Shot Through the Heart

by Diane Benefiel

  He listened for a moment, colorless eyes narrowing.

  “Watch what you say to me, or I’ll make the fuse even shorter. You want that chance to see your girlfriend alive, Detective Garretson? Better hurry.” He paused a moment. “I like incentives, so here’s yours. Be here in fifteen minutes, or I’ll slice her like your bastard brother sliced me. Make her bleed a little. I always like it when they bleed.”

  Simon disconnected and tossed the phone to Mick. “Remember the plan. Make sure Pete keeps watch and knows to wait to hit the detonator until the cops are in the building.” He nodded toward the unconscious Juan. “He can’t be trusted. Tie him to the propane tank, and make sure he goes up with it.”

  “You’re not blowing her up, then?”

  “No. We stick with the original plan. That was just to get those idiots here.”

  At Mick’s nod, Simon stepped around the still form on the floor. He stopped, gaze on Rane. “I’m taking her to the boat. We leave as soon as the place blows.” He shifted his focus to Mick. “I expect our resourceful police detectives will be here within ten minutes. Pete needs to get in position.” He looked back at Rane, and something cunning moved behind his eyes. “The truth is, Rane, I think your phone call was quite fortuitous. I didn’t have to do a thing to lure them into the open. You accomplished that little challenge for me.”

  Simon gripped her arm, his fingers a steel clamp biting into her elbow, and pushed her in front of him. Pete moved down the hall to join them. “Boss, everything’s set up.” He was eyeing Juan.

  “Help drag this piece of garbage over by the tanks of propane. He’ll have a front row seat for the explosion. Is the hood on the mannequin?”

  “Yes, boss. They won’t be able to tell it’s not her until they’re close, and then we’ll have them.”

  “Good.”

  The man nodded and leaned over Juan, who had begun moving on the floor as he regained consciousness. Mick reached down to pull him to a sitting position and quickly used a zip tie to secure his hands behind his back. As Simon shoved her ahead of him and they moved down the hall, Rane could hear the alarm in Juan’s voice as he realized his predicament.

  She hesitated, and Simon shoved her. “Let’s go, Rane. I’m done wasting my time on you. We’re going to end it today. I want to deal with you and deal with the Garretsons.”

  “Why don’t you leave me here, have me go up in the warehouse explosion? Why the boat?”

  As always, his smile made her skin crawl. “Because, my dear Rane, I want you to know when they’re dead. I want you to see the explosion, hear it, and know your hero is dead. And then it’s a simple enough task to throw you overboard when we’re out over the water. Maybe I’ll throw in a little chum, attract some sharks. Or I could slice you up a bit first. They say great whites have an extremely acute sense of smell and can detect even miniscule amounts of blood. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and there will be some in the area. I think I’ll stick around to watch.”

  Stomach roiling, Rane forced herself to think of anything that might stall Simon. “Where’s Kyle?”

  “Where he can’t get into trouble. My brother is not going to help you; he’s made the correct choice. His loyalty is to his family. He knows you’re expendable, that you have always been expendable. He was weak, but prison toughened him up.”

  He pushed a door open, and Rane blinked in the bright light. At midafternoon, the fog had burned off, and the sun shone brilliantly in a sky of deep blue. Gulls wheeled overhead, and the briny smell of the ocean permeated the air. A beautiful Seattle day, and the man standing beside her was planning her murder. She had to believe John and Nathan would be okay. She’d told them she thought Simon was planning on taking her to a boat. Maybe they wouldn’t even go to the warehouse. They were smart; they wouldn’t underestimate Simon, and maybe, just maybe, they’d all get out of this alive.

  Still gripping her elbow, Simon pushed her ahead of him away from the warehouse and toward the docks. Rane’s gaze darted around, looking for a way out. She was alone with Simon, but she didn’t know if he was armed. She’d have to assume he was, but if she could catch him by surprise, maybe she could find a chance and get away from him. They crossed to the wooden dock where fishing boats bobbed in their moorings. She eyed the murky water. She could push him off the dock and into the water then run.

