Nick.
The thought of him brought tears to her eyes. The image of his face filled her mind. The intimacies they’d shared just a few short hours ago. She’d fallen in love with him. The realization should have shocked her. But it didn’t. Maybe in some small corner of her mind she’d always loved him. Maybe in her heart she’d always known she would come back to this place. And fate would take care of the rest. How ironic that she would realize her one and only love just moments before her death.
Rain slashed at her like cold knives as she trudged down the path toward the cliffs. She heard Brett behind her, his footfalls heavy on the ground, raindrops pattering against his raincoat. She kept hoping Nick would appear on the trail in front of them, pistol drawn, and end the nightmare. But Nick was at the scene of what was probably a horrific crash that could possibly involve his mother. There was no way he could leave. There was no way he could even know she was in trouble.
Sara was on her own. If she was going to get out of this alive, she was going to have to come up with some kind of plan. If she refused to jump, she knew Stocker would shoot her. Either way, she was going to die.
Ahead, the path curved. Beyond, the cliffs looked out over a raging sea and rocky shore a hundred feet below. If she was going to do something, now was the time. Once they reached the cliffs, it would be too late.
Sara let her foot catch on a protruding rock, feigned a stumble, and dropped to her knees. “Damn it.” Grimacing as if in pain, she looked over her shoulder at Brett. “My ankle. Wait.”
He raised the gun. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I think I sprained it.”
“I don’t give a damn about your ankle. Get up. We’re running out of time.”
There was no way Sara was going to jump off that cliff and let him get away with murder. She knew she risked getting shot in the back if she ran, but the odds seemed better. It was a risk she was willing to take.
She struggled to rise, leaving her weight off her right foot. A few feet away, the mangled branch of a dead juniper drew her attention. It was the size of a small bat. If she could reach it, she could use it as a weapon.
“I don’t think I can walk,” she said.
Lowering the gun marginally, Brett grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. “Walk, bitch!”
Sara leaned heavily against him. Snarling, he shoved her away. Pretending to reach out to break her fall, she snatched up the branch and swung it as hard as she could. Stocker’s eyes went wide. The gun came up, swung toward her. She caught a glimpse of his face an instant before the wood slammed against his left temple.
Screaming in pain and anger, he reeled backward, landing hard on his backside. His free hand clutched at his left eye. With his right, he brought up the gun. “You bitch!”
“No!” Sara spun to run as he leveled the weapon on her.
“Stop!” he shouted.
Sara took off like a sprinter out of a starting block. Three strides and a gunshot rent the air. A scream tore from her throat when white-hot pain shot down her arm from elbow to wrist.
Shock rippled through her when she saw blood dripping from her fingertips. It registered that she’d been shot, but she couldn’t let the fear paralyze her; she couldn’t let it slow her down. If she wanted to live, she was going to have to outrun him.
Her feet pounded through mud, carrying her down the trail at a dangerous speed. Branches and rain pelted her. Heat radiated down from her elbow, but her fingers had gone numb. Vaguely, she was aware of the growing bloodstain on her sleeve. Red rainwater dripping from her fingertips.
The trail forked. Realizing she needed a way to let Nick know where to find her, particularly if she lost consciousness, she reached for her mother’s necklace in her pocket, plucked it out and dropped it in the center of the trail that ran parallel with the cliffs.
A second shot rang out. Instinctively, Sara ducked, glanced behind her. Ten yards back, Stocker staggered toward her, waving the gun madly. “You’re dead!”
A scream jammed her throat when he raised the gun for another shot. Heart pounding out of control, she took the north trail.
Another shot exploded. The dull thunk! of a bullet striking the ground sounded at her feet. Oh, dear God, he’s going to cut me down! she thought wildly.
The thought had barely formed in her mind when the trail ended abruptly. Beyond, the ground dropped away a hundred feet to the rocky shore below. Twenty years ago the trail had gone on for another mile or so. But erosion had eaten it away. Now, she was trapped.
Panic gripped her so hard that for a moment she was paralyzed. Glancing once over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Stocker through the trees, guessed him to be ten yards behind her. And she knew if she stayed put he would shoot her down.
Willing to take her chances on the rocks, Sara looked over the edge, searching desperately for a safe place to land.
Closing her eyes, she hurled herself into space.
THE FIRST GUNSHOT stopped Nick dead in his tracks. The second sent his heart into overdrive. For a moment, he stood on the trail with rain pouring all around and listened, trying to establish the direction from which the shot had come. A third shot rang out, and he knew the shooter was near the cliffs.
Not considering his own safety, he ran headlong down the trail. Rain lashed at his face. Branches tore at his clothes. But he didn’t slow down. All he could think was that he was not going to lose Sara the same way he’d lost Nancy.
Twenty yards from the cliffs, the trail forked. Nick stood at the junction for the span of several heartbeats, listening, trying to decide which way to go. He’d stepped left when he spotted the spark of green against the muddy earth. Bending, he scooped up the necklace. He could tell by the lack of dirt that it had been recently dropped, and he knew immediately Sara was telling him to take the northernmost trail.
