Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea (19 page)

“We'll see, little sister,” he said softly. “We'll see.”

It was almost twilight, and they had reached the outskirts of Portland, when Chadeaux suddenly pulled off the highway. A blue neon sign blinking on and off announced their arrival at the Pinetree Motel. Chadeaux drew up before the small office with a lighted vacancy sign in the large glass picture window.

It was a singularly unimpressive establishment, Brenna noticed drearily. The U-shaped motel units were constructed of gray brick and cedar. Green shutters framed the windows of each individual unit, and the faded and peeling paint gave the motel a generally seedy air.

“This will have to do,” Chadeaux said briefly. He reached for Randy who had been lulled to sleep by the motion of the car. “I'll just take the kid in with me when I register. I don't think you'll have any bright ideas about taking off while I have him.”

Chadeaux returned to the car in a short time, and drove to the far end of the court to a unit with a large brass number seven on the door.

“My lucky number,” he announced with satisfaction, parking directly in front of the door. “Everything is going to turn out just fine, little sister.”

Brenna hugged Randy's body to her nervously as Chadeaux indicated that she should get out of the car.

Chadeaux unlocked the door and pushed her in ahead of him, shutting the door behind him.

Brenna looked around her wearily. The room was small and shabby, with the regulation twin beds and the combination desk-dresser that was common to small-town motels everywhere. At least the room looked fairly clean, Brenna thought tiredly.

She laid Randy down on one of the beds, gently brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

She turned to Chadeaux, and said, “It's past his dinnertime. He must have something to eat.”

“He's asleep,” Chadeaux said, with a shrug. “He'll be all right for a while.” He removed his jacket and threw it on the bed beside Randy. “In the meantime, we can come to an understanding.”

Brenna looked at him steadily. “I don't know what you expect to accomplish, but whatever it is, it's not going to work, Paul.”

A flicker of anger flashed in the shallow gray eyes. “It had better work,” he said malevolently. “Or you're going to be very, very sorry, little sister.”

“Stop calling me that!” Brenna snapped, her nerves raw and quivering from the worry and tension of the past hours.

“I'll call you what I please, bitch,” he snarled. “I've had enough of your insolence. Now you're going to do what you're told.”

With three strides he was across the room. His hands fastened with brutal ferocity on her slender shoulders, and he watched her face with savage enjoyment as he slowly tightened his grip until the pain was excruciating. She cried out in agony.

“Shall I tell you what you're going to do, little sister?” he said tauntingly. “You're going to sit down at that desk over there, and you're going to write out a complete account of Randy's birth, naming me as the father and Janine as the mother, and confessing all the details of Janine's little plot. You're going to give names, dates, and places, so that it will stand up in any court in the country.”

Brenna shook her head, her face twisted in pain from the grip that felt as if it were a medieval torture clamp.

“I won't do it,” she gasped, tears running down her face. “I'll never let you have Randy.”

“Dammit! You will!” Chadeaux snarled furiously, shaking her back and forth, like a dog with a rag doll. He spun her around, and twisted her arm behind her back as he forced her across the room to the desk. As he pulled the desk chair out, his grip loosened fractionally, and with a lightning movement Brenna jerked free and whirled away from him. She backed away, her breast heaving, her eyes wild with fright.

“Damn you!” Chadeaux swore furiously and charged after her, grabbing her once more by the shoulders and trying futilely to subdue her frantic struggles as desperation lent her additional strength. Their struggles had led them to the edge of the vacant bed near the desk, when Chadeaux saw a way of gaining the advantage.

Using the weight of his body, he overbalanced her and she fell heavily onto the bed, striking her head on the wooden head-board. Blinding pain was followed by a moment of darkness, and she went limp beneath Chadeaux's weight. With a swift, satisfied exclamation he pinned her arms above her head, holding her helpless.

He looked down at her in triumph, breathing hard. Suddenly his expression changed, taking on a lustful malevolence that frightened her more than his anger. His gaze went lingeringly over her tousled hair and the top that was now barely covering the tips of her heaving breasts. He ran his tongue over his full lips and his eyes narrowed into gleaming silver slits.

