No Fault of Mine

Chapter Forty-Six

I felt the cold barrel of TJ's handgun against my forehead. His finger was on the trigger, and an ugly grimace was on his lips.

"You're a fool, Mia," Ducain said as he dropped down from the wheelhouse. "That rash episode could've gotten you killed."

"I thought he was going to shoot an innocent person on the dock," I said, shuddering as I watched TJ's finger twitch.

"No one's innocent," Ducain grumbled. He turned to Micky and said, "Throw her into the cabin."

Micky grabbed my upper arm with his bear claw of a hand, squeezing hard enough to juice an apple. He dragged me to the cabin door and tossed me like a fifty-pound sack of potatoes onto the floor. I landed hard, and my upper arm and shoulder screamed in pain. I groaned. I could hear Brant whimpering on the couch.

"Are you okay?" Aunt Bea asked as she knelt next to me. "I saw the whole thing. It looked like he put a lot of pressure on your arm and shoulder." She ran her hand up my arm to my shoulder, looking for damage to the muscles and tendons. "I don't feel anything broken, but I think you'll be sore and have a good-sized bruise."

"A bruised ego," I said under my breath. "Petty stupid, huh?"

Aunt Bea helped me to the couch, and I sat back, holding my arm. I reassured my son, but nothing seemed to console him except he wanted to be held. Fortunately, he leaned against my uninjured side.

Aunt Bea checked Liam's bullet wound and said, "It's bleeding again." She checked several small cabinets before finding a towel. She placed the folded towel over the wound and wrapped the leftover cordage around his chest to increase pressure on the wound. "I'll check it again later to make sure the bleeding has stopped."

"I appreciate it. Thank you," Liam said, repositioning himself. "We're in a dumpster-load of trouble. It'll take the police time to reorganize, and as it stands, there's no telling where Ducain is headed."

I felt the boat ease to the right. I knew there was a dogleg at the lake's southern end and a lot of territory in the next ten miles of shoreline.

"We can't depend on the police," I said. "By the time they get to us, it'll be over."

"Yeah," Liam said. "We've got to do something."

"Do you think Ducain will let us go?" Aunt Bea asked. "I doubt it. We know too much."

"Where do you think we're headed," Liam asked. "I don't know this area."

"The further north we go, the more remote we are," I said. "There are no roads beyond the north end of the lake."

"I doubt escaping on foot is his plan," Liam said. "What does that leave?"

"I'm not a great swimmer," Aunt Bea said, "but I can float until hypothermia overwhelms my body."

"I can swim," Brant said. I patted his leg, but I wasn't sure if it was to comfort me or him.

"A small plane flew over shortly before I found you."

"I don't remember the sound of a plane," Liam said, "but then again, I was intent on the noise I was hearing on the ramp."

"I don't remember the plane either," Aunt Bea said.

"I do," Brant said. It flew that way." He pointed south to north.

"That was it," I said. "That's probably Ducain's way out."

"If that's the case," Liam said, "it's most likely a four-seater."

"I guess we know what that means," Aunt Bea said.

From the wheelhouse, Ducain told Micky to check on us. I could hear his progress across the deck; he stepped into the cabin and checked Liam's bonds. "You're still bleeding?" he observed.

"He needs medical attention," I said.

"If it keeps bleeding like that, he'll need a hearse," Micky said.

"That's why we tried to put pressure on it," Aunt Bea said.

"We're of no use to you," I said. "Just drop us off where there's a house with lights on, and we can get him help."

"You don't get it, do you?" Micky asked with a sneer. "You're our guarantee of getting out of here. Just stay put, and you might live."

The hairs on my arm stood at attention. I knew what he meant.