Knew what it meant. But he was too slow and far from Echo to do her any good.
Taja struck once at Echo, slashing her across the heel of the hand Echo flung up to protect her face.
Then, instead of a lethal follow-up, Taja took the time to drive the knife into the canvas on the easel, ripping it in a gesture of fury.
Taja's body was momentarily at an angle to Echo, and vulnerable. Echo braced herself against the worktable and drove a knee high to the rib cage where Silkie had shot her in the Cambridge apartment.
Taja went down with a hoarse scream, dropped the knife. She was groping for it when Peter barreled into the studio and lunged at her.
'No, goddamn it, no!'
He grabbed her knife hand as she tried to come up off the floor at him. His free hand went to Taja's face, street-fighter style. He missed her eyes, tried to get a grip as she jerked her head aside.
Part of her flesh seemed to come loose in his hand. But it was only latex.
The face beneath her second skin was pocked with random, circular scars, as if from a dozen cigarette burns.
They were both hurt but Peter couldn't hold her. He knew the knife was coming. Then Echo got an armlock on Taja's neck and pulled her back; Peter stepped in with a short hook to Taja's jaw that dropped her in- stantly. He wrenched the knife away and pulled her back onto her feet. She wasn't unconscious but her eyes were crossing, no fight left in her.
'Let her go, Peter,' John Ransome said behind them. 'It's finished.'
Peter shot a look behind him. 'Not yet!' He looked again into Taja's eyes. 'Tell me one thing! Was it Ransome? Did he send you after those women? Tell me!'
'Peter, she can't talk!' Echo said.
Taja still wasn't focusing. There was a trickle of blood at one corner of her mouth.
'Find a way to talk to me! I want to know!'
'Peter,' John Ransome said, 'please let her go.' His tone weary. 'It's up to me to deal with Taja. She's my —'
'Was it Ransome!' Peter screamed in Taja's face, as she blinked, stared at him.
She nodded. Her eyes closed. A second later Ransome shot her. Blood and bits of bone from the hole in her forehead splattered Peter's face. She hung in his grip as Echo screamed. Still holding Taja up, Peter turned to Ransome, speechless with rage.
Ransome lowered his .38, taking a deep breath. 'My responsibility. Sorry. Now will you put her down?'
Peter let Taja fall and went for his own gun, brought it up in both hands inches from Ransome's face.
'Drop your piece! So help me God I'll cap you right here!'
'Peter, no—!'
Ransome took another breath, his gun hand moving slowly toward the worktable, his finger off the trigger. 'It's all right.' He sounded eerily calm. I'm putting the gun down. Just don't let your emotions get the best of you. No accidents, Peter.' The .38 was on the table. He lifted his hand slowly away from it, looked at Taja's body between them. Peter moved him at gunpoint back from the table.
'You're under arrest for murder! You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to be represented by an attorney. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand what I've just said to you?'
Ransome nodded. 'Peter, it was self-defense.'
'Shut up, damn you! You don't get away with that!'
'You're out of your jurisdiction here. One more thing. I
'On your knees, hands behind your head.'
'I think we need to talk when you're in a more rational—'
Peter took his finger off the trigger of the 9mm Colt and bounced it off the top of Ransome's head.
Ransome staggered and dropped to one knee. He slowly raised his hands.
Peter glanced at Echo, who had pulled the sleeve of her sweater down over the hand that Taja had slashed. She'd made a fist to try to stop the bleeding. She shook from fear.
'Oh Peter, oh God! What are you going to do?'
'You own the island?' Peter said to Ransome. 'Who cares? This is where we get off.'
FIFTEEN
The boat Taja had used getting back and forth was a twenty-eight-foot Rockport-built island cruiser. Peter had John Ransome in the wheelhouse attached to a safety line with his hands lashed together in front of him. Echo was trying to hold the muzzle of the Colt 9mm on him while Peter battled wind gusts up to fifty knots and heavy seas once they left the shelter of Kincairn cove. In addition to the safety lines they all wore life vests. They were bucked all over the place. Peter found he could get only about eighteen knots from the Volvo diesel, and that it was nearly impossible to keep the wind on his stern unless he wanted to sail to Portugal. The wind chill was near zero. They were shipping a lot of water with a temperature of only a few degrees above freezing. The pounding went on without letup. Under reasonably good conditions it was thirty minutes to the mainland. Peter wasn't at all sure he had half an hour before hypothermia rendered him helpless.
John Ransome knew it. Watching Peter try to steer with one good hand, seeing Echo shaking with vomit on the front of her life vest, he said, 'We won't make it. Breathe through your nose, Mary Catherine, or you'll
