by Linda Bond
Two couches with big throw pillows faced each other, and a long black lacquer coffee table stretched between them. No space to run between the furniture.
“Keep moving.” Fitzpatrick shoved her forward. She tripped, her breath rushing out of her. Barely keeping her balance, she stumbled ahead, wishing he wouldn’t keep shoving the gun into her spine.
It looked like the only other door was at the far end of the salon. It was closed. And locked? Probably.
“You should have gone home when you had the chance, Samantha Steele.” Her captor’s voice, so close behind her, made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “Bad move to follow me.”
She wanted to throw out some lame reply to sound brave, but thought better of it.
“Sit down. Both of you.” Robert moved to stand in front of her and George.
Her cameraman hadn’t spoken a word since warning her of Robert’s presence outside. That was highly unusual. But then, they’d never been in this kind of situation before—forced at gunpoint by a madman onto a yacht owned by another murderer.
They sat on one of the couches, their butts sliding back on the cool leather almost simultaneously. George set his video camera down on the floor, the lens facing forward.
Was it on? She didn’t see a red tally light. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t pressed the record button.
“So, what happens now?” she asked.
The killer’s eyes narrowed into scary slits. “What do you think?” He pointed the gun directly at her.
Stall him. “I’d like to interview you.”
He snorted. “Like I’d tell you a damn thing, you nosy little bitch reporter.”
“I just want to know why.” Keep talking. Keep him talking. “Why did you start this whole adventure vacation thing? Why murder the people? Why Maxwell?” She was running out of breath. “What was the motivation? Why did you—”
“You ask too many questions for a woman about to die.” Robert’s disgust flew at her.
She rubbed the burning center of her chest. “If I’m about to die, why not answer me?”
Silence.
Was Robert growing nervous, too? Or maybe he was fighting with himself over the urge to spill the beans. Appeal to his warped ego. “Come on. Aren’t you dying to tell me how you masterminded this whole plan? It was brilliant.” She stroked him with a complimentary tone.
His eyebrows shot up, and the corners of his mouth rose. “I came upon the plan by accident, actually. And a nosy little bitch-ass reporter like you inspired me.”
The newspaper article. “Go on.”
George reached down to pick up his camera.
“No. No camera,” Robert hissed.
The camera back on the ground, George flipped her a worried look.
She wished she could reassure him that she had his back. She adjusted a button on her shirt, trying to let him know the undercover camera had been switched on.
George’s eyes lit up with understanding.
“Go on, Robert,” she continued.
He lowered the gun to his side. “Scott was having an affair with some female investigative reporter. Prissy, like you. She’d strut around my place in high heels and a tight black skirt as if she owned the place. I couldn’t stomach it. Most of the time, I just left her there waiting for my uncle. They’d fuck each other silly, and then they’d both leave. For six months my apartment reeked of sex.”
Sam cringed at the way Robert’s eyes filled with hate.
“Scott always screwed around. When he got tired of that bitch, he dumped her. But this cunt was smart. While she was waiting for Scott at my place, she’d been digging into my files. Financial files. Scott had put me in charge of hiding his money. He’d been bilking the company profits for years. I had a record of it all. But I’d locked all those records up. I have no idea how that fucking reporter got to them.”
Wow. Scott Fitzpatrick had been betrayed by a reporter. No wonder Robert had it out for her.
“There’s nothing more dangerous than a bitch scorned,” Robert continued.
She crossed her legs, hoping to provoke more out of him. “And your uncle Scott blamed you,” she said.
Robert nodded, his cheeks flaming red. “But he gave me a chance to make it up to him,” he said angrily. “We’d been ostracized by all of our friends, even by the assholes who once benefited from Scott’s financial tips and inside information. The government froze Scott’s assets, including the money I’d been hiding. He was going to prison. That fucking reporter had ruined our lives.”
“So you killed her,” she whispered, her hand resting on her throat.
“Oh, it wasn’t easy.”
Robert went on to explain in detail how he’d followed the reporter and her crew around for weeks, until the opportunity presented itself. He’d been able to convince a shop owner to direct the news team to park in a lot with low power lines, difficult to see at night. When the mast had been raised into those lines, the reporter, who’d been sitting on the steps of the truck, and the photographer, who been raising the mast, were both electrocuted. And killed. Instantly. “You could smell their charred flesh. Think of burnt meat on a greasy grill.”
