as before, everyone including Beatle climbed into Summer’s bed. No one was going to be doing any sleeping, not with the wind screaming like someone being tortured, and things snapping and crashing and thumping around outside. So, instead of watching videos, Summer read while David held the flashlight They’d finished The Black Stallion and were well into The Black Stallion Returns by now. Summer kept the portable radio on the nightstand, tuned to the emergency station but turned down low.

Once, after a particularly loud crash that made the windows rattle and the bed shake, Helen crept closer against Summer’s side and said in a small, frightened voice, “Mommy, is this the hurry-cane?”

Summer put an arm around her and hugged her. “Sure is. Remember what Brasher said? ‘It’s a bi-ig ba-ad storm.’ ”

Helen giggled, then instantly looked as if she might cry. “He said Riley. would take care of us, but he’s not here. Mommy, when is Riley comin’ home?”

“Soon,” said Summer firmly. “He’ll be here soon. Hey-you know what? I’m tired of reading. Why don’t we sing for a while? How about, ‘Jingle Bells, Batman Smells-’ ”

“Mom!”

“Well, okay, then how ’bout, ‘On top of Old Smo-o-key, all covered with fleas…’”

They were singing that, all the verses they could remember, as well as some really silly ones they made up on the spur of the moment, when suddenly Summer went very still.

David stopped singing and gasped, “What?”

“Hush,” she said, giving him a squeeze. “Listen…”

“It’s quiet!”

“Does that mean the hurry-cane is over?”

“No, dummy, it’s the eye. That means it’s only half over.”

“David, please don’t call your sister a dummy-how would you like it if I called you a dummy?” But she said it in a teasing way, tussling playfully with both children, a surefire way to start a roughhouse. But before it could get under way, Beatle went “Wuf!” and jumped down off the bed.

“Riley’s home!” Helen said with a little gasp of joy.

But Summer said, “Hush,” and her arms tightened around both of her children. She hadn’t heard a car drive in or a door open. And Beatle’s tail wasn’t wagging. Instead, from her tiny throat came a low but unmistakable growl.

“Mom-”

“Shush!”

At that moment, from downstairs there came a terrible screech. A panic-stricken “Get out, get out, get out!” Then a splintering crash. And finally…silence. Dead silence.

But Summer knew. Someone was in the house.

Riley was on his cell phone shouting at the top of his lungs, trying to make himself heard above the roar of wind and rain and the futile slap of his windshield wipers. Somewhere out there in that chaos of fallen trees and blowing shingles and whipping power lines he knew Jake Redfield was doing the same.

“I can’t get through,” he bellowed. “It’s flooded here. I’m gonna have to try another way. Dammit, can’t you do something? Send a damn helicopter!”

“Are you out of your mind?” Well, that came through clearly enough. But then Riley heard, “Best I can…police…emergency band…” and then nothing but static.

He swore, and in a gesture of rage and futility, hurled the phone onto the passenger seat. His lungs burned with cold fire, as if he’d been running. Like a nightmare-his nightmare. From out of his past, from the distant echoes of memory, he felt it-the icy paralysis of fear.

He wasn’t going to be in time. He’d left them unprotected, knowing that even then the syndicate thugs might be closing in. If they’d taken the FBI’s bait, picked up Hal Robey’s trail, if they came for Summer and the children now, in this…and why wouldn’t they? It was the best possible moment. Power and phones were out, roads blocked, Jake and his agents cut off, the local police helpless to respond even if the security alarm did sound. Dammit, they were alone…helpless.

He wasn’t going to be able to save them. Dear God, he raged, Why? Why did he always seem destined to fail those he loved most?

He had only one hope left. Tom Denby. Please, God, he prayed, let him be there, even in this. Please, God, let him be in time.

“Shh-not a sound,” Summer whispered. With one arm around each of her children, she herded them, tiptoeing, out of her room and into the dark hallway. She’d turned off her flashlight, figuring the one advantage she had was that she knew the layout of the house better than any intruder would.

“Where’s Beatle?” David hissed. “Mom-”

“Shh’ I’ll find her. Never mind that now. Come on-m here.” As quietly as she could, she led them across the hall and into the room where they’d discovered Helen in the magnolia tree. “Quick-under the bed. Stay there and don’t move. And not a sound, do you understand me? No matter what happens. Not one sound.” For once there was no argument, no squabbling. Just silence. Summer watched her children wriggle under the edge of the canopy bed, then smoothed the spread and left them there. Left the room and closed the door soundlessly behind her.

