Something-someone-grabbed her from out of the darkness. She struggled, half-mindless with terror, screaming, scratching and biting like a wild animal, until a voice growled in her ear, “Hey-take it easy! You’re safe now-you’re safe!”
Safe. That word punched through the wall of her terror and she went slack, letting herself be half dragged, half carried into the comparative shelter of the trees, just as footsteps splattered through the water rushing down the brick drive, and indistinguishable shapes flashed by them in the thinning darkness.
When they had passed, the man holding Summer gasped, “Sorry I was late-had to ram through the damn gate…leave my car down there in the lane. Trees down.”
“Who…are…you?” Summer asked through chattering teeth.
“Name’s Denby, ma’am. I work for Mr. Grogan. I was supposed to watch out for you and the kids…sure hope he don’t fire me, lettin’ this-”
“My children1” And she was running again, back toward the house, running with her heart in her throat and her lungs on fire, deaf to the pleas of her rescuer to wait-wait for him to check things out! But she was driven by something more compelling than fear.
Into the house she went, soaked to the skin, water streaming down her face and into her eyes. Up the stairs and down the hallway, needing no light to see the way. Calling her children’s names, she threw open the door of their hiding place and dropped to the floor beside the canopy bed.
“David? Helen? Hey, you can come-Oh… God…” The cry tore through her, ripping her apart, a cry of utter devastation.
Her children weren’t there. They were gone. Gone…
Riley had some bad moments during that seemingly endless drive home through the height of the hurricane-such as narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a couple of suicidal idiots, one a four-by-four of some kind, the other a big dark sedan, both heading the other way like bats out of hell. Then finding his gate broken in, and a little farther up the lane, coming upon Tom Denby’s car abandoned with its hood buried in a fallen tree. But nothing-not all the worst moments of his life put together-could have compared with the moment when he burst through the wide-open doors of his house and heard that terrible cry. He’d heard something like it once before, the day they’d found Helen in the tree, but this was worse. A thousand times worse.
He didn’t even remember how he got up the stairs and down the hallway to that bedroom doorway. But somehow he was standing in it, frozen there, and his eyes were on Summer as she stood silhouetted against the lightening windows. She stood like a pillar, too stunned even to cry as the windows crashed open and two small figures, like storm-drenched fledglings, crept over the sill and ran to their mother’s side.
“We were gonna climb down the tree and run for help,” he heard David explain, gasping for breath. “I know you told us to stay here and don’t move, but then we heard the noises-”
And then Riley was across the room and he couldn’t get them gathered into his arms fast enough. He was shaking so hard he felt as though he’d break apart, as if the only things holding him together were their arms, their laughter, their joyous shouts of “Oh, God-Riley!” “Hey, it’s Mr. Riley!” “Riley’s home!”
Yes, he was. At long last, he was home.
It was David who pulled away first. While Riley closed and latched the window, he drew a hand across his nose, sniffed and said, “Mom, Beatle’s dead, isn’t she?” But he wasn’t crying; his voice was quiet and brave. “I heard. Those men-they killed her, didn’t they?”
Summer lifted her eyes from her son’s face to Riley’s. Hers was pale and glistening with raindrops in the graying light; dawn was breaking, even in the midst of the hurricane. “She tried to defend us,” she said brokenly. “I don’t know… I don’t know about any of them. They gave the alarm. And Peggy Sue tripped one guy and made him fall down the stairs. But I haven’t heard anything since. I just don’t know…”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Riley said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “It’s getting light. We’ll find them… won’t we, guys?” As the two children gazed up at him with trusting eyes, he took them each by the hand and, with a long look at Summer, led the way downstairs. Please, God, he thought, no matter what happens…don’t let me let them down.
But somehow, he didn’t think he would. Ever again.
Downstairs they found that Tom Denby had already checked out and buttoned up the place and lit the battery-powered lanterns he’d found in the kitchen. With their help and the slowly growing daylight, they quickly located Cleo. The little gray parrot was pacing back and forth along the tops of the living room draperies, muttering and swearing, “Stupid… dog…” and staring with baleful yellow eyes at the cat Peggy Sue, who was stretched out on the back of the sofa just below her like a panther on a tree limb, placidly twitching her tail.
“My God,” Summer breathed, laughing weakly with relief, “how did she get up there? I didn’t think she could fly.”
“Maybe,” said Riley, laughing, too, “she just didn’t have enough incentive.”
“Mom! Mom, come quick!” David’s shout brought them into the central hallway at a dead run. “I found her! I found Beatle! She’s not dead! Quick, Mom-she’s hurt…”
The little dog was lying on the rug just inside Riley’s study, whimpering softly. She didn’t try to get up, but when David knelt beside her, she lifted her head and licked his face.
“Quick-” Summer was already down on her knees beside the dog “-get me a blanket-towels, a pillow, anything-go on, David, hurry!” As David jumped up and ran for the stairs, her hands were moving gently and expertly over the little animal’s shivering body. When he’d gone, she looked up at Riley and said gravely, “She’s badly hurt. She needs a vet.”
“You’re a vet,” he reminded her, balancing on the balls of his feet beside her, his hand on the back of her neck.
She shook her head. “She needs a hospital-X-rays. Her leg’s broken, for sure. She could have an injured spine, internal injuries-”
“We’ll go,” Riley promised “As soon as the storm’s over.” He didn’t stop to ask himself how they’d get there through all the storm debris; he knew he’d find a way somehow.
When Jake Redfield arrived a short time later, Riley and Summer were in Riley’s big bed, fully clothed with the two sleeping children curled like kittens against their sides. Beatle lay on a pillow on Summer’s lap cocooned in blankets, also sleeping, shivering and whimpering only fitfully now. Summer was much encouraged by that. With the immediate threat of severe shock seemingly over, she felt the little dog’s prospects for a full recovery were good.
“Brave little Beatle,” she whispered, gently stroking the dog’s glossy black hide. “My hero…”
Riley’s arms tightened around her and he started to say something, but before he could the FBI agent knocked softly and stuck his head through the open door
“Sorry,” he said in a low voice as his eyes swept dispassionately over the bed and its occupants. “Your man Denby let me in-told me to come on up. Thought you’d like to know…” His dark, exhausted eyes came to rest on Summer. “Your husband’s vehicle has been found, Mrs. Robey. In the river just west of here-witnesses tell us he drove off a washed-out bridge. According to those same witnesses, the car that was chasing him saw it happen and stopped in time. Then turned around and took off. I don’t think they’ll be back.” He paused, then said stiffly, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” His eyes were dark with frustrated fury.
Summer nodded and mumbled through the ache in her throat, “He saved us, you know. In the end…”