Firebird (12 page)

A deep growl, very close.   The sound of paws racing across stone.  She saw the blue eyes flare.  His hands suddenly fell away from her.  He spun toward the sound, and she saw the silver flash of his knife in the mist.

In an instant the black Lab shot out of the fog and launched into the air toward her attacker.  Straight toward the knife, gleaming like a shard of ice.  “No!” she screamed, and threw herself at the man with the knife, shoving him away from the animal.  It all happened in slow motion, the shout of warning, the dog’s deep growl, her attacker cursing as he hit the slate, the sharp sting slicing across her arm, the blow of the stranger’s hand as he slammed her away.    

She was thrown across the terrace and crashed into the low stone balustrade, felt herself falling backward and flung out her arms in panic.  For a heartbeat she fought the air.  Then she went over the wall with a low, desperate cry.

She was falling
!

She screamed as she pitched through the air, tumbling into dark space.  Something hit her like a punch.

She slid downward toward the sea.

CHAPTER 12

“Before you trust a man...”

Anonymous Proverb

Pain, hot and sickening, spun in her head.  The smell of copper.  Am I alive? she asked herself.

Sharp stone dug into her skin.  The breath had been knocked out of her, and she gasped for air.  She opened her eyes.  Rock.  She was clinging to black rock, at a steep angle.  Her fingers were slippery, wet with blood.  She could feel a narrow ledge just beneath her feet.

Very slowly, she turned her face.  Nothing but space.

All the sound went out of her head. 

JesusGod.  The cliffs!  She’d fallen from the terrace...

“Hold-on-hold-on-hold-on,” she gasped.  She dug in her heels and pressed her chest flat against the wall of stone.  She could hear her heart thundering in her chest.

Running.  Scraping sounds, a man’s shout, then wild barking above her head.

A figure loomed over the terrace balustrade, reaching for her.  His body blocked out the light as he grabbed for her wrists.

Fear iced through her.  “Don’t hurt Juliet!” she cried.

“Dios mio.  Quiet, Hoover!” 

Somehow, his voice penetrated her brain.

“Garcia?” she whispered.  She remembered the dog, lunging out of the fog.  “Is Hoover…?”

“He’s fine!  Don’t move!”

She moved.

Her body shifted, began to slide.   Jagged rock scraped against her chest.   

Don’t fall, don’t fall
!  

She hit an outcrop, clung.  Looking up, she saw him reaching toward her.  His outstretched hand was several feet above her head.

 “Listen to me, Red, you’ve got to grasp on to my hands.   I’ll pull you up.”

“I’ll fall.”

“Trust me.”

“Trust is my worst event,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You can do it.  Take my hand.”

“No!”

“Not the right answer, Red.  Take my hand!”

“Can’t…  Let…  Go of the rock,” she gasped.  “Dizzy.  Too high...”

He stared down at her.  “Shit,” he murmured.  “Don’t tell me you’re acrophobic?”

She looked up into his eyes.

“Okay.  But I can’t do it without you, Red.  Work with me!”

Down or up, she thought, fighting back the paralyzing fear.   Up, her brain shouted.  Up to Juliet – and home to Ruby.  Don’t look down.  Just do it!  She took a deep breath and reached for him.

Missed.

Again.

Strong fingers closed around her wrist.  “Good.  I’ve got you.”  He began to ease her toward him.  “Stop struggling, I’m not going to drop you.”

“Just get me off this cliff, damn you!”

He grunted, pulling her upward another foot, knocking her hard against the balustrade.  “How much do you weigh?”

“A real hero would never ask that,” she told him as he dragged her over the wall and pulled her close against his chest.  And then, “I think I’m going to pass out…”

“Stay with me,” he demanded.  For a heartbeat, they stared at each other.  Then they fell together onto the flagstones.

* * * *

You are something, thought Garcia, watching Alexandra speak into her cell phone.  She’d turned her back to him, but he could see the expressive lift of slender shoulders and the thick white bandage that wrapped her right forearm.

It was two hours since he’d pulled her off the cliff.  The medic had just left, and the young policeman had once again come and gone.  This time, his report was longer.  This time, he’d looked at Alexandra with a question in his eyes. 

Garcia shifted on the tall stool as Alexandra closed her phone and, for a long moment, leaned her forehead against the kitchen door. 

