by Linda Bond
The red Impala crossed over a bridge from the mainland onto a peninsula, and made a turn onto the A1A, the highway that ran along the coast.
George yawned. “Why am I not surprised we’re back near the ocean?”
“Hey.” Zack slowed down. “He’s turning into a marina. Can you catch the name?”
She checked to her left. Bathed in glow of a streetlamp, she read the sign. “How appropriate. Adventure Yacht Harbor.”
Zack cut the lights as he eased off the road into a parking lot across from the harbor. He drove into a dark corner and put the car in park, but left it idling.
The Impala was parked in a handicap spot close to the marina’s entrance. A restaurant sat right next to the gate, directly in front of them.
Fitzpatrick jumped out of the car and took off walking with purposeful strides.
“You have to get me closer,” George mumbled. “It’s too dark and too far away to make out details. I won’t be able to follow in the viewfinder if he walks much farther.”
“If I move the car now, he might pick up on us.”
Sam glanced at the car clock. Two thirty a.m. The night was dark under a half moon and simple street lighting. Only a handful of people buzzed around the restaurant. Otherwise, all was quiet.
The marina had four long docks, and almost every slip was occupied by either a sailboat, live-aboard, or in a few cases, small yachts. If Fitzpatrick took a stroll down any of those docks, George would lose him. He would have to get out of the car and track him on foot—without attracting unwanted interest.
“I think we may be in luck,” George said with a grin.
She pushed forward so she could see what he was talking about. Fitzpatrick was walking toward a yacht moored at the jetty alongside the marina boardwalk.
The vessel, which might be able to sleep five or six, had elegant lines. Even in the minimal light, Sam could tell it was either new or very well maintained. She sucked in a sharp breath at the name painted on the hull.
Catch Me if You Can.
“Someone has a sense of humor,” Zack said dryly.
“Or maybe the owner is just an arrogant bastard,” she muttered.
George sat up in his seat. “I’ve got someone. Top deck, near the pilothouse.”
A door opened and a man walked out. He stood against the railing of Catch Me if You Can, a cigar in one hand and a glass of liquid in the other.
“The guy is wearing sunglasses. What’s up with that?”
“Yeah, I’m zooming in. Hey, I got Fitzpatrick, too. He’s on board.”
Fitzpatrick now stood next to the man in sunglasses. They were fairly close in age. And height. And…
A thought suddenly smacked her in the head.
No. Impossible. It couldn’t be.
Nevertheless, she strained to see more.
George let out a long whistle. “Who do you think Mr. Sunglasses is?”
And yet, it would make perfect sense. And answer a lot of their questions about motive.
“The boss.” Zack’s hands gripped the wheel.
How he’d managed to pull it off would be a whole other question.
She sat up straight. “Guys. I think I know who it is. Keep shooting video, George. Give me a second.”
She reached for iPhone. Her heart cartwheeled inside her chest as she opened her web browser. She typed in a name. Holy shit. Holy shit. “Holy shit!”
“Sam?” Zack glared back at her.
“Give me a minute.” But she couldn’t stop looking at the pictures popping up on the screen.
“They’re talking. Looks like Fitzpatrick is doing some explaining, and the sunglass man isn’t happy about it,” George said.
“Get me a close up on the new guy’s face,” she ordered excitedly.
Zack kept glaring. “Samantha…”
George made some quick adjustments and rocked the camera to his other shoulder. She leaned forward and looked through his eyepiece.
“I knew it.” Her heart galloped like a Kentucky Derby winner crossing the finish line as she double-checked the photos on her smartphone.
“Do you have an ID?” It was the first time Zack had really sounded like a cop. He turned to look at her, his dark eyes hidden in the shadows.
“Yeah, I…”
“Who. Is. He?” Zack’s voice dropped into a lower register. He sat perfectly still. The air around them crackled.
George broke the tension. “They’re gone. They went inside the yacht.” He hauled the camera off his shoulder and dropped it onto his lap.
She handed her iPhone to Zack. George leaned over to stare at the screen, too. “Hot damn, that looks like Mr. Sunglasses, all right.”
Zack was still glued to her smartphone, his face a mask of intensity. “Scott Fitzpatrick.”
“Yeah.” She sat back and nodded. “A dead man walking.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zack let out a low whistle. “If Scott Fitzpatrick is on that yacht…who is buried in his coffin?”
“He faked his own death?” George asked, incredulous. “Can you really do that?”
“Apparently. I guess if you have enough money, anything is possible,” Samantha muttered. “Robert must have helped him.”
Zack could hear the satisfaction in her voice. He felt it, too. Together, they’d found the killer—or rather, killers. Because now, there really wasn’t any doubt. An itchy feeling of anticipation spread throughout his body.
“Now we need to find out why,” George said.
“Scott’s motive is pretty obvious,” Zack said. “Fifty-eight federal counts of fraud, money laundering, and conspiracy is powerful motivation to disappear. Robert’s…not so clear-cut.”
“I bet you a million dollars it also has to do with money.” Samantha leaned forward. Her breath hit his ear in warm bursts.
“Any theories?”
