Now and Forever (64 page)

For a moment she was that other woman again, the girl who'd come to him in hope and joy, eager to build a life with him, a life they could share someday with children. She could feel her strength ebbing away, her hard-won self- esteem crumbling beneath her.
Don't let him win. You've come so far....

She wasn't that woman any longer. She was somebody new, somebody strong. She'd left Katharine Morgan behind and created a woman who would fight for the right to live life without fear.

He pulled at her hair hard, snapping her head back with the force, making her bones rattle.

Let yourself go,
she told herself.
Make him think he's winning and you can take him by surprise....

Her gun was useless, locked away in the coat closet in the foyer. Bryant would kill her before she made it into the hall. Her adrenaline was flowing fast, screaming for her to fight Bryant
now
and with every weapon at her disposal. But she couldn't. She had to control her need for revenge because the element of surprise was the best weapon of all.

Letting go was the toughest thing she'd ever done. She felt physically sick at the thought of the pleasure Bryant would take from her weakness.

The mailbox was at the far end of the driveway. Unless Jules walked up the path and rang the doorbell, he'd never know anything was wrong. And even if she could hit the alarm, she knew it would be over before the police arrived. Bryant had violated his parole, flying across the country for this confrontation, and Shannon wasn't naive enough to believe he'd risked his freedom for anything less than seeing her dead.

She had only herself and her wits to save her.

She sagged against Bryant, forcing her arms to hang loosely at her sides, her legs to go limp. He caught her roughly by the shoulders, his strong fingers digging into her flesh. She knew that the pain would come later but it didn't matter.

Survival was all.

 
#

The house was ablaze with light. Andrew breathed a sigh of relief when he noted that Shannon's car was parked in the garage as it should be.

Still, apprehension tugged at him and he moved quickly around to the back of the house. Ofttimes in the evening they sat together by the swimming pool. He had no wish to cause her alarm, appearing like an apparition from the shadows, but he would not rest easy until he saw her lovely face and could reassure himself of her well-being.

The French doors were closed. His brows knit together as he stepped closer. The red light above was blinking. Was it not supposed to glow steadily to indicate the alarm system was guarding the door as it should? That she was alone inside the house and unprotected made his very blood run cold.

He climbed the steps and reached for the handle. Had the woman no sense? She would not like it but he intended to speak harshly to her. This was a dangerous world. He would see her safe or know the reason why.

 
#

"I've been watching you, Katharine," Bryant said as he dragged her into the kitchen. "That guy you're shacking up with is gone for the night."

She nodded, trying to look submissive rather than terrified. Bryant's rage fed off terror.

"This isn't going to take long." He flung her aside and she fell against the kitchen table. The table skidded on the shiny tiles, sending two of the chairs crashing to the floor and taking Shannon with them. The pain in her right knee was intense. Balance and control were everything when it came to using karate. What if she couldn't stand up when the time came?

 
I don't feel the pain,
she told herself.
There
is
no pain.

He ran his hand along the countertop and grimaced. "Still not much of a housekeeper, are you, Katharine?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the dutiful ex-wife, while bile rose into her mouth. "Mildred and Karl are on vacation."

"You never did understand how to run a household. You held me back, Katharine. Another woman would have understood what I needed." He fingered a glass left in the sink. "That's why I had to explore other avenues."

"I understand." She cast her eyes down, praying he didn't realize she was calculating the distance between them and planning her move. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," he mimicked, moving toward her.

 
Come on, Bryant...keep walking....

He was about twelve feet away from her. His Italian loafers barely made a sound against the tiles. "Is that all you can say...I'm sorry?"

Ten feet away.
Okay...okay...this is it.

She shifted her weight to her right hip, leaned back on her arms. Her muscles contracted in preparation. It was all a question of leverage and angles. Balance on the right hip, lash out with the left leg. Simple, clean, powerfully effective.

Just a little closer, Bryant, just get in range....
She'd done it a hundred times in class. A kick to the groin would stop even a bastard like Bryant in his tracks, but she had to do it right the first time, because if she didn't, she would be dead.

 
#

The sunroom looked much as it had hours ago. Andrew, his senses alert, moved carefully through the room and took its measure. The chaise longue was pushed slightly out of position and as he moved to right it, he noticed the belt to Shannon's robe under the glass-topped table.

He bent down to retrieve it and as he did he heard the crash of furniture from the kitchen. His premonition of danger had come to pass. Pressing himself flat against the wall, he moved quietly toward the hallway that led to the kitchen. Shannon's voice floated toward him. He could not distinguish her words but he recognized that her tone was both timid and uncertain, unlike any he had heard from her before.

The man's voice held the cultured tones of education and privilege but there was no mistaking the menace behind the words.