“Suddenly I'm not in a hurry for that affidavit,” he drawled thickly. “I think I'll just see if you're as good as your sister.” His mouth pressed down brutally on hers, bruising the soft inner flesh against her teeth, as she frantically moved her head from side to side to escape him.

“Get off her, Chadeaux.” The words were said with a soft menace that held all the danger of a bared stiletto.

Chadeaux froze, and Brenna drew a breath of infinite thanksgiving.

Donovan held the key to the room in his hand. Obviously he'd used his influence to get it from the motel office. Now he hurled it furiously to the floor and lunged across the room. He jerked Chadeaux up from the bed, throwing him violently against the wall. He followed, his powerful hands squeezing the collar of Chadeaux's shirt into a stranglehold, causing congested color to mount in Chadeaux's frightened face.

“Wait!” Chadeaux gasped desperately, “Listen to me!”

Donovan's face was a mask of rage, his eyes the flaming blue of the fires of hell. “No, you listen. If you say one more word, I'm going to beat you senseless.” Donovan grated, between his teeth. “I may still do it, even if you don't.”

Brenna sat up dazedly, her eyes fixed in fascination on Donovan. She didn't blame Chadeaux for his almost abject terror. There was such an aura of rage about Donovan that it was as if he were surrounded by an invisible wall of flame.

Donovan's words came with the soft rapidity of a machine gun. “I'm going to tell you this once, Chadeaux, and never again, so you listen carefully. You're never to see my wife again. You're never to talk to her on the telephone. You're never to write to her. You're most particularly not to lay a finger on her again. If you do, I swear you'll wish you had never been born! Do you understand?”

Chadeaux nodded, his eyes bulging, as he gasped helplessly for air.

Donovan turned to Brenna, and her breath caught. She shrank back against the headboard at the white hot fury in his face.

“Get up, and get out of here,” he ordered harshly. “Bob Phillips is waiting outside. Take Randy out to him.”

Brenna scrambled off the bed, experiencing a few moments of dizziness that caused her to falter momentarily before rushing
around to pick up Randy from the bed and hurry to the open door.

Donovan was waiting there, his face white and set. He hesitated a moment, then, as if unable to resist the impulse, he turned back and strode to where Chadeaux was cringing against the far wall.

“I told you I might do it anyway,” he said coolly, and struck him a bruising blow to the chin. Chadeaux grunted once, his eyes glazing over, and then slid slowly down the wall, unconscious.

Without giving him another glance, Donovan turned and walked away, grabbing Brenna by the elbow and sweeping her grimly from the room.

As he had said, Bob Phillips was standing by the Mercedes, a worried frown on his craggy face. He carefully avoided Brenna's eyes as they approached. “Everything okay?” he asked Donovan.

Donovan nodded tersely. Taking the sleeping Randy from Brenna, he handed him to Phillips. “Doris Charles will be at the Portland airport by now. I radioed Monty to have her flown here over an hour ago.”

Brenna felt her head whirling in bewilderment, as Phillips put Randy carefully in the front seat of the car. Things had been moving too fast since Donovan had appeared on the scene. She took an automatic step toward the child, and Donovan's hand tightened on her elbow. “No,” he clipped harshly. “You come with me.”

He led her to an ancient Chevy pickup truck parked a few spaces away. She allowed him to help her into the vehicle with a meek docility that was foreign to her. She felt only a dull curiosity as he put the truck in gear and with much coughing and sputtering eased it onto the highway.

“Where are we going?” she asked remotely. She wished vaguely that the fierce throbbing in her head would stop.

“I landed the 'copter at a private airport about three miles
from here,” he said shortly. “I rented the truck from a kid who services the airplanes.”

Brenna nodded weakly, leaning her head against the back of the seat. She closed her eyes to shut out the brilliance of the on-coming headlights that only increased the stabbing pain behind her eyes. She vaguely realized that there were many questions still unanswered, but she had no energy or strength to ask them at the moment. It was enough, for now, that Randy and she were safe and on their way home to Twin Pines.

Donovan seemed to have a similar disinclination to talk, and the transfer from the pickup to the helicopter was made in virtual silence. It wasn't until they were underway for almost twenty minutes that she realized from the mirrored shifting horizon that they were over water. The shock of the discovery jolted her sharply out of the haze of pain and weariness that had enveloped her since she had first seen Donovan at the motel.

