Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [140]
She staggered back, and he came toward her, drawing his gun as he stalked her.
Saint felt the barrel of the gun in the small of his back. He didn’t pause, but continued walking until he came into the cave entrance.
“Here he is, Mr. Wilkes,” Hawkins said, and gave Saint a shove.
Saint blinked rapidly to adjust his eyes to the dim interior of the cave. Wilkes was holding Jules in front of him, one arm across her breasts, the gun in his other hand.
“Hello, Dr. Morris,” Wilkes said. “I have wanted to meet you, indeed I have. I believe it was you who clipped my jaw.”
“I was hoping,” Saint said calmly, his eyes boring into Wilkes’s face, “that I’d broken your jaw that night at the Crooked House. Did I?”
“No, no, you didn’t. Of course, I have heard that you aren’t a violent man,” he added, his eyes boring into Saint’s.
“I’m not. But I realized months ago that I should have killed you.” He shrugged, his eyes roving over his wife’s strained face. “Then again, I’m supposed to save lives. You have always posed me a difficult problem, philosophically, at least.”
“Stay where you are, Dr. Morris!” Wilkes pressed the gun against Jules’s left breast.
Saint didn’t move. He met Jules’s wildly frightened eyes. “Are you all right, love?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, yes, of course. You shouldn’t have come, Michael,” she said, her voice an agonized whisper.
“I’m your husband, little fool.” He met Wilkes’s eyes. “I am her husband, you know, in all ways. Now, what do you want, Wilkes?”
The gun jerked and Saint froze.
“You took her from me,” Wilkes said in a low, hoarse voice, the pain in his belly nearly bending him double. God, he’d just had as much opium as he could take and still be coherent. “I wanted her and you stole her from me!”
“That isn’t how I seem to remember it,” Saint said slowly. “You were selling her. Hardly the same thing. All you lost was money.”
“I would have gotten her back.”
“Would you have? Really? After she’d been raped and abused? And what would you have done with her, Wilkes? Raped and abused her more?”
“Shut up, damn you! You know nothing about it, nothing!”
“I know that you are not . . . thinking straight.” His eyes look odd. His flesh is gray. The flesh around his eyes and mouth is scored with pain. “Let her go, Wilkes. If you kill me, she will kill you. Perhaps not today, but tomorrow or the next day.”
“She is mine!”
“Like hell she is.”
Jules could bear it no longer. “Michael, I’ll go with him, please, just leave. I don’t want you hurt . . . please leave.”
He merely smiled at her, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t let me leave even if he trusted your promise, sweetheart.”
“No,” Wilkes said, the pain so bad now that he spoke through gritted teeth. “No, Doctor, you aren’t leaving.”
Jules felt him jerk behind her.
It was then Saint saw the spasm of pain on Wilkes’s face. It was fearful, his mouth working like a death rictus. “Has she already tried to kill you?” he said.
“No, damn you! Oh, my God! My belly . . .”
Jules felt him ease his hold on her as his body bent forward with pain. She didn’t think, merely acted. She sent her elbow into his stomach, and he yowled with agony. Jules grabbed at the gun. In the next instant, Saint jerked away her hand, pulled the gun from Wilkes’s unresisting fingers. He met Wilkes’s glazed eyes. He felt a spasm of pity.
“You’re dying, aren’t you?” he said very softly, knowing that only Wilkes could hear him.
“I didn’t need you to tell me, damn you!” Wilkes was panting, his breathing an agony. He staggered backward.
“No,” Saint said, “no, you didn’t. How long have you lived on opium? How long have you had none to ease the pain?”
But Jameson Wilkes couldn’t answer. His mind was clouded with agony, with strange broken images of the ravaged face of his wife, long dead.
Then Saint knew. He was on opium, to his limit.
“Michael!”
Saint whirled about at Jules’s shout, saw Hawkins looming in the mouth of the cave. He fired. There was another shot, and Jules