So Hard To Forget Part 17

What Nicole was saying worded Max deeply. She seemed to believe she could handle Gillman single-handedly. "He's not a rogue bear you're tracking. He's not a crazed mountain lion or a cornered wolf.

He's much more cunning and lethal."

"I'll be careful."

"Of course you will, because you won't be alone with him." He would have said more, reinforced his position, but the walkie-talkie on the bedside table buzzed. "Yeah, what's up?" he said, and turned up the volume so Nicole could hear.

Doug laughed. "You two should see him. He's sitting on the side of the bed staring at his feet. He's been like that for about thirty minutes. Just sitting and staring. You think he's trying to hatch a plan?"

"More than likely. Keep me informed." Max pressed the Off b.u.t.ton and pitched the instrument between them.

"You have his bedroom bugged?"

Max laughed. "Yup. With hidden cameras, too. We know every move he makes, every expression." "But not what he's thinking and planning?" "What can he do with his every move monitored?" Nicole thought back to the look he'd given her and Max when it was bedtime and obvious they were going to sleep in the same bed. He hadn't been able to mask the jealous rage but did manage to keep a hold on his temper, excused himself and went to the room they'd offered him. "He wasn't thrilled with our sleeping arrangements."

Max grinned. "That was the idea. It's got to be eating him up, thinking of us in bed together, imagining what we're doing together. He has all night to think, and he's going to start coming unglued. Mark my words, tomorrow we're going to see a dramatic change in Gillman." Max's mood became thoughtful.

it"

"I don't like , "What? That he's not punching holes in the wall?" "No," he said, and touched her cheek. "I don't like it that we're not fulfilling his wildest fantasies."

She knocked his hand away. "Let's not get into that now."

"When, Nicky? After this is all over? I don't think SO.".

"Listen, New York, I've told you it's--" He placed his finger over her lips.

"Don't say it." He gave a short wayward curl a tug, and when she didn't move away or react, he said, "I want to tell you about Sandra."

Nicole shrugged indifferently. She told herself she didn't want to hear about a man in love with a dead woman. It was sick. But Max seemed determined to tell her, and in a sense she was his hostage.

"To set a trap for Gillman, I had to get into Sandra's head, think her thoughts and feel her pain and humiliation at his hands. I learned all that by talking and interviewing her family and friends, reading her letters and her diaries. It's an old investigator's trick if you want to snare the killer. I came to know your sister better than I knew myself. Sandra was everything I thought I wanted in a woman. She was sweet-natured, shy, loved children and animals; She had an inner softness, a goodness in her that reached out to people and those she loved.

"The more I researched and investigated her life, the deeper I sank into a fantasy world of my own making. Sure, I fell in love with her. She didn't talk back, didn't argue. And I was like a man possessed, in my need to get Gillman. She was too good a person, too sweet to be forced to endure what he put her through, and just because she was rich, he killed her. Long before that, he used and destroyed her gentleness and kindness. He took her from those who loved and cared for her, took her to a strange place and coldbloodedly murdered her. No matter how you look at it it wasn't right. He has to pay.

"My obsession wasn't being in love with Sandra. I got those emotions into perspective very quickly. It was to bring Gillman to justice for taking her life." Max ran his knuckles across Nicole's cheek. "I haven't mixed you up with Sandra. I know the difference, believe me.

Except for looks, you are nothing like her."

Nicole realized she wanted more than anything to believe him, and in wanting to so desperately, she understood something else--she'd gone and fallen in love. But what would it leave her with? Nothing, she figured, but heartache. He was sophisticated, rich, with a demanding and thriving business and friends. They were so far apart he might as well have lived on the moon. Montana was not a place for Max Warner, and New York would destroy her. She closed her eyes and told him it would never work and why.

His only response was a laugh and a kiss. Desire bloomed like a field of flowers in a spring shower. Afterward, as she lay spent, secure in his arms, she wondered how it would all end.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

DAWN BROUGHT more than light. With it came an oppressive heat, an unnatural stillness and a sky that looked as if it had been slashed and bruised. Ominous dark clouds boiled and churned over the sea, moving fast and spreading out as they devoured the sky. Even the sun looked strange, as if it had been draped in red gauze. Last night's storm had cut them off from all communications except the ship-to-sh.o.r.e radio on the yacht tied at the dock, and they were all waiting for Jim to return with a weather report.

Nicole stood with her back to the usually cheery sunroom and sipped her coffee, watching as the wind came up. She was tired of the endless angry arguments that had been going on for more than an hour. When John shoved back his chair, cursed them all and stormed out of the house, she didn't even bother turning around. He seemed more determined than ever to take her back to the mainland. Over Max's dead body, she thought.

