Diamond Bay (25 page)

"So it
is
you, Tiger."

There it was again, that slight movement. Kell sighted down the
barrel and gently squeezed the trigger. The report of the rifle echoed in the
small house, drowning out any cry of pain, but Kell knew he hadn't missed. He
also didn't know if he'd hit Dubois or someone else.

A hail of bullets tore into the house, shattering all the windows
and gouging long splinters out of the walls and window frames, but the steel
reinforced doors held. "Guess he didn't like that," Kell muttered.

Grant had ducked to the floor, and now his head came up. "You
know, I never liked that nickname worth a damn," he drawled, then swung
his rifle up. It was an automatic, and he fired it in the three-shot bursts of
a well-trained soldier, making good use of his firepower without wasting his
ammunition. Pistol shots came from both the bedroom and Rachel's office; then
all hell broke loose again. They were tearing the house up, and cold fear
filled him, because Rachel was caught in this barrage.

"Rachel!" he yelled. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," she answered, and her calm voice made him
ache.

"Jane!" Grant yelled. No answer. "Jane," he
yelled again, his face gray as he started for the bedroom.

"I'm busy!"

Grant looked as if he might explode,
and despite every
thing
Kell found himself grinning.
Better Grant than
him. Still, Jane's life was in jeopardy, too, and the thought of anything
happening to her was almost as hard to bear as the thought of anyone hurting
Rachel.

There was another lull, and Grant pulled out his empty clip and
slapped another one into place.

"Sabin, my patience is at an end," Dubois called, and
Kell grimaced. Damn, it hadn't been Dubois he'd hit.

"You haven't made the right offer yet," he yelled in return.
Anything to buy time.

Jane crawled out of the bedroom, her hair all mussed and her eyes
big. "I think the cavalry is coming," she said.

The two men ignored her, but Rachel scrambled to her side.
"What?" she asked.

"Men on horseback," Jane said, waving her hand toward
the bedroom. "I saw them, coming from that way."

Rachel felt like crying or laughing, but she couldn't make up her
mind which. "It's Rafferty," she said, and now she had their
attention. "My neighbor. He must have heard the shots."

Grant crouched low and ran through the kitchen to the back, where
he could see. "How many?" Kell asked.

"Twenty or so," Grant said. "Damn, they're riding
right into automatic fire. Start shooting and draw Dubois's fire!"

They did. Rachel crept up to a window, held the heavy pistol out
it and fired until it was empty, then reloaded with shaking hands before
emptying it again. Kell was making judicious use of the .22, and Jane was
revealing remarkable skill herself. Had they given Rafferty enough time to get
behind Dubois and his men? If they kept shooting, they might hit their
rescuers.

"Hold it," Kell ordered. They lay flat on the floor with
their heads covered while the walls were shredded by bullets.
The light fixture crashed to the
floor, sending glass
flying.
Grant cursed, and they looked over to see blood streaming down his
face from a cut on his cheek. Jane gave a thin, high cry and made a move toward
him, despite the continuing gunfire; Kell grabbed her and wrestled her to the
floor.

"I'm all right," Grant yelled. "It's just a little
cut."

"Stay close to the floor," Kell told Jane, then let her
go, knowing that she'd fight him like a wildcat if he tried to keep her from
Grant.

Then, suddenly, it was quiet except for a few scattered shots, and
they were abruptly halted, too. Rachel lay on the floor, hardly daring to
breathe, the acrid smell of burned gunpowder filling her nostrils and even her
mouth. Kell put his hand on her arm, his black eyes drifting over her pale
features as if he would burn her into his memory.

"Hey!" a deep voice roared. "Rachel, are you in
there?"

Her lips trembled, and tears suddenly blurred her eyes. "It's
Rafferty," she whispered, then lifted her head to call, "John! Is it
all right?"

"Depends," the answer came. "These bastards here
don't think it's all right."

Kell slowly climbed to his feet and pulled Rachel to hers.
"He sounds like my kind of man."

Rachel felt like the survivor of a shipwreck as she walked out on
the porch with Kell supporting her. Grant and Jane followed, with Jane dabbing
at the cut on Grant's cheek, crying a little as she fussed at him. Without the
arm around her waist, Rachel was sure she wouldn't have been able to stand.