Dropping the necklace into his pocket, Nick tore down the trail. He could make out footprints, but they were quickly being washed away by the rain. He rounded a curve and the cliffs came into view. A tall man in a black raincoat stood on the ledge with his back to Nick, looking down. He held a gun in his right hand and was firing shots at something below.
What the hell?
Recognition sparked. Brett Stocker. But what the hell was Stocker doing out here? Protecting his old man? Or was this about something else?
Drawing his weapon, Nick chambered a bullet and started toward Stocker. He was midway there when the other man fired a series of shots. Realization struck Nick like a boxer’s punch. Fear twisted his insides into knots. Sara had gone off the cliff. God only knew how badly she was hurt. And the son of a bitch was trying to pick her off.
Chapter Seventeen
The bullet hit the ground two inches from the ledge where Sara crouched. A foot away, the cliff dropped away to the rocky beach below.
A groan escaped her as she struggled to her feet. Pain echoed through every inch of her body. She’d landed on a ledge about two feet wide that was covered with rock and moss and the twisted roots of long-dead junipers.
Every nerve in her body jumped when another shot rang out. Sara looked up. Terror spread through her like wildfire when she saw Brett Stocker leaning over the rocky ledge above, aiming the pistol at her.
“You can’t get away!” he screamed.
Another shot thwacked against the ground next to her foot. Sara looked around wildly. But the ledge offered no cover, no place to hide. All she could do was get as close to the base of the cliff as possible and hope he wasn’t a very good shot.
She staggered to the rock wall, pressed her back against it and tried to make herself as small as possible. Overhead, she could see the gun’s muzzle as he tried to get it into position to kill her. In the back of her mind, Sara wondered how many bullets he had left. If he had a spare magazine.
“Help me!” she screamed. “Help!”
But she knew there was no one around for miles.
A cry escaped her when another bullet slammed
into the ground inches from her foot. Sara danced sideways, pressed her body harder into the rock behind her, wishing desperately she could melt into it. It was a hopeless situation. She was a sitting duck. Stocker had a bad angle to contend with. But it was only a matter of time before one of his bullets found its mark.
Nick, where are you? she thought.
The only answer she got was the crash of the surf below and the retort of another gunshot.
NICK’S VISION tunneled on Stocker. The roar of rain and the surf faded to silence. He didn’t let himself think about what he was going to do. He didn’t consider consequences. His own safety never entered his mind. Nothing mattered except for saving the woman he loved.
The world went silent and still. Nick raised the gun, aimed for a body shot. Held it steady. “Toss the gun or I’ll split you in half.”
Stocker turned. His eyes went wide. Blood covered the right side of his face.
“Drop it,” Nick ordered.
Stocker lifted the gun by its butt and let it fall to the ground.
“Put your hands up and turn around.”
To his surprise, Stocker obeyed. Holding his sidearm steady, Nick approached. “Where is she?”
Stocker’s expression twisted into that of a crazed maniac. He glanced over the cliff, a chilling smile overtaking his face.
“Sara!” Keeping an eye on Stocker, Nick approached the cliff. “Sara!”
Stocker hit him with the violence of a linebacker sacking a quarterback. An animalistic cry tore from Stocker’s mouth as both men went down.
As he rolled, Nick caught a glimpse of a narrow ledge below. A flash of the rocky shore a hundred feet down. The gray, churning ocean beyond. He brought up his weapon, fired off a wild shot, missed.
Breathless with adrenaline, Nick scrambled to his feet.
Stocker rolled. An inhuman scream tore from his throat as the gun came up. Nick’s finger jerked on the trigger. Once. Twice. He didn’t count the number of shots. Seconds later, Stocker lay dead on the ground.
Turning away, Nick looked around. “Sara! Sara! Answer me, damn it!”
A thousand emotions descended when he heard her voice call out his name. He found her ten feet below, crouched against the wall of the cliff. She’d taken a serious fall, but she was standing.
His legs shook as he climbed down to her. He reached for her and she went into his arms. “Sara. My God. Are you all right?”
“Now I am,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder.
Then he was shoving her to arm’s-length, his eyes sweeping over her in a quick physical inventory. His heart stopped dead in his chest when he spotted blood dripping from her fingertips. “Oh, honey, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m hit,” she said. “I don’t think it’s too bad.”
For a moment, Nick was overcome with emotion. Unable to speak, unable to function, all he could do was wrap his arms around her and hold her against him.
She trembled violently, but he could feel her life force pulsing strong and warm. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.
“How did you find me?”
“The necklace,” he said. “That was incredibly smart.”
Reaching up, she cupped his face with her uninjured hand. “You saved my life.”
Nick closed his eyes against a hard rush of emotion. He knew he was holding her more tightly than he should, considering her injuries. But he couldn’t help it. She was alive. At the moment he didn’t think he was ever going to let her go again.
Pulling away slightly, she made eye contact. “Stocker?”
He shook his head. “Dead.”
“He tried to kill me,” she said. “He was going to make it look like suicide. All because he wanted to claim the manuscript as his own.”
