Sanctuary

her head, raced through her blood. “You knew. You knew all along, and you came back here. You took me to bed knowing.” Nausea made her dizzy as she surged to her feet. “You were inside me.” Rage sliced through her an instant before her hand cracked across his cheek. “I let you inside me.” She slapped him again, viciously. He neither defended himself nor evaded the blows. “Do you know how that makes me feel?”
    He’d known she would look at him just like this, with hate and disgust, even fear. He had no choice but to accept it. “I didn’t face it. My father . . . he was my father.”
    “He killed her, he took her away from us. And all these years ...”
    “Jo, I didn’t know until after he’d died. I’ve been trying to come to grips with it for months. I know what you’re going through now—”
    “You can’t know.” She flung the words out. She wanted to hurt him, to scar him, to make him suffer. “I can’t stay here. I can’t look at you. Don’t!” She jerked back, hands fisted when he reached out. “Don’t put your hands on me. I could kill you for ever putting them on me. You bastard, you stay away from me and my family.”
    When she ran, Nathan didn’t try to stop her. He couldn’t. But he followed her erratic dash, keeping her in sight. If he could do nothing else, he would make certain she arrived safe at Sanctuary.
    But it wasn’t to Sanctuary that she fled.
     
     
    SHE couldn’t go home. Couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t get her breath, couldn’t clear her vision. Part of her wanted to simply fall to the ground, curl up and scream until her mind and body were empty of grief. But she was terrified that she’d never find the strength to get up again.
    So she ran, without thought of destination, through the trees, through the dark, with images flipping hideously through her head.
    The photograph of her mother, coming to life. The eyes opening. Confusion, fear, pain. The mouth stretching wide for a scream.
    Pain stabbed into Jo’s side like a knife. She gripped it, whimpering, and kept running.
    On the sand now, with the ocean crashing. Her breath heaved out of her lungs. She fell once, hitting hard on her hands and knees, only to scramble up and stumble back into a run. She only knew she had to get away, to run away from the pain and this horribly tearing sorrow.
    She heard someone call her name, and the sound of feet pounding the sand behind her. She nearly tripped again, righted herself, then turned to fight.
    “Jo, honey, what is it?” Clad in only a robe, her hair streaming wet from the shower, Kirby hurried toward her. “I was out on the deck and saw you—”
    “Don’t touch me!”
    “All right.” Instinctively, Kirby lowered her voice, gentled it. “Why don’t you come up to the house? You’ve hurt yourself. Your hands are bleeding.”
    “I . . .” Confused, Jo looked down, saw the scrapes and the slow trickle of blood on the heels of her hands. “I fell.”
    “I know. I saw you. Come on up. I’ll clean them for you.”
    “I don’t need—they’re all right.” She couldn’t even feel her hands. Then her legs began to tremble, her head began to spin. “He killed my mother. Kirby, he murdered my mother. She’s dead.”
    Cautiously, Kirby moved closer until she could slide a supporting hand around Jo’s waist. “Come with me. Come home with me now.” When Jo sagged, she led her across the sand. Glancing back, she saw Nathan standing a few yards away. In the moonlight their eyes met briefly. Then he turned and walked away into the dark.
    “I feel sick,” Jo murmured. Sensation was creeping back, tiny needle pricks all over her skin, and with it the greasy churning in her stomach.
    “It’s all right. You need to lie down. Lean on me and we’ll get you inside.”
    “He killed her. Nathan knew. He told me.” It felt as if she were floating now, up the steps, in the door of the cottage. “My mother’s dead.”
    Saying nothing, Kirby helped Jo onto the bed, put a light blanket over her. She was beginning to tremble with shock now. “Slow breaths,” Kirby ordered. “Concentrate on breathing. I’m just going in the other room for a moment. I’m going to get something to help you.”
    “I don’t need anything.” Fresh panic snaked through her, and she gripped Kirby’s hand hard. “No sedatives. I can get through this. I can. I have to.”
    “Of course you can.” Kirby eased onto the bed and took Jo’s wrist to check her pulse.