Dancing on the Wind (54 page)

one of the vertical wooden slats.

277

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Screwing my mother if I know Matty,” Keenan said as she peeled the nightgown

over her head and tossed it aside.

Fallon chuckled lightly. “You just can’t keep your boyfriends away from your

mama, can you,
lhiannan
?”

“Better her than me,” she replied. Naked, she padded over to the dresser and

opened a drawer silently to take out a T-shirt and pair of jeans.

Distracted by her nudity, Fallon had to shake himself to return his gaze to the

outside. He had counted eleven guards patrolling the grounds, five at the entrances and

at least two more lurking about. He’d slipped into the house behind a maid who had

gone out to empty the garbage and up the stairs, finding his lady’s room right off the

bat. With his hell hound powers, the maid had never known he was there.

“You were the only survivor from the Island,” he said, giving her a hard look.

“That’s not acceptable.”

She lowered her head. “I know.”

“Where is her room?”

She couldn’t quite look at him. “One floor up and down the hall to your right,” she

said as she pulled on the jeans—minus any underwear.

“Stay here and be ready to rock and roll as soon as Coim does his thing.”

She could have protested—most likely should have when he pulled the Glock from

under his shirt—but she didn’t. She knew what had to be done.

He paused at the door—giving her a last chance to bid him stop.

She didn’t. Instead, she went to the closet for her sneakers. When she looked up, he

was gone.

Fallon blended into the shadows, keeping to the far side of the stair steps as he

moved up so there would be little or no squeaking. He heard movement downstairs at

the back of the house, but that didn’t concern him. As he climbed, he reached into his

left pocket and pulled out one of the three sound suppressors he was carrying and

screwed it onto the barrel. He had requisitioned three because with each use, a

suppressor lost some of its silencing ability. He needed to make as little sound as

possible while he did his thing.

Upon gaining the landing, he put his back to the wall and pressed against it as he

slid silently along the corridor toward Lily’s room. At the door, he listened for a long

time before trying the handle and easing the portal open inch by inch. He heard a light

snore and smiled.

Creeping as quietly as a shadow across the floor of the luxurious suite and into the

master bedroom, he kept his attention riveted on the bed where two naked bodies lay

outside the covers. From the moonlight filtering in through the wooden blinds, he could

tell which was Keenan’s mother and which the bastard he had once thought was his

friend.

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Dancing on the Wind

He moved silently to the bed to stand over Lily McCullough. She was lying on her

side with her hands tucked innocently beneath her cheek, but there was nothing

innocent about this woman. She was evil personified.

He didn’t bat an eye when he put the silencer to Lily’s temple and pulled the trigger

slowly. There was a slight pfftt sound. She jerked as though in the throes of a dream

and then a black mushroom of inky stain blossomed on the silk-covered pillowcase

beneath her head. He leveled the gun at Matty but Groves didn’t move. The man

continued to snore—completely unaware he lay beside a dead woman.

Keeping his gaze on Groves and the gun steady on the sleeping man, Fallon skirted

the bed to Matty’s side and quietly unscrewed the silencer, sliding it into his right

pocket. From the left, he retrieved the second silencer—careful not to let the aluminum

bodies clink against one another—then screwed it onto the Glock 19.

He eased the 9 mm down until the 1.25 inch diameter barrel was pressed firmly

between Matty Groves’ eyes. He dug the silencer into the man’s flesh and twisted just a

little. Groves stirred, coming awake with a start. His eyes snapped wide open and in the

striated light from the blinds Fallon saw terror sparking in Matty’s gaze.

“Fallon, please don’t,” Matty said. He was beginning to quiver like a leaf in a

breeze.

“Forty-nine people, Matty,” Fallon said softly. “Forty-eight of them you most likely

knew or at least have seen in passing. Forty-eight innocent men and women who

trusted you.”

Matty whimpered. “I had nothing to do with what happened on the Island, Misha,”

he said barely above a whisper. “I swear I didn’t.”

“I wish I could shoot you forty-eight times, Matty, but I just don’t have the time.”

“Misha, please don’t…”

Fallon shot him only once, but it was the justice Groves deserved and the only

mercy an old friend could bestow on a man who hadn’t earned it. He eased the gun

away from the staring eyes of the murdered man and tilted his head slightly as he

observed the black ink stain growing under Matty’s head just as it had Lily’s.

Keenan was waiting in her room when Fallon came back for her. She saw what she

needed to in his eyes but said not a word. His hands were empty but she knew the gun

he had used to exact retribution would be under his shirt at the small of his back again.

“Where is Roland?” he asked.

“Somewhere in one of the huts where the workers live,” she said. “I don’t know

where. I‘ve seen him only once since I was brought here.”

“Who would know?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Lee Tolbert,” she said. “Mama’s plantation

manager. He’s probably in his cottage at this time of night.”

“Call him,” Fallon ordered. “Pretend you’re your mother and tell him to have

Roland come to the house.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“If he asks why?”

“Tell him it’s none of his fucking business,” he said. “Just as Lily would have.”

Keenan flinched at the past tense he’d used but went over to the house phone and

picked it up. “This line is strictly in-house,” she told him. “The outside lines are off

limits to me.”

“How’d I know that?” he quipped as he watched her punch in a number.

“Leland, get that gypsy bastard who came with Groves up and tell him I want to

talk to him,” Keenan said nastily. She listened for a moment then shouted into the

receiver. “I don’t want to hear any excuses from you, Leland!”

Fallon sensed something was wrong when Keenan glanced at him.

“How long has the bastard been gone?” she asked then hissed into the receiver.

“No, just forget it!” She slammed the phone down. “Lee says Roland went up into the

mountains earlier tonight.”

“Why?”