Out in the hallway she stood for a moment, listening. Her heart was pounding, but her head was clear. As she weighed the flashlight in her hand, she knew what she had to do. It was obvious to her that the FBI wasn’t coming, at least not in time; all their carefully laid plans had been blown apart by the hurricane. No one was going to come and rescue her. She was on her own. The flashlight was the only weapon she had, and it wasn’t enough. Her best hope was to get outside. If it was just a burglar she’d heard, taking advantage of the storm and the power outage, let him ransack the place. He could take whatever he wanted-he wasn’t going to find the children. If it was Hal-please, God, let it be Hal-he’d make himself known and then she could talk to him, convince him to turn himself in. And if it wasn’t Hal or a burglar…if it was the same thugs who had burned her house…well, then she’d draw them out after her, make them chase her, like a mother lark pretending a broken wing. They’d probably catch her, but she’d convince them the children were somewhere else, somewhere safe. Then…

Beyond that she didn’t dare think. First, she had to get past whoever it was…get outside. But where were they? She couldn’t hear anything!

And then Beatle began to bark. Furiously, viciously, growling and snarling the way she did when she was shaking and mauling one of her practice “kills.” Summer heard mutters… swearing. A muffled shout. A soft but dreadful thud. A sharp, shrill cry.

“Oh, no,” she whimpered. “Oh, Beatte-” She lunged for the stairs, her heart racing.

And stopped, stifling her sobs with her hand. No-she couldn’t go to pieces now. She had to stay calm. Keep her head. Brushing tears from her cheeks, she crept silently toward the stairs.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

Summer dropped down into a crouch in the shadow of the banister, and as she did, felt something brush past her face. Something silent as a breeze or a puff of smoke. Or a cat’s tail. Oh, God-Peggy Sue! Once more she clamped a hand over her mouth and held her breath, this time to stifle a hiccup of half hysterical laughter. It was almost too much-no doubt about it, the cat was heading down the stairs. Completely unperturbed by either storm or strangers, parading right down the middle as if she owned them, as she always did. And the intruder was coming up. Somewhere, the two were going to have to meet. And, of course, only one could see in the dark…

No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than there came an outraged feline screech, followed by a muffled cry and then a whole series of bumps, thumps and clatters. Almost the moment they began Summer was on her feet and running as soundlessly as she could down the stairs, counting on the racket to cover any noises she did make. Near the bottom she halted, warned by some primitive sense. No help for it-she had to risk turning on the flashlight, just for a second. Just for an instant-but it was enough to reveal what she had already suspected. And though she had been prepared, she couldn’t stop the sharp intake of her breath.

A man lay sprawled on the floor at the foot of the stairs-not dead, or even, she feared, badly injured; he was already beginning to move and groan a little. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew it wasn’t Hal-too big and broad to be Hal. And there was no doubt in her mind about what she needed to do. Leaning over the man and gripping the flashlight upraised like a club, she switched it on once more.

But before she had time to bring it down on the dazed man’s head, or even cry out, someone grabbed her from behind, knocking the flashlight out of her hand. She could hear it rolling across the tile floor as a powerful arm clamped across her throat, cutting off her air supply. She struggled, kicking at her assailant’s legs and making contact at least once. She heard a satisfying grunt of pain and a vicious snarl. “Do that again and I’ll break your neck.”

She believed that, so she stopped struggling. And in the sudden stillness a voice came quietly from the darkness near the door to Riley’s study. “It’s me you want. Let her go.”

Hal!

The pressure on her windpipe eased, and her body dragged in air in a shuddering, convulsive gasp. There was a roaring in her ears. Fighting to remain conscious, Summer heard garbled bits of conversation: “…is it, Robey?” “Haven’t got…” “Tell… kill her.”

Her head cleared just as a flashlight beam slashed through the darkness, pinioning the figure of a man…the man Summer had been married to for twelve years, the man she had once loved. Her children’s father. He looked strangely unchanged, she thought. His smile was as charming as ever.

“What’s that you got there?” the man holding Summer growled.

Still smiling, Hal held up a package wrapped in bright paper. “This? Just some presents for my kids.”

“Yeah? Let’s see it.” A hand moved into Summer’s line of vision-a hand holding a gun.

What happened next happened so fast, she was never sure of the exact sequence. And yet, some things seemed in slow motion: The package and Hal’s hand moving in a short downward arc. The gun flying out of the man’s hand. Hal’s scream. “Run!”

