away with, don't care how much money. I want John Ransome. Want his ass all to myself until I'm ready to hand him over.'
'But Taja—'
'Taja's just been doing
She touched a finger to her chin, wiped a drop of blood away. The wound had nearly stopped oozing.
'All right,' she said, beginning to cry. 'How bad am I?'
'Cut's not deep. You'll always be beautiful. Listen. Hear that? Medics. On the way up. Now I need to—'
He began to slide to the floor at her feet. Shuddering. His tongue getting a little thick in his mouth. 'Sit down before I uh pass out. Silkie, put something on. Now listen to me. Way you talk to cops is, keep it simple. Say it the same way every time. 'We met at a party. He's only a friend.' No details. It's details that trip you up if you're lying.'
'You are—a friend,' she said, kneeling, putting an arm around him for a few moments. Then she stood and reached for a robe hanging up behind the bathroom door.
'We'll get him, Silkie. You'll never be hurt again. Promise.' Finding it hard to breathe now. He made himself smile at her. 'We'll get the bastard.'
When Echo woke up half the day was gone. So was John Ransome, from her bed.
She looked for him first in his own room. He'd been there, changed his clothes. She found Ciera in Ransome's study, straightening up after what appeared to have been a donnybrook. A lamp was broken.
Dented metal shade; had Taja hit him with it? Ciera stared at Echo and shook her head worriedly.
'Do you know where John is?'
'No,' Ciera said, talkative as ever.
The day had started clear but very cold; now thick clouds were moving in and the seas looked wild as Echo struggled to keep her balance on the long path to the lighthouse studio.
The shutters inside the studio were closed. Looking up as she drew closer, Echo couldn't tell if Ransome was up there.
She skipped the circular stairs and took the cabinet-size birdcage elevator that rose through a shaft of opaque glass to the studio seventy-five feet above ground level.
Inside some lights were on. John Ransome was leaning over his worktable, knotting twine on a wrapped canvas. Echo glanced at her portrait that remained unfinished on the large easel. How serene she looked. In contrast to the turmoil she was feeling now.
He'd heard the elevator. Knew she was there.
'John.'
When he looked back he winced at the pain even that slow movement of his head caused him. The goose egg, what she could see of it, was a shocking violet color. She recognized raw anger in conjunction with his pain, although he didn't seem to be angry at her.
'Are you all right? Why didn't you wake me up?'
'You needed your sleep, Mary Catherine.'
'What are you doing?' The teakettle on the hot plate had begun to wheeze. She took it off, looking at him, and prepared tea for both of them.
'Tying up some loose ends,' he said. He cut twine with a pair of scissors. Then his hand lashed out as if the stifled anger had found a vent; a tall metal container of brushes was swept off his worktable. She couldn't be sure he'd done it on purpose. His movements were haphazard, they mimicked drunkenness although she saw no evidence in the studio that he'd been drinking.
'John, why don't you—I've made tea—'
'No, I have to get this down to the dock, make sure it's on the late boat.'
'All right. But there's time, and I could do that for you.'
He backed into his stool, sat down uneasily. She put his tea within reach, then stooped to gather up the scattered brushes.
'Don't do that!' he said. 'Don't pick up after me.'
She straightened, a few brushes in hand, and looked at him, lower lip folded between her teeth.
'I'm afraid,' he said tauntly, 'that I've reached the point of diminished returns. I won't be painting any more.'
'We haven't finished!'
'And I want you to leave the island. Be on that boat too, Mary Catherine.'
'Why? What have I— you can't mean that, John!'
He glanced at her with an intake hiss of breath that scared her. His eyes looked feverish. 'Exactly that.
Leave. For your safety.'
'My—? What has Taja done? Why were you fighting with her last night? Why are you afraid of her?'
'Done? Why, she's spent the past few years hunting seven beautiful women after I had finished painting them.'
