A Bullet to the Heart Read online

“How convenient, Jackson, because someone tried to run me down with a late model Packard not two hours ago.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “You know, Jackson? You really could use a wife. One to curb your crass nature. Too bad you’ll be in jail.”

  “Shut up, Jo. I need help.”

  “Call Wyn. That’s all the help I can offer you.”

  “Right.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Only, he’ll just come to the same conclusion as you and your suspicious sisters.” After a long pause, he asked, “Were you hurt?”

  “It didn’t help my ankle,” she said with a mulishness she feared was becoming all too normal. She must be going soft because she believed him. She let out a sigh. “Where are you?”

  “On the mainland.”

  His words were a punch to the gut. “But—” She had no idea how to respond. She took a deep breath. “So, you were on the last ferry. I’m a fool,” she whispered.

  “No. I caught the earlier afternoon ferry. Someone gave me a note. Told me they had something on…something on the person who shot at you.”

  She drummed her fingers on the armrest, doubts resurfacing. “I see.” How could she have been so naïve, trusting anything Jackson said. “And just what did this note say?”

  “That I would get more information on the ferry ride over.”

  Jo let the long silence linger. She was furious. Mostly with herself.

  “Hell,” he said on a low hiss. “You don’t believe me, do you? You really do think I tried to run you down.”

  “It’s no secret to anyone in this town how you felt about my sisters and I coming to live with you and your parents.”

  “We were kids,” he screamed in the phone.

  Jo jerked the receiver from her ear. She put it back tentatively. “As it happens, I do believe you. I mean, Victor didn’t give over what we were to do in the event one of us was dead, did he?”

  The door opened, and Wyn glided in like a large predatory cat and leaned against closed door. He looked like a midwestern throwback from the old west she’d read about in a dime novel. He only needed denim trousers, a revolver at his hip, and a Stetson on his head. His hard expression sold the look, nevertheless.

  “Where exactly are you calling from?”

  Wyn lifted a brow and pulled away from the door. He stopped in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs splayed, looking down his straight and almost perfect nose at her. She held the phone out so they could both hear.

  Jackson said, “In a phone booth at the ferry station on the mainland. Ah, hell.”

  “What?”

  “They’re pulling a car out of the Sound.” He had that whiny tone she remembered from their days before she’d left for finishing school.

  “A car out of the Sound?” She met Wyn’s eyes, frowning.

  “My car, Jo. They’re towing my car out of the Sound. The Long Island Sound. I was headed back to the island. Damn, they ran it into the Sound. I can’t prove it, but someone has been following me all afternoon. He tried ramming my car on the coastal road.”

  “Jackson, you aren’t making any sense.”

  “Damn it, I loved that car.” He cleared his throat. “Never mind. Look, I’m probably going to be stuck over here for a day or two. My car’s in the goddamn Sound. I gotta go. Keep it on the downlow, would you, Jo?”

  The line went dead. Jo slowly replaced the receiver.

  “Jackson said—”

  “I heard what he said. I’d be surprised if everyone at the Cobblestone Café hadn’t heard what he said. He didn’t happen to mention why he was on the ferry, did he?”

  “Said he received a note from someone telling him to meet on the ferry ride over. They offered information regarding the shot aimed at me.”

  He shoved a hand though his hair. “Well, hell.”

  Jo reached over and placed her hand tentatively over Wyn’s. “You believe him, don’t you?”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I believe I do.” Wyn did believe him.

  Hell, Jackson was as soft as they came. He had done hardly a day’s worth of legitimate work in his life. He’d always taken the lazy way out. Like the time he’d broken into Dry Goods Emporium, the store Wyn’s mother had worked so hard on. One night out of the blue not long after Penelope Knox had been murdered, Jackson had taken to vandalizing the store. He didn’t damage anything that couldn’t be easily repaired or replaced, but his fury with Wyn had been clear.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to ask this,” she said with an unusual smirk, “why is it so hard to want to believe him?”

  “Two words. Penelope Knox.”