Then she was running, through the dark kitchen, through the mudroom and out into a chaos of howling wind and driving rain. The eye of the hurricane had passed; the storm was on them again in its full force and fury, the noise so intense she couldn’t hear her own sobs. She ran instinctively, down the driveway and into the lane, heading toward the gate. Around her trees lashed and groaned like tormented souls. She couldn’t tell what was happening behind her-shouts, running footsteps, even gunshots were swallowed up in the storm.

Something-someone-grabbed her from out of the darkness. She struggled, half-mindless with terror, screaming, scratching and biting like a wild animal, until a voice growled in her ear, “Hey-take it easy! You’re safe now-you’re safe!”

Safe. That word punched through the wall of her terror and she went slack, letting herself be half dragged, half carried into the comparative shelter of the trees, just as footsteps splattered through the water rushing down the brick drive, and indistinguishable shapes flashed by them in the thinning darkness.

When they had passed, the man holding Summer gasped, “Sorry I was late-had to ram through the damn gate…leave my car down there in the lane. Trees down.”

“Who…are…you?” Summer asked through chattering teeth.

“Name’s Denby, ma’am. I work for Mr. Grogan. I was supposed to watch out for you and the kids…sure hope he don’t fire me, lettin’ this-”

“My children1” And she was running again, back toward the house, running with her heart in her throat and her lungs on fire, deaf to the pleas of her rescuer to wait-wait for him to check things out! But she was driven by something more compelling than fear.

Into the house she went, soaked to the skin, water streaming down her face and into her eyes. Up the stairs and down the hallway, needing no light to see the way. Calling her children’s names, she threw open the door of their hiding place and dropped to the floor beside the canopy bed.

“David? Helen? Hey, you can come-Oh… God…” The cry tore through her, ripping her apart, a cry of utter devastation.

Her children weren’t there. They were gone. Gone…

Riley had some bad moments during that seemingly endless drive home through the height of the hurricane-such as narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a couple of suicidal idiots, one a four-by-four of some kind, the other a big dark sedan, both heading the other way like bats out of hell. Then finding his gate broken in, and a little farther up the lane, coming upon Tom Denby’s car abandoned with its hood buried in a fallen tree. But nothing-not all the worst moments of his life put together-could have compared with the moment when he burst through the wide-open doors of his house and heard that terrible cry. He’d heard something like it once before, the day they’d found Helen in the tree, but this was worse. A thousand times worse.

He didn’t even remember how he got up the stairs and down the hallway to that bedroom doorway. But somehow he was standing in it, frozen there, and his eyes were on Summer as she stood silhouetted against the lightening windows. She stood like a pillar, too stunned even to cry as the windows crashed open and two small figures, like storm-drenched fledglings, crept over the sill and ran to their mother’s side.

“We were gonna climb down the tree and run for help,” he heard David explain, gasping for breath. “I know you told us to stay here and don’t move, but then we heard the noises-”

And then Riley was across the room and he couldn’t get them gathered into his arms fast enough. He was shaking so hard he felt as though he’d break apart, as if the only things holding him together were their arms, their laughter, their joyous shouts of “Oh, God-Riley!” “Hey, it’s Mr. Riley!” “Riley’s home!”

Yes, he was. At long last, he was home.

It was David who pulled away first. While Riley closed and latched the window, he drew a hand across his nose, sniffed and said, “Mom, Beatle’s dead, isn’t she?” But he wasn’t crying; his voice was quiet and brave. “I heard. Those men-they killed her, didn’t they?”

Summer lifted her eyes from her son’s face to Riley’s. Hers was pale and glistening with raindrops in the graying light; dawn was breaking, even in the midst of the hurricane. “She tried to defend us,” she said brokenly. “I don’t know… I don’t know about any of them. They gave the alarm. And Peggy Sue tripped one guy and made him fall down the stairs. But I haven’t heard anything since. I just don’t know…”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Riley said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “It’s getting light. We’ll find them… won’t we, guys?” As the two children gazed up at him with trusting eyes, he took them each by the hand and, with a long look at Summer, led the way downstairs. Please, God, he thought, no matter what happens…don’t let me let them down.

But somehow, he didn’t think he would. Ever again.

Downstairs they found that Tom Denby had already checked out and buttoned up the place and lit the battery-powered lanterns he’d found in the kitchen. With their help and the slowly growing daylight, they quickly located Cleo. The little gray parrot was pacing back and forth along the tops of the living room draperies, muttering and swearing, “Stupid… dog…” and staring with baleful yellow eyes at the cat Peggy Sue, who was stretched out on the back of the sofa just below her like a panther on a tree limb, placidly twitching her tail.