“There's some mistake,” Brenna shouted over the noise of the rotors, pointing at the still waters of the Pacific below them.

Donovan's mouth twisted. “No mistake,” he said with a coolness that was belied by his taut, chiseled face and burning eyes. “We're going to the island.”

Brenna shook her head. “We can't,” she protested in confusion. “I have to get back to Randy.” Somehow in the bewilderment and exhaustion of that moment, the urgency to be with Randy, and reassure herself that he was blessedly safe and secure was paramount.

Donovan shot her a brief glance that had the force of a blow. “I realize how devoted you are to your son,” he said coldly. “He's being flown back to Twin Pines, and will be well taken care of. You, however, are going to the island,” he finished inexorably.

She shook her head in dejected bewilderment. She couldn't understand why Donovan was so displeased with her. It was not her fault that she had been forced to go with Chadeaux. Even if
Donovan had been put to a certain amount of trouble on her behalf, he still did not have to be so irascible. Her mouth twisted wryly at the blatant understatement. He was obviously in a white-hot rage. But why were they going to the island, she wondered uneasily.

When she hesitantly ventured the question to the grim stranger beside her, she received no answer other than a contemptuous smile that did nothing to put her mind at rest.

He wasn't any more communicative after they had landed the helicopter on the island, and made their way through the woods, their path lit by the powerful beam of Donovan's flash-light. His pace was fast and relentless, and he made no concession for her smaller stride, merely propelling her ahead of him with a determination that gave her neither breath nor strength for protests or questions.

It was not until they had reached the chalet, and he had shut the door and flashed on the overhead light, that he turned to regard her white face, tousled hair, and rapidly heaving breast with cool appraisal. “You look like you could use a drink,” he said impersonally, crossing to the portable bar and pouring her a small brandy. He returned to hand it to her with an expressionless face.

She took a small sip of the amber liquid, and made a face at the obnoxious taste, though it did feel glowingly warm going down. After he had given her the glass, he went back to the stone fireplace and was in the process now of building a fire with swift economical movements. She watched him for a moment, then went over to the scarlet couch and curled up in one corner of it, her legs tucked beneath her like a small child. Indeed, she felt like a child, she thought wearily. One who had been punished unfairly, and who now still had to face the incomprehensible anger of grown-ups.

Donovan had succeeded in bringing a brisk crackling blaze
to life, and he turned from where he was kneeling to regard her once more with that inexplicable air of cold antagonism. “Feeling better?” he asked carelessly, and as she nodded silently, he rose and removed his dark suit jacket and tie, throwing them both carelessly on the velvet arm chair. He rolled up his sleeves baring his powerfully muscled forearms, and, crossing back to the bar, made himself a drink.

He did not join her on the couch, but returned to the fire-place to stand with his back to the flames, his legs spread apart and the orange glow a fiery aureole around him. He looked one with the flames, Brenna thought hazily, the combination of the brandy and shock making her dreamily fanciful. He was Lucifer, springing from his fiery kingdom. The vibrant vitality that was always present in him seemed to be almost a visible and dangerous force tonight. Her tortured nerves, that had begun to relax infinitesimally with the soothing effect of the brandy and warmth of the fire, tightened warily as she met the impenetrable blue eyes of the man opposite her.

She brushed a swatch of hair away from her cheek, and moistened her lips nervously. “How did you know where to find us?” she asked falteringly.

The line of Donovan's lips hardened, and he finished half of his drink in a quick swallow. “I suppose like most women, you're enamored of explanations, and must have everything laid out for you,” he said cynically. “I wouldn't probe too deeply into my discovery that you were gone, if I were you. My emotions are still a bit raw, and I'm trying hard to control my less than civilized impulses.”

She looked at him bewilderedly. “I don't understand.” she said slowly, her brown eyes widening.

“Still playing the innocent?” he asked derisively. “You do it very well, Brenna, but the game is over.” He took another swallow of his drink. “However, I'm willing to satisfy your curiosity.” He leaned indolently against the side of the fireplace.