She gave a ghostly cry when she
saw three of the geese lying in the yard, blood on the white of their feathers,
but there was no way she could make a sound when she saw
Joe lying on his side at the edge
of the porch.
Kell turned her into his arms,
pressing her face into his shoulder.

Big John Rafferty, armed with a hunting rifle and surrounded by
his men, who were likewise armed, herded about fifteen men before him.
Rafferty's eyes were fierce and narrow under his dark brows as he prodded a
slim, gray-haired man before him. "We heard the shooting and came to see
what was going on," John drawled. "I don't like riffraff shooting at
my neighbor."

Charles Dubois was white with rage, his eyes fastened on Sabin.
Beside him was Noelle, her beautiful eyes full of boredom.

"It isn't over, Sabin," Dubois hissed, and Kell gently
put Rachel aside, handing her over to Grant. Kell had business to attend to,
and explaining it to the law, then keeping it quiet would take some doing.

"It's over as far as you're concerned," he said briefly.

Beside Charles, Noelle smiled her slow, sleepy smile, then
suddenly wrenched free; because she was a woman, the cowhand behind her hadn't
been holding her securely. And, somehow, she had a gun in her hand, a small,
ugly revolver.

Rachel saw it, and everything moved in slow motion. With a cry she
tore free of Grant's arm, hurling herself toward Kell. A man grabbed for
Noelle's arm, and the pistol exploded just as Rachel hit Kell, knocking him
away. She cried out again at the burning pain in her side; then there was only
blackness filling the world.

Sabin leaned against the wall in
the hospital waiting room, his nostrils filled with the sharp smell of
antiseptic and his dark face cold and remote, even though there was screaming
hell in his eyes.
Behind him were Jane and
Grant, waiting with him. Jane was huddled over, her expressive face pale and
full of misery; Grant prowled the confines of the room like some great cat.

No matter how he tried, Kell couldn't get the picture of Rachel,
lying on the ground awash in her own blood, out of his mind. She had looked so
small and fragile, her eyes closed and her face paper white, crumpled like a
child's discarded doll, one slender hand lying palm up. He'd fallen to his
knees beside her, oblivious to the scuffle and shots going on behind him, and a
low, rough sound had exploded from his chest. Her name had echoed in his mind,
but he hadn't been able to voice it.

Then, incredibly, her eyes had opened.
She was dazed and in pain, but those
clear, clear eyes had fastened on him as if he were her lifeline, and her
trembling lips had fashioned his name.
It wasn't
until then that he'd realized she was alive. Seeing her take the bullet meant
for him had been a nightmare come true, and he still hadn't recovered. He
didn't expect ever to recover.

Yet he had managed to rip her clothing away from the ugly wound in
her side and apply rough first aid, with Jane kneeling beside him and helping.
Grant had taken over with
the others, doing what was necessary, making certain that no hint of
what had happened was leaked.

Dubois was dead, Noelle critically wounded and not expected to
survive. Ironically, it had been Tod Ellis who had shot them. During the
ensuing scuffle after Noelle had shot Rachel, Ellis had pulled free and grabbed
a rifle. His motives were murky. Perhaps he had wanted to get rid of Dubois so
no one would know the extent to which Ellis had helped him; perhaps, in the
end, he hadn't been able to stomach what he'd done. Or perhaps it had been
because of Rachel. Sabin could identify with that last reason; he could gladly
have killed Dubois and that treacherous bitch with his bare hands for what
they'd done to Rachel.

Honey Mayfield had been fetched to take care of Joe, and she
thought he would make it. Rachel would need something, someone to hold on to,
even if it was just a dog. Her house had been so badly damaged that it would
take weeks to restore it; her pets had been shot, her life turned upside down,
she herself wounded, and the man she loved was the cause of it all. Cold,
piercing agony filled his chest. He'd nearly cost her her life, when he would
have died himself rather than have her suffer this. He'd known the danger, yet
he'd stayed, unable to tear himself away from her. This once he'd let his heart
overrule his mind, and it had almost killed her. Never again. God in heaven,
never
again.

