Final Target

  It took her five minutes to sit up and another five to get to her feet.

  One thing at a time. Get to the door.

  What if she couldn’t make it? She had to stop Jessica.

  “Melissa, where are you?”

  “I’m coming. Wait for me.”

  She fumbled in her pants pocket for the number she’d copied from Jessica’s phone book. Now get to the phone.

  Jesus, she couldn’t see the numbers on the phone. It took her three tries before she dialed the number correctly.

  “Hello,” Andreas said.

  “Cassie . . . Jessica. Museum d’Andreas.”

  “ What? Who is this?”

  “Melissa. Now. Go now.” She hung up. They might not get there in time. They might not get there at all.

  Take the purse; it had the gun Galen had given her. Get to the street. The museum was only four blocks away. She could do it.

  One step at a time.

  “Melissa, I’m going to open my eyes. I have to see him again. He’s so beautiful.”

  Panic shot through Melissa. If Cassie saw those emerald-green eyes, then Melissa would see them. She didn’t know if that would make any difference, but she couldn’t chance it.

  “No. Don’t open your eyes. Wait for me.”

  “I’ll try. Hurry.”

  One block.

  She couldn’t make it. Too tired.

  “I can’t wait any longer, Melissa.”

  “Yes, you can. You can do anything you want to do.”

  Two blocks.

  She lurched and fell against the brick wall of the building next to her.

  Straighten. Go on.

  “I’m opening my eyes.”

  “No!”

  “I have to do it.”

  And then Melissa saw it.

  Emerald eyes staring out at the world with ancient wisdom. The statue was standing on a beat-up wooden worktable in a huge, cluttered room. A catwalk. Paintings. Travis was standing to one side of the worktable beside an Egyptian sarcophagus.

  “I told you.” Cassie’s excitement was swirling around both of them like a cloud of static electricity. “He’s here. He’s here.”

  One more block. The museum was just up ahead.

  The emerald eyes, but no pool of blood. It could be different. It had to be different.

  She turned down the alley.

  “Jessica is happy. She thinks because I opened my eyes that I’m coming back. She’s talking to me, telling me the Wind Dancer would want me to do that.”

  “She’s right, Cassie.”

  “How do you know? He took me away. It’s safe here.”

  “But you can’t see the Wind Dancer as you’re doing now.” Was she making sense? She was so scared, she couldn’t think. All she could see were those emerald eyes.

  But no pool of blood. No pool of blood. Make it different. Please, no pool of blood.

  She was climbing the stairs to the back door, holding on to the railing.

  So hard. Such a long way to the top.

  She leaned against the door to gather strength. Another minute and she’d be in the hall. It was okay. She’d made it and nothing had happened. She’d not even been stopped by the guards.

  The guards.

  Where were the guards?

  She pushed open the door.

  Blood. Staring eyes. Two bodies.

  The guards.

  “Why aren’t you talking to me, Melissa?”

  “Close your eyes, Cassie.” She was lurching down the hall. Jesus, another body beside the door to the artifacts room. Blue suit, not a guard. Guilliame? “Listen to me, I want you to close your eyes.”

  “Why? Then I wouldn’t be able to see— What was that sound?”

  “What sound?”

  “Popping. Heard it before. Heard it before.” Melissa could hear the panic in her voice. “Michael is running downstairs toward the other door. He’s leaving me.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Wind Dancer. I can’t stay here. He’s got to take me away.” Terror. “I’m falling, Melissa.”

  “Why are you falling? Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t know. I’m on the floor. Closing my eyes. I’m going away. . . .”

  “Why are you on the floor?” She threw open the door. “What’s happen—”

  And then she saw it.

  The emerald eyes looking down.

  The pool of blood spreading on the floor until it touched the child’s shoe.

  Scream after scream tore from Melissa’s throat.

  She didn’t know how she got across the room, but she was falling to her knees. Stop the blood. She had to stop the blood gushing from Jessica’s chest.

  “Mellie?” Jessica was looking up at her. “Help . . . Cassie.”