She guessed Max was the reason she was so pensive. She desperately wanted to believe everything he'd told her last night. Honesty was hard to judge; it could get so d.a.m.n tangled up with needs and denial. She knew deep down she trusted him, and she had let her own uncertainties and insecurities blind her. But no matter how she felt about him, it wasn't going to make any difference. When Gillman confessed, and if his earlier behavior was any indication he was close to the breaking point, what was left for her and Max but to go their separate ways?

Mentally exhausted, she leaned her head against the window, then jerked her head back in surprise. The gla.s.s was clammy, sweating from the stifling heat outside and the cooler interior. Her gaze was drawn to the abrupt change beyond the window. Shrubbery was being whipped and the palms were bending with the force of the wind, looking as if they were going to snap in two. Wet leaves and small branches were sent skidding and dancing across the gra.s.s, to be sucked up into the air and scattered in all directions.

A heavy lawn chair tumbled and banged across the patio, stopping only when it hit the wall of the house. Nicole jumped. She was turning around to tell the others about the change when the door flew open and slammed against the wall, shattering the gla.s.s. Jim struggled inside looking wind beaten and holding his left arm. Everyone started talking at once, demanding to know what was happening.

"That little tropical disturbance has turned into a full-fledged hurricane, and it's heading fight this way,"

While Doug and Paul struggled with what was left of the door and Andy raced to get a broom, Max led Jim over to a chair, but the big man waved him away. "I was tying down the yacht more securely and got knocked right off my feet. I landed on my shoulder."

The wind suddenly howled and everyone listened to the b.u.mps and crashes against the house. Max glanced around. "Doug, take Paul and John and batten down all the outside shutters. Andy, Karen and LeRoy can come with me. We need to get the table and chairs off the patio. The wind's going to make anything that's not tied down a flying missile." He turned to Helen. "You stay here with Nicky." In the state of excitement and a real sense of emergency, no one gave John Gillman a thought.

Nicole followed Max to the door. "Helen and I can bring in the furniture from the patio. You worry about getting the windows and doors covered. Go on, don't worry about us."

The patio and pool were somewhat protected on three sides. But the wind still managed to beat mercilessly at their backs. She'd never been in a hurricane before and didn't know what to do or what to expect. With a chair between them and the wind playing tug-of-war, she started laughing. Helen joined her--but then abruptly stopped as she looked past Nicole's shoulder.

It took a moment for Nicole to realize that Helen had gone still. She glanced over her shoulder and froze. John Gillman was jogging up the steps.

Helen looked around frantically for one of the men. Nicole set the chair down and touched her arm in warning, then said, "John, thank heavens! Jim says a hurricane is headed this way. Help us drag this stuff into the house."

There was something wrong with his eyes. They were vacuous, unblinking, the pupils dilated into bottomless pits of darkness. She'd seen that steady dead-eyed stare before in animals about to attack. "John!" she screamed as she tried to distract him. The wind s.n.a.t.c.hed her voice from between them and he leaned closer. He reeked of whiskey. She recoiled, and when arm.

Helen couldn't hear what was happening. All she could think was that he had his hands on Nicole. She panicked, knocked his hands away and stepped between them. "Run!" she yelled. "Now!"

Nicole knew better than to run, but the horrible face John turned on Helen and the desperation in the older woman's voice sent an erroneous message to her feet. She suddenly found herself heading down the patio steps, running with one goal in mind--to find Max or one of his staff. But as she stepped on the gra.s.s and out of the shelter of the house, the full force of the wind caught her, stopping her dead in her tracks. TwiSting sideways, she tried to use her body like a wedge, a knife, to cut through the wall of wind. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of Helen on the ground, John standing over her with the chair raised above his head.

She screamed his name, but her voice was sucked away as if she'd made no sound. Horrified at the tableau playing out before her, she kept screaming and started back to help Helen. What she couldn't understand was why Helen wasn't looking up, pleading with John, but staring at her. Though she couldn't hear what the older woman was saying, she could read her lips. Runt Helen was saying. Run.t Nicole turned around again and ran.

Bent double, against the wind, she ran.

But her feet didn't seem to be making much ground. The fierce wind kept pushing her back, making her stumble. She tried not to think about John Gillman, just kept moving as best she could, straggling to put one foot in front of the other.

Then, making her attempted escape worse, it started to rain. Solid sheets of water, it seemed, that pure me led her head and shoulders until she stumbled under the intensity. Once she almost fell to her knees but managed to catch herself and stagger off again. She was soaked to the skin and shivering from cold and terror. Raising her head, she faced the storm, straining to see through the silver curtain and get her bearings. She thought she saw the corner of the house and started in that direction. But suddenly her arm was caught in a viselike grip.

