Sanctuary

had held on for dear life as he pounded out his misery in sex.
    She hadn’t been able to convince him to stay and sleep past dawn. He was up and gone before the sun peeked over the horizon. But at least he gathered her close, at least he pulled her to him. And she knew she’d steadied him for the return to Sanctuary.
    Now she wanted to clear her head. If the man she loved was in trouble, if he was in distress, then so was she. She would gear herself up to stand by him, to see him through this, and she hoped, to guide him toward some peace.
    Then she saw Nathan standing near where the booming breakers hammered the shoreline. Loyalty warred against reason as she slowed her pace. But in the end her need to help, to heal, overrode everything else. She simply couldn’t turn her back on pain.
    “Some morning.” She had to lift her voice over the thunder of surf and wind. Puffing only a little, she stopped beside him. “So, is your vacation living up to your expectations?”
    He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Oh, yeah. It’s the trip of a lifetime.”
    “You need coffee. As a doctor, I’m supposed to tell you that caffeine isn’t good for you, but I happen to know it often does the trick.”
    “You offering?”
    “I am.”
    “I appreciate it, Kirby, but we both know I’m persona non grata. Brian wouldn’t appreciate you sharing a morning cup with me. I can’t blame him for it.”
    “I do my own thinking, form my own impressions. That’s why he’s crazy about me.” She laid a hand on his arm. No, she couldn’t turn her back on pain. Even the air around Nathan was hurting. “Come on up to the house. Think of me as your kindly island doctor. Bare your soul.” She smiled at him. “I’ll even bill you for an office visit if you want.”
    “Such a deal.” He took a long breath. “Christ, I could use a cup of coffee. I could use the ear too.”
    “And I’ve got both. Come on.” She tucked her arm in his and walked away from the shore. “So, the Hathaways gave you a rough time.”
    “Oh, I don’t know, they were fairly gracious all in all. That southern hospitality. My father raped and murdered your mother, I tell them. Hell, nobody even tried to lynch me.”
    “Nathan.” She paused at the base of her steps. “It’s a hell of a mess, and a terrible tragedy all around. But none of them will blame you once they’re able to think it through.”
    “Jo doesn’t. Of all of them, she’s the most vulnerable because of it, but she doesn’t.”
    “She loves you.”
    “She may yet get over that. Lexy didn’t,” he murmured. “She looked me straight in the eye, her cheeks still wet from crying, and told me none of it was my responsibility.”
    “Lexy uses pretenses and masks and foolishness and uses them expertly. So she can see through them and cut to the bone faster than most.” She opened her door, turned back to him. “And Nathan, none of it is, or was, your responsibility.”
    “I know that intellectually, and I’d almost convinced myself of it emotionally—I wanted to because I wanted Jo. But it’s not over, Kirby. It’s not finished. At least one other woman is dead now, so it’s not over.”
    She nodded and held the door open for him. “We’ll talk about that too.”
     
     
    CARLA teased the southeast coast of Florida, giving Key Biscayne a quick and violent kiss before shimmying north. In her capricious way, she did a tango with Fort Lauderdale, scattered trailers and tourists and took a few lives. But she didn’t seem inclined to stay.
    Her eye was cold and wide, her breath fast and eager. She’d grown stronger, wilder since her birth in the warm waters of the West Indies.
    Like a vengeful whore, she spun back out to sea, stomping her sharp heels over the narrow barrier islands in her path.
     
     
    LEXY hurried into the guest room where Jo was just smoothing the spread on the walnut sleigh bed. The sun beamed hot and brilliant through the open balcony doors, highlighting the shadows under Jo’s eyes that spoke of a restless night.
    “Carla just hit St. Simons,” Lexy said, a little breathless from her rush up two flights of stairs.
    “St. Simons? I thought she was tracking west.”
    “She changed her mind. She’s heading north, Jo. The last report said if she keeps to course and velocity, her leading edge will hit here before nightfall.”
    “How bad is she?”
    “She’s clawed her way up to category three.”
    “Winds of over a hundred miles an hour.