Riptide

“No, I’m here. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. So how’d you find me?”

He shrugged. He didn’t want to tell her that he just knew very suddenly exactly where she was. He would sound nuts. She didn’t need anyone else around her sounding nuts.

“How long will my wrist be numb this time?”

“Not more than five minutes. Don’t whine. Did you expect me to let you shoot me?”

“No, I guess not.”

“You look tired. Better if you’d taken a nap in your bed than come out here to snore beneath the tree. It just might not be all that safe.” That was one of the best understatements out of his mouth yet.

“Why? The only one who was ever lurking outside here was you, and you’re not lurking out here anymore. You’ve moved right into the house.” She sighed. “I don’t know why I came out here. I just couldn’t stand to stay in the house alone anymore.”

He said again, “You scared me, Becca. Please don’t take off again without leaving me a note.”

She looked up at him, her face so pale now it was nearly as white as winter sleet, and said in a dead voice, “He’s found me. He called.”

“He?” But he knew. Oh yeah, the stalker had found her and he hated it, had dreaded it, but he’d known it would happen. This guy was good. Too good. He had contacts. Whoever he was, he knew people, knew how to use them to get what he wanted. Adam was sure he’d been on her the minute she’d left New York. Still, it surprised him. More than that it scared him to his soul. He hated that surge of fear, deep and corroding. He could almost smell the flames. The fire was coming closer.

“All right, so he called. Get a grip.” He stopped, gri

He’d said “us.” She had felt utterly frozen inside, then he’d said “us.” Slowly, she began to feel a shift deep inside her. She wasn’t alone anymore.

She looked up at him and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Adam.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”

“Even though you’re gay?”

He looked at her mouth, then jumped fast to his feet. A man did better when temptation wasn’t one inch from his face. He looked down at her, then offered his hand. “Yeah, right. Now come on back to the house. I want you to write down everything you can remember him saying. Okay?”

She got a look on her face that was hard and cold and determined. Good, he thought, she wasn’t going to lie down and let this guy kick her like a dog.

“Let’s do it, Adam.”

They walked side by side up the steps to the veranda. They were nearly to the front door, and he was thinking that he needed to show her again that he wasn’t gay, when a shot rang out, and a knife-sharp chunk of wood flew off the door frame not two inches from Becca’s head and slammed into Adam’s bare arm.

14

Adam twisted the doorknob, pushed the door in, and shoved Becca into the entrance hall in an instant, and still it seemed too slow. Another bullet struck the lintel right over his head, spewing splinters in all directions. None struck him this time. He twisted about and slammed the front door, then grabbed Becca’s arm and dragged her out of the line of fire.

He came down on his knees beside her. “Sorry to throw you around. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. That bastard, that horrible man. He’s a monster, crazy. It’s got to stop, Adam. It’s got to.” He watched her jerk her Coonan out of her jacket pocket and crawl to one of the front windows. He was right behind her. “Becca, no, wait a minute. I want you to stay down. This is my job.”

“He’s after me, not you,” she said calmly and, slowly, very cautiously, leaned up to look out of the corner of the window. He thought he’d collapse of fright right then.

Another two shots came at heart level through the front door, spewing shards of wood into the entrance hall. Another shot. Becca saw the flash of light. She didn’t hesitate, just fired off all seven rounds. He heard the click click click when there were no more bullets in the clip.

There was dead silence. Adam was on his knees right behind her, furious with himself because his Delta Elite was in his carryall in the guest bedroom. “Becca? I want you to stay right here. Don’t move. I’ve got to get my gun. Stay down.”

She gave him a quick look. “Go ahead and don’t worry. We’re not helpless. I hit him, I know it, Adam.”

“Just stay down.”

“It’s okay.” He watched her pull another magazine out of her jacket pocket. He stared at her as she slowly, calmly shoved it into the Coonan.

“Go get your gun,” she said, looking out the window, her back to him. “If I didn’t hit him, I can at least keep him away from the house.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was up the stairs and to the bedroom in three seconds flat. When he came back downstairs, his pistol in his hand, Becca hadn’t moved. “I haven’t seen a thing,” she called out. “Do you think maybe I was lucky enough to hit him?”

“I plan to find out. Keep a sharp lookout. And don’t shoot me.”

And then he was gone before she could draw a breath. She heard him walk quickly through the kitchen, then the back door opened and closed very quietly. She prayed she’d hit him. Maybe right in his throat, where he’d hit the governor. Or in the gut. He deserved that for killing that poor old bag lady. She waited, waited, not moving, watching for Adam, for his shadow, anything to show her he was all right.

Time passed so slowly she thought it would become night before anything more happened. Suddenly, she heard a shout.

“Come on out, Becca!”

Adam. It was Adam and he sounded all right. She was through the front door like a shot, her hair tangling in her face, realizing only then that she was sweating and cold at the same time, and laughing. Yes, she was laughing because they were safe. They’d beaten the monster. This time.

Adam was standing at the edge of the woods, waving toward her. It was in the exact same direction where she’d fired off all seven rounds. He waited until she was right in front of him. He smiled down at her, then wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her hard. “You got the bastard, Becca. Come take a look.”

Blood on fallen leaves. Like Christmas decorations-rich dark red on deep green.

“I got him,” she whispered. “I really got him.”

“You sure did. I’ve looked but I can’t find a trail because once he realized he was out of the game, he stanched the wound and carefully brushed ground cover over his tracks so he wouldn’t leave any kind of a trail.”

“I got him,” she said again, and she was smiling. “Oh God, Adam, no!”

“What is it?”

“Your arm.” She dropped her Coonan back into her jacket pocket and grabbed his hand. “Don’t move. Look, this splinter of wood is stuck in you like a knife. Come back to the house and let me get it out. Oh God, does it hurt really bad?”

He looked down at the shard of wood sticking like a crude knife out of his upper arm. He hadn’t even felt it. “It didn’t hurt before I knew about it. Now it hurts like the very devil. Well, shit.”

Thirty minutes later, they were arguing. “No, I’m not going to a doctor. The first thing the doctor would do is call Sheriff Gaffney. You don’t want that, Becca. I’m fine. You’ve disinfected me and bandaged me up. You did a great job. No problem. Let it go. You even pushed three aspirin down my gullet. Now, how about a big jigger of brandy and I’ll be ready to sing opera.”

She thought of Sheriff Gaffney coming here and asking questions about a guy who shot at them. “My my, who’d want to do that, folks?”

She gave him another aspirin for good measure, and since she had no brandy, she gave him a diet Dr Pepper.

“Close,” he said and downed a huge drink.