She turned her head and came face-to-face with John Gillman. Her arm hurt and she wanted to jerk it free, but she made herself stand perfectly still and give him stare for stare. It didn't do any good. He smiled and the water rolled over his face and poured off his nose and lips.

Well, Nicole thought, she wasn't about to go quietly into the night.

Surprise was her best defense. She shoved her shoulder into his chest and at the same time yanked and twisted her arm. Free, she managed two steps before she felt a blinding pain on her neck. A sensation of numbness spread through her body like an icy chill, then came a paralysis. It radiated outward to her arms and down her legs. Her knees gave out from under her and she crumpled, unable to stop or brace herself.

Soggy gra.s.s cushioned her fall. Get up. Get up.t But her leaden body barely obeyed her. She managed to lift her head in time to see Max as he rounded the corner of the house. She knew he hadn't seen John. His attention was on her. Her mind screamed, trying to warn him, but as she watched, John's fist caught Max by surprise and he went down like a felled tree. Then John was leaning over her, touching her neck again. The pain was excruciating, every nerve ending in her body was on fire, then just as abruptly she turned cold. Her vision blurred, images wavered and dimmed. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was John's beautiful maniacal smile.

lx GROANED, rolled over and sat up. His jaw throbbed and he was dazed. He couldn't figure out what he was doing sitting on the wet ground in the rain, or where he was, for that matter. Then it all came back in a blind flash of pain, fear and rage. He struggled to his feet, and then weaved, dizzy from the movement. Once his head cleared a little, be began looking around. The wind shoved at his efforts to move, pulling at his hair, whipping at his clothes.

John had Nicky. The accusation stung, and the pain was so intense it felt like the sting of a million bees.

John had Nicky. Max knew he'd failed to keep her safe. Guilt ate at his gut. He was sick with dread.

John had Nicky. It was all Max could think about as he frantically looked around. Then hope surged through him. From the corner of his eye, he caught a movement and sprinted up the patio steps. But no, it wasn't Nicky. His heart plummeted as he fell to his knees at Helen's side. He wanted to know what had happened, everything, but was struck dumb by urgency and fear.

With great effort, Helen tried to get up, but she was hampered by the pain in her shoulder where she'd taken the brunt of the blow. When Max leaned over her to help her, she gazed into his ravaged face and cried, "He's got Nicky, Max! You have to stop him." She brushed away his helping hands. "Don't worry about me. I'm okay. Go. Go on. Now, Max, before he hurts her."

He didn't need encouragement and turned to leave. Doug and Jim caught him as he reached the corner of the house. They'd been battling to get the shutters secured over the front windows when they realized Max hadn't returned.

Max was like a wild man.

"John has Nicky!" he shouted, and kept moving, heading for the only place John could have taken her. The wind and rain were twin demons, pulling, tugging at his efforts to ran. He knew Doug and Jim would follow him.

As he ran, heading for the lagoon and the dock, he kept telling himself that John might be a killer, but he wouldn't do anything to endanger himself. Surely he wasn't foolish enough to think he could take the boat out. Max prayed he was right. But that sick feeling that he'd misjudged John rushed back.

The wind almost knocked him off the steep steps leading to the dock. The rain made it difficult to see. Waves crashed against the wooden pylons and sent a sheet of water up in the air, making his footing precarious, but he kept moving, bending into the force of the wind. When he reached the end, he gazed through the gray rain at the empty s.p.a.ce in disbelief and her-mr. He cupped his hands over his eyes and stared out at the lagoon.

Waves slammed around him, sending up sprays of water that stung his eyes until tears ran down his face. He watched as a yacht struggled, dipped, rolled and bucked its way out of the lagoon, heading for the open sea. He cupped his mouth and screamed Nicole's name.

Doug and Jim made it to his side. For a moment the three men stood like pillars of stone, watching the yacht being swallowed up by the wind, rain and the angry sea. With water pouring from his face, Max looked from Jim to Doug. "I'm going after her."

"Have you lost your mind?" Doug yelled over the howl of the wind. Then saw Max's face and had his answer. Doug grabbed Max's arm as if the act would hold him back. "They'll never make it Max." Max brushed him off and headed toward their own boat. Jim and Doug ran alongside him, keeping him he-tween them. "It's suicide."

As they came close to the huge yacht, LeRoy met them at the gangway. "I saw you running across the yard. I've already been on board." He leaned closer so they could all hear him. Max was impatient to get on board, but LeRoy planted himself directly in front of him. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d sabotaged some wiring. She's dead in the water."