  As if reading her mind, Simon pulled her roughly toward him. “Don’t even think about trying to get away, Rane,” he hissed into her ear. “I have plans for you. And guess what? When I’m done with you, I’m going after your old man. He’s not going to get away with sending my brother to prison for something he didn’t do.”

  Rane strained away from him, and his hold tightened. “My dad may have planted the heroin that sent Kyle to prison, but your brother did plenty that he didn’t go to prison for.” A chill sent a shiver through her, and Rane wondered just how far she could push him. If she could get him to lose control, maybe an opportunity for escape would present itself. “Kyle killed people. He killed Savannah Montague.”

  “Ah, I see you finally got the story. But Kyle didn’t kill Savannah Montague. Savannah was a junkie who didn’t know her limits. She killed herself.”

  “He fed her addiction.”

  “Perhaps, but she knew exactly what she was doing. That’s why she was injecting between her toes, so nobody would see the track marks. That shows a high level of awareness. She killed herself.”

  “You’re rationalizing. If she hadn’t had access to heroin, she wouldn’t be dead. Kyle has responsibility there, and so do you.”

  Rane’s elbow ached where Simon’s fingers pinched. “You’re not doing yourself any favors trying to anger me, Rane.” He stopped next to a good-sized fishing trawler. The name painted on the side of the boat in red block lettering read Heaven’s Bounty.

  Rane didn’t want to board the vessel. Once she was on the boat, she’d be trapped, and the only way to escape would be over the side. Eerie pale eyes remained intent on her, shaking her confidence. She tried to focus on their conversation, to think of anything that would delay them boarding the boat. “Is that how you sleep at night, Simon? By convincing yourself you’re not responsible for all the heroin overdoses, for all the wrecked lives? They’re just junkies; they do it to themselves, right? You’re simply a businessman providing a service.”

  She saw the anger in his expression, tamped down behind the bland exterior. “Don’t provoke me, Rane.”

  “You’re delusional, Simon. You think you can hold yourself above all the ugliness of the drug trade, but you’re just one of the vile rats preying on the sick and weak.”

  He moved quickly, pulling her back against him where she could feel a sharp stab at her side. She sucked in a breath as Simon chuckled. She hadn’t known he had a knife, but she shouldn’t really be surprised. He was too controlled to strike out in anger, but he’d punish her just the same. Panic welling up inside, she jerked away from him, trying to twist from his grasp then let out a cry when the blade cut through her clothing to slice into the skin just below her ribcage.

  “Get on the boat.” His voice was a hiss in her ear. “My little secret is I like doing that. I like making people bleed. That little cut was shallow, probably didn’t even go all the way through the skin. I have excellent control. The next one will go deeper. Maybe I’ll make it deep enough to slice into muscle. That would make me very happy.”

  An explosion rocked the marina. Rane looked up to see a fireball fill the sky, and then a cloud of dense smoke and debris billowing from the warehouse they’d just left. The shockwave hit them, and boats swayed back and forth. Simon smiled, lips thinning with humor only he enjoyed. “Onto the boat, Rane. Your boyfriend won’t be able to help you now.”

  Anxiety clutched her stomach. John and Nathan couldn’t have gone into the warehouse. But Simon’s orders had been not to detonate unless Mick was sure they were inside. Simon pushed her toward the ladder along the side of the boat, and she gripped it to pull herself
up to the deck, not even feeling the pain from the cut in her side. She stood on the deck and watched dark smoke rising into the air. Running feet approached the vessel, and Rane looked over, heart in her throat. The acute disappointment when she saw Mick nearly brought her to her knees.

  Once Mick climbed on board, Simon gave the orders. “Get this thing started. I want to be out of the marina before a bunch of idiots gather to watch the fire.” He propelled her through a door and down a flight of steps into the bowels of the boat. The whole thing smelled of rotting fish. A rumbling sounded as the engine roared to life. Simon flipped a switch at the bottom of the stairs, and lights sprang on. Rane looked around. The belly of the vessel was crammed with crates, and she’d bet a month’s pay they were full of heroin. This must be how Simon delivered to his dealers up and down the coast. She guessed it was much easier to move undetected by sea than by land. Since he wasn’t even trying to hide the contraband, she figured he wasn’t too worried about being stopped and searched.

