Finally, she dragged herself to shore and started a labored jog on numb feet.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” This wasn’t a nightmare where she couldn’t run. Couldn’t scream. This was real life. Light was turning the sky from black to the palest blue. It would be a beautiful sunrise, and damn it, she wanted to see it. She wanted to see a few thousand of them with Brick. Sunsets, too, and everything in between.
She ran as fast as she could even as she heard him closing the gap between them. Even as his ragged growls got closer and closer. She ran even as his hand closed around her hair, yanking her backward.
“No!” Her scream wasn’t loud enough. Her lungs burned. Her heart ached. She couldn’t see the boat. Was Brick close enough to watch? She couldn’t let him see this.
With her last bit of strength, Remi yanked the palette knife out of her back pocket and jabbed it into his leg.
“You bitch!” he howled. “You fucking little bitch!”
He dragged her head back again, and this time, when the barrel of the gun pressed against her cheek, she knew it would be the last. She braced for it.
“Brick,” she whispered. If that was the last word she said in this world, it was enough.
She could sense the tension on the trigger and braced.
Two gunshots fired in rapid succession, and the weight on her shoulder lifted.
She stayed exactly where she was for a heartbeat and then another. She was alive.
“Remington?”
Brick. Her Brick. She spun on her knees in the sand and stones and watched her hero, his gun drawn, rush forward. He was soaked from the thighs down. The look in his eyes was unlike anything she’d ever witnessed. Blue fire burned from an icy rage.
Warren Vorhees was sprawled faceup in the sand, two neat holes in the dead center of his chest.
Brick was on him in an instant, fisting Warren’s shirt pulling him up. Brick’s fist plowed into his face once, twice, three times. Warren’s head snapped back limply each time.
“It’s enough,” she said, grabbing Brick’s arm.
“It’s never going to be enough,” he rasped.
She sprang for Warren’s gun and wrestled it out of his grasp. “I’ve seen too many movies where the dead bad guy comes back to life.”
Brick took the weapon from her and holstered his own.
Behind him, three more officers and Special Agent Brice sloshed through the water.
And then he was picking her up and cradling her against him. She broke then. But he only held on tighter. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
“Did Hadley—”
“She told me,” he confirmed, stroking a big hand over her abused hair.
“Is Camille—”
“Camille is wrapped up in rescue blankets and furious with you. I told her to get in line.”
“Did I do good?” she asked between sobs.
“Baby, you saved the day.”
“You shot the bad guy,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but you got to kick him in the balls.”
“You saw that?” She smiled against his chest.
“After I recovered from the heart attack you caused. Hurling Camille overboard. Beaching the boat like that. I saw him hit you, Remington.”
She could hear it in his voice. Knew it would be a memory that would haunt him forever.
“I knew you’d find me. I knew you’d get him.”
“You’re damn right you knew,” he whispered against her hair.
“Your dad, Brick,” she stiffened at the memory. “He was trying to help me pull White inside, and Warren shot him.”
“I know. He’s going to be okay. He’s being ferried to the mainland for surgery but he’s awake and alert.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Remi pressed. “I’m the one who opened the door.”
“Vorhees was preying on your heart. He tried to use your humanity against you, and look where it got him.”
“Is he dead?” she asked.
“He is,” Brick promised.
She blew out a breath. “Okay. I think I want some breakfast now.”
His laugh was a low rumble in his chest. “Baby doll, you’re just going to have to let me hold you for a few years first. I don’t think I’m going to be ready to let go of you long enough for breakfast.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“You’re a hell of a girl, Remington Honeysuckle.”
“I’m your girl,” she reminded him as he slowly picked his way down the beach. “Where are we going?”
“Back to the boat so I can examine every inch of you and make sure you’re really okay.”
“We’re not having boat sex in front of a bunch of cops, perv.”
55
It was pandemonium at the docks when the Mackinac Marine Rescue and her flotilla of support boats returned. The crew and its occupants were treated to a hero’s welcome.
Remi’s dad ran down the dock and picked Darlene up, spinning her around. The kiss he laid on her made Remi realize the thong she’d found in their laundry actually got a workout.
Nothing and no one could convince Brick to put Remi down. So she let him carry her off the boat in his arms without too much fuss as Carlos Turk did the same with Camille, who was looking up at him like he was a fantasy hero come to life.
Her parents approached. Her mom wrapped the rescue blanket a little tighter around her shoulders. “Remi Honey, that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen someone do. You saved lives today, and I’ve never been prouder.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, fighting back another round of tears.
Darlene turned to Remi’s own personal hero. “Brick, you saved one of the most precious things in the world to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re fucking family. You always have been.”
By the time they made it home and finished recapping the highlights to everyone there, it was almost eleven in the morning. Brick carried Remi upstairs and kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. He proceeded to strip every article of clothing off her and kiss every inch of her body. After he finished his very thorough inspection, he made love to her until they were both limp and wasted on the sheets.
She woke hours later on her stomach, thirsty and hungry, with Brick’s hand possessively curling around her ass. Magnus snored on her right foot.
She managed to slip out of bed without disturbing either one. She pulled on one of Brick’s sweatshirts and limped downstairs feeling sore and happy.
The house was eerily quiet, and she found a note in Kimber’s handwriting in the kitchen.
At Mom and Dad’s for spontaneous celebratory picnic. Show up at 6. Be hungry! Love you!
Remi tucked the note into the pocket of the sweatshirt and took her water into the studio. Ducking under the police tape, she shuffled down the ramp into the room. There were tarps on the floor just inside the door, camouflaging the violence that had taken place there only hours earlier.
Bloodstains would need a scrubbing. Wounds would need time to heal. But for now, she’d focus on the good. She slipped around the tarps to her easel and stood back, taking it in.
The black of night with only the hint of stars was a bleed of black and blue at the top. It faded, getting murkier in the center with the purples and navies from the music. Two pale yellow circles cut through the dark. Headlights askew, highlighting the naked tree that had saved her life. The bottom of the canvas was a snowy white with shades of scarlet scraped and layered. Like bloody footprints walking away from the crime.