Tami Hoag - Dark Paradise

He was fifty feet away and he was going to witness the death of the only woman he had ever loved.

It was a terrible epiphany. A terrible irony.

He screamed her name. Jerked at the rifle that caught in its leather sleeve. The knife’s arc reached its apex. Lightning split the sky above them. Then the ominous high-pitched crack of a rifle shot split the air, and for a second that sound was the only thing that moved in the universe. The world was held fast in a freeze-frame as the shot echoed and careened from peak to peak.

The force of the hit knocked Sharon’s body sideways. She fell to the ground, limp, lifeless, shot cleanly through the head. Her knife bounced over the edge of Bald Knob and down the mountain.

J.D. hauled back savagely on the reins and swung out of the saddle. He hit the ground running, tripping, stumbling, and dropped to his knees beside Mary Lee. She looked up at him through glassy eyes, blinking slowly against the rain that fell steadily in her face.

“Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus, baby, hang on,” he said breathlessly. He tore off his slicker and threw it over the lower half of her, dug a handkerchief out of his hip pocket, and pressed it hard against the bloody hole in the hollow of her left shoulder. “Hang on, honey. Hang on.”

Mari stared at him, feeling pleasantly warm and oddly disembodied, as if she had no arms or legs. She couldn’t feel her shoulder, only the heavy pressure he applied to it.

J.D. looked as if he were the one in pain. His face was a mask of anguish, pale and taut, his gray eyes rimmed in red. His mouth quivered as he worked to make her comfortable by pulling off his hat and jamming it beneath her head for a pillow.

“Stay with me, baby,” he mumbled, leaning over her, stroking her wet mop of hair back from her face. “Oh, Jesus, baby, please stay with me.”

She wanted to ask him if that offer would be good later, but she couldn’t form the words, and humor seemed inappropriate at the moment. Turning her head slightly, she could see Sharon Russell lying dead twenty feet away, her eyes and mouth open and expressionless, the back of her head gone.

“Who shot?” she asked weakly.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Del, I guess. You shouldn’t try to talk, sweetheart. Just be still.”

She managed a wry smile as she turned her face up to him once more. “Quit bossing me around, Rafferty.”

“Boss you around,” he grumbled. “I ought to take you over my knee for poking around up here.”

“Sadist,” she said through her teeth as the first stab of pain went through her. J.D. winced with her. “I’ll tell you right now, cowboy, I don’t go for that kind of thing.”

The cloth beneath his hand was soaked red. Blood oozed up between his fingers as he adjusted the position of his hand and pressed down harder. “Dammit, Mary Lee, be quiet for once in your life,” he ordered, terrified that it was her very life leaking out between his fingers.

For once she took his advice, too aware of the weakness stealing through her, too aware of the labored quality of her breathing. J.D. leaned over, sheltering her from the rain, murmuring soft words of comfort, stroking her forehead and cheeks, showing her things he might never say.

She loved him. At that moment, when she knew her life might slip away, everything else became simple and clear. She loved J. D. Rafferty. At that moment everything else was inconsequential-their differences, the fights, the wall he had built around his heart. None of it mattered.

A day late and a dollar short, Marilee. Isn’t that just like you?

She had a genuine talent for screwing up. Too bad that wasn’t worth anything. How proud her family might have been of her.

She glanced once more at Sharon, wondering what her family would think. Did Bryce know his cousin was a killer? Did his depravity go that far?

“J.D.?” she whispered. “There’s a videotape. Back at my place. And a book with court reporter’s notes. Make sure Quinn gets them.”

“Hush,” he said, the word barely crawling out around the rock in his throat. He touched her cheek with trembling fingers. “You can give it to him yourself,” he said, his voice hoarse and raw at the thought that she might not be able to.

“Just in case.” She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the fire that seemed to be spreading down her whole left side. It burned bright, then eased. She let out a breath in relief. “J.D.?”

“What?” he murmured, giving up on the effort to silence her. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to hear it every day for the rest of his life, and the fear that he would not have the chance was like a ball of acid in his chest. Tears pressed hard against the backs of his eyes.

“Del is a hero,” she whispered. “You tell him I said so. Be proud of him, J.D.”

Then she closed her eyes again and the world faded to black as she whispered, “I love you.”

J.D. stared down at her, panic tearing through him. “Mary Lee! Mary Lee!” he shouted her name at the top of his lungs as the rain pounded down on them. “Mary Lee!”

She didn’t move. She didn’t open those huge blue eyes. She lay limp and quiet, her blood warm beneath his hand. And J.D. bent over her, to shield her from the rain, tears scalding his cheeks as he pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, “I love you. Please don’t die. I love you.”

BRYCE PACEDalong the bank of windows in the living room, moving gracefully and soundlessly across the thick carpet. Outside, the rain that had begun the day before continued, turning the mountainscape shades of gray. Bryce paid no attention to the weather. He had more pressing matters on his mind. He had yet to find Samantha. She had not returned to her home in New Eden. She had not gone back to the Mystic Moose. She had simply vanished.

He didn’t like the feel of this situation at all. He had expected her to have second thoughts after their love-making; he had not expected her to flee the state. Aside from being concerned about her well-being, he was annoyed. There were plans in the works. The first of his plans for Samantha to take the world by storm. Even as he paced, Brandon Black, the fashion photographer, was on a jet bound for Bozeman. They couldn’t very well put into motion the wheels of Samantha’s success without her.

He scowled and paced some more, working to hold his temper. Interference in his plans was something he did not tolerate with good grace. Sharon’s vanishing act only added to his pique. She knew better than to leave without consulting him.

She was punishing him, of course. Her jealousy was becoming an unmanageable, unpredictable beast. Her little fits had been an irritation while he had been involved with Lucy. But her attitude toward Samantha was intolerable.

The fact that both women were missing simultaneously made him vaguely uneasy.

He checked his watch, slipped his hands back into the pockets of his linen trousers, and marched on. Ben Lucas sat on one of the leather sofas, sipping scotch and watching him with amusement crinkling the corners of his dark eyes.

“You’ve really got it for this girl, haven’t you?”

Bryce flicked him a glance. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Not at all. She’s a knockout. It’s just that you have certain… tastes… a small-town girl might find shocking.”

He flashed the Redford smile. It had a sharp edge to it, a hint of warning. “What Samantha doesn’t know won’t hurt her. She’s an innocent. I suppose that’s a strong part of her appeal. I have every intention of protecting her, teaching her, eventually she’ll learn about the real world in small doses.”

“And thank you for your tutelage?”