Murder at Marble House(99)

I made a quick assessment of my surroundings, searching for any possible weapons. There was nothing . . . nothing but weeds and water and all those cattails, too flexible to be of any use. Besides, we were nearing the pond now, and the cattails thinned out.

“If you’re looking for your gentleman friend, I’m afraid he won’t be joining us.”

“What did you—” My throat closed around the rest. I stopped walking, started to turn around to confront him, but a thrust of sharp metal between my shoulder blades stopped me cold.

“He bled a lot, that one. But then a shovel to the head will do that. Surprising you didn’t hear it from inside the house. I’m fairly certain he’s dead, or will be shortly. At any rate, he’s not going anywhere. I locked him in our shed. Now walk.”

Oh, Derrick. I’m so, so very sorry....

“You’re the worst kind of monster and I hate you.” As Consuelo spat the words over her shoulder at James, she reached over and pressed a hand to my back.

Her attempt to comfort me proved short-lived when James used the harpoon to smack her arm back down to her side. “Now, I’m sorry you said that, darlin’, because you and I might have walked away from this together. The choice would have been yours. But it seems you’ve made it.”

“I’d never go anywhere with you.”

“James,” I cried out as despair threatened to engulf me, “let Consuelo go. She—”

“I’m not leaving without you, Emma. Oh!” A loud squelch sounded as the marsh sucked her foot in deep. Her ankle turned and she went down with a yelp and splash.

I turned as if to reach for her, but instead I threw myself to the ground directly in James’s path. His boot struck my side, not a kick but merely a stride. He clearly hadn’t expected my move, and now I wrapped both hands around his ankle and tugged with all my strength. He toppled over me, landing facedown in the muck. Thankfully his torso landed clear of me, and I scrambled out from under his legs. He’d dropped the harpoon. I started to lunge for it, but he was already moving, already turning over and attempting to right himself, a thunderous look twisting his features.

Remembering what Derrick had taught me about a woman’s strength being primarily in her legs, I raised my heel and shoved it into his face. There came a crack and blood spurted everywhere—from his nose I thought, but I didn’t take the time to be sure. I raised the same foot again and brought it down on his kneecap. A shriek tore from his throat and he instinctively reached one hand to his leg while the other continued to cradle his face, the blood pouring through his fingers.

“Consuelo,” I shouted. “Run!”

To my dismay she didn’t, but instead half-crawled, half-slithered in her wet skirts to retrieve the speargun. James was too fast for her. Reaching out, he managed to grip the butt, and in another motion would have had the weapon in his arms. Rising onto my knees, I threw myself down on him, knocking him over onto his back and me prone on top of him. His muscles tensed beneath me, and I knew I hadn’t much time before he’d overpower me, flip me over, and probably wrap his free hand around my throat.

I had no intentions of dying. The harpoon slipped from his tenuous grasp, and this time, from the corner of my eye, I saw Consuelo swoop it off the ground and push to standing.

“Emma, move!”

But I couldn’t. James’s arms went around me, squeezing the breath out of me. His arms were powerful, those of a workman, and he might as well have gripped my throat. Black spots danced in my vision and the surrounding weeds went dark. But I could still move my limbs and now I forced my knee between his thighs and blindly rammed it, high, until it met with a barrier of flesh.

James let out a roar. His arms fell away and I crawled off of him. He rolled to his side, knees drawn up, both hands cupped at the juncture of his legs. I thought I had him, oh, I truly did. But before I could reach Consuelo and take the harpoon from her, she pulled the trigger.





Chapter 19

The steel shaft hissed past me in a blur of reflected light . . . and pierced the wet ground about a foot from James’s head. As the arrow trembled back and forth and settled into stillness, my heart dropped to my feet.

One shot only—taken and missed. James’s eyes went wide and he darted an astonished look in Consuelo’s direction. Then he was scrambling to his feet and blocking our path to the arrow. Blood smeared most of his face and his legs shook beneath him, but I knew he was only marginally less dangerous than before.

“Consuelo, go!” This time I shoved her hard to force her to move. “Find help!”