Teresa Medeiros - Once An Angel

shore. Justin's men had already boarded the modest steamer anchored off the western coast of the

North Island only to be told a man and woman had gone ashore at sunset.

They followed the curve of the shoreline, not wanting to warn anyone of their approach. Justin's restless gaze raked the shadowy forest. Was Emily there somewhere? Waiting for him?

He pressed a finger to his lips, silencing Penfeld's oars. The dinghy drifted around a narrow finger of sand. A chill touched him to see the familiar bluff and David's cross silhouetted against the violet sky. Penfeld removed his hat in a gesture of respect and clutched it to his chest.

The bottom of the boat scraped against land. In silent accord they climbed out and dragged it up the sandy slope, hiding it between two towering dunes. Penfeld reached around and drew his rifle from its sheath, handling it with surprising grace.

"Stay put," Justin commanded. "No matter what you hear, I want you to stay put. You've got to be

ready to take her away from here if something goes wrong. Do you understand?"

"But, sir-"

Justin shook a stern finger at him. "That's an order, Penfeld. Disobey it and I'll . . . I'll . . . dismiss you."

"Aye, sir," he replied with obvious reluctance. He settled down with his back against a dune and the rifle cradled in his folded arms.

Justin picked his way along the shadows of the dunes until he came to the rim of the open beach. He squatted in the sand, remembering another night, another beach. There was no sign of the natives now. The glittering carpet of beach rolled out before him. A primitive fear knotted his gut as he braced himself to step onto that shimmering stretch of sand and sea, naked to any eyes that might be watching from the forest.

Then he saw it, a light shining through the trees from the hut just as the light had once shone from David's tent. This time he would not be too late. His hesitation wouldn't cost him the life of someone he loved.

He burst from the cover of the dunes and pounded down the beach, sending chunks of wet sand flying

in his wake. Cold sea spray battered him. The beach unfurled in a sparkling ribbon, mocking him with

the serene beauty of the rising moon silvering the indigo swells.

A ghost stepped out from the shadows. Nicky, luminous in a white linen suit and a wide-brimmed panama hat. Justin stumbled to a halt.

He stared, mesmerized, at the graceful flick of Nicky's fingers as he struck a match and touched the flame to the end of his cigarette. The sickly sweet aroma of burning hemp filled the air, and Justin knew it wasn't tobacco he was smoking.

Nicky held out a gold case and raised one mocking eyebrow. "Cigarette? As I recall, you sometimes indulged."

"Why couldn't you have left us alone, Nicky? We were happy together. Why couldn't you just walk

away when you found us?"

A beatific smile curved his lips. "And give up the sheer pleasure of watching you destroy each other? You've always misread my intentions. I never wanted to kill you, Justin. I just wanted to watch you bleed."

"Where is she? What have you done with her?"

"Nothing." Nicky took a deep draw from the cigarette; his eyes glittered. "Yet."

With one smooth motion Justin drew the pistol from his waistband and pointed it at his old friend, his hands oddly steady. "I want to see her."

Nicky slid the cigarette case into his pocket and held up both hands. "Please don't shoot me. I'd never

get the bloodstains out of this suit, and you know how expensive Egyptian linen is."

"Take me to her."

He dropped his hands, giving Justin a beleaguered smile. "I've always found your singleminded sense of purpose quite dull. I told you. She's safe for now. At least until I tire of her."

Justin started for him. "You ruthless bastard."

Nicky's low laugh rippled. "Ah, so that's the way of it.

I thought so. I wonder what your precious David would say if he knew you'd been tumbling his sweet little Claire between the sheets. I don't think that's quite what he had in mind when he asked you to take care of her. But I do hope you rode her hard and broke her in well for me. "

Blinded by rage at the full extent of Nicholas's betrayal, Justin rammed the pistol back in his waistband and rushed him, coming in low and hard. His shoulder slammed into Nicky's stomach. The cigarette flew from his elegant lips. They rolled to the powdery sand in an explosion of flailing arms and legs.

Justin's right hook connected with a solid crack, rocking back Nicky's head. He wanted to pound his face to a bloody pulp, but all he got in was one more blow before he realized Nicky hadn't lifted his fists to fight back, but had balled them in front of his face to protect it. A keening whimper escaped him.

Grabbing his lapels, Justin slammed him to his back and straddled him. He shook him with each anguished word. "How could you do it, you son of a bitch? You were my friend! "

Nicky slowly lowered his hands, and Justin realized with horror that he was crying. Tears streaked the

grit on his cheeks but didn't dim the virulent hatred in his eyes. "You don't know what it was like," he screamed. "You always had it all. You never had to scrounge in the sewers of Rome for food or pennies, selling whatever you could to stay alive-even yourself."

Justin sat back on his haunches, stunned.

"We could have had it all, you and I, but you gave up your inheritance! You just threw it away like it

was nothing. And why shouldn't you? You never had to let some fat Sicilian pig maul you with his

sweaty hands in the hopes he might give you a loaf of bread afterward for your trouble!"

