Diamond Bay Read Online Free PDF Page B

confining weight, and then it was more than she could do to stand. She crawled to
the screen door and propped it open, then scrambled back to the man. Just a few
more feet. Inside the front door, angle to the right, then into her bedroom.
Twenty, thirty feet. That was it, all she would ask of herself.
    The original method of catching the edge of the quilt and pulling
it seemed like a good idea, and Joe was willing to lend his strength again, but
Rachel had precious little strength herself, and the dog had to do most of the
work. Slowly, laboriously, they inched the man across the porch. She and Joe
couldn't get through the door at the same time, so she went first and knelt to
reach for a new grip on the quilt. Growling, his husky body braced, Joe pulled
back with all his strength, and man and quilt came through the door.
    It seemed like a good idea to keep on going while they had him
moving; she angled him toward her bedroom, and a scant minute later he was
lying on the floor beside her bed. Joe released the quilt as soon as she did
and immediately backed away from her, his hackles raised as he reacted to the
unfamiliar confines of a house.
    Rachel didn't try to pet him now; she'd already asked so much of
him, trespassed so far past the set boundaries, that any further overtures
would simply be too much. "This way," she said, struggling to her
feet and leading him back to the front door. He darted past her, anxious for
his freedom again, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the porchlight.
Slowly she released the screen door and closed it, slapping at a gnat that had
entered the house.
    Methodically, her steps slow and faltering, she locked the front
and back doors and pulled the curtains over the windows. Her bedroom had
old-fashioned Venetian blinds, and she closed them. That done, the house as secure as she
could make it, she stared down at the naked man sprawled on her bedroom floor. He needed medical attention, skilled medical attention, but she
didn't dare call a doctor. They were required to report all gunshot wounds to
the police.
    There was really only one person who could help her now, one
person she trusted to keep a secret. Going to the kitchen, Rachel dialed Honey
Mayfield, keeping her fingers crossed that some emergency hadn't already called
Honey out. The telephone was picked up on the third ring, and a distinctly
drowsy voice said, "This is Mayfield."
    "Honey, this is Rachel. Can you come out?"
    "Now?" Honey yawned. "Has something happened to
Joe?"
    "No, the animals are fine. But…can you bring your bag? And
put it in a grocery sack or something, so no one can see it."
    All traces of drowsiness had left Honey's voice. "Is this a
joke?"
    "No. Hurry."
    "I'll be there as soon as I can."
    Two receivers were hung up simultaneously, and Rachel went back to
the bedroom, where she crouched beside the man. He was still unconscious, and
the handling he had received should have been enough to wake the dead, unless
he had lost so much blood that he was in deep shock and near death himself.
Sharp, piercing anxiety seized her, and she touched his face with trembling hands,
as if she could pass the essence of life to him with her touch. He was warmer
now than he had been, and he was breathing with slow, heavy movements of his
chest. The wound on his shoulder was sullenly oozing blood, and sand clung to
him, even matting his hair, which was still dripping seawater. She tried to
brush some of the sand out of his hair and felt something sticky beneath her
fingers. Frowning, she
looked at the watery redness that stained her hand; then awareness dawned. He had a head injury, as well! And
she had dragged him up that slope, then literally manhandled him up the steps
and onto the porch! The wonder was that she hadn't killed him!
    Her heart pounding, she ran to the kitchen and filled her biggest
plastic mixing bowl with warm water, then returned to the bedroom to sit on the
floor beside him. As gently as possible, she washed as