He would stay only until she was out of surgery and he knew she
would be all right; there was no way he could leave until he knew, until he'd
seen her again and touched her. But then he and Grant would have to leave. The
situation was critical; he had to get to Washington before the news of this
leaked back and the traitor, or traitors, could cover their tracks.

"Jane," he said quietly, not turning around. "Will
you stay?"

"Of course," she responded without hesitation. "You
know you didn't have to ask."

It had been all he could do to get the local authorities to
cooperate; if it hadn't been for one of the deputies, a man named Phelps, who
knew Rachel, the whole thing would have blown sky-high. But Phelps had known
what to do, and he'd done some long, hard talking to get the lid put on this.
Rafferty had guaranteed the silence of his men, and Kell doubted that there was
a one of them who would dare cross Rafferty.

The surgeon entered the waiting room, his lined face tired.
"Mr. Jones?"

Kell had identified himself as Rachel's husband and signed the
release forms for her to be treated to speed things up. Legality be damned.
Every minute had meant the loss of more blood for her. He straightened away
from the wall, his entire body taut. "Yes?"

"Your wife is doing fine. She's in recovery now. The bullet
nicked her right kidney. She lost a lot of blood, but we got some back in her,
and her condition is stabilizing. I had doubts about saving the kidney, but
there was less damage than I'd anticipated. Barring complications, I don't see
any reason she won't be home in about a week."

The relief was so great that all he could do was croak, "When
can I see her?"

"Probably in about an hour. I'm going to keep her in ICU
overnight, but it's just precautionary. I don't think that kidney's going to
start bleeding again, but if it does, I want her there. I'll have a nurse come
for you when they get her moved."

Kell nodded and shook the doctor's hand; then he stood rigidly,
unable to relax even now.
Jane came to stand beside
him, slipping her hand into his
bigger one and squeezing it comfortingly.
"Don't tear yourself apart over this."

"It was my fault."

"Really? When were you put in charge of the world? I must
have missed the headlines."

He sighed wearily. "Not now."

"Why not now? If you don't snap out of this you're not going
to be in any shape to do what needs doing."

She was right, of course. Jane might not get where she was going
by the same route the rest of the world would take, but in the end she was
usually right on the money.

When at last they let him see Rachel, he was braced for the shock;
he'd seen too many wounded people not to know that the paraphernalia of
hospitals often made it seem worse. He knew about the machines that would be
hooked up to her, monitoring her vital signs, and he knew there would be tubes
running into her body. But nothing could have prepared him for the blow of
walking into the room – and then she opened her eyes and looked at him.

Incredibly, a weak smile spread over her bloodless lips, and she
tried to hold out her hand to him, but her arm was anchored to the bed with
tape, while an IV needle fed a clear liquid into her vein. For a moment Kell
was frozen in place, and his eyes closed on the burning sensation that filled
them. It was almost more than he could do to walk around the bed and lift her
other hand to his cheek.

"It… isn't that bad," she managed, her voice almost
soundless. "I heard… the doctor… say so."

God,
she
was trying to
reassure
him!
He choked, rubbing her hand against his temple.
He'd have given his own life to have spared her this, and he was
the cause of it. "I love you," he muttered hoarsely.

"I know," she whispered, and went to sleep.
Sabin hung over her bed for
several more minutes, memorizing every
line of her face for the last
time.
Then he straightened, and his face
settled into its usual hard, blank mask. Walking briskly from the room and down
the hall to where Grant and Jane waited, he said tersely, "Let's go."

Rachel walked the beach as she did every afternoon, her eyes on
the sand as she automatically looked for shells. Joe roamed in front of her,
periodically coming back as if to check on her, then going off on his own
pursuits again. For weeks after she'd collected him from Honey, Joe had been
almost paranoid about letting her out of his sight, but that stage had long
passed. For Joe, it was as if the events of the summer had never happened.

It was early in December, and she wore a light jacket to protect
her from the cool wind. The fall quarter at the college in Gainesville was
finished except for the final exams, but she had enough to keep her busy. She'd
worked like a Trojan in the months since July, finishing her manuscript well
ahead of schedule and immediately diving into another one. There had been the
class to teach, and the increasing number of tourists after the slow days of
broiling summer heat had kept the two souvenir shops doing a booming business,
which meant she had to drive down at least twice a week, sometimes three times.