  She pulled her hand back and clasped it with her other one and stilled. “What do you mean?”

  “For the longest time, I thought Jackson had killed her because she had a crush on me.”

  “But we both know you didn’t kill her.”

  “Yes, but here’s the funny thing. Jackson spent the last fourteen years thinking I killed her.”

  She furrowed her brows. “If he did believe it, I don’t think he does anymore.”

  “Why do you say that?” Uneasiness curled through him. “And, since when did you start defending Jackson?”

  “When he told me to—” Her eyes dropped to her hands, white-knuckled and clenched in her lap.

  “Told you to what?” he said tightly.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Confide in you,” she said on a rush. “Quit hovering. This is difficult enough.”

  Oh, he was not going to like what she had to say. He really didn’t want to have to kill Jackson. Not when they were finally putting the past behind them after all these years. Wyn lowered next to her. “All right.”

  It took her a long time to gather her thoughts, or her courage, but he waited, realizing he would wait a lifetime if need be.

  “When Eleanor remarried after my father—Charles Weatherford—died, Wallace Hayes…he…did things.”

  “Jo, you don’t have to—”

  “Yes. I do. Let me get this out. It started slow.” Her voice had dropped. “It was a touch of his hand on my shoulder here, a chaste kiss on my cheek there.” She let out a choked, slightly hysterical laugh. “I was very careful to not be alone with him. I had this feeling, you know?”

  For the life of him, Wyn couldn’t move a muscle.

  “One day he caught me unawares. I hadn’t realized he’d come home.” Jo’s voice took on a flat and distant monotone. “I was in the library sitting in the window seat, reading. It was Grandmother Claudia’s house in the Hamptons. He…he cornered me. Near Papa’s desk. Mama refused to let anyone rearrange anything on it. She upheld that desk as a shrine,” she said on a ghost of a smile. “Even…even…Wall—”

  Wyn knew right then he was going to commit murder. Cold-blooded murder. If he ever came face to face with Wallace Hayes again, the bastard was a dead man.

  Wyn wasn’t a psychologist, but he realized that from the depths of his being Jo needed to talk. That what she was about to reveal had affected every decision, consciously or subconsciously, of her life. She needed liberation. Even if he had to pay a debt to society in going to prison. This was his gift to her. “Go on.” He wanted to reach for her but painfully refrained.

  She drew in a deep breath. “He grabbed my dress from the neck. It ripped enough to expose me,” she choked out. “Not that there was much to see.”

  His own hands clenched into fists.

  “I fought. I’ve never fought so desperately in my life. He still held me by the neck of my dress and somehow was able to jerk open his trousers and pulled out his... his…” She shut her eyes, breathing shallow, erratic pants. Forever seemed to have passed before she spoke again. “He yanked my hand and made me…touch him, squeezed my hand tight over his.” She shuddered and worked to gain control of her rapid intakes.

  Wyn slid his hand under her iced-clammy ones, palm up. He stroked the inside of her
wrist with his thumb in an attempt to soothe her. Her hand clasped tightly about his.

  “I threw up.” She snatched one of her hands away and covered her mouth with the back of it. “In all the confusion and his temper, I was able to snatch Papa’s letter opener from the desktop. It was very sharp.”

  Wyn’s lungs felt as if they were on the verge of collapse. He wasn’t certain he was strong enough to hear the conclusion without doing some kind of damage. The rage coursing through him was lethal.

  “He went for my arm. But I was fast. I spun around and…and stabbed him.” Her voice had grown small, as if she were still that child, fighting the fight of her life. “I didn’t cut anything off, but I hit something. I know there was blood.” She sucked in life-altering air and her words came faster. “I dropped the letter opener and took off running. Up the stairs. Found Tevi and Lyddie in Lyddie’s room. I dragged Tevi with me, yelling at Lydia to follow. Of course, Lydia wanted to know why, but there wasn’t time to explain. I just remember screaming at her. Scaring her. I barricaded us in my room.”

  He had to know. “Did he come after you?” And where was your mother?