“When Robert was choking me he spit out something about rich people and hating them for spending money on stupid things like adventure vacations. I bet Scott held the purse strings, and Robert did whatever he said, but secretly resented Scott for it.”
“Good reasoning. Makes sense.” Zack loved the way her sharp brain worked. “But then why help Scott fake his own death and help hide him?”
“Money of course. Without Scott, Robert might have nothing. My guess, anyway. Let’s go see if I’m right.”
Her car door opened.
The smile dropped off his face. In half a second, she had jumped out. Where the hell did she think she was going? He ripped open his own door and followed. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Ssh!” Her finger flew to her mouth as they both eased the car doors shut.
He took a quick look around. The Fitzpatricks were still inside the yacht. The parking lot was empty and dark. The few people across the street at the marina restaurant probably couldn’t see them in the limited light. He hoped they hadn’t blown their cover when the car’s overhead light had switched on and off.
He pulled her into a darker area behind the Ford and got right up in her face. “What the hell are you doing?” He fought to keep his voice under control.
“I’m going to interview Scott Fitzpatrick.”
“Like hell you are.” Her confidence while making that comment sucked the wind out of him. This was the same woman who had panicked when the camera was on her less than three weeks ago? He liked the change, and wished he could let her go bust Fitzpatrick’s balls, but it was too dangerous. “Not without backup.”
She wagged a finger at him. “You don’t have backup.”
“Neither do you.”
“I only need a cameraman. And I’ve got one of those. Do you know how many uncertain situations I’ve walked into?”
“None like this, I’m sure. The man’s a murderer.”
“He won’t dare touch me. You want to know why?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He reached for her hand.
She smacked him away. “Because no one is stupid enough to
commit a crime with a TV camera in their face.”
“Unless they kill you, too, and smash the camera.” Zack shook his head and grasped her firmly. “Forget it. I’m not letting you do this.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He tightened his hold, so tight he could feel the pounding of her pulse. “I just did.”
She tugged to get away. “Don’t you want to know what Robert Fitzpatrick’s motivation is?”
“Of course. But we need to regroup and come back with a plan.”
“I’ve learned from years of experience as a reporter that you stand a better chance of getting a bad guy to talk if the element of surprise is on your side.”
“You honestly think if you walk over there in your sexy little shorts, Scott Fitzpatrick will invite you onboard his yacht and spill his secrets while sipping expensive wine with George’s camera rolling?”
“Why not? You did.”
Ouch. Zack’s faced flamed. She was on fire tonight. He wished he knew exactly what emotion, or hormone, was fueling this feistiness. “Get your story right. It was Grey Goose.”
She smiled and he felt the tension go out of her wrist. He relaxed his grip. Instantly, she bolted around the back of the car to the other side. “George, let’s go.”
Un-fucking believable. She was going to get them caught. Or get herself killed. Where was all this newfound courage coming from?
George jumped out of the car. When Samantha hurried up to him, much to Zack’s surprise, he put his right arm out and stopped her. “I happen to agree with Zack.”
“Thank you,” Zack said, storming over to her.
“You’re going to let him get away?”
“I have him on video,” George answered. “That will prove he’s alive. We know where he’s hiding.”
“Not if he heads out to sea, taking Robert with him.” Even though George towered over her, Samantha’s energy made her seem just as tall.
“The three of us can’t corner him.” Zack pointed to the yacht. “If we go over there right now, they could kill us all and nobody would ever be the wiser.”
“How? We’ll be videotaping him. He’s in a public marina. People will hear.” Samantha’s voice vibrated with frustration.
“He’ll take us out to sea, where he’ll throw my camera overboard, right after he dumps our bodies.”
“He’s right.” Zack fingered the cell phone in his pocket, anxious to make a call. He needed to get both George and Samantha back in the car and out of the line of sight of the men on the boat.
“You didn’t even tell our news director where we were going tonight,” George pointed out.
“How could I? I didn’t know where we were headed until we got here.”
“I didn’t tell anyone either.” George glanced at him. “Zack?”
“Let’s take a breath.” He walked around the car front to stand next to them. “Do you realize what we just got on tape?”
“Yes. But it’s not enough. What do you propose we do?” she asked.
“I have a few friends in law enforcement…”
“But they don’t know you’re here. And you can’t tell them.”
Sarcasm again. “What’s with you tonight?” Zack asked.
“Hey, hey.” George stepped between him and Samantha. “Is this high school, or what? I say we find a hotel and sleep for the night.”
“Are you serious? You’re giving up?” Her exasperation was evident.
“No, but my camera batteries are. We’ve got to recharge them. How are we going to confront Robert and his dead uncle if the camera batteries are dead? Besides, I need to pee. And I need to eat. I need sleep, and about a hundred aspirin. If I have to kick some ass to save yours, you’re in big trouble. I can barely move.”
“I can’t believe this.” She shoved past George.
What a little hellcat. Zack reached out to stop her. “We’ll come back first thing tomorrow morning. Before the sun comes up.”
“They’ll be gone.”
“No, they won’t. I’ll make sure they don’t go anywhere. All it takes is one phone call.”
