Now You See Him(83)

"Don't be ridiculous," she cackled. "I'm not defeated yet. You're going over the side alone, with my knife buried in your throat, and then I'm out of here. I have the money, I have the luck of the Irish, I have—"

"You have nothing, Caitlin." Michael's voice came from out of the darkness. "You're a dead woman."

"Michael," Francey whispered, and she felt Caitlin grow very still as she clutched Francey to her.

"Perhaps. But I'll take her with me."

In the darkness Francey could see him. He had a gun; she knew that. She also knew he was capable of shooting Caitlin, of killing her quickly and efficiently, before Caitlin could finish with her.

With sudden, sickening clarity she realized that she wasn't going to let that happen. She'd seen Michael's face when he'd killed Dex. She'd seen the bleak, soulless look of a killer, and she knew without a doubt that with each additional death more of the man she loved was lost. And if he killed the madwoman holding her, then he would be gone for good.

"Let her go, Caitlin." His voice was calm, but Francey could see his desperation, could feel it.

"Not on your life. I know about you, Cougar. Know that you won't kill me. You don't kill women, no matter how much they deserve it. It's your weakness, Cougar. And it's going to bring you down this time."

Francey saw the faint movement of the gun. The gun that would end Caitlin's life. And Michael's.

And then she didn't think at all. She kicked out, wrapping her foot beneath Caitlin's sticklike leg and pulling. Her sister collapsed, her hands clawing for support that wasn't there. And then she was gone, over the cliff, smashing onto the rocks below.

Francey turned and sank to her knees, sobbing. Caitlin's body lay on the jagged rocks, still and unmoving, and there was no doubt she was dead. Francey waited for Michael to come to her, to draw her into his arms and comfort her. But when she looked up, he was gone.

And in the distance, the battle raged on.





Chapter 19


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"I don't like the idea of you going out there alone," Daniel fretted. "Can't you wait till I'm out of the hospital?"

Francey reached over and patted his frail hand. She'd spent the past two weeks by his hospital bed, the enforced quiet going a tiny way toward healing her own wounds, but she knew full well that Daniel wasn't going to be up and around for a long time. "I need some time alone, Daniel. Just peace and quiet and sunshine. Belle Reste will give me that. With the Cadre wiped out I'm in no danger. Even you admit that."

"I'm afraid it will bring back painful memories. He's gone, Francey. We both know it."

"I'm surprised you even admit he existed in the first place." The pain had become a constant companion now, almost a comfortable friend, and she scarcely noticed its intensity.

"I'm the only one who'll admit it."

"Cecil admitted it. When he brought me out of that inferno and left me here at the hospital. He's the one who told me he'd died."

"Buried with full military honors," Daniel said. "Just like that little rat Cardiff."

"But he wasn't really Charlie Bisselthwaite," Francey said, leaning against the hospital bed.

"He wasn't Michael Dowd, either. We've gone over this time and time again, Francey. I don't even know who he was. He'll rest just as easily in Charlie Bisselthwaite's grave as anyone else's."

"If he's dead."

"Don't fight it, Francey. Cecil wouldn't have lied to you."

"No one tells the truth," she said flatly. "He's not dead."

"Is that why you want to go back to St. Anne? Are you hoping he'll show up? I would have thought life had knocked such romantic notions out of your head."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" She didn't deny it.

Daniel shook his head wearily. "You're an enigma to me, Francey. You have that madwoman buried on Irish soil, at great expense, when the creature would have murdered you. I have my accountants go to a great deal of trouble to get your trust fund back from the Children of Eire, and you simply hand it over to another organization. At least this time it was a legitimate one, but you might consider that you need to earn a living."

"I have enough to tide me over."

"Francey, he's not coming back."

She took a deep, shaky breath and smiled at Daniel. "I know. I'm just not ready to accept it."



The tiny island of St. Anne was just as she remembered it, the climate temperate, the trade winds blowing. The car she rented was a sedate American station wagon with excellent brakes and air conditioning, and she experienced only a moment of overwhelming grief when she glanced over at the tarmac where she'd first seen the man who called himself Michael Dowd.