  “Sometime later, though I couldn’t say how much time had passed, Tevi, Lydia, and I were huddled together before he was knocking on my door. Gently, like. Like nothing in the library had happened. But we didn’t open the door. He tried everything to coax us out, but—” she hiccupped, “—we Weatherford girls were a force to be reckoned with, even as little kids.” A small smile curved her pale lips in her too-white pallor. “The details are murky after that. I mean, I don’t remember if there was blood on me, or how badly I maimed him. Obviously, I didn’t kill him. I do wish I’d cut something vital off—” She lowered her gaze, scarlet flagging her cheeks.

  Wyn lifted her chin. “Oh, Jo. My darling, darling, Jo. Don’t you understand? You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.” He brushed his lips over hers. “You are the strongest woman I know, Josephine Ophelia.”

  Her blue eyes widened. Stared back at him, full of desperate longing. Of hope.

  Wyn knew in that moment, she would be fine. He ran his hands up her arms, carefully enclosing her within his hold, pressed her head against his chest. “What happened next?”

  Her head moved back and forth against his shoulder, her words muffled by his shirt. “I-I don’t know. Our mother was gone and then we were living with Uncle Victor and Aunt Mary.”

  He smiled against her hair. “Adrenaline.”

  She leaned back and blinked up at him, her eyes now clear and focused. “What?”

  “Adrenaline. It happens in fight-or-flight type situations. Instinct takes over and after the initial terror, the body goes into a sort of shutdown. It’s not uncommon to forget what happened right after.” Slowly, Wyn reached for her hands. It was like holding a block of ice. “The important thing is you survived. You saved yourself! What that bastard did to you was not your fault. You are an amazing and resilient woman, Josephine Weatherford.” His heart pounded hard with a billion emotions he couldn’t put words to. He only knew he loved her and would slay aliens, attack monsters, do anything to keep her safe from barbarians and savages the likes of Wallace Hayes.

  “Do you think he came back here? That he’s the one who shot at me?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so.” His resolve firmed. “You can bet I’ll be making sure though. It’s never a good idea to shut out any possibilities.”

  Her spine straightened with tension. “Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. “Well, Reverend Knox warned me to stay away from you too—” she inhaled sharply. “Do you think Knox—”

  “Anything is possible, I suppose.” He shuddered. “But Knox would be more likely to come after me. Not you.”

  “Why?”

  Maybe it was time for a confession of his own. “There was a party that night at Serpent’s Point. The night I found you hiding. The reverend’s prim and proper daughter tried to kiss me, and I decided I had to get out of there. I’ve never run so fast in my life.” He stared at Jo, thinking hard about that night. “You remember, don’t you? Did you see Jackson? Or…or anyone?”

  Her gaze took on that distant glaze. “No. I remember hearing her scream. A haunting sound I’ve never been able to forget. I dove in the first hiding place I could find. I heard someone running.” Her words slowed, her eyes focused. “I saw only you. Without your shirt.” A blush tinged the white from her delicate cheeks. “The littlest thing scared me back then.”

  He brought her hand up, felt her heat on his calloused fingers and touched his lips to her knuckles. “I have a headline for you—it still does.” A slight smile tugged at him. “Yes, she’d been…hurt. If anyone had found her like that—” he cleared his throat, unable to explain what he’d seen. Not after Jo’s harrowing story. “Anyway, Jackson came up on me and cracked me on the jaw. Then I found you.”

  “There was no one else around?”

  “Not that I can remember. I just remember being terrified of her father believing I had designs on her. That man scared me. Frankly, he still does.”

  A giggle broke from Jo, dispelling the oppression in the room.

  Her laughter was so out of character, Wyn was struck dumb from the sound. Mirth flashed in her lovely blue eyes, eyes that had plagued his dreams for years. His gaze fell to her full and flesh-colored lips. “Jo?” He hardly recognized his own voice that had taken on a gravelly, husky connotation. He leaned in, then waited.

