Whiskey Beach Part 27

"SING," Maureen said as she came in with a gla.s.s of water in one hand, a gla.s.s of whiskey in the other. "Self-defense. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. Abra, you're a miracle."

"I didn't think. I just did it. I must've given him a nosebleed. I don't know. I got loose, and I ran. I ran out and came here. I feel ... a little sick."

"Sip some water. Slowly."

"Okay. All right. I need to call Eli. He needs to know."

"I'll take care of it," Mike told her. "Just give me the number, and I'll take care of it."

Abra sipped, breathed, sipped again. "It's on my phone. I didn't take my phone. It's at home."

"I'll get it. I'll take care of it."

"I didn't let him hurt me. Not this time." Abra clamped a hand on her mouth as the tears came. "Not this time."

Maureen sat beside her, drew Abra into her arms and rocked.

"Sorry. Sorry."

"Shh. You're okay."

"I am okay." But Abra held tight. "I should be dancing. I didn't fall apart-until now. I did everything right. He didn't hurt me. I didn't let him hurt me. It just ... it brings it back."

"I know."

"But that's done." She eased back, rubbed tears away. "I handled it. But for G.o.d's sake, Maureen, somebody broke into Bluff House. I don't know where they were or what they were doing. I didn't notice anything out of place, but I only went up to the gym, into the kitchen. I nearly went into the bas.e.m.e.nt to check the generator, but ... He could've been down there. He must've cut the power to get in. The power was down. I-"

"Drink this now." Maureen pushed the whiskey into her hand. "And just take it slow."

"I'm all right." She took a slow sip of whiskey, breathed out when it ran warm down her sore throat. "It started to storm, and I couldn't remember if I'd closed all the windows. It nagged me, so I drove down. I just thought the power had gone out. I didn't see him, Maureen, or hear him. Not with the rain and the wind."

"You made him bleed."

Calmer now, Abra looked down. "I made him bleed. Good for me. I hope I broke his G.o.dd.a.m.n nose."

"I hope so, too. You're my hero."

"You're mine. Why do you think I came straight here?"

Mike came back in. "He's on his way," he told them. "And the police are headed down to Bluff House. They'll be here to talk to you after they do whatever they do." He walked over, handed Abra a sweatshirt. "I thought you might want this."

"Thanks. G.o.d, Mike. Thanks. You're the best."

"That's why I keep him." After a bolstering pat of her hand on Abra's thigh, Maureen rose. "I'm going to make coffee."

As she walked out, Mike crossed over to turn off the TV. He sat, took a sip of Abra's whiskey. Smiled at her.

"So, how was your day?" he asked, and made her laugh.

CHAPTER Eight

ELI MADE IT FROM BOSTON TO WHISKEY BEACH IN UNDER two hours. He'd driven in then out of the teeth of the storm as it blew south. The twenty-minute h.e.l.l he'd navigated in its center helped keep his mind focused.

Just drive, he'd told himself. And don't think outside of the car and the road.

Little fingers of fog swirled up from the road as he barreled through the village. Streetlights threw out wavery beams to glisten on puddles, on streams snaking into gutters, then he was out of the lights, away from the storefronts and restaurants and taking the curve on the beach road.

He yanked the wheel, swung to the shoulder in front of Laughing Gull. Even as he strode toward the narrow front porch, the door in the neighboring cottage opened.

"Eli?"

He didn't know the man who stepped out, dragging on a light jacket as he crossed the short patch of lawn.

"Mike O'Malley," he said as he held out a hand. "I've been keeping an eye out for you.

The voice on the phone, of course. "Abra."

"She's with us." He gestured toward his house. "She's okay-mostly it just shook her up. There are a couple cops down at Bluff House. You'll want to talk to them. I-"

"Later. I want to see Abra."

"Back in the kitchen." Mike led the way.

"Did he hurt her?"

"Shook her up," Mike repeated, "scared her. He had her in a chokehold so she's a little raw. But it looks like she hurt him a lot more than he did her. He gave her some bruises, but she made him bleed."

Eli registered the pride in Mike's voice, a.s.sumed it was meant to be rea.s.suring. But he wanted to see for himself. Needed to see.

He heard her voice as they turned out of a cozy living room and into a wide-open kitchen/great room. She sat at a table in a baggy blue hooded sweatshirt, thick pink socks on her feet. She looked up, a combination of sympathy and apology on her face. Surprise replaced it when he knelt at her feet, took her hands.

"Where's the ring?"

"Shut up." He scanned her face, then lifted his fingers, gently, to the raw marks on her neck. "Where else are you hurt?"

"I'm not." Her hands squeezed his, in grat.i.tude, in rea.s.surance. "I'm not. He scared me."

Eli looked to Maureen for corroboration.

"She's okay. If I didn't think that, she'd be in the ER, whether she liked it or not." Maureen pushed up, gestured toward the coffeepot and whiskey bottle that stood side by side. "Which do you want, or a combination thereof?"

"Coffee. Thanks."