The Vision (39 page)

Would Thor kill the man, or would he die by lethal injection? Or would he get away?

Jack was a serial killer. He didn’t even know exactly how many victims he had sent to a

watery grave. She still could hardly believe it.

She continued working furiously at the rope binding her wrists. How long could she hold

her breath?

Four minutes. She’d gone as long as four minutes once, she reminded herself. And she

was working her hands free. She could feel herself making progress.

Her lungs were already burning.

At first he could see, but then darkness became complete as he plunged deeper.

Desperation filled his heart and mind. He hit the bottom. Searched…

Hopelessness, bleak and debilitating, seized him.

And then he felt it.

Like a featherlight touch. A hand…guiding him.

Was he dying himself?

Suddenly there was a stronger light penetrating the water. At first he thought it had been sent from heaven. Then he realized that Brent had found a floodlight on Jay’s boat and

aimed it into the water for him.

But that touch…

He looked.

And he could see her.

She was blond. Beautiful. With huge blue eyes. And she was leading him.

He followed and there was Genevieve.

She was alive. She had freed her hands. She was fighting desperately with the rope that

tied her to the weight. He shot forward, his own lungs burning, cut the rope and grabbed

her by the shoulders, then kicked with all his power, shooting them toward the surface.

They broke the water gasping. Genevieve started to cough. He took her in a life-saving

hold and kicked hard for Jay’s boat, which had crashed into Jack’s.

Gasping for breath, Genevieve managed a hoarse whisper. “Audrey?”

“Blackhawk has her,” he assured her. He reached Jay’s boat and grabbed onto the small

dive platform at the rear.

It was then that Genevieve tried to scream. She managed only a croak, but it warned him.

Brent was bent over Audrey, and Jack was approaching him, one of his deadly oars in

hand.

“Blackhawk!” Thor roared.

He didn’t dare release Genevieve, sure she couldn’t possibly have the strength of a kitten

left. But she did.

She grasped the dive platform.

Thor was amazed at his own strength as he hurled himself up.

Brent turned in time, ducking the blow.

Thor charged.

Jack turned to swing, but he barely caught Thor in the upper arm before Thor tackled him

and shoved him hard against the helm.

Genevieve was staggering up; she made it far enough to sit on the platform, though she

looked as if she were going to slip back in. Thor turned his attention back to Jack, who

bellowed and thrust hard against Thor. The two of them staggered in a ghastly dance,

then crashed against the starboard rail of the boat.

Jack flipped out his knife and Thor realized then he had lost his own, dropping it after freeing Genevieve.

Jack lunged at him. He ducked, but Jack lunged again. Brent Blackhawk was reaching for

the oar. Jack saw him and darted toward the dive platform, catching Genevieve just as

she pulled herself fully aboard.

“Got ya now,” Jack taunted. There was blood pouring from the man’s mouth. He’d

probably broken a tooth in the tackle.

But he had Genevieve. And a knife.

“Jack, you’re insane. Thing is, I don’t care. If you put a single scratch on her,” he said

softly. “I will kill you in a way that will teach you agony you’ve never even begun to

imagine.”

Jack started to laugh, then began to cough as the blood choked him.

Genevieve cried out in rage, kicking him squarely in the groin. He bellowed and doubled

over, his hold easing. Thor stepped forward, wrenching Genevieve far from the other

man’s grasp. He threw her behind him and was ready to rage forward again like a

maddened bull.

“Stop,” Blackhawk cried.

He did.

Because he saw what Blackhawk saw.

They were coming from the water. Two of them…three, four…five…six.

Pirates. Tattered. Decaying. A gold tooth gleaming here. A bleached white bone sticking

through a ragged sleeve there.

Sightless eyes in empty sockets staring…

They surrounded Jack, who began to scream as he was grabbed by ghostly hands.

Jack’s eyes widened in horror, and he screamed out in an agony of terror.

“Stop! God, help me, stop!”

His body began to tilt as his bony assailants pressed at him. Then he, and they, went

overboard.

There was dead silence on the boat for a minute. Absolute stillness.

Then they rushed for the rail.

Jack surfaced and he screamed again as a bony hand emerged, grabbed him, and he went

down for the last time.

They were stunned, just staring. Then Genevieve swallowed audibly and looked at Thor.

“Audrey!” she cried.

Brent shook himself back to reality and responded. “She’s breathing, and she has a pulse.

Just barely. God knows what she went through. She was his captive for days. But I

radioed for help. The police are on the way.”

Genevieve took a deep breath of relief, then turned to stare at Thor.

“Did…did you see…?”

“Yes,” he said simply. And he took her into his arms, shaking.

I t was strange, Thor thought. Whereas Josh Harrison appeared solid and real, Anne was

gossamer.

He had gone outside, needing to see the night sky and feel the breeze. There were too

many people inside, he thought, staring out at the ocean.

Neither he nor Genevieve had lost their love for the sea, and they had returned to the

Marie Josephine project. It was their willingness to go back after nearly losing their lives that had made an impact on Marshall.

That, or maybe Gen herself, talking to him for hours, convincing him that if there were

spirits in the ocean, they’d been trying to tell him something, not kill him.

Of course, they never mentioned ghosts themselves. What had happened that night out on

the water remained between Genevieve, Blackhawk and himself.

Victor and Genevieve had patched up their differences. Genevieve had been buying

Victor apology dinners ever since.

As for the project, not even Jack had known where to find the bulk of the treasure, but

Genevieve had found a large section of the hull. The vacuuming equipment had been

brought in, and a chest filled with treasure had been found.

It was with Adam, Bethany and the Blackhawks that he and Genevieve had pieced

together the most important discovery, and that had been before the bitter end for Jack.