“What phone call? To who?” She walked up to him, stood on tiptoe, and put both hands on his chest. If she was trying to distract him, it was working. He could feel the heat where her palms lay flat against his clothing. “How do you know that?”
“Know what?” He stepped away from her. Focus, man.
“That Robert and Scott Fitzpatrick won’t leave before we have a chance to talk to them.”
“It’s almost dawn and they haven’t slept. Look at the yacht. They just turned all the lights off. They won’t be up for a while.”
A twinge of guilt dug into him. He’d already decided to call the local PD and ask for their assistance. They’d have no reason to check his credentials overnight. They could keep an eye on Catch Me if You Can until dawn and assist if there were any problems in the morning. In fact, he might even call his superior at the FDLE and ask for backup. What could they say when he told them he’d located a dead man with fifty-eight criminal indictments who’d cheated prosecution.
“You heard George. You don’t even have a camera to record anything. What else can you do tonight?”
Samantha looked at the yacht and lifted both hands in surrender.
Thank God. Gently, he put his arms around her, giving her a comforting squeeze. He moved her around as if slow dancing, so he could take another peek at Catch Me if You Can.
An overwhelming sense of contentment washed over him. Finally, he knew who had masterminded the murder of his uncle. All he needed to know now was why. And he had to keep Samantha from revealing what they’d uncovered to the rest of the world until he had a chance to prove it, and arrest Scott and Robert Fitzpatrick and anyone else involved.
At the same time, a rush of yearning heated his blood. He knew exactly how he’d distract her, so she wouldn’t brood about it all night. Or call her boss and get the media frenzy rolling.
He buried his head in the nape of her warm neck so she couldn’t see him smile. Who needed sleep, anyway?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sam threw open the door to room 106 of the Sandcastle Suites on A1A in Port Orange, her temporary home for the night. She was glad that Zack and George intended to share a room because, frankly, she was still pissed at both of them for forcing her to wait to confront that snake and his uncle. Zack might have his answers, but she still desperately wanted to know what Maxwell Wentworth had to do with all of this. Why her friend had died was still an unknown, and she intended to get that answer. And she needed to get some justice for Jenny. She couldn’t help but feel responsible for her death.
She reached into her dark room, fumbling for the light switch. Where the hell was it?
Suddenly, strong fingers curved around her waist and warm breath tickled the back of her neck. She recognized the spicy masculine scent of him. She stilled. “Zack?”
“Hi,” he whispered, his voice husky and hot.
A little tremor raced down her back. “I thought you’d gone with George to your room.”
“He’s taking a shower.” Zack gently pushed her forward before she could flip the switch on. “I’m giving him some privacy.”
The muskiness that had settled on his skin on their long drive up the coast touched off a visceral response in her. He smelled like such a man. She closed her eyes as intoxicating warmth rushed into her middle. “Um…how about you give me time to take a shower, too?”
“I like it dirty.” He chuckled.
She pushed against him. “Funny.” She walked into the dark room, unable to see a thing. “Zack?”
The door shut, followed by silence. Was he here? Did he leave? God, her nerves were shot, but every part of her was tingling.
She couldn’t even hear him breathe. But she could feel the energy he was putting off. The hair on her arms and neck sizzled with the anticipation. She stood still, waiting.
The floor creaked in front of her. The air conditioner
clicked on. Maybe the hum of the unit would drown out the beating of her heart, because it was pounding so loudly. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Wild guess.” His voice was right in front of her. Reaching out, her fingertips grazed his chest. He pulled back.
She stepped forward and searched for him, wanting to touch him again. Nothing. She shook her head, a bit dizzy. “Can you turn on the light?” she murmured. “I want to see you.”
“We don’t need light to do what we’re about to do.”
“Then why are you making me wait?”
“For what, baby?” His finger found its way to her mouth. His rough skin brushed against her bottom lip, igniting a wave of heat that rushed through the rest of her body.
Feeling wicked and a bit out of control, she pulled his finger into her mouth. Slowly, she sucked the tip and then stroked it with her tongue.
He groaned.
His free hand moved into her hair and he bunched up a handful. “I need to tell you something.” He tipped her head back with just enough force that her scalp throbbed in an almost orgasmic wave. He knew just the right amount of pressure to bring her right to the point where pleasure met pain, but pleasure still won.
She swallowed, suddenly wary. “What?”
“I need to thank you,” he whispered.
Relief flooded through her. “There are so many ways to do that. Can I show you the ways I prefer?” She didn’t want to fight with him anymore. Not when he’d barely touched her and already had her body throbbing with need. “You can start by kissing me.”
He laughed but never released the grip on her hair.
“We found the murderer.” He sounded a little drunk, even though he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol.
“We did.” She barely got the words out. His tongue teased the sensitive skin behind her earlobe. The wetness of his kiss traveled across her jaw. She ached for more. “Let’s celebrate.” She reached for him.
He brushed her hands away. “Oh, I intend to.” His lips moved up to meet her mouth.
She opened her lips to greet him. Just the touch of his tongue on hers made her shiver with need. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tugged his body up against hers, kissing him deeply.