Tymber Dalton - Safe Harbor

“Check him,” she whispered. “Now. Check him.”

He left her on the bed and limped over to Bryan. Her shot had hit him in the chest, near his heart. Not dead yet, but the wound was sucking. He should bleed out pretty soon.

“Not yet.”

“Kill him,” she managed. “Kill the fucker.”

They didn’t have time for this. His plan had been to stage it to marginally look like a suicide. Considering what Bryan had done, crime scene techs would have overlooked any inconsistencies with Jason smoothing the way.

This, however, wasn’t good.

“We can’t. We need to get out of here.”

She vigorously shook her head. “Kill him, or I will.”

“Just a minute.” He ripped the duct tape remnants from the chair and returned it to its place at the table. He checked Bryan—still breathing.

He found Clarisse’s phone on the dresser, scooped it into his pocket along with the change. Then he rummaged through Bryan’s pockets until he found the handcuff key. He freed her and rubbed her wrists. “Baby, are you okay?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off Bryan’s still body. “Is he dead?”

He cradled her face in his hands and forced her to look at him.

“Pet, listen to me. Focus on me.” He felt her trembling, and her color didn’t look good. “Did he hurt you?” Some bruising already shadowed her left cheekbone, but not bad.

“No. He just slapped me around. Fucking pussy coward asshole!”

she angrily shot over Sully’s shoulder at Bryan.

Despite the situation, Sully had to bite back a laugh. If all he’d done was slap her, then he’d only pissed her off, not hurt her. “We have to go. Now.”

“I want him dead!”

Sully checked Bryan again. He stripped off his right glove and touched his fingers to the man’s carotid artery. His pulse felt weak, thready, his breathing shallow. He wouldn’t last long. Sully didn’t see where the bullet had struck the wall or door. It must not have passed through him.

He pulled the glove back on and found Bryan’s gun, wiped it clean on the bedspread and then put it in Bryan’s hand to get the prints on it before placing it on the floor near him. He retrieved his gun and both pizza boxes, the duct tape remnants, handcuffs, and quickly wiped her prints off the chair and in the bathroom. As a final thought, he found Bryan’s wallet and took his laptop, along with the fake hospital ID he found laying on the table. It could look like a robbery. He then stood in front of Clarisse.

“Pet, we are leaving.”

She defiantly looked at him. “Is he dead?”

“He’s dying.” He held out his free hand. “Come, pet.”

She shook her head like a stubborn child and crossed her arms over her chest. “Not until he’s dead.”

Sully silently swore. He didn’t have time for this! “Now, pet. We have to get back to Sir and check on him.”

At the mention of Mac she started crying. He scooped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “It’s okay, pet. He’s going to make it. We have to go in case anyone called the police. Pet, you must obey me.”

She finally nodded and allowed him to guide her from the bed. He gave wide berth to Bryan’s body. At the doorway, she stared back at him and shuddered. Sully started to open the door when Bryan let out a rattling gasp. Clarisse stifled a cry.

Sully knelt over him again. No pulse.

“Okay, he’s gone. And so are we.” He pulled her close and despite his heavy limp from where Bryan kicked him, he quickly led her from the room and around the back of the building to Jason’s car.

Inside, he stripped off his gloves, jacket, and hat. The kid could easily replace the jacket and hat with the grand he’d given him for the information, use of the car, and to “lose” Bryan’s original ticket. Sully would wait to throw all the stuff away in different places on the way to the hospital, but not this close to the scene. He buckled Clarisse’s seat belt around her and drove away from the motel. He drove north on Alt. 19 for several blocks before turning east and heading for U.S.

19. He pulled into a shopping center and called Jason with barely minutes to spare.

“Well?”

“Done. All clear. She’s safe.”

Jason breathed out a sigh of relief. “I’m on the way to the hospital.

I’ll see you there. I cleared out the room already, so head straight back. I’ve got all the stuff in your trunk. Don’t risk going back.” He paused. “And ditch that gun, it’s not traceable.”

Sully closed his eyes. “Thank you, but I didn’t use it.”

“No problem.” He hesitated. “What’s the story going to read?”

“That’s for the papers to decide. Random robbery, most likely.

Housekeeping will find him in a day or two.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Sully hung up, and that’s when his own shakes hit. He shut off the car, pulled Clarisse to him, and allowed himself to cry into her hair as she desperately sobbed against him. A half-hour later they composed themselves after her trembling stopped.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“I killed him,” she whispered.

He nodded. “You did good. You saved me.”

Her eyes widened as she looked into his eyes. “I killed him. I killed someone!”

He cradled her chin in his hands again and gently pressed a kiss to her mouth until she started responding. “Self-defense. We didn’t leave evidence they can tie to you for this.” He hoped. He sniffed gunpowder on her clothes. “We need to get you to our room and I have to throw those clothes away. You have to have a shower.”

“Do we call the cops?”

He shook his head. “No.” He took a deep breath, played dirty, told her what Jason had uncovered about her parents’ deaths. “Pet, this is an order. You are to not feel guilty about this. It was self-defense.”

She finally nodded and collapsed against him again, sobbing.

He took his time driving to St. Pete, threw out the various things in different locations. At their hotel, he helped her strip and held her as they both sat in the shower. She sobbed against him while the water washed the smell of gunpowder off her. After she regained her composure he helped her stand and thoroughly scrubbed every inch of her flesh and his, hoping to remove any residue. Incidental residue could be explained away by their regular target practices, but lots of fresh residue couldn’t.