“How’s the arm?” he asked her.

A shrug.  “I’ve had worse.”  She locked the door with a firm snap and once more tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in that familiar, tense gesture.  Then she turned to him.  “Better now, that I called home. After what happened here today, I just needed to reach out to my child.”

He couldn’t hide his surprise, and she smiled.  “I have a daughter, Ruby, who’s nineteen months old.”

“A Little Red,” he murmured.  “Is she a fighter like her mother?”

Bright hair swung away to reveal purpling bruises on her slender neck, an angry red print on the pale, hollowed cheek. 
Dios
.  He felt the anger stir, raw and primal.  What else had that bastard done to her? 

“I want you to - ” he began.

She looked up and he saw that her eyes were the color of ocean fog.  Still in shock.  Go slow, Garcia, he cautioned himself.

“Before I was a mother,” she said suddenly, “I read newspapers, I slept through the night.  I had no idea what it was like to sit up all night watching your child sleep.  Or how it felt to rush a screaming baby to a doctor at 3 a.m.  Or how it felt to be separated…”  Her voice dropped.  “I never knew I could love someone so much.”

I remember
, he told her silently.  He cocked his chin toward the stairs.   “Your niece seems fine,” he offered.

For the first time, she smiled.  “Olympic-worthy eye-rolls, bedroom door slammed and locked, text messages flying, the Boss blasting Thunder Road.  All’s right with the world.” 

He shrugged.  “Kids are resilient.  I’m not much for texting, but at least she has good taste in music.”  Maybe she’d give him points for Springsteen…

“Resilient?  Maybe.  But sometimes people have injuries you can’t see.”

He eyed her thoughtfully.  The black Lab stood against her leg protectively and she bent to scratch his ears. 

“My hero.  Ruby would love you, Hoover.”  She caught him watching her.  “What?” she challenged.

“You’re something, you know that?”  He gestured toward her bandaged arm.  “You saved Hoover’s life,” he said softly, shaking his head in disbelief.  “You saw that knife and you jumped in front of it.  Do you
always
lead with your fist, Chica?” 

Hiding a smile, she looked down at the Lab.  “It was the right thing to do,” she said simply.  “How could I not?  I didn’t have time to think, but - he’s suffered enough in his life.  No damn way I’d let him be hurt again because of me.”  She began to spoon more instant coffee into mugs.  Her hands shook as she poured the boiling water.  “Where’s the Starbucks when you need it,” she muttered.

She handed him a mug.  He drank and made a face.  “Whoa.  Strong.”

She drank deeply from her own mug.  “Helps me unwind,” she smiled faintly, and began to gather the items that had spilled from her overturned purse.  “He didn’t take my wallet.”

He saw the surprise, and the watchful flicker in her eyes.  Not a simple robbery, then, he told himself.

He leaned forward.  “You’re not telling me everything.”

Anger flared.  “Don’t pretend you know anything about me, Garcia.”

“I’ve seen that look before.  What are you hiding?”

She turned quickly, so that the curtain of hair swung across her face.  “Stop interrogating me!  I’m not ‘a person of interest.’”

Oh, but you are
.  “You shouldn’t be alone, Red,” he said suddenly.  “Let me call someone for you.  A neighbor?  A husband?”

“God, no.  I’m divorced.”  Once more she locked her arms across her chest and raised her chin in that defiant gesture he was beginning to recognize.  “Life is tough, Garcia, but so am I.  I can deal with this on my own.”  She turned away from him to lean over the sink. 

And why did he get the feeling that what she really wanted to say was, ‘Have a nice life and stay out of mine!’?   In for a penny, in for a peso, he told himself.

He hitched off the stool and moved to stand behind her.  She was wearing a scent that smelled like the sea, and her hair flared red in the light from the window.   “Tell me what happened to you today,” he said softly.

* * * *

How do I know if I can trust him, Zan?  He’s no stranger to violence.

Eve’s words whispered in her head.  Alexandra gripped the sink’s porcelain edge, cool and steadying beneath her fingertips.  She could sense the barely contained violence in his voice, his body. 
And she’d had enough violence to last a lifetime.

Just breathe, she told herself.  No way she was going to confide in a man she hardly knew.  Especially a man with some mysterious connection to her sister.

