Sanctuary (47 page)

“No, but it matters to you.” He stepped closer. “A lot of things, a lot of people can matter to you without taking over your life. You matter to me.”

Alarm jingled in her heart, and she took a hasty step back. “Nathan—” She nearly fell as the ground sucked at her feet.

“You're going to end up back in the river.” He took her arms in a firm grip. “Then you'll accuse me of pushing you in again. That's not what I'm doing. I'm not pushing you, Jo Ellen. But I'm not going to be sorry if you slip.”

“I like keeping my feet under me, and knowing where the ground gives before I step on it.”

“Sometimes you've got to try new territory. This is unexplored ground for me, too.”

“That's not true. You've been married, you—”

“She wasn't you,” he said quietly and Jo went still in his arms. “I never felt about her the way I'm feeling about you, right now. She never looked at me the way you're looking at me. And I never wanted her as much as I want you. That was what was wrong with it all along. I didn't know it, didn't understand how much of it was my fault until I saw you again.”

“You're moving too fast for me.”

“Then keep up. And goddamn it, Jo Ellen,” he said with an impatient sigh as he tipped her head back. “Give in a little.”

She tasted the impatience when his mouth met hers, and the need that went deeper than she'd allowed herself to see. The quick flare of panic inside her fought with a shiver of delight. And the warm stream that shimmered in her blood felt like hope.

“Maybe you're not pushing.” She didn't resist when he gathered her closer. “But I feel like I'm sinking.” She rested her head on his shoulder, willed her brain to clear. “Part of me just wants to let it happen, and another part keeps fighting to kick back to the surface. I don't know which is best, for me or for you.”

He needed that glimmer of hope, the whisper in his heart that promised if she loved him enough, if they loved each other enough, they could survive what had happened. And what was to come.

“Why don't you think about which makes you happier instead of which may be best?”

It sounded so simple that she started to smile. She watched the river flow, wondered if it was time for her just to dive in and see where it took her. She could almost see herself riding that current. See herself rushing along it.

Trapped under the surface, staring up. Dragged down away from air and light.

The scream ripped from her throat, had her sinking to her knees before he could catch her.

“Jo, for God's sake!”

“In the water. In the water.” She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the bubbling hysteria. “Is it Mama? Is it Mama in the water?”

“Stop it.” He knelt beside her, dragged her around by the shoulders until her face was close to his. “Look at me. I want you to stop it. I'm not letting you fall apart. I'm not letting it happen, so you just look at me and pull back.”

“I saw—” She had to gulp for air. “In the water, I saw—I'm losing my mind, Nathan. I can't hold on to it.”

“Yes, you can.” Desperately he pulled her close. “You can hold on to me. Just hold on to me.” As she shuddered against him, he looked down grimly at the surface of the river.

And saw the pale ghost staring up at him.

“Jesus God.” His arms tightened convulsively on Jo. Then he shoved her back and slid heedlessly into the rising river. “She's in here,” he shouted, grabbing on to a downed limb to keep himself from being swept clear. “Give me a hand with her.”

“What?”

“You're not losing your mind.” Panting with the effort, Nathan reached out with his free hand and gripped hair. “There's someone in here! Help me get her out.”

“Oh, my God.” Without hesitation now, Jo bellied up to the edge, fighting to anchor her toes in the slippery bank. “Give me your hand, Nathan. Try to hold on to her and I'll help pull you up. Is she alive? Is she breathing?”

He'd gotten a closer look now, a clearer look. And his stomach lurched with horror and pity. The river hadn't been kind. “No.” He spoke flatly, shifting his grip on the limb. His gaze lifted to Jo's. “No, she's not alive. I'll hold on here, keep her from going downriver. You get to Sanctuary for help.”

She was calm now, cold and calm. “We'll get her out together,” she said and stretched out her hand.