Max glared at LeRoy and ground out between clenched teeth, "Fix it."

"Come on, Max," Doug said. "We'll contact the Coast Guard. It's the only thing we can do for now. As soon as the storm pa.s.ses we'll start our own search. Listen, man. Gillman was a Navy SEAL. He knows how to handle boats and how to survive."

"But she doesn't." Max wiped at the water streaming down his face and met Doug's gaze.

"We can't go after her, Max."

"I didn't ask you to. I can handle the boat myself." He looked at LeRoy, then Jim. "Can you fix her? Can either of you get her running?"

Doug grabbed Max by the shoulder. "You can't do it alone, Max. You know it and we know it. If you try, you'll kill yourself."

"Tm going after her." He turned his tortured eyes on LeRoy. "Get out of my way or I'll knock you out." LeRoy looked helplessly at Doug and Jim, shrugged, then did as he was told and stepped aside.

Jim grabbed Max's shoulder, and when his hand was knocked away, he held both hands up in surrender. "I'll get her running, but I'm coming with you."

Doug and LeRoy watched them board the wildly rocking yacht. Doug ran his fingers through his wet hair, then pulled his gla.s.ses off, ineffectively wiped them with the soaked tail of his shirt, then put them firmly back on. His shoulders lifted and fell in resignation, he timed the rocking of the yacht, then jumped aboard. He looked at a startled LeRoy. "Go tell the others what's happened. Call the Coast Guard." He grabbed the railing, leaned forward and yelled, "And say a prayer for us. We're going to need it."

SHE AWAKENED to the pitch and roll of the floor under her. But that didn't make any sense. A floor didn't move. Then she remembered... and was loath to open her eyes. She was bodily lifted up and just as abruptly slammed down. All she could see was dark wood, wet with water and the shine of bra.s.s, as she stared at the moving floor. It all came back to her. She was on a boat. With John.

She straggled to sit up by using a corner to wedge her body against the violent motion, then pushed herself into an upright position. Taking quick stock, she was relieved to see she wasn't hurt or tied up. Using the corner, she spread her feet and pushed up. The floor bucked and pitched under her feet, and she grabbed hold of the bra.s.s railing and glanced around.

The smaller than the one she Max had used to get it Max had called it? The helm or navigation station? It bothered her that she couldn't think straight.

Her gaze shifted around the gla.s.sed-in area. Suddenly she didn't care what it was called. Her attention was centered on John Gillman. He was standing with his feet spread wide and his hands on a round wooden wheel. Like her, he was soaking wet, his hair plastered to his head, his knit shirt like a second skin showing the bulge and strain on his muscles as he fought to hold on to the wheel.

It was as if she was awakening from an awful dream. She was holding herself upright, then everything tilted sideways and she was sent stumbling and skidding across the floor only to have her momentum stopped as she slammed into John's body. He shoved her away without a word or a look. As she lay still and tried to catch her breath, everything heaved sideways again, only in the opposite direction, and she was sent rolling back to her corner.

She grabbed for the bra.s.s railing with both hands and hung on, straggling to catch her breath again. Her fear almost choked her. She knew he had actually taken them out of the safety of the lagoon into the mouth of the storm--and they were about to be swallowed whole.

"John!" she screamed. "Are you crazy? Take us back." He couldn't hear her over the roar of the wind and the waves smashing against the boat. Hand over hand she began to pull her way toward him, only to be stopped as a low wooden storage door slammed open. It smacked her in the shins, and as she fought to close it a oouple of big neon-orange life preservers tumbled out. She grabbed one, her fingers just catching the straps as it slid by. She quickly put it on and secured it as tightly as she could.

Once again she began pulling herself across the slick heaving floor. Just as she was within reach of John, she turned her head and gazed in horror out the window. The sea around them was wild and angry, and the yacht rode it like a cork on a roller coaster. As she watched, the yacht was plunged into a valley of dark green water as if it was being sucked to the bottom of the world. Just when she thought they were being pulled to the bottom of the sea, they were suddenly riding out of the dark hole, only to have a wave crash over the bow.

She could hear the big engine whine and groan as the yacht shook and trembled under her feet. Slowly she dragged her gaze from what was happening outside and faced another danger. John's face was set in a grimace as he struggled to keep them afloat. "You fool," she screamed, "turn back! You're going to kill us!" Of course that was the idea, she realized, only he hadn't planned on joining her. "John. John!"

He tore his gaze from the front window and the water smashing into it and finally acknowledged she was there. There was real fear in his eyes, and her heart sank to her toes. He knew they weren't going to make it.