  Rane’s stomach sank as the engine revved higher, and she could feel the boat backing out of its berth.

  “Over here.” Simon pushed her toward an opening at the far end of the hold. “Get in there.”

  Rane hesitated. “Please, let me—”

  “No more bargaining, Rane.” He shoved her forward, and Rane went through the darkened door and landed on her knees. She turned around just in time to have the door slammed in her face, shutting out the light. Something heavy was pushed across the door, blocking any escape. She could feel the vibration as the boat picked up speed, heading out into Elliot Bay.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rane’s stomach gave a long, unpleasant roll. The unrelieved darkness felt oppressive in the cold, damp compartment. Gaining her feet, she felt along the wall, hoping for a light switch. After several minutes of fumbling, she realized the switch was probably outside the door. She found the door handle, turned it, and gave a mighty push. It didn’t budge. Whatever Simon had slid across it stood solid.

  Rane continued heaving against the door until, exhausted, she leaned back against it. She lowered herself to the floor, resting her forehead against her upraised knees, using the cuff of her jacket to angrily wipe away tears. She wasn’t a quitter. She’d keep fighting. In just a minute. Even when things were at their worst, when Simon had terrified her half to death, she’d always held the thought in the back of her mind that he couldn’t defeat her, that she would figure a way out. Until now. She just wasn’t sure she could get herself out of this situation.

  The image of the fiery explosion at the warehouse rose up in her mind. She wouldn’t believe John and Nathan had been caught in that. In fact, they were probably planning her rescue at this very moment.

  She wished she and John hadn’t argued the last time they’d spoken. She wished he was here with her now. She had never felt so safe as when she was with him. She wiped her cheeks with her damp sleeve. Her side throbbed where Simon had cut her. The wound was superficial, but it hurt and blood soaked her shirt. Add to that, hunger had her lightheaded.

  She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. Tilly’s Diner with John. They’d sat and talked like any couple on a date, and then there’d been the motorcycle ride back to Seattle, holding onto him as they’d ridden through the night. It seemed so long ago. She rubbed her forehead. The headache brewing behind her eyes was likely caused by missing her morning jolt of caffeine in addition to low blood sugar. And to top it all off, she had to pee. She really couldn’t see anyone willing to let her use a bathroom this time.

  The boat must have reached open water because the pitching and rocking increased, making Rane glad her queasy stomach was empty. She lifted her head and stood to brace her shoulder against the door. She set her feet, and once more gave a mighty shove. At the same moment, the boat rocked heavily and the barrier in front of the door shifted. Encouraged, she pushed again, straining with all her might.

  Panting, she vowed if she ever got out of this mess, she’d spend more time at the gym, working on core-strengthening exercises. Taking a deep breath, she set her body and again gave a giant shove. The barrier yielded a bit more, the door opening a fraction wider. Another six inches, and she bet she could get through. What she’d do when she got out, she hadn’t a clue, but at least she’d have options.

  Exhausted, she finally managed to force the door open wide enough that she could squeeze through. The light was still on, and she stood motionless, ears pricked for any sound. Her gaze darted around the hold. She needed a weapon, anything that might give her a fighting chance. Carefully, she made her way around the compartment, keeping a wary ear out for anyone coming down the steps. The wooden crates were piled three high, but weren’t tied down. The lid of one was loose and she lifted it to peer inside. Pushing aside packing material revealed brownish bundles of what she thought was black tar heroin tightly wrapped in plastic. Simon must have switched over from the white stuff he’d been selling before. Maybe the black tar was cheaper or easier to source. Hard to believe this innocuous-looking substance formed the basis of so much pain and misery.

  Disgusted, she continued her search for a weapon. Her experience on boats was pretty limited, but she’d gone ocean fishing with her father a few times. She remembered him patiently guiding her through his friend’s boat, identifying the equipment, explaining nautical terms. And then standing at the railing and experiencing the rush of excitement when she’d pulled in a halibut. Putting the memory aside, she spotted a long wooden storage box bolted to the floor along the far wall. She went to her knees in front of the box to raise the lid, and her spirits kicked up when she saw it held a variety of tools. Pulling out a crow bar and a hammer, she figured they wouldn’t stop a bullet, but were far better than nothing.