I
T was a hideous, grisly task. Twice Nathan lost his grip as he tried to free Susan Peters's hair from the spearing branches that had trapped her body. He went under, fiercely blanking out his mind when her arms knocked into his belly. He could hear Jo calling him, concentrated on the desperate calm in her voice, as together they struggled to free what was left of Susan from the river.

Ignoring her lurching stomach, Jo slid farther over the bank, with the water lapping and rushing over her chin when she hooked her arms under the body. Her breath came short and shallow as for one gutwrenching moment she was face-to-face with death.

She knew the shutter in her mind had clicked, capturing the image, preserving it. Making it part of her forever.

Then she hauled, grunting, digging knees and feet into the soggy ground. She let the body roll, couldn't bear even to watch. She thrust her hands out, felt Nathan's grip them, slip, clutch again. When he was chest-high out of the water, squirming his way free from the river, she rolled away and retched.

“Go back to the cottage.” He coughed violently, spat to clear the taste of river and death from his mouth.

“I'll be all right.” She rocked back on her heels, felt the first hot tears flow down her icy cheeks. “I just need a minute. I'll be all right.”

She had no more color than what they had pulled from the river did, and she was shaking so hard he was surprised he couldn't hear her bones clattering. “Go back to the cottage. You need dry clothes.” He closed a hand over hers. “You have to call Sanctuary for help. We can't leave her like this, Jo.”

“No. No, you're right.” Steeling herself, she turned her head. The body was paste gray and bloated, the hair dark and matted and slick with debris. But she had once been a woman. “I'll get something to cover her. I'll get her a blanket.”

“Can you make it on your own?”

She nodded, and though her body felt hollowed out and frighteningly brittle, she pushed herself to her feet. She looked down at him. His face was pale and filthy, his eyes reddened from the water. She thought of the way he'd gone into the angry river, without hesitation, without a thought for anything but what needed to be done.

“Nathan.”

He used the heel of his hand to wipe the mud off his chin, and the gesture was sharp. “What?”

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Later.”

He waited until he heard her footsteps recede, waited until he heard nothing but the roar of the river and the thud of his own laboring heart. Then he pulled himself over to the body, forced himself to turn it, to look. She'd been pretty once—he knew that. She would never be pretty again. Gritting his teeth, he touched her, easing her head to the side until he could see, until he could be sure.

There, scoring her neck, were livid red bruises. He snatched his hand away, drew up his knees and pressed his face into the filthy denim of his jeans.

Sweet Jesus, sweet Jesus. What was happening here?

Fear was worse than grief, sharper than guilt. And when one rolled into the other, it left the soul sickened.

Still, he had himself under control when Jo came back. She hadn't changed her clothes, but he said nothing, just helped her spread the thin yellow blanket over the body.

“They're coming.” She scrubbed her fingers over her mouth. “Brian and Kirby. I got Bri on the phone, told him ... told him. He said he'd bring her, a doctor, but wasn't going to tell anyone else until ...”

She trailed off, looked helplessly into the trees. “Why would she have come up here, Nathan? Why in God's name would she have gone into the river? Maybe she fell in the dark, hit her head. It's horrible. I was prepared that we'd find her drowned, washed up on the beach. Somehow this is worse.”

Only yards from his door, was all he could think. Only yards from where he'd just made love to Jo. Where he had dared the gods, he thought with a hard shudder.

Had the body come downriver, or had it been put in here, so close he could almost have seen it from his kitchen window on a clear afternoon?

She slipped her hand into his, concerned that it was still icy and as lifeless as the body that lay on the bank. “You're soaked through and frozen. Go get into dry clothes. I'll wait for them.”

“I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving you. Or her.”

Thinking of warmth and comfort, she put her arms around him. “That was the kindest and bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do.” She pressed her lips to his throat, wanting to feel him give, respond. “You went in for her. You could have left her, but you went in. Getting her out wouldn't have mattered to some.”

“It mattered.”

“To you. You're a good man, Nathan. I'll never forget what you did.”