Genevieve believed that Anne had needed the world to know that Aldo had been her

murderer. In Genevieve, she had seen someone with the strength to help her, as well as

the spirits of the girls who’d shared her watery grave over the years.

As for the pirates, they had apparently admired Anne, who, in her captivity—that time in

which she had fallen in love with Gasparilla and he had apparently returned her

devotion—must have been kind, charming and engaging.

Perhaps they had guarded the treasure they had never stolen in life. Perhaps they had

merely stayed behind to help her find justice.

Audrey had gotten well quickly, though. She’d refused to discuss her ordeal with them.

She had done what she’d needed to to stay alive as long as possible. The only one she’d

been willing to talk to was Jay.

They had spent time recuperating together, and she’d helped him put together his case against Jack. Then they had surprised everyone by flying off to Vegas and eloping. They

still seemed incredibly happy.

He and Gen had opted for a more traditional wedding. Well, traditional, by Key West

standards, anyway.

His bride had been beautiful in white—but shoeless. They’d been married on the beach at

sunset, only a few hours ago, with Father Bellamy presiding.

Bethany, Victor and Alex had been half smashed before the wedding had begun, and they

had cried throughout, hugging one another. A difficult feat, since Bethany had been the

maid of honor and the other two had served as ushers. But Lizzie and Zach—who had

taken work in Australia—had flown back for the wedding and done their best to keep the

others in control. Everybody from the project had been there—Adam, Brent, Nikki,

Marshall. Something had grown between them, a friendship that would endure.

But friendship or no, he’d needed some air, only as soon as he’d walked out he’d seen

Josh, leaning against the back porch rail, with Anne beside him.

“You’re not there. I don’t see you,” Thor groaned.

“I am here, tough guy, and you know it.”

Thor looked at Anne. She was still so skittish, so afraid….

He trembled inside.

Where would he be now, without her? Without her and her band of pirates?

“Thank you,” he said softly, as she began to fade away, her work done. “But I’ve got to

go in.”

Feeling like a fool, he waved goodbye to the ghosts, wondering if he would ever see them

again.

Inside, he ran right into Victor. The music was high, laughter in the air.

“Where’s Gen?” he asked.

“I think she went upstairs, looking for you?” Victor said.

Thor took the stairs two at a time. Gen was in their room, standing at the window,

looking down at Duval Street.

She turned, smiled.

His heart fluttered. Her hair was long, rich, waving with lustrous highlights against the

black satin of her silk dress. Her eyes…God, he was in love with her eyes, the sound of

her voice…

“Hey you.” She walked toward him, catching his tie, pulling him close, kissing his lips.

“I love you,” he told her, kissing her back.

“I love you, too. Listen, I know you think I’m crazy—” she began.

He pressed a finger against her lips. “I believe,” he whispered very softly. “I believe. And now that that’s settled, please just shut up so I can kiss my wife properly.”

She smiled.

He did, too.

Outside, the palms swayed and the breeze blew, and there might have been a hint of

delighted ghostly laughter, fading into the night.

Turn the page for an exciting preview of

KISS OF DARKNESS,

New York Times bestselling author

Heather Graham’s next MIRA novel,

available everywhere

in September 2006.

J essica paused for a minute at the gate to her house. There was a stirring in the air. Rain tomorrow, she thought, and looked up at the sky.

She didn’t like what she saw. She opened and closed the gate, then hurried toward the

door, then paused again, staring heavenward. A strange sense of urgency assailed her, a

feeling that she needed to be moving quickly.

Maybe I need a vacation, she thought. Or maybe I’m losing my mind.

Too bad.

There was nothing she could do about it now. The plane would leave the next day, and

she would be on it. And then she would be in Romania, at the conference. Working.

She didn’t sleep. She lay on her bed, strangely aware of time passing.

In the middle of the night, she walked outside to her balcony, which faced the street.

From a distance, she could very faintly hear the sounds of music and laughter, carried on

the air from the French Quarter.

She looked at the sky again. Absurdly, it appeared as if there was a hint of red in the

night air. A hint of red that seemed to grow stronger as she watched and the darkness

seemed to take an almost physical form around her.

Ridiculous.

She imagined herself with a shrink. “I don’t actually see the dark…I feel it.”

For a moment, a chill seized her as the darkness seemed to loom like a hint, a warning. A

deep red darkness.

It made her feel as if she were being haunted. Stalked.

She stepped back into her room, locking the balcony doors, trying to fight the feeling.

But she was oddly afraid. As she hadn’t been in ages.

She stayed awake, staring at the sky, certain the darkness was turning a still deeper red as she watched.

Suddenly she felt dizzy. The world before her seemed to shift and change. She was no

longer in her bedroom but outside, staring at a high ridge, and atop the ridge stood a man.

He was exceptionally tall, a cape billowing around him in the breeze.

And he was the epitome of evil.

The vision faded. She was home again, in her own room, the peace and beauty barely

disturbed by distant sounds from the street, the scent of magnolia blossoms heavy on the

air.

She was losing her mind, she told herself impatiently. She needed some sleep.

The next day, alighting in Romania, she felt a chill the minute her feet touched the

ground.

A disembodied voice announced comings and goings in a multitude of languages. The

bright lights of the airport were all around her.

Yet she felt as if the world had darkened behind her, as if a shadow were following her.

As she walked toward Customs, she stopped, swinging around, certain that footsteps right

behind her were closing in. Panic almost overwhelmed her. She was convinced she was

being followed, that she could feel breath—hot and fetid breath—at her nape. Chills

shivered up her spine.

She thought she heard her name whispered by a deep, mocking voice.

But when she turned, there was no one near her. Busy people, bored, anxious, were

hurrying through the airport. No one seemed interested in her at all.

It was night again before she reached her final destination. And there, in the exquisite