"You b.i.t.c.h, why the h.e.l.l aren't you dead?" He growled like a wounded animal. "I had it all planned." Keeping one hand on the wheel, he grabbed her around the throat with his other.

His eyes glowed eerily in the green fluorescent lights from the instrument panel. His mouth curled into a cruel smile as he squeezed. Nicole fought to get free, slapping, scratching, bUt his hand only tightened.

When the yacht heaved and rolled sideways, she found herself free and struggling to breathe. He reached for her again, but she jerked away, and he was only able to catch hold of her life preserver. He shook her like a wet dog.

Wonderful, she thought fearing her teeth would come loose in her head from the shaking. He admits he killed Sandra and there's no one around to hear. No witnesses--just her, and now they were both about to die. The yacht pitched sideways again, and the force tore her from his grip. She stumbled and skidded across the floor, windmilling her arms to regain her balance until she grabbed hold of the vacant captain's stool to stop her slide into the wall.

He fought the wheel, cursing and ranting like a madman. She managed to catch a s.n.a.t.c.h of what he was saying. Instead of the fear she expected to feel, she was calm, warmed by her anger. He was bragging about how smart his plan had been. "How the h.e.l.l did you survive?" he yelled, the deep rage rumbling like thunder.

The wood deck under her feet trembled and groaned. She thought she could hear a splintering sound below. She wasn't about to die letting him think he'd won. h.e.l.l, she wasn't a quitter and she wasn't going to die, not if she could help it. The only way to stay alive was to take her chances in the sea Odds were she'd never make it in the water, but from the ripping and tearing sounds around and beneath her, it was her only option.

She had one chance.

One chance at survival. She had to get herself clear of the boat before John could get his hands on her. A sense of resolve filled her. She wasn't going to let him take her, too. Nicole smiled and raised her voice above the noise of the storm and the waves crashing against them. There was nothing to lose now.

"You didn't plan so good, did you, darling?" Even though she was yelling, he couldn't miss the sneer in her tone.

"Sandra." His lips said her name, but no sound came out. "You remember?"

She heard the last part and smiled. "I never forgot, John. Did you think I would or could forget what you did to me?" The yacht shuddered and rolled violently from one side to the other as another wave caught it. John didn't seem concerned with trying to set a course through the water that curled over the bow and crashed against the window.

Once she regained her footing, Nicole edged toward the doorway. She heard a strange popping sound. "You forgot how I hated cooking." She wasn't sure if she'd been right, but remembered Max telling her that John had been an explosives expert. Sandra had been cooking dinner when he'd rowed to sh.o.r.e, saying he had to pick up something they needed. That was when the boat had exploded. "All your carefully laid plans, and I simply walked away from what I was doing. Remember, I had a habit of doing that. I went out on deck to wait for you."

Now John was stalking her, as surefooted as a cat on the bucking deck. He'd left the wheel, didn't seem to notice that the yacht was breaking apart under their feet. All she needed to do was get to the deck, vault over the side and let the water take her away. Her fingers fightene,"d on a buckle of her life preserver. She kept her back to the wall as she inched her way toward the doorway.

He was gaining ground, getting closer. As he moved carefully toward her, crazy with the rage of failure, his back was to the bow of the yacht. They rode the top of the wave for a moment as if suspended. She saw what was coming and grabbed hold of the railing as the bow began to dip. All she could see was the dark chasm of water. He was thrown backward, sent crashing into the instrument panel. She threw back her head and laughed. "If I'm going to die again, I'm taking you with me this time!"

She had no intention of dying. They were sliding down into the trough of the wave. The momentum, as hard as he tried to fight it and reach her, was holding John against the panel and window. She fought to keep her balance against gravity and the angle of the yacht by wedging her feet against the floor and leaning as far back as she could. All the while she kept moving, inching her way along.

The doorway was within reach when she stumbled and almost lost her precarious hold on a life preserver that Was hung on a railing support, which had been ripped from the flooring. Scooping up the jacket, she hooked it over her elbow just as she felt the change in the yacht's descent. They were about to be sent upward.

Nicole made her move. She stepped into the open doorway, one hand on the doork.n.o.b and the other on the jamb. She hung there waiting, watching. Then she smiled. "It's your turn to be sent to h.e.l.l, John."

The yacht tilted upward, and she was thrown backward through the doorway, managing to pull the door shut as she fell through. The k.n.o.b was ripped from her hand, and she was pitched to the deck just as a huge wave broke over the bow of the boat. Her last sight of John before she was washed overboard was of him being slammed bodily into the door, his eyes wide with fear, his mouth open to scream as the gla.s.s shattered and broke.