“My God,” Summer breathed, laughing weakly with relief, “how did she get up there? I didn’t think she could fly.”

“Maybe,” said Riley, laughing, too, “she just didn’t have enough incentive.”

“Mom! Mom, come quick!” David’s shout brought them into the central hallway at a dead run. “I found her! I found Beatle! She’s not dead! Quick, Mom-she’s hurt…”

The little dog was lying on the rug just inside Riley’s study, whimpering softly. She didn’t try to get up, but when David knelt beside her, she lifted her head and licked his face.

“Quick-” Summer was already down on her knees beside the dog “-get me a blanket-towels, a pillow, anything-go on, David, hurry!” As David jumped up and ran for the stairs, her hands were moving gently and expertly over the little animal’s shivering body. When he’d gone, she looked up at Riley and said gravely, “She’s badly hurt. She needs a vet.”

“You’re a vet,” he reminded her, balancing on the balls of his feet beside her, his hand on the back of her neck.

She shook her head. “She needs a hospital-X-rays. Her leg’s broken, for sure. She could have an injured spine, internal injuries-”

“We’ll go,” Riley promised “As soon as the storm’s over.” He didn’t stop to ask himself how they’d get there through all the storm debris; he knew he’d find a way somehow.

When Jake Redfield arrived a short time later, Riley and Summer were in Riley’s big bed, fully clothed with the two sleeping children curled like kittens against their sides. Beatle lay on a pillow on Summer’s lap cocooned in blankets, also sleeping, shivering and whimpering only fitfully now. Summer was much encouraged by that. With the immediate threat of severe shock seemingly over, she felt the little dog’s prospects for a full recovery were good.

“Brave little Beatle,” she whispered, gently stroking the dog’s glossy black hide. “My hero…”

Riley’s arms tightened around her and he started to say something, but before he could the FBI agent knocked softly and stuck his head through the open door

“Sorry,” he said in a low voice as his eyes swept dispassionately over the bed and its occupants. “Your man Denby let me in-told me to come on up. Thought you’d like to know…” His dark, exhausted eyes came to rest on Summer. “Your husband’s vehicle has been found, Mrs. Robey. In the river just west of here-witnesses tell us he drove off a washed-out bridge. According to those same witnesses, the car that was chasing him saw it happen and stopped in time. Then turned around and took off. I don’t think they’ll be back.” He paused, then said stiffly, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” His eyes were dark with frustrated fury.

Summer nodded and mumbled through the ache in her throat, “He saved us, you know. In the end…”

Redfield nodded, frowning. “Yeah… well… What I can’t figure out is what brought him back here in the first place. Why was it so important for him to find you?” He shrugged, though the speculation remained in his eyes. “Guess we’ll never know that now.” He turned to leave, then abruptly came back and handed her a small package wrapped in brightly colored paper. “Oh-Denby asked me to give you this. Said he found it downstairs in the hallway-looks like it might belong to one of your kids.”

Summer took the package and held it. “This is why,” she said thickly as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Hal brought this for the kids. He said he’d come to see them. He’d brought them a present. This…”

Redfield had come closer, moving stiffly, suddenly alert as a wolf smelling prey. “Ma’am-if you wouldn’t mind opening that?”

“Oh-sure.” She tore off the paper with unsteady fingers and pounding heart, then relaxed with a sigh of exasperation. “Oh, Hal… I swear to God, he never changes.” She held up several shrink-wrapped packages. “He always does this. Computer games-look at this. Most of them completely inappropriate for a child. Amazon Rangers! Doctor Death! What on earth was he thinking?” She sighed and began wrapping the games back in their festive paper. “Oh, well…I guess I’ll just have to hide these, like I did the last batch.”

Redfield turned away, his shoulders sagging with disappointment. At the door he paused and looked back. “Mrs Robey, you know it was your husband they wanted, not you or the kids. You were just leverage. Now they know he’s dead, they’d have no more reason to harm you. Looks like you’re perfectly free to go now.”

After the FBI man left there was silence, filled only with the sounds of sleeping dog and children and the rain and slowly dying wind. Summer could feel her heart pounding against Riley’s arms where they crisscrossed her chest She closed her eyes and tears oozed between them. I must not cry, she thought. I must not let him know.