  “Cassie’s fine.” She was pressing her hands on the wound. “You’ll be fine too.”

  “She was almost . . . back. I know it. I—did it, didn’t I?”

  “Of course you did.” Oh, God. So much blood. “Now stop talking.”

  “He’s beautiful. . . .” Jessica was looking up at the Wind Dancer. “I can see why Cassie ...”A thin trail of blood trickled out of one corner of Jessica’s mouth. “ Beautiful . . .”

  She slumped sideways.

  “No!”

  16

  “No use, Deschamps’s gone,” Galen told Travis outside the museum. “And we’d better get out of here too. Those sirens sound close. It’s probably what scared the bastard off.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Travis’s hands closed into fists. “He knew this place like the back of his hand. He knew exactly where he was going when he jumped down from that catwalk. How did he get past those guards?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” Galen said grimly. “I’ll go find out while you check on Cassie and Jessica. Two minutes and we’re out of here.”

  Travis ran back into the museum and skidded to a stop when he reached the artifacts room. “Oh, shit.”

  “She won’t wake up.” Melissa lifted her head, her mouth smeared with Jessica’s blood. “I can’t make her breathe.” She covered Jessica’s mouth with hers again.

  “Melissa.” He knelt down and put his fingers on Jessica’s throat. “It’s no use. She’s gone.”

  “Don’t you say that.” She frantically blew into Jessica’s mouth. “I won’t let her be dead.”

  He checked Cassie. No wounds. The child hadn’t been hit. He hadn’t been aware that either of them had been shot when he’d run after Deschamps. He’d glanced at Jessica, but she’d been sitting upright in the chair with the child in her arms.

  The sirens were louder. “Melissa, we have to get out of here.”

  She ignored him.

  “Out.” Galen was beside them, swiftly picking up Cassie. He glanced at Jessica. “Dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Melissa said at the same time.

  Galen nodded. “Dead. I’ve locked the doors and I’m taking Cassie out through the basement.” He carried Cassie toward the steps. “If we don’t get moving, we’re all going to end up in jail. Both guards are dead, and so is Guilliame. My man Cardeau was killed too. I found him behind some boxes in the basement. You either get Melissa away from here or leave her.”

  “She’ll come.” Travis pulled Melissa away from her sister. “Let’s go, Melissa. You can’t help her.”

  “I can help her. I can stop this.”

  “Melissa, you’re lying to yourself. Jessica’s dead and you’ll be dead too or in prison if you don’t come with me. Then we’ll never be able to punish the man who did this to her. Do you think it’s right to let that happen?”

  She stared blindly at him.

  “Travis!” Galen called out.

  “We’re coming.”

  Melissa whispered, “Dead?”

  Travis nodded. He pulled her to her feet. “Come on, Cassie will need you.”

  “She said ‘Help Cassie.’ ”

  “That’s right.” He pushed her t
oward the stairs. “But you can’t do that unless we get out of here.”

  “Dead.” She suddenly stopped and looked back at Jessica. “Oh, God, it’s real.” She shuddered. “I wanted it to be another dream.” There was a world of pain in her voice.

  “Come on, Melissa.”

  Her gaze slowly moved to the statue. “Bring him.”

  “What?”

  “Bring him.”

  “ No.”

  “I’m not going without him. Pick him up and bring him.”

  The sirens were coming from right outside. He knew there was not much time left. “You’re not thinking straight. Just come with me, Melissa.”

  She shook him off and moved toward the Wind Dancer.

  “Jesus.” He ran across the room, snatched the statue, grabbed her arm, and pulled her after him. “Hurry, dammit. They’ll be knocking down the door any minute.”

  “Is she doing okay?” Galen glanced at Melissa’s reflection in the rearview mirror as the car pulled onto A6. “She looks like a sleepwalker.”

  “She is a sleepwalker. With the amount of sedative Jessica fed her, she should be out like a light. She should never have been able to leave the apartment. I don’t know what’s keeping her going.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Maybe I do,” he said wearily. He took his handkerchief and dabbed at the blood on Melissa’s lips. “The body can be made to do amazing things when the will is strong enough.”

