breathed. But his eyes didnât open. She consoled herself that it was better that he got some rest; the death of his men was a crushing blow to him. It had almost been a fatal blow.
She eased against him, trying to use her body to warm his. The winter breeze seemed to rise with a low moan, as if it wailed for the bloodshed that night.
She listened to the sound of the wind, and the waves, and she watched as the fire left the sky, and cloud cover came over. The night became dark again, as if it had consumed all the events that had taken place, and nature had been the victor.
She knew she needed rest also, but she didnât want to doze. She had to stay awake.
And listen.
Â
S O G ATOR JUST MIGHT be a woman. No matter, he told himself, she had to be dealt with as harshly as a man. He wasnât sure at all why women were considered to be the weaker sex; heâd met many who could make strong men cower. But stillâ¦
In the darkness, he did his best to follow a trail. It was difficult with the watery sand washing over every footprint. Finally, however, he cleared the mangroves, and found the part of the isle that had surely found birth at the beginning, and had gained substance from the passing sea. There was one beautiful, clear area of beach, residing almost like a haven, visible only in the pale starlight that fell upon it, and, in that starlight, almost magical. As he stood there for a moment, he thought of the great majesty of the sea and the sky. He might have been at the ends of the earth, he was so far removed from Washington, D.C. No troops marched through the streets, no civilians at work and play, and no great buildings rising around him. There were no buildings at all. Just the crisp darkness of the night, the wash of the waves and the soft whimpering of the wind.
Actually, he wasnât sure he was glad for the wind; he was slowly drying, but the air was cold, and his flesh felt like ice. Heâd had matches in his pocket, but they were quite worthless now.
He hunkered down to see the sand.
Footprints. The foot was fairly small, but the indentations were deep, and they almost dragged, as if the imprinter had carried a heavy load. There seemed to be drag marks in the sand, as well.
A seabird let out a raucous cry in the night, a sound so sudden and eerie in the darkness that even he tensed, spinning around. He stood quickly.
The last of the fires had burned out. There seemed to be nothing in the darkness.
He looked toward the center of the island where pines and palms had taken root, and where someone, evading capture, might well seek sanctuary.
Â
T ARA COULD SEE HIM coming.
The man was tall. The darkness wouldnât allow much more information than that, but she had a sense about him. It was almost like she was being stalked by a jungle cat, one of the panthers that prowled the hammocks of the Everglades up on the mainland. He didnât slouch. He didnât creep along the beach. He just stood there, perhaps doing the same as sheâtrying to sense the very air around him.
He couldnât possibly see her in the dark, and yet, she felt as if he was looking right through her.
He saw her!
Or he saw something. He started walking right toward her little palm-and-pine sanctuary, and in a minute, heâd discover where sheâd hidden Richard.
Tara eased to her feet; as silently as she could, she made her way behind the stand of pines and crept back into the brush and palms. Once there, she fled back toward the west, allowing the foliage to slap around her, giving a clear path to anyone who wanted to follow her.
She did well. Turning back, she saw the man was no longer on the beach. He had disappeared as if heâd been no more than a shadow in the night.
She weighed her situation. Looking up, she saw theoutstretched branch of a sea grape tree. She measured the distance, lowered herself and bounded onto the high branch. Then she sat silent, waiting.
Â
E VEN FOR F
She eased against him, trying to use her body to warm his. The winter breeze seemed to rise with a low moan, as if it wailed for the bloodshed that night.
She listened to the sound of the wind, and the waves, and she watched as the fire left the sky, and cloud cover came over. The night became dark again, as if it had consumed all the events that had taken place, and nature had been the victor.
She knew she needed rest also, but she didnât want to doze. She had to stay awake.
And listen.
Â
S O G ATOR JUST MIGHT be a woman. No matter, he told himself, she had to be dealt with as harshly as a man. He wasnât sure at all why women were considered to be the weaker sex; heâd met many who could make strong men cower. But stillâ¦
In the darkness, he did his best to follow a trail. It was difficult with the watery sand washing over every footprint. Finally, however, he cleared the mangroves, and found the part of the isle that had surely found birth at the beginning, and had gained substance from the passing sea. There was one beautiful, clear area of beach, residing almost like a haven, visible only in the pale starlight that fell upon it, and, in that starlight, almost magical. As he stood there for a moment, he thought of the great majesty of the sea and the sky. He might have been at the ends of the earth, he was so far removed from Washington, D.C. No troops marched through the streets, no civilians at work and play, and no great buildings rising around him. There were no buildings at all. Just the crisp darkness of the night, the wash of the waves and the soft whimpering of the wind.
Actually, he wasnât sure he was glad for the wind; he was slowly drying, but the air was cold, and his flesh felt like ice. Heâd had matches in his pocket, but they were quite worthless now.
He hunkered down to see the sand.
Footprints. The foot was fairly small, but the indentations were deep, and they almost dragged, as if the imprinter had carried a heavy load. There seemed to be drag marks in the sand, as well.
A seabird let out a raucous cry in the night, a sound so sudden and eerie in the darkness that even he tensed, spinning around. He stood quickly.
The last of the fires had burned out. There seemed to be nothing in the darkness.
He looked toward the center of the island where pines and palms had taken root, and where someone, evading capture, might well seek sanctuary.
Â
T ARA COULD SEE HIM coming.
The man was tall. The darkness wouldnât allow much more information than that, but she had a sense about him. It was almost like she was being stalked by a jungle cat, one of the panthers that prowled the hammocks of the Everglades up on the mainland. He didnât slouch. He didnât creep along the beach. He just stood there, perhaps doing the same as sheâtrying to sense the very air around him.
He couldnât possibly see her in the dark, and yet, she felt as if he was looking right through her.
He saw her!
Or he saw something. He started walking right toward her little palm-and-pine sanctuary, and in a minute, heâd discover where sheâd hidden Richard.
Tara eased to her feet; as silently as she could, she made her way behind the stand of pines and crept back into the brush and palms. Once there, she fled back toward the west, allowing the foliage to slap around her, giving a clear path to anyone who wanted to follow her.
She did well. Turning back, she saw the man was no longer on the beach. He had disappeared as if heâd been no more than a shadow in the night.
She weighed her situation. Looking up, she saw theoutstretched branch of a sea grape tree. She measured the distance, lowered herself and bounded onto the high branch. Then she sat silent, waiting.
Â
E VEN FOR F
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