And yet, this same man had pulled her off the cliffs.

She turned to find him too close.  His eyes were like a winter’s night sky, his open-necked shirt very white against his sun-dark skin.  There was an air of confidence about him.  And, again, that unsettling stillness.

The tense silence between them built.

“I have all night, Red,” he told her. 

She slipped past him, set a hip firmly on the kitchen table.  Keep your distance, she warned him silently.

“That was no simple island thief who attacked you.”

It wasn’t a damned robbery!
she wanted to scream
.  He called me Shura.  He knew about Ruby
!  Alexandra shuddered as she thought of the whispered breath on her neck, the cruel fingers tangled in her hair.  “I told the policeman everything I could.  You know he wore a ski-mask!”  Her skin shivered with memory.  “Oh, God, he was faceless, just eyes like shards of ice, and he...”

“He hurt you.”  For the first time, she glimpsed the ruthlessness behind the dark eyes.

She turned away.  “You’re sure you didn’t get a good look at him?”

“Just a shape, through the fog.  I was more concerned about you and Hoover.   I heard the roar of a Harley engine, but that’s it.”  His eyes narrowed on her.  “If he didn’t take your wallet, what was he after?”

I want what she gave you
...   A stranger’s terrifying demand.  Brutal hands that had been searching her body.  For what?

“I have no idea.”

“This is important, Red.  Did you fall - or did he deliberately push you over the edge?”  Again, she felt the violence in him, held just below the surface.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember.  Hands, rough and hurting.  All over her body.  Her knees pressed hard against the low wall.  Then the distant bark, and low words close against her cheek. 

You could take a terrible fall
. 

“I honestly don’t know.  But I think – it was an accident. It all happened so fast   Hoover flying out of the fog.  The knife…  Oh, God, I couldn’t let him hurt your dog!  I just threw myself at him.  He slammed me away, and that’s when I went over.” 

She stopped. 
The shine of gold on his hand
.

“A ring,” she said slowly.  “Gold, heavy.  In the shape of…” she closed her eyes, willing the image.  “A bird’s wing.”

He nodded.  “Good. That will help.  I’ll call the police captain, let them know.”

She looked at him.  “What were
you
doing on our terrace?”

“Penance for my sins, apparently.  Hoover needed exercise, and you’d left your damned book of fairytales when you bolted from the cottage this morning.  The book plate said Cliff House.  The Marik family used to live here.” 

He was watching her face.  “I’d just rung the doorbell when I heard the kettle shrieking.  No one had turned it off.  I banged on the door, then Hoover and I charged in.  Hero-like.”

“Sorry.  I’m not usually so rude.”      

“You run one hell of a lending library, Chica,” he said lightly.  “Most women would just say ‘thanks for returning my book.’ 
You
take on a mugger, save a dog’s life, tumble off a cliff and try to kill the guy who risks his neck to rescue you.”

“Thank you for returning my book,” she said softly.   

He smiled.  “De nada.  You protected Hoover and your niece, Red.  But I’d stay away from high places if I were you.”

“Your lips to God’s ears.”  Her hair swung down to curtain her eyes as she pictured herself clinging to the cliffs like some paralyzed limpet.

“Did you ever see Alfred Hitchcock’s movie,
Vertigo
?”

“Good grief!  I can’t stand heights, Garcia, why would I?”

“Jimmy Stewart is terrified of high places.  He tries to overcome his fear
one step at a time
, by climbing a step-ladder.”

She held up a hand.  “Let me guess.  Knowing Hitchcock, poor Jimmy probably ends up on a tower.  Or a cliff.”

“Stairs in a church steeple.”

“Church!  So much for sanctuary,” she muttered.

He moved closer.  “Don’t you think it’s time you told me your name, Red?”

She moved until the table was a lake between them and stared at him.

“Who the devil are you?” he repeated softly.

“Alexandra,” she said finally.  “Now go home.”

“You’re halfway there, Alexandra.”  He pronounced it in the Spanish way, ‘Ahl-ee-hahn-dra.”

“
Marik
,” she hissed in exasperation.  “Alexandra Katya Marik, Baranski Gallery, New York City.  Satisfied?”

The thick black brows drew up in surprise.  “Alexandra Katya… 
You’re
A. K. Marik?”