  “Why the hell did you take the Wind Dancer? Did you think we weren’t in enough trouble?”

  “She wouldn’t leave without it.” He shrugged. “And what’s one more—”

  “Straw on the camel’s back?” Galen finished. “The French police are going to regard this theft as an insult to their pride. They promised Andreas absolute security for the statue. We could get them off our ass if we find a way of returning it.”

  “No,” Melissa said.

  Both men looked at her. It was the first word she’d uttered since they left the museum. “We have to keep it.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Travis said. “You may not be thinking clearly right now.”

  “We have to keep it.”

  “It’s dangerous. You saw how the police swooped down on that museum. How did they know we were there? There must have been a leak.”

  “I called Andreas,” Melissa said.

  Galen began to swear. “I knew it. I knew she’d do it.”

  “Be quiet, Galen. It’s just as well she did call him. Deschamps was positioned on that catwalk to take us all out. Those sirens scared him off.”

  “Not in time,” Melissa whispered.

  “No, not in time for Jessica,” Travis said gently. “But it may have saved the rest of us.”

  “I don’t care about the rest of you.”

  “Not even Cassie?”

  She closed her eyes. “Help . . . Cassie.”

  “She’s okay. No different than she was before.”

  “Help . . . Cassie.”

  “We’ll help her, Melissa.” Travis pulled her head onto his shoulder. “Now try to rest. I’ll wake you when we get to the cottage.”

  “Help Cas . . .”

  She was asleep.

  The shuttered window framed a lavender and scarlet sunset sky.

  Beautiful . . .

  “Take some water.” Travis held a glass to Melissa’s lips. “You’ve been out for a long time. You must be thirsty.”

  She was thirsty. Her mouth felt as dry as cotton. She drank half the glass. “Out? What do you—”

  Jessica.

  Pain stabbed through her. White hot. “Dear God.”

  He caught the glass as it fell from her hand, and drew her into his arms. “I know. I know. I’m sorry, Melissa.” His voice was muffled as he rocked her back and forth. “Christ, I’m so sorry.”

  “Being sorry doesn’t do any good. She’s dead.” She buried her face in his shoulder. “I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t stop it.”

  “No one could help her. Even if we’d gotten her to the emergency room within minutes, the wound would still have been fatal.”

  “I couldn’t stop it. I should have been smarter. I should have realized she’d try to stop me from going along.”

  “She surprised me too. And if you’d come along, you might have been shot as well.”

  “No, I’d have found a way to protect her. I knew it was coming. I’d have stopped it.”

  She felt him stiffen against her. “What?”

  “Let me go.” She pushed him away and swung her feet to the floor. “I have to get out of here.”

  “Sure, it will be good for you to be alone.” He helped her to her feet. “And this mile or two of beach is deserted. Just don’t go far. Okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  She was running from the bedroom, out of the cottage, her feet sinking into the soft sand. Her shadow cast a spidery imprint on the beach in front of her as she ran toward the far dunes.

  Jessica.

  She slid down the opposite side of a dune and lay huddled at the bottom.

  Jessica.

  Sister, mother, friend, savior. Sweet Jesus, why Jessica?

  She rocked back and forth as agony tore through her. And, at last, the tears came. Painful sobs racked her body.

  Jessica . . .

  “Tough.” Galen’s gaze followed Travis’s to where Melissa was sitting on the beach, staring out at the sea. “They were close?”

  “You saw them together. What do you think?”

  “I think life sucks sometimes.”

  “Like right now. Everything’s going to hell and it’s going to get worse.” He paused. “You could bail out. I wouldn’t blame you. You’ve done more than I’ve asked of you.”

  “So I’m an overachiever. I’ll stick around.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Shut up, Travis. This isn’t only about you. That son of a bitch killed one of my men last night. Do you think I’m going to bow out before I take him down?”

  “He’s mine, Galen.”