And then she felt a shudder go through his body, and his breath gusted in her hair. “I can’t do it,” he said in a ragged voice. “I can’t let you go.”

“Riley…” she began, brokenly. But his arms tightened around her. He lowered his face to her ear, to the side of her face, and to her astonishment she felt the coolness of tears on his cheek.

“I mean, all of you-you, them, the animals-all of you. I want you to stay here with me. Please.”

She said nothing for a long time, crying silently. When she could, she whispered, “Why?”

“Why?” He repeated it in an incredulous, broken voice. “Because I love you. Surely you must know that.”

She nodded, crying harder. “Of course. And I love you. And we both know it’s not enough. Not for me. Not for us. What’s changed? You didn’t want-”

“I was afraid.” The word as he whispered it was so bleak it chilled her. “And then…I almost lost you. All of you. And that’s when I knew there was something I was afraid of even more…”

“But why? Riley, what is it about us-the children-that scares you so much? I’ve watched you with them. You’re wonderful. They adore you. I don’t understand.”

Again there was silence, and she felt his body tense against hers, as if he were gathering strength. Then, with his face pressed tightly against hers, he sighed and began in a slow, careful voice, “I told you my father died when I was twelve. What I didn’t tell you was that he died in prison. He was murdered while serving time for manslaughter.” He paused, then softly explained, “Other inmates don’t like child-killers much.”

Summer had gasped, but he went on before she could ask. “The child he killed was my brother. He beat him to death two weeks before his sixth birthday.” She made a wounded sound. He held her more closely, rocking her, asking her to let him finish it “My father was a brutal man. I learned early on to stay out of his way when he’d been drinking, which was most of the tune. My mother…found her own means of escape. My brother wasn’t so lucky. He wasn’t big enough, strong enough…to get away, and my mother wasn’t strong enough to protect him. My father hated him, I think, because he always believed he wasn’t his child. He could have been right-I I don’t know…

“I knew when he came home that day it was going to be bad. When he started in on Rusty I took off-ran to Brasher’s to get help. Brasher called the police, and then we both ran back to our place, but we were too late. When we got there, my father was passed out drunk on the bed. My mother was sitting on the couch, holding my little brother in her arms, rocking him. Singing to him.” He paused, then said softly, “She’d always been an alcoholic. But she was never sane after that. I left before the police came.” His voice was flat “Never went back.”

“My God…” Summer was shaking so hard she could barely speak. “And you think-My God, Riley, you don’t-you can’t believe you’d ever be like them…that you’d even be capable-”

“I made a vow,” he said, his voice hard as stone, “that I’d never give myself the opportunity to find out. I couldn’t take the chance. Whatever the evil that was in them, it would die with me.”

“Riley Grogan,” she said fiercely, twisting in his arms to take his face between her hands, “you are the strongest, most self-assured man I’ve ever met. So strong I thought you didn’t need anything or anybody-certainly didn’t need me! And strong men do not hurt those who are weaker than they are! They don’t. You couldn’t possibly harm a child. Surely you know that!”

“I do now,” he growled. “Maybe deep down I always did, but I needed-” he grabbed a breath as if it were pure oxygen “-someone to make me believe it I needed-” He broke off and caught her hands, pressed them one at a time to his mouth. It seemed a long time before he drew a shuddering breath and murmured, “You have a healer’s hands, Mrs. Robey. Did you know that? I do need you. I need you to heal me…” And the words flowed through her fingers like balm.

“I’ll be happy to-” her voice was ragged, torn between laughter and tears of exasperation “-if you’ll just please stop calling me Mrs. Robey.”

“I will-I promise.” Then he cleared his throat and continued in an endearingly stiff and formal tone, “I would much prefer, as soon as it can be arranged, to call you Mrs. Grogan.”

There was a bemused pause; then in a voice soft with dawning wonder, Summer said, “All right.”

“David-wake up, wake up,” Helen whispered. “Hurry-you’re gonna miss it! Mommy’s kissin’ Mr. Riley!”

Jake Redfield stood in the early morning fog and watched the uniformed sheriff’s deputy stride toward him. Behind him on the banks of the river, other men, some wearing diving gear, were gathered around the shrouded body of a man.

“Fingerprints will have to confirm it,” the deputy said as he drew near. “But it’s Robey, all right. Everything matches.”

“He have anything on him?” Redfield asked. Like a computer disk, maybe?

The deputy shook his head. “Wallet, several different I.D.s, a little cash, not much. Sorry…”

Redfield turned without a word and walked back to his car.