The scar on her right side was the only reminder of what had
happened in July. That, and her memories. The house had been repaired, new
Sheetrock hung and painted because the damage had been too great to simply
plaster over. The windows had new frames, and she had a new light fixture in
the living room, as well as new furniture and new carpeting, because she'd
given up hope of ever getting the glass out of the old. The house looked
normal, not as if anything had ever happened that had taken weeks to repair.

Her recovery had been uneventful, and relatively short.

Within a month she had been going about her normal activities,
trying to salvage some of the vegetables in the garden, which had become
overgrown from neglect. Still, the pain from her wound had given her some idea
of what Kell had gone through exercising his leg and shoulder to regain his
mobility, and it staggered her.

She hadn't heard from him, not a word. Jane had stayed with her
until she was released from the hospital, and had relayed the information that
things had gone well in Washington. Rachel didn't know if Jane knew more but
wasn't saying, or if that was all she'd been told. Probably the latter. Then
Jane had left, too, to collect the twins and rejoin Grant at the farm. By now
she would be round with pregnancy. For a time Rachel had thought she might be
pregnant, too, from that last time Kell had taken her, but it had turned out to
be a false alarm. Her system had simply gone awry from shock.

She didn't even have that. She had nothing but her memories, and
they never left her alone.

She had survived, but it was only that: survival. She had gotten
through each day without finding any joy in it, though she hadn't expected joy.
At best, she would eventually find peace. Maybe.

It was as if part of her had been torn away. Losing B.B. had been
terrible, but this was worse. She had been young then, and perhaps she hadn't
been as capable of loving as deeply as she was now. Grief had matured her, had
given her the depth of feeling with which she loved Kell. There wasn't a minute
of the day that she didn't miss him, that she didn't live with pain because he
wasn't there. She couldn't even find out about him from Jane; no information
was available on Kell Sabin, ever.
He had returned to his gray world of shadows and been swallowed up by
them, as
if he'd never been.
Something could happen to him and she would never know.

That was the worst, the not knowing. He was there, but
unreachable.

Sometimes she wondered if she'd dreamed it, that he'd come to her
in the hospital and bent over her with his heart in his eyes as she'd never
seen him before and whispered that he loved her. When she had awoken again she
had expected to see him, because how could a man look like that and then walk
away? But he had done exactly that. He'd been gone.

Sometimes she almost hated him. Oh, she knew all his reasons, but
when she thought about it, they just didn't seem good enough.
What gave him the right to make
decisions for her?
He was so damn arrogant, so
certain that he knew best, that she could have shaken him until his teeth
rattled.

The fact was that she had recovered from her wound, but she wasn't
recovering from losing Kell. It ate at her day and night, taking away her joy
in living and extinguishing the light in her eyes.

She wasn't pining away – she was too proud to let herself do that
– but she was merely existing in limbo, without plans or anticipation. Walking
the beach, staring out at the incoming waves, Rachel faced the fact that she
had to do something. She had two options: she could try to reach Kell, or she
could do nothing. To simply give up, to do nothing, went against her grain.
He had had time to change his mind
and come back, if he'd been going to, so she had to accept that he wasn't going
to do it… not without incentive.
If he wouldn't
come to her, she'd go to him.

Just making that decision made her feel better than she had in
months, more alive. She called to Joe, then turned and walked briskly up the
beach toward her house.

She had no idea how to reach him, but she had to start somewhere,
so she called telephone information to get the number of the agency in
Virginia. That was easy enough, though she doubted it would be that simple to
get put through to Kell. She called, but the operator who answered the phone
denied that anyone by that name worked there. There was no listing for him.
Rachel insisted on leaving a message, anyway. If he just knew she had called,
perhaps he'd call back. Maybe curiosity wouldn't let him ignore the message.

But days went by and he didn't call, so Rachel tried again and
received the same answer. There was no record of a Kell Sabin. She began
contacting all the people she had done business with years ago when she was a
reporter, asking for advice on how to get through to someone protected by the
secrecy of the intelligence network. She sent messages to him through five
different people, but had no way of knowing if any of them actually reached
him. She continued to call, hoping that eventually the operator would get so frustrated
that she'd hand the message on to someone.