A Suitable Vengeance (Inspector Lynley, #4)(29)

“Wait,” Sidney said.

As they watched, Brooke handed Peter Lynley a small container from which Peter tapped powder onto the flat of his hand. He bent to it, hovered over it with such a passion to possess that even from the clifftop the others could see his chest heave with the effort to ingest every particle. He licked his hand, sucked it, and at the last, raised his face to the sky as if in thanksgiving to an unseen god. He handed the container back to Brooke.

At that, Sidney exploded. “You promised! Damn you to hell. You promised!”

“Sid!” St. James grabbed his sister’s arm. He felt the tensility of her insubstantial muscles as adrenaline shot through her body. “Sidney, don’t!”

“No!” Sidney tore herself away from him. She kicked off her shoes and began to descend the cliff, sliding in the dust, catching her frock against a rock, and all the time cursing Brooke foully with one imprecation after another.

“Oh, God,” Deborah murmured. “Sidney!”

At the cliff bottom, Sidney hurtled across the narrow strip of sand to the rock where the three sunbathers were watching her in dazed surprise. She threw herself on Brooke. Her momentum dragged him down off the rocks and onto the sand. She fell upon him, punching his face.

“You told me you wouldn’t! You liar! You bleeding, rotten, filthy little liar! Give it to me, Justin. Give it to me. Now!”

She grappled with him, her fingers gouging at his eyes. Brooke put up his arms to fend her off and thus exposed the cocaine. She bit his wrist and ripped the container from his hand.

Brooke shouted as she rose to her feet. He grabbed her legs and toppled her to the ground. But not before she had staggered to the water, uncapped the container, and thrown it—with a tomboy’s sure strength—into the sea.

“There’s your drug,” she shrieked. “Go after it. Kill yourself. Drown.”

Above them on the rock, Peter and Sasha laughed idly as Justin surged to his feet, pulled Sidney to hers, and began to drag her into the water. She clawed at his face and neck. Her nails drew a vicious four-pronged trail of blood on his skin.

“I’ll tell them,” she screamed.

Brooke struggled to hold on to her. He caught her arms and pinned them savagely behind her. She cried out. He smiled and forced her to her knees. He shoved her forward. Putting one foot on her shoulder, he plunged her head beneath the water. When she fought for air, he shoved her back down.

St. James felt rather than saw Lady Helen turn to him. His entire body had gone icy.

“Simon!” Never had his own name sounded so dreadful.

Below them, Brooke dragged Sidney to her feet. But her arms now released, she fell upon him, undaunted.

“Kill…you…” She was sobbing for breath. She aimed an ineffective blow at his face, attempted to smash her knee into his groin.

He filled his hand with her short, wet hair, hauled her head back sharply, and punched her. The blow and those that followed it resounded hollowly against the cliff. In defence, she lashed out at him, succeeding in getting her hands round his throat. Her fingers dug into his knotted veins and twisted. He ripped her hands away, catching her arms once again. But she was too quick for him this time. She turned her head and sank her teeth into the side of his neck.

“Jesus!” Brooke released her, stumbled back up onto the beach and sank into the sand. He held his hand to the spot where Sidney had bitten him. When he brought his hand away, it showed red with his blood.

Freed, Sidney struggled out of the water. Her dress hung on her body like a sodden second skin. She was coughing, wiping at her cheeks and her eyes. Her strength was spent.

It was then that Brooke moved. With a ragged curse, he leaped to his feet, grabbed her, and threw her to the ground. He straddled her body. He filled his fist with sand and ground it into her hair and across her face. On the rock above, Peter and Sasha watched curiously.

Sidney squirmed beneath him, coughing, crying, trying ineffectually to push him away.

“You want physical,” he grunted, pressing one arm down against her neck. “You really want physical. Let’s have it, hmm?”

He fumbled with his trousers. He began to tear at her clothes.

“Simon!” Deborah cried. She turned to St. James. She said nothing else.

St. James understood why. He was incapable of movement. Enraged. Unafraid. But most of all crippled.

“It’s the cliff,” he said. “Helen. For the love of God. I can’t manage the cliff.”





CHAPTER 7


Lady Helen cast only one look at St. James before she reached for Deborah’s arm.

“Hurry!”

Deborah didn’t move. She stood with her eyes fixed powerlessly on St. James’ face. When he began to turn from them both, she put out her hand as if she would touch him.

“Deborah!” Lady Helen grabbed Deborah’s camera, dropped it to the ground. “There’s no time. Hurry!”

“But—”

“Now!”

The panicked words spurred Deborah to action. She ran with Lady Helen for the path. They began the steep descent to the cove, mindless of the dirt and the dust that rose round them like smoke.

Beneath them on the sand, Sidney fought off Justin Brooke with the kind of renewed strength that is born of terror. But he was getting the better of her, and his previous fury was fast developing into sexual arousal and sadistic pleasure. Clearly, in his mind, Sidney was about to get what she had wanted all along.