  “We’ll argue about that when we catch up with him.” He looked back at Melissa. “But she’s the one we’d better watch. Once she’s over the first shock, she’s going to harden into pure steel.”

  Staring at that fragile, lonely figure silhouetted against the sky, it was difficult for Travis to believe. “You could be wrong.”

  He shook his head. “She told me once that we were a lot alike. Brother and sister. I think she’s right.” He turned to go back inside the house. “Since you’re keeping an eye on Melissa, I’ll go check on Cassie. I’m very good at baby-sitting. Did I ever tell you I once baby-sat a wolf ?”

  “No, but it wouldn’t surprise me.” Travis’s voice was abstracted as he watched Melissa. So much pain and sorrow. So much loneliness. He wanted to go to her and hold her and try to ease—

  Not yet.

  You had to face the first grief alone before you could accept comfort. Hell, maybe she wouldn’t be able to accept comfort from him no matter how long he waited. After all, he’d been a primary part of that horror at the museum.

  Why did he even want to help her? His modus operandi was to be emotionally detached. Yet from the first moment she had shown up on his doorstep, Melissa had managed to . . . involve him. She had aroused interest, anger, desire, amusement, and admiration, and now she was touching something deeper.

  Pity?

  What difference did it make? Self-examination was bull. He dropped down on the doorstep. So don’t think. Just watch and wait and maybe do a little grieving of your own.

  “You’ve been out here a long time,” Travis said behind her. “Don’t you think you’d better come in? It’s almost three in the morning and the wind’s coming up, Melissa.”

  “I don’t want to go in. I’m not chilly.” It was a lie. She felt ice cold, but it wasn’t from the wind. “I have to think about a few things.”

  “Jessica.”

  “No, I’ve th
ought all I can about Jessica right now. It hurts . . . too much. I loved her. . . .”

  “I know.”

  “You couldn’t know. She was everything to me. She brought me out of the dark and taught me how to live again.” She rubbed her temple. “She always laughed when I called her Saint Jessica, but there was truth to it. She was so goddamn . . . good.” The tears were starting again, and she brushed them aside. “See, I can’t think of her without blubbering. I have to stop it so I can think clearly.”

  “I feel a little like blubbering myself,” Travis said. “I didn’t know her long, but it was enough to see what a fine person she was.”

  “You’re being kind to me.” She didn’t look at him. “I wasn’t kind to you when your friend was killed. I couldn’t let myself soften toward you. You were the one leading Jessica toward the Wind Dancer.”

  “And I led her right into a trap. I suppose you blame me for her death?”

  She shook her head. “No more than I do myself. She was the one who made you promise to bring the statue and Cassie together. It was like being on a runaway train. I knew what was coming, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

  He glanced away from her. “ You . . . knew what was coming?”

  “I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks. That was why I came home to Juniper. It was always the same. The Wind Dancer staring down at a pool of blood and Jessica lying dead on the floor.”

  “You didn’t tell her?”

  “Jessica never really believed in anything she couldn’t see and touch. She wouldn’t have paid any attention to me. But she had to pay attention when I joined with Cassie. I thought if I made the Wind Dancer a threat to Cassie, Jessica might keep away from it.” Her lips twisted. “And then you offered the statue to her on a silver platter. I wanted to kill you.”

  “Then you do blame me.”

  She wearily shook her head. “I guess I never really believed you could stop the train from moving toward its destination, but I had to try. I only hoped I could prevent the wreck at the last minute.” Her hands clenched into fists. “If there’s a God, it wouldn’t make any sense for Him to give me the dreams and take away the power to stop them from happening, would it?”

  “Have you had these dreams before? Not about Jessica but about other people?”

  “Twice before. The first was right after I started college. A little boy who lived next door to our apartment in Cambridge. Jimmy Watson. Brown hair, a sweet smile . . . I kept dreaming of him crossing the street and being hit by a van. I’d wake up crying. I thought I was going crazy.” She paused. “It happened. He jumped out into traffic to get a toy and was run over.”