Her husband, Andrew thought with certainty. In his mind's eye he saw the pale curve of the scar on her shoulder blade and his gut twisted. The man who had committed that crime against her person was on the other side of the door. A red mist of rage clouded his vision and the need to spill the man's blood burned within his breast, yet he knew that to burst into the room without first knowing the situation could cost Shannon her life. Still, the taste for blood grew stronger with each second that passed and he wished he still had his knife.

 
#

"Come on, Shannon," Bryant said. "Let's go for a little walk upstairs."

He stepped into range.

Now! Do it now!
Shannon centered herself, met his eyes, then lashed out with a vicious kick meant to tear straight through the bastard's groin and come out the other side. She caught him in the thigh but fell short of her goal.

"You bitch!" He lurched to the left then turned back toward her.

Panting, she tried to crawl away from him, struggling to ignore the stabbing pain in her right knee and the smell of fear that suddenly filled the air. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back across the floor.

"You feel like playing rough?" he asked. "I can play rough."

She watched as he pulled a small revolver from the waistband of his trousers where it had been concealed by his jacket. Grinning, he aimed it at her.

"How rough do you want to play, Shannon Whitney?" He pressed the gun against her temple. "We can do this fast or we can do this slow. Your choice."

She spat on the floor at his feet.

He jammed the gun deeper into her temple.

A buzzing sound started inside her head. It wasn't supposed to end this way. Not here. Not like this. She'd come so far, learned so much, found the one man on earth who was everything she'd dreamed a man could be. But none of it mattered any longer.

Her strength, her dreams, her future - everything was gone in the space of a heartbeat.

Bryant had won.

And she had lost.

Andrew
,
she thought.
If only....

 
#

She called to him. No words were spoken aloud but still they reached Andrew mind and heart as clearly and truly as if they had been.

The connection between them defied space and time and he somehow knew not even death could break the bond that drew them together.

But she would not die. Not that gallant, beautiful woman who had captured his heart. He would lay down his life if it meant that she would live.

He propelled himself across the room with power born of love. The other man was tall and broad but Andrew held the element of surprise. He used his entire body as a battering ram, knocking the bastard to the floor. They crashed into the tumbled kitchen chairs then slammed into the stove.

"Andrew!" Shannon screamed. "He's got a gun!"

Her warning came an instant too late. Andrew found himself pinned on his back with a pistol jammed into his mouth and the face of evil looking down upon him. He leveled his gaze upon his enemy.

He knew the truth of what would happen. The man would not leave before he had sent them both to their Maker.

From the corner of his eye he saw Shannon crawling toward them.

Run, damn you, lass! I am of no consequence in this world. You must survive!

 
#

Run? She wouldn't run. There was nothing on the face of the earth that would make her leave Andrew.

"This is it, pal," Bryant said, setting himself. "Say your prayers because it's lights out."

In that instant Shannon didn't feel the pain. She didn't feel the fear. All she knew was that the man she loved was in danger and she was the only one on earth who could save him.

Few people were given a second chance. She wasn't about to waste it.

Grabbing hold of the legs of a kitchen chair, she leaped to her feet, and swung that chair at Bryant with every ounce of power, every day of helpless anger. She swung that chair for herself and for every woman who'd ever passed through a shelter - and for every woman for whom it was too late. The chair caught him between the shoulder blades and it caught him hard.

The sharp sound of bones cracking rang out and she was filled with a sense of exhilaration. He dropped to the floor, body held at an odd angle, then, with a cry of pain, went unconscious. The gun fell from his hand and skittered across the floor.

Andrew scrambled to his feet and reached for the weapon.

"Don't!" Shannon said. She grabbed the pistol from the floor and aimed it at her ex-husband. It would be so easy to pull that trigger.... "Get rope from the pantry and tie his arms and legs before he comes to."

Andrew looked sharply at her - and at the gun in her hand - then did as she asked.

"He probably has a broken shoulder," Shannon said dispassionately. "I should put him out of his misery."

"Nay, lass," said Andrew, covering her hand with his own. "He is not worth the price you'd pay." The bloody bastard deserved to die but Shannon would carry the mark on her soul forever. He knew he could do the deed and suffer not a moment of remorse. "Give me the weapon. I will do it for you."

"Don't touch the gun!" She took a step back. He feared she would shoot her husband then and there but she did not. "We can't let anyone know you were involved, Andrew. How could we explain your existence to the police?"

"The police will understand once I explain the facts to them clearly."

"You have no identification, no way to prove who you are. They'd take you away. Please," she said urgently, "go back into the woods and don't come back until the police are gone. Protect yourself, Andrew."

"I care not about my own well-being. 'Tis you I care for, lass. You alone."

"Then do as I say," she pleaded. "It's our only hope."

"I will not leave you again."

A look of sadness shadowed her face. It was unlike any look he had seen thus far and he knew a different taste of fear. "Yes, you will," she said softly and then she said no more.