He closed his eyes tight, then drew away without touching her. “They're coming,” he said flatly. Even as he turned, Brian and Kirby came hurrying down the path.

Kirby took a quick look at both of them. “Go inside, get in a hot shower. I'll take a look at you shortly.” She moved past them and knelt by the blanket.

Jo stood her ground. “It has to be Mrs. Peters. She was caught up on that branch. She must have fallen in sometime last night, and the storm brought her downriver.”

Jo steadied herself, reached for Nathan's hand again as Brian knelt beside Kirby. Brian nodded grimly when Kirby folded the blanket down.

“That's her. They came in for meals a couple of times. Goddamn it.” He sat back on his heels, scrubbed his hands over his face. “I'll go find her husband. We need to take her somewhere—somewhere better than this.”

“No, she can't be moved.” Kirby fought her words out over the thick beat of her heart. “You need to call the police and tell them to get out here quickly. I don't believe she drowned.” Gently, she lifted the chin, exposed the raw bruising. “It looks as though she was strangled. She was murdered.”

 

 

“HOW could this be? How could this happen?” Lexy curled up tight in the corner of the couch in the family parlor. She gripped her hands together to keep herself from biting her nails. “People don't get murdered on Desire. People just don't. Kirby has to be wrong.”

“We'll find out soon enough.” Kate switched the ceiling fan up to high to try to stir the heavy air. “The police will tell us. Either way, that poor woman's dead, and her husband . . . Jo Ellen, stop prowling so and sit, drink that brandy. You're bound to catch a terrible chill.”

“I can't sit.” Jo continued to pace from window to window, though she couldn't have said what she was looking for.

“I wish you would sit.” Lexy spoke plaintively. “You're about to drive me to distraction. I wish Giff was here. I don't see why he has to be down there with the others instead of here with me.”

“Oh, stop whining for five minutes,” Jo snapped. “Hold your own hand for a change.”

“Don't. Don't the two of you start.” Kate threw up her hands. “I can't stand it just now.”

“And I can't stand this waiting. I'm going back out.” Jo walked to the door. “I've got to see what's happening. I've got to do something.”

“Jo! Don't go out alone.” Kate pressed a hand to her head. “I'm already worried sick. Please don't go out there alone.”

Seeing her cousin look suddenly old and shaky, Jo changed her mind. “You're right. None of us should go out. We're just in the way. You sit down, Kate. Come on, now.” She took Kate's arm and led her toward the sofa beside Lexy. “You sit down and have a brandy. You're worn out.”

“I'll get the brandy,” Lexy said.

“Just give her mine,” Jo told Lexy as she rose. “I don't want it.”

“If fussing over me will keep the two of you from snapping at each other, then fuss away.” She took the brandy Lexy offered her and smiled weakly. “We should have fresh coffee for when they come in. I don't know when Brian last made any.”

“I'll take care of it.” Lexy leaned down to kiss Kate's cheek. “Don't you worry.” But when she straightened she saw Giff in the doorway.

“They're coming in. They want to talk to Jo.”

“All right.” Jo closed a hand gratefully over the one Lexy touched to her arm. “I'm ready.”

 

 

“HOW much longer will they peck at her?” Brian stood on the front porch, listening to the jungle sounds of cicadas and peepers filling the air.

“It can't be much longer,” Kirby said quietly. “They've had her in there nearly an hour. They didn't keep Nathan more than an hour.”

“She shouldn't have to go through this. It's bad enough she found the body, helped drag it out of the water, without having to go over and over it again.”

“I'm sure they'll make it as easy on her as they can.” She only sighed when he whirled and scalded her with a look. “Brian, there's nothing else to be done, no other choices to be made. A woman's been murdered. Questions have to be asked.”

“Jo sure as hell didn't kill her.” He threw himself down on the porch swing. “It's easier for you. Big-city doctor. Seen it all, done it all.”