  The boat pitched again, and she froze. A noise, barely audible against the backdrop of the engine, sounded from behind her. Rising slowly to her feet, she quickly slid the crowbar through a belt loop in her jeans to hang at her side. Gripping the hammer so tightly her fingers ached, she scanned the hold for the source of the noise.

  “Rane.”

  Her heart dipped. “Kyle?”

  He stepped from behind a stack of crates. She clutched the hammer tighter. “What are you doing here? Does Simon know you’re on board?”

  “No. No one knows I’m here.”

  The implications of his presence spun through her head. Would he help her? Would he fight against his brother and help her to survive? “He means to kill me. Simon blew up the warehouse, and I think he’s going to throw me overboard. I’m not sure you’d be safe either if he finds you here.”

  “I know he wants to kill you. That’s why I came.”

  A trembling started deep in her belly. “I don’t want to die, Kyle. I really don’t want to die.”

  “Will you go away with me if I can get you out of this? I love you, Rane. We could go somewhere, away from Simon, away from this horrible business, and start a new life together.” She relaxed her grip on the hammer. He looked gaunt in the dim light, skin drawn tight across his pale face, forehead gleaming with sweat. Then it hit her with sudden certainty, and she knew he was using. He had the hollow-eyed look of an addict. The irony wasn’t lost on her. The drug Simon was supplying would likely kill his brother.

  Rane thought her heart would shatter. Not because she loved Kyle; she didn’t. But unless he broke free from the noose that was his heroin addiction, he wouldn’t survive. “You’re sick, Kyle. Let’s get out of this mess and get you into treatment.”

  “Is that it, Rane? I tell you I love you, and your answer is that I need treatment? I don’t want treatment. I want us to start a new life together.” He trembled, one of the symptoms of withdrawal.

  A thud sounded against the side of the vessel, but she had no idea what that could mean. The engine kept up a steady pace, so, hopefully, they hadn’t reached their destination. The place where Simon planned to throw her overboard.

  “We need to go up, try to overpow
er them. We’re trapped if we stay down here.”

  “No!” Kyle’s voice held panic. “Simon will kill you for sure. Probably me, too. There’s enough room behind these crates for both of us. We can hide and hit them from behind when they come to get you.”

  “We can’t stay down here. It’s too cramped. There’s no room to maneuver even if we did manage to disarm them. We have to go up and try to catch them by surprise. I think only Simon and Mick are on board. We might have a chance.”

  Rane turned to rummage in the toolbox. She pulled out a pole with a wicked looking hook on the end, an implement she thought was called a fishing gaff. “Here, take this.” She hoped to God her judgment of Kyle was accurate, that he was on her side.

  Kyle accepted the weapon, and Rane realized how difficult confronting Simon would be for him. Perhaps too difficult. If he used the weapon as she thought might be necessary, he would need to seriously injure, if not kill, his brother. Worrying her bottom lip, she studied him warily. He held the gaff like it was a dirty bomb.

  “Kyle.” He jerked, and she noticed the trickle of sweat along his temple. She gentled her voice. “Stay down here while I peek up top and see if I can figure out what’s going on. I need to see where Simon and Mick are and figure out a plan.”

  When he didn’t respond, she grasped his arm and led him back to where he’d been hidden behind the crates. “Wait here.” It was clear he couldn’t be counted on. She had a moment’s indecision on whether she would be better off with the gaff, but decided there was no way of knowing what weapon she’d need, so she left it with Kyle and started up the stairs.

  A heavy door blocked off the top of the steps, probably to keep out sea water. She pushed gently, wanting only to open it far enough to see if anyone was nearby. She braced herself against the rocking of the boat and put her eye to the slim opening. She expected bright sunlight, and it was a moment before she realized the hazy light was due to the sun hanging low in the sky. It was later in the day than she’d imagined. Seeing no one, she pushed the door a little wider. The back of the boat was clear. Mick and Simon were probably on the bridge. The engine continued its steady droning, which meant they were still moving and the boat needed to be steered. She allowed the door to shut and clambered down the steps.