Justin turned his face away. "I never knew, ' he whispered. "I swear I never knew."

He was completely unprepared when the sharp heel of Nicky's boot slammed into his jaw, knocking him backward. Before he could react, Nicky rolled up. Striking with the speed and cunning of a serpent, he snatched the pistol from Justin's waistband and leveled it at him.

Justin stood, backing away. Nicholas followed, scooping up his hat as he rose and tilting it back on his head at a rakish angle. His grip on the gun wavered wildly. "You ruined everything, you rich brat. Together we could have had the world."

There was a sigh then, softer than the wind, and they both turned to find Emily standing in the sand, the moonlight pearling off the barrel of the derringer cradled in her palm.

Emily looked so beautiful with her skirts blowing in the wind and her hair tousled by its fingers that

Justin wanted to weep. He was surprised she couldn't hear the crack of his heart breaking.

Nicky slowly lowered his pistol.

She moved toward Justin, the gun never wavering in her grip. The moonlight polished her skin to porcelain and shaded her piquant features to an inscrutable mask. Only her eyes were alive, sparkling

with an inner flame that burned bright and hot.

"I was hoping you'd leave me the pleasure of shooting the bastard," she said.

A grin spread across Nicky's face. He tossed Justin's pistol aside, pulled out a handkerchief, and scrubbed at his palm as if the weapon had defiled it. "The pleasure is all mine, cara mia."

Justin faced her as he should have seven years earlier- with his arms spread wide and his heart in his hands. "It's all right, darling. Killing me won't stop me from loving you."

She took another step toward him. A single tear slipped from her lashes and tumbled down her cheek. Her thumb toyed with the hammer; her voice was as soft and lethal as a caress. "Now you'll know what it's like to die a thousand miles from home at the hand of someone you love."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. I am home. And I'd much rather die by your hand than his."

"Go on. Shoot him," Nicky urged. "Before he kills the both of us like he killed your father. Oh, they

were a fine pair, those two. Always had their heads together, laughing about something, shutting me out like I wasn't good enough for the likes of them. What really happened the night he died, Justin?" he taunted. "Was it truly an act of mercy, or perhaps a lover's quarrel?"

With no warning Emily swung the gun around and aimed it at Nicky's head. "Nobody talks that way about my daddy."

The derringer exploded in a smoky blur.

Nicky's hat flew off. He rubbed his head, his expression of bewilderment almost comical. "Do you

know how much that hat cost, you stupid little bitch?"

"More than your coat?" she queried politely, cocking the derringer and firing again. She winged his coat, tearing a blackened hole through the armpit. When she steadied her arm, the pistol was pointing straight

at his heart.

"You don't have to do this, Emily," Justin said very softly, inching toward her. "We can have him put away for a very long time."

Tears were streaming down her face in earnest now. "Not long enough," she said, raking back the hammer.

Nicky's eyes rolled wildly, but his attention was not on her. It was as if he could hear something they could not. They froze, listening. It was the silence. There was something wrong with the silence. In that instant of Emily's hesitation it had become a living, breathing thing. The shimmering leaves of the rain forest quivered and sighed, alive with knowing eyes. Justin's skin crawled.

The brush exploded in a screeching mass of lithe bronze bodies. Justin dove for Emily, pressing her to

her knees, forcing her face into his chest, wanting to spare her the sight of the familiar tattooed faces contorted into demonic masks of fury. Their ear-shattering cries for revenge drowned out the roar of

the sea. Hordes of sun-browned feet stampeded around them in a beat more primitive than drums or thunder. Someone was screaming. It might have been Emily or it might have been him.

Nicky's hysterical wail rose above it all. "For God's sake, you savages. Not the suit. Don't tear the

bloody suit!"

Justin lifted his face from Emily's trembling throat. A writhing mass of natives had Nicky by the arms

and legs. Justin stared mesmerized as they dragged him howling and bucking into the forest, leaving

only his panama hat flattened in the sand.

The screams and howls slowly died. For a wavering moment the silence was broken only by the

whisper of the waves and the shrill cry of a kiwi.

Someone was watching them. The hair on Justin's nape stood erect. He turned his head to find a lean figure squatting beneath the shadow of a punga tree. Their gazes met across the moonlit stretch of

beach, man to man, friend to friend. Then the native lifted his hand and melted into the arms of the

brush without so much as a rustle of his flaxen skirt.

"Never underestimate the resourcefulness of an English valet left to his own devices," Justin murmured into Emily's hair.

She nuzzled against his chest, loath to surrender the comfort of his strong arms around her. He tasted so good -salty and gritty and real, as a man should taste. Her convulsive shivers slowly abated. She tilted her face to his, laughing and crying at the same time.

"Oh, Justin!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.

It took her a moment to realize something was wrong. He knelt rigid in her embrace. She drew back fearfully. "You didn't really think I was going to shoot you, did you?"