“He and one of the workers went hunting for wild boar.”

“Shit,” Fallon snarled. “I don’t want to have to traipse all over that fucking

mountain looking for his slimy ass.”

“What is Coim going to do?” she asked, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

“This waiting is starting to get to me.”

“He didn’t tell me what he had planned, but I figured we’d know when it started.”

He went to her and took her into his arms. “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you lying

there sleeping.”

She pressed herself to him. “I knew you’d come. I knew you’d find a way to get to

me.”

He cupped her head against his shoulder. “Always, babe. Always.” He kissed the

top of her head.

“What about Martiya?” she asked. “Did Coim find out anything we can use?”

Fallon started to explain when he heard,
“Run now, hound! Run very quickly!”

He grabbed Keenan’s hand as the first thunderous boom sounded to shake the

foundations of the plantation house.

* * * * *

Coim had given off wave after wave of pure terror and those men assigned the

twenty-four-hour-a-day watch of the harbor to which the cannons were pointed had

run away like frightened toddlers. With a huge grin on his craggy face,
An Fear Liath

Mor
had plucked the heavy cannons from their bases as though they’d weighed no

more than a feather and turned them toward the plantation house, lowering the barrels

so the shots would fire into the pool, the fancy garden, the paved driveway in front of

the building and just to the east of it. He had taken his time dancing around like a

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Dancing on the Wind

Comanche doing a war dance, humming to himself as he adjusted the aim, adjusted it

again then staring down each long barrel.

“Gonna make a big bang!” he decided then stood stock still, blending his mind with

every animal on the island, warning them away from the plantation. “Slink, my wee

brothers and sisters! Slink away without giving warning of your flight!”

From his vantage point, he had watched the exodus of creatures and hooted with

laughter, rubbing his paws together, then fired the first shot.

Now he was having a good time as he juggled cannonballs like oranges then rolled

them down the barrels, singing to himself. Just before he set off the next three cannons,

he howled to the bright moon and sang even louder, “There’s a bathroom on the right!”

Hurrying down the staircase with Keenan in tow, Fallon had to grab the railing to

keep them both from falling as another loud explosion ripped the night and the house

shook again. Servants were running out the front door.

“Hurry
, lhiannan
!” he said, pulling her after him.

“If he blows us up…” he heard Keenan mumble.

Out the door and into the chaos of the night where shrieking, terrified workers

were running pell-mell away from the house and toward the beach, he propelled his

lady. Men with carbines were scurrying about as well, shouting in their native

language, but none seemed willing to head up the mountain.

Running full out with Keenan’s hand in his, Fallon saw Roland out of the corner of

his eye and snapped his head that way. The gypsy skidded to a stop then raised the

weapon he carried, but a mental blast from Keenan’s personal arsenal set the trees

around the Rom blazing and he lifted an arm to block the fiery blast, stumbling away.

Fallon knew Roland would follow. The man had no choice but to try to stop Fallon,

but getting Keenan to Coim took precedent at that moment. She was keeping up with

him, but he knew she’d tire quickly the higher they went up the treacherous, twisting

mountain path. With his canine strength, he could literally run rings around any

human—psi powers or not.

“Don’t worry about him!” Fallon yelled at her over the bombardment. He tightened

his hand around hers. She was craning her neck, looking back, sending wave after wave

of jettisoning fire where she thought the Rom might be. He knew that too would soon

exhaust her strength and she needed it to keep moving. “Just run!”

Keenan resolutely turned her attention away from the man scampering behind

them. At one point she had caught his hair on fire and despite the iron collar circling his

neck knew she’d pissed him off royally. He’d try to hurt her now, his expression had

told her.

Dodging bushes, slapping them aside with his forearm, Fallon led his lady through

the forest at the end of the property line and up the rocky incline. He was barely

breathing hard but he could hear Keenan’s labored breath already. Without another

thought, he skidded to a stop, jerked her toward him, dipped his knees and hefted her

onto his shoulder. He could run faster carrying her than dragging her behind him.

281

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Fallon, put me down!” she yelped as the bony part of his shoulder dug into her

belly.

He didn’t bother to answer. Behind them was sheer bedlam as cannonball after

cannonball ploughed into the plantation house and pool. He spared a few moments of

concern over the human occupants of the island, but Coim sent a reassuring mental

transmission that all had fled the structure.

“
Except the two to whom it no longer matters
,” Coim sent gleefully.

Higher up the mountain Fallon carried his protesting burden, who was slapping at

his ass with her hands one minute and grabbing at his belt the next. At some point he’d

felt her dislodge the Glock and it was long gone. Her “Oh no!” had made him grit his

teeth as the gun fell, but he didn’t have time to turn around and go back for it.

“Here, hound!”

The bellow was music to Fallon’s ears and he raced toward the creature. Above

Coim’s head smoke from the cannon plumed.

“I’m a sawed-off Ed McMahon,” Fallon heard the creature singing and winced.

“What?” Keenan asked. “What did he say?”

“He gets the lyrics wrong,” Fallon told her. “He’s trying to sing “Demolition Man”,

I think.”

The closer they got to the dancing creature—now out of cannonballs—they could

see he was having the time of his life. Keenan twisted around to see him and he waved

at her.

“Hey, Mate of the hound!”
An Fear Liath Mor
said then started singing again. “The

only boy who could ever teach me was the son of a pizza man.”

“Oh my God,” Keenan said, sputtering.

Fallon scrambled up the embankment and stopped so suddenly he almost dropped

Keenan. Leaning forward, he slid her from his shoulder. “Coim!” he said. “Come…”

He heard the report of the rifle a second before he saw the surprise widen Keenan’s

eyes. His head whipped around and saw Roland—rifle up and ready to fire again. A