“We need to get back to Hull,” Conor replied, his voice tight. “To Brendan and
Olivia nodded. “I think so. Are you all right? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just get us there.” She reached for the ignition and Conor closed his eyes, confident that she’d get them back to the boat, back to safety. He felt himself growing tired and his eyes fluttered shut. But no matter how hard he tried to open them, the effort was too much. Blackness engulfed him and he finally lost his grip on consciousness.
5
OLIVIA BIT her bottom lip as she turned the ignition, sending up a silent prayer she wouldn’t do anything stupid, like hit a parked car or run a red light. But when she reached for the gearshift between the seats, she realized prayers wouldn’t do any good. A driving instructor might. “There’s no
“I can’t do this,” she said. She glanced over at Conor. His head was tipped back and his eyes were closed. She knew he’d been working hard, but this was no time to take a nap! Olivia reached over and shook his arm. His hand fell between the seats, wet and sticky. She swallowed hard. Blood. “Conor? Conor, are you all right?”
Panic rose in her mouth like bile as Olivia shook him. He opened his eyes halfway and at first didn’t seem to recognize her. “Are we there?”
Olivia leaned over and frantically examined his arm, then pulled his leather jacket open and found the source of the blood. All along his left rib cage, his shirt was seeped through. She felt faint and took a moment to draw a deep breath. “Oh, no, oh, no.” She reached for the gearshift and studied the little diagram on the knob, then pushed in the clutch. “Oh, no, no.” She knew the basics of a standard transmission, but she’d have to learn the finer points on the fly. “Hang on,” she said. “Just don’t die on me. Don’t you dare die. I’m going to get you to a hospital.”
“No,” he muttered. “No hospital. Just get to Brendan. He’ll know what to do.”
She jammed the car into first, the gears grinding, then slowly let out the clutch. The car jerked and shuddered, but to her relief it started forward. By the time she’d circled the block, she had managed to try three of the four gears without stalling the engine. Olivia glanced both ways before pulling out on the highway, afraid to stop for fear she wouldn’t get started again.
As she drove, she tried to contain a tremor that shook her body. “Stay calm,” she murmured, searching the road for signs pointing to a hospital or for a pay phone to call an ambulance. She didn’t want to obey his orders! He’d been shot protecting her and now it was
His hand shot out and clutched her wrist. “No,” Conor insisted. “Do as I say.”
“But the boat is at least ten minutes away. You could die before then.”
“I’m not going to die,” he replied. “I promise.” He reached up and stroked her hair, the movement causing him to groan with the pain. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Olivia glanced over at him, overwhelmed with concern and torn by indecision. “All right,” she said. “We’ll go to the boat as long as you keep talking. If you pass out, I’m stopping to call an ambulance. Deal?”
“Deal,” he murmured, his hand flopping back to his side.
She drew a ragged breath. “Fine. So what should we talk about? Let’s talk about you. Tell me about your family. Tell me about Brendan and Dylan.”
He moaned softly as he shifted in his seat. “Why do you want to know about them?”
“Just tell me,” Olivia insisted. “Or tell me about your parents. Or your childhood in Ireland. Tell me where you were born. Just talk so I know you’re still alive.”
“I was born in a stone cottage that overlooked Bantry Bay,” Conor began. “On the south coast in County Cork. My da was a fisherman. And my ma was…well, she was beautiful.”
“When did you come to America?” Olivia asked, her mind jumping ahead, thinking of questions to keep him talking yet not really listening to the answers. She recognized the turn to Hull and said another quick prayer. They were only a few miles away. Now her only worry was finding the boat.
“She died,” Conor continued.
Olivia glanced over at him. “What? Who died?”
“Or my da says she died. I don’t think she did, because I would have known. But if she didn’t die, then why didn’t she come back?”
Olivia frowned. He was talking but he wasn’t making much sense. “You don’t know if your mother is alive or dead?”
“She went away when I was seven. One day she was there and then she was gone. Da wouldn’t talk about it. Later, he told us she died in a car wreck. But he was angry and I think he said that because he wanted us to forget her.” Conor sighed and for a long moment he was silent.
Olivia thought he’d lost consciousness, but when she looked over at him his eyes were still open. “I never forgot her. The others did, but I didn’t. I can still see her.” He tipped his head her way. “She was pretty…like you. Only she had dark hair and yours is like spun gold.”
His compliment was so simple and plainspoken that Olivia felt tears push at the corners of her eyes, tears of concern and affection and frustration. She was frightened, and usually when she felt that way, Conor made her feel safe. The thought that he might not be there to keep her safe tomorrow caused an ache to grow in her heart.
She turned back to the road and forced herself to concentrate. To her relief, she found
He nodded and she hopped out and ran around to Conor’s side. She pulled, then dragged him to his feet, urging him to put one foot in front of the other and walk with her. Conor draped his arm around her shoulders and she bore most of his weight. He was still lucid, moving and talking, and Olivia hoped that she’d done the right thing bringing him here.
“What the-”
Olivia looked up to see Brendan coming toward them from the boat. “Help him,” she said. “I think he’s been shot.”
Brendan grabbed Conor’s other arm and wrapped it around his neck and, in a few moments, they were helping Conor into the cabin and onto a long narrow berth.
“It hurts like hell,” Conor murmured, “but I don’t think it hit anything vital.”
Olivia stepped away as Brendan tended to his brother, the impact of what had happened suddenly hitting her full force. Her hands began to tremble and her breath came in quick gasps. Tears scalded the corners of her eyes. Brendan tugged off Conor’s jacket and she moaned along with him, feeling his pain.
“God, Con, there’s an awful lot of blood.” Brendan turned to Olivia and pointed to the far side of the galley. “There’s a first aid kit on the bulkhead. Grab that and a few clean towels.”
Olivia did as she was told. Brendan flipped the kit open and rummaged around until he found a small bottle of alcohol. “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” she asked. He doused one of the towels with it then pressed it against Conor’s side.
Her question was met by a loud string of colorful curses. Startled, Olivia stepped back. Brendan chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at her. “It’s the sting from the alcohol.” He turned back to Conor. “It looks like a flesh wound, not too deep, just a lot of blood. I’ve got a buddy here in town who’s a doctor. I’m going to call him.”
“It’s a gunshot wound. He’ll have to report it and they’ll know where we are,” Con said. “You stitch it up, like you stitched up Da’s arm that time when he got caught in the line.”
“Con, we were four hundred miles out to sea and I used an old needle and some fishing line. I’ll explain to my friend that you’re a cop. And he’ll report it tomorrow morning. By that time we’ll be gone.” Brendan grabbed a cell phone from the table and dialed a number, then spoke in soft, urgent tones to his friend.