“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again.” He ran his fingertips down her arm, his gut tightening at the sight of the blood. “Hang tight. There’s an ambulance on the way.”
She offered a smile. “I’ll let you know if I need to faint.”
He smiled back. “You’re incredibly brave.”
“So were our parents.”
He nodded, wiping at the tears that had begun to stream down her cheeks. “We’re going to be all right,” he said.
“As long as we’re together,” she said, “We’re going to be just fine.”
For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Nick Tyson truly believed it.
Epilogue
The curtains billowed and snapped at the balcony, ushering in the scent of the sea and a warm kiss of California sunshine. Outside, gulls cartwheeled and swooped, their cries carrying like the sound of children’s laughter. Beyond, the Pacific Ocean churned blue and green, capped with white in a kaleidoscope of color so lovely it took Sara’s breath away.
Three weeks had passed since that terrible day on the cliffs. Brett Stocker had died at the scene from a bullet wound. The following day, his father, Blaine, had been arrested in connection with the film Sara had found. He admitted to murdering four young women twenty-five years ago and capturing their deaths on film. He also confessed to the murders of Nicholas Tyson and Alexandra and Richard Douglas, who’d been working on a tell-all book.
Sara was still recovering from the bullet wound that had grazed her left bicep. Eight stitches and she’d been released from the hospital the next day. That same morning, she’d contacted the Cape Darkwood Press and spent an afternoon with a young reporter hungry to make his mark in the world of journalism. The next day a front-page article shocked the community with a truth no one could ever have imagined, exonerating her father and the reputations of Nicholas Tyson and Alexandra Douglas.
Much to Sara’s surprise, the young journalist had also interviewed the caretaker, and discovered Skeeter had been the one to write the warnings on her car. Not to frighten her, of course, but to warn her of the dangers. Unable to speak and frightened of the police, it was the only way he could think of to try to keep her safe. The unsettling nature of the messages was due only to his near illiteracy.
Sara had also learned what happened the day someone pushed her off the cliff. Skeeter had seen Brett Stocker snooping around the mansion. Skeeter tried to warn Sara by leaving the message on her car. He’d expected her to flee, but she’d surprised him by giving chase. Frightened, Skeeter had run toward his cottage down the beach. The caretaker later told the police that Brett Stocker had been the one to push her from the cliff.
And then there was Nick.
Just thinking of him made Sara’s breath hitch. He hadn’t left her side the entire time she’d been in the hospital. It had been there, in the chaos of the emergency room that he’d proposed. And it was there that Sara had accepted.
Stepping back from the mirror, she frowned. “It’s too tight,” she said.
“It’s perfect.” Sonia smoothed the waterfall of ivory satin with her palm and stepped back to admire the dress.
“The veil is crooked.”
“The veil is exactly right.”
“What about the bouquet?”
“Stop being so persnickety. I’ve got it right here.”
“It’s my wedding day. I’ve got a right to be persnickety.”
Laughing, Sonia handed her sister the bouquet of salmon-colored roses. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.” Taking the flowers, Sara grinned. “I’m terrified.”
Sonia stopped fussing with the flowers and looked at her younger sister. “Terrified of what, honey?”
“Everything. Nothing.” Realizing she wasn’t making any sense whatsoever, Sara choked out a laugh. “I want to get this right.”
“You got the most important thing right.” Sonia squeezed her shoulder. “I talked to him this morning, sis. He’s so in love with you he couldn’t take his eyes off the staircase where you’ll be making your appearance.”
The thought of Nick waiting for her downstairs calmed her frazzled nerves. “I’m crazy about
him.”
Stepping back, Sonia eyed the dress her younger sister wore and smiled. “You’re beautiful. Mom would have loved it that you’re wearing her dress.”
“It feels right.”
They were standing in the same room they had shared as sisters. Sara in her wedding gown, Sonia in her matron-of-honor gown. With the sun shining through the balcony doors and the ocean breeze filling the room with the scent of the sea, Sara thought it couldn’t be any more perfect.
“I think Mom and Dad would have liked the wedding taking place here at the house,” she said.
Sonia’s eyes went misty. “Good memories to replace the bad.”
“I wish they could be here.”
Smiling, Sonia hugged her sister. “They are, honey.”
A quiet tap on the door spun both women around. Before Sonia could answer, the door opened. Tension crept up the back of Sara’s neck when Laurel Tyson appeared. She wore a soft-blue dress with matching shoes. Her tastefully coifed silver hair was piled on top of her head. She looked elegant and regal, but her eyes were melancholy.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.
Sonia glanced at her sister as if to gauge her reaction.
“Come in,” Sara said.
The older woman entered the bedroom. Her eyes skimmed over Sara and her mouth curved into a rare smile. “My goodness, you’re stunning.”
Uncertain what to expect, Sara remained silent. Sonia went to her side, took her hand. “It was Mom’s dress.”
“I remember it well,” Laurel said. “I was her bridesmaid of honor.” She laughed. “My dress wasn’t nearly as lovely.”
Laurel seemed to gather her composure, then spoke. “I owe both of you an apology. If your parents were here, I’d owe them an apology as well.”