She had no intention of doing that.
She crossed through the storm to an abandoned snowmobile. The driver’s body covered several yards of bloody snow. In agony, she tromped through the carnage and searched the vehicle. The keys were still in place.
Swinging a leg over it, she settled heavily into the seat and twisted the key. The engine grumbled up to a whine as she engaged the throttle.
She leaned low and sped away, heading down the mountain. There was nothing she could do here now.
Except make a promise.
Before this was all over, she would put a bullet through that Indian’s skull.
25
October 13, 3:38 P.M.
Bardsey Island, Wales
Gray lounged in a steaming tub of hot water.
He kept his eyes closed, struggling to settle his mind. For the better part of an hour he had argued with Owen Bryce, explaining how Rachel had a medical condition that required immediate evacuation. That she needed medicines back at their hotel on the mainland. The only concession he got from the man was that he would reconsider the request in the morning.
It didn’t help matters that Rachel still looked okay.
So for now, they were trapped on the island.
At least for a few more hours.
They would wait for nightfall, which at least came early this time of year. Once the islanders were settled in for the night, the plan was to steal that boat. They dared not wait until morning. If Owen still refused, they would lose another day. That could not happen.
So they took the offered rooms. They could use a little downtime. They were all worn thin and needed a moment to rest.
Still, Gray had a hard time relaxing. His mind gnawed and worried on the mysteries and dangers they faced.
Thunder rumbled up into a resounding clap. It rattled the panes of glass in the window above the tub. Candlelight flickered beside the bar of soap. The electricity was still out. Before drawing his bath, he had started a small fire in the bedroom’s hearth. Through his closed eyelids, he noted the rosy dance of the flames.
As he sprawled in the tub, a shadow suddenly moved across the glow.
He stiffened, sitting up suddenly, sloshing water over the floor. A figure stood in the doorway, dressed in a robe. He had not heard Rachel enter the room. The thunder had masked her approach.
“Rachel…”
She trembled where she stood, her eyes haunted. She didn’t say a word. She shed her robe with no seduction. She simply let it drop and crossed in a rush of steps to the tub. Gray stood and caught her in his arms. She folded against him, needing him. She buried her head against his neck.
He bent at the knees, scooped an arm under her backside, and lifted her up. She was lighter than he remembered, as if hopelessness had hollowed her out. Turning, carrying her, he settled them both into the hot water.
He cradled her in the steaming bath. Her hand slid down his belly, desperate, hurting, her need raw and on the surface. He stopped her and drew her hand back to his chest. He simply held her, waiting for her to stop trembling. They had been running since the fire in the woods, since she had first learned of the betrayal. He should have known better than to leave her alone now as they waited for nightfall.
If his mind had been troubled and unsettled, what must she be going through? Especially alone. He wrapped his arms tightly and squeezed as if by sheer muscle he might keep her safe from harm.
Slowly her trembling wore itself out against his strength.
She sagged into him.
He held her for a long while more—then with a finger, he touched and drew her face up. He stared into her eyes. They shone with her desire to be touched, to feel alive, to know she wasn’t alone…and deeper down, almost buried, the embers of old love.
Only then did he bring his lips to hers.
4:02 P.M.
Seichan waited inside her room. She stood with her back against the door and an unlit cigarette in her hand. A few minutes ago she had heard Rachel’s door creak ajar, heard her footsteps pass down the hall, then Gray’s bedroom door open.
Seichan listened with her eyes closed.
The door never reopened.
As she maintained her vigil, she fought against the welling mix of anger and jealousy, along with an ache she could not dismiss. It clutched her lungs and made it hard to breathe. Leaning against the door, she slowly sank to the floor and hugged her knees.
Alone, with no one to see, she allowed herself this momentary weakness. The room was dark. She had not bothered with a fire, or even a candle. She preferred the darkness. She always had.
Rocking ever so gently, she let the ache pass through her.
She knew she was reverting to a time when pain came often, growing from slaps to violations more intimate. There had been a secret closet where she would hide or seek refuge afterward. It had no windows. No one knew about it but the rats and mice.
Only there, tucked away in the darkness, had she felt safe.
She hated herself now for needing that comfort. She knew she should just tell him and end this pain. But she swore not to. It was because of him she had made that promise.
And no matter what the agony, she would never break it.
6:55 P.M.
Under cover of night, Gray led the others down the jetty.
The ferryboat rocked in its berth and beat itself against the bumpers. Rain poured out of the dark sky. Ahead, Kowalski stood beside the weathered catamaran. He had gone ahead and made sure that the boat was empty, the keys had been left.
Who would steal the boat in this storm?
It was a question Gray was ready to answer.
They all hurried down the dock.
“Get aboard,” Kowalski said. “I’ll free the ropes.”
Gray helped the others clamber into the stern of the ferry. It took acrobatics and timing as the deck rose and fell.
He took Rachel’s hand.
She would not look at him, but she squeezed his fingers warmly, thanking him silently. He had woken, snarled in blankets, to find her gone. He could not say he was totally disappointed. He knew the score; so did she. What had happened was sincere, deeply felt, and needed—perhaps by both of them. The momentary flash of passion was born out of fear, out of loneliness, out of mortality. Gray loved her, and he knew she felt the same. But even as they lay tangled together before the fire, buried in each other, wracked by a passion that burned away all thought, a part of her remained untouchable.
Now was not the time for anything to be reborn between them. She was too wounded, too fragile. In that room, she had only needed his strength, his touch, his warmth. But not his heart.
That would have to wait.
Gray hopped over the rail to the deck and grabbed the tossed line as Kowalski leaped into the boat.
“It’s going to be a monster of a crossing,” Kowalski warned them all. He hurried to the covered pilothouse. He got the engines started with a burbling roar, then signaled for Gray to let go of the last line.