  The depths of her attention mesmerized him, like summer lightning, full of pain and unquenchable need. She lifted her fingers and feathered his neck with the faintest touch. He angled closer until her lips teased his like wispy strands of gossamer. Her kiss sent spirals of trust and ecstasy whirring through him. He kept his movements minimal and minute and…restrained. But to his astonishment, her lips mimicked his.

  Him in her room.

  No one about.

  Desire raging through him.

  Not the place. Not the place. Not the place.

  But he couldn’t drag himself away from her softness. But, oh, God. He had to. She would hate herself if someone walked in. Worse, she would hate him. He cupped his hands around her shoulders and pulled himself gently back.

  Her lips, moist and shiny with his kiss, beckoned like the devil’s temptation, primed to drag him straight into Purgatory. Her eyes were glazed with wonder, and the impulse to ruin himself forever lured him with magnetic force.

  “Wyn?” she whispered.

  He drew her back into his arms and set his chin on top of her head. “This isn’t the place, love.”

  She jerked completely away, throwing herself against the back of the chaise, her face crimson with humiliation written all over it.

  “No!” He grabbed her hands. “Jo, no. You are not to feel ashamed. Never ashamed.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. There’s too much going on right now. Too many people who could walk in. We aren’t anywhere private. You would hate yourself. You would hate me. And I couldn’t bear that.” He hauled in a deep breath. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve had a murder on the island. Another murder. And someone took a shot at you. If you think that doesn’t send ice shards shredding me from the inside out—”

  “I can help.”

  “What! No.”

  “Yes, yes. I can. Felix down at the diner said Mr. Vance threatened him. And…and Wallace Hayes could have, and your dad—” All the air left her body. “Oh, sorry.”

  “Jo, stop.” How ironic. Yes, his own father could have killed Victor but there was no reason for him to target Jo. “Look. Darling. It’s too dangerous. Someone took a shot at you. Someone tried to run you down. You can help me by staying safe.” He took her face in his hands. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

  “I-I promise.”

  “Thank you.” He kissed her nose. “Now, do you think I could speak to Eleanor at some point?” He had a few questions.

  19
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  osephine?”

  Jo pulled the silk counterpane over her head to drown out the pesky sound of a buzzing bee. Wyn had kissed her. She wasn’t ready to let go of the dream-like euphoria and face the world. It was heady and…and wonderful…and ever so sweet.

  “Josephine? Darling?”

  Jo batted at the annoyance.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Jo—”

  Jo slapped the cover back and shot to sitting, the fantasy, the exhilaration of Wyn’s lips against hers, gone. “Mother?”

  “You have a note, dear. I-I thought to bring it to you.” Her timidity triggered myriad reactions from Jo. “Harriet said a boy from town brought it to the back door. He was most insistent it be delivered right away.”

  Irritation and guilt, and, finally, sadness at her own stubbornness and inability to forgive pricked at her like a burr. Self-recrimination was eating her up. Perhaps it was time to face her past. Nothing else seemed to help. Besides, who knew what she would learn? She certainly hadn’t expected to learn that Jackson didn’t hate her like she’d believed.

  “A note?” From Wyn? She took the envelope from her mother’s arthritic hand and slid her own finger beneath the seal.

  Eleanor didn’t leave. “I know you have questions.”

  Jo’s hand stilled, mid-envelope. She wasn’t sure she was up for that particular conversation so early in the morning.

  “You have to realize the control your grandmother—”

  Jo stifled her urge to scream and retaliate. She kept her voice even, though her resentment roared back in a tidal wave. “I have to realize?” She tore open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet and snapped it open. “Look, Mother. I’m not up for this conversation right now.” Wrapped in her own pain, Jo looked down at the paper she held, unable to focus on the words, holding her breath.

  After a long moment, the door latched softly behind Eleanor’s departure. Jo blinked at the dampness on her lashes, barely feeling them as they slid down her cheeks. She shook off the sudden sentimentality and remembered the note she was clutching. She read through it, then went through it a second, then a third time.