It was nearly eleven when they returned to the ICU. Sully nodded at the armed deputy standing guard. He’d forced a little soup into Clarisse, and her shocky tremors had stopped. Jason looked up from where he sat reading a book at Mac’s bedside.

Without a word, she walked over to Jason when he stood. She hugged him, then whispered, “Thank you.”

He let out a deep sigh. “I’m glad you’re safe, kiddo.”

They stayed for another hour before Sully coaxed her back to their hotel where they crashed, tightly clinging to each other in bed and sleeping until well past dawn.

Mac opened his eyes for the first time nearly a month after the attack. His doctors had gradually reduced his sedation as the brain swelling decreased and his injuries healed. It was a beautiful afternoon. Jason had stopped by to visit and chat with Clarisse. Sully had gone to the house for the day to check on things, to run through a list Clarisse gave him to make sure the Dilly was okay, and to visit Tad. Bart stayed with Tad at the nursing home, one less worry on Clarisse’s plate.

They had rented a small furnished apartment near the hospital, closer than the hotel room and cheaper in the long run. It was on the ground floor and accessible by wheelchair.

They hoped it wouldn’t be long before they could bring Mac to their temporary home. They didn’t want to talk about what-ifs, if their home in Tarpon Springs would be impractical, or if they’d have to install an elevator and convert a bathroom for him.

They didn’t want to talk about a future where they might have to sell the Dilly.

They didn’t talk about it at all. They talked about when Mac got better, not if.

Clarisse stood at the end of Mac’s bed, massaging his feet and running through his range of motion exercises while Jason talked.

Over the past weeks, Mac had seven surgeries for his brain injury and facial reconstruction to fix the damaged bones. The last had finally healed, somewhat. His hair, now longer than he normally wore it, had grown in choppy and uneven over his surgical scars.

She was focused on Jason when she noticed his expression. When she followed his gaze, she realized Mac’s eyes were open. Her happy yell alerted the nurse.

Jason hooked an arm around Clarisse’s shoulders and gently guided her out of the cubicle while the nurse called in a doctor and they checked Mac. Twenty minutes later, one of Mac’s doctors walked out, smiling.

“It’s a good step. He’s not really awake, but it’s a good step.”

Jason held her while she cried. They let them back in a few minutes later to be with him. His eyes were still open, and he blinked occasionally, but he showed no signs of comprehension. She held and stroked his hands, whispering to him, begging him to respond while Jason called Sully.

By the time Sully returned to the hospital, Mac had closed his eyes again and wouldn’t open them.

Clarisse didn’t want to leave him. It took Sully whispering a stern order in her ear and Jason’s help to pull her from Mac’s bedside. That night, when she refused to eat because she wanted to return to the hospital and visit Mac, Sully pulled her over his lap and spanked her, hard, until her tears flowed.

As she sobbed in his arms, he held and soothed her, hating himself, knowing she was barely holding things together. He hadn’t had the energy to give her the structure he knew she needed and craved now more than ever, most of his energy diverted to keeping a façade of strength together for her. But tonight, she needed that from him.

“You can’t make yourself sick, baby,” he murmured. “He’ll wake up really pissed at me if I let you do that.”

That elicited a snurfly snort and a lopsided smile from her. When she sat up, he handed her a tissue. “I want him back,” she said. “I want him back now.”

He tucked her hair behind her ears. He remembered his own recovery. While not involving brain trauma, it had still been long and hard and he expected that to be a walk in the park compared to Mac’s journey. “I know, sweetie. Me too.”

* * *

The next morning, Mac’s eyes were open when they walked into the cubicle. Mac hadn’t been on the respirator in over a week, and Sully choked back a sob when he saw Mac’s sweet brown eyes staring into space.

He leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to his lips, then whispered in his ear. “I’m ordering you to come back to me, slave.

Our life is empty without you.”

Clarisse took up her position next to the bed on Mac’s left side.

She laced her fingers through his hand and waited.

Mac would blink on occasion. He closed his eyes again around ten that morning. Sully didn’t try to push Clarisse’s limits at lunchtime.

He left her with Mac and went downstairs to eat. He brought her back a sandwich and a bottle of juice, which she reluctantly ate without too much prodding. At four, when the nurse checked Mac’s vital signs, he opened his eyes again.

Sully watched Clarisse’s hopeful look. He’d finally found a comfy position in the hospital recliner chair he occupied. He could watch Mac’s face without moving and twisting his already sore leg any more than necessary.

Then Mac’s eyes shifted position, falling on Sully and staying there.

Sully’s heart seized. There was something…there. Or was he deluding himself with wishful thinking?

After several minutes, Mac’s gaze still hadn’t left Sully. The nurse left. Not wanting to get Clarisse’s hopes up, he said, “Sweetie, my leg is killing me. Can you run down to the gift shop and get me some Tylenol or something and a cup of coffee?”

“Okay.” She stepped around the bed and kissed Sully before leaving.

Sully watched Mac’s eyes shift, following her departure before they returned to him. With his heart pounding in his chest, he leaned forward and clasped Mac’s hand. “Brant?”

Mac stared at him, then slowly blinked twice.

Sully choked back his own tears. “Blink again, two times.”

He did.

Sully looked around, saw the nurse was tending to another patient.