“Jesus Christ,” George spat. “You are a sick fuck.”
She gagged and leaned down to bury her face in her hands.
“You think you’re a genius, when actually, you were just damn lucky to have pulled that off.” George scoffed.
The snake’s gaze slid off her and moved over to George. The mad man chuckled. “I admit fate was on my side, but the fact that it all worked in my favor justifies my actions, don’t you think? It’s called karma. That bitch burned. She got what she deserved.”
“And their deaths were ruled accidental.” Concentrate on getting him to confess. “And that’s how you got the idea to fake Scott’s death and make it look like an accident?”
“Exactly. When I told him how I’d killed the bitch, we started to brainstorm other scenarios. Before all the mess with the reporter, and the indictment, he’d talked to me about bidding on and winning an adventure vacation at one of those charity events his wife always made him attend. The company was called the X-Force Adventure Vacation Company. We were both certified divers.”
“And you applied for a job as a photographer with the company to get on the inside?” Sam asked.
“Righto, reporter. Scott couldn’t buy the company. Couldn’t leave a paper trail. So, I had to infiltrate it. Once I was an employee, I could get down in those underwater caves before Scott arrived and map out a strategy. A man could easily get lost in those caverns and die, if he didn’t know exactly where he was going.”
“He sure could.” George must have been having a flashback to his own close encounter with the Grim Reaper.
“Or Fitzpatrick could escape through a different exit.” Sam was catching on now. “So who did you kill and leave in the sink for the police to find?”
“A man who was about the same size and build as Scott. Some pothead with no family and an insatiable thirst for drugs and money. I paid him to go diving with me, and then I tangled a guideline around a rock formation and left him down there to die when he ran out of oxygen. The tanks were empty when they found him, so it looked like an accident. Monica was called in to represent the X Force Vacation Company. I was the family member who responded. We both identified the body. Case closed. I had the body cremated the same day.”
So Monica was involved, just as she’d suspected. The plan was rather ingenious. And it had worked. “It was the least you could do after messing up your uncle’s life by letting the reporter read all those files.” Sam froze, realizing she’d said her thoughts out loud, and waited for Robert’s reaction.
“You little bitch!”
She’d pushed one final button, and it had been the wrong one.
Robert’s eyes flamed. His finger hovered over the trigger of his Glock 23.
Sam’s breath stalled halfway up her windpipe.
She heard George�
��s labored breath, but dared not take her eyes off Robert and the gun.
The killer took aim. “To bad you’ll never get to report that story live at five. Because now I’m going to kill you. Any last words, Samantha Steele?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A gargled half groan escaped Sam’s lips. She didn’t even recognize her own voice. She closed her eyes. Think. Think. She could charge Robert, or maybe push George down if he fired. She jumped at the ring of her cell phone.
“Don’t even think about answering.” A different voice came from the other side of the room.
Sam wrenched around to see who it was.
Scott Fitzpatrick’s large frame filled the open doorway. “Say ‘hello’ and it will be the very last word you ever utter.”
Her phone clattered against the coffee table as she set it down with shaky hands. Immediately it buzzed again, and then went to voice mail.
“You said there were three.” Scott strode into the living room, a trail of pungent cologne following in his wake.
“What?” Robert shuffled a few steps back.
Interesting. She thought the two were supposed to be close, but after being in the room with them for less than ten seconds, she had no doubt Scott Fitzpatrick was actually in charge, and held little affection for his nephew.
“You said you were following a team of three.” Scott stood before the two of them, then leaned over to pick up her cell phone. “The reporter.” He nodded at her. “And the cameraman. Where’s the Army Ranger?” He pointed her cell phone at Robert. “Of the three, he’s the one we should be most worried about.” The older Fitzpatrick opened her phone. “Where is he?”
Was the man talking to her?
His heated gaze shifted her way.
She flinched. “I don’t know.” She tensed, waiting for him to erupt. “Really.”
“Was that the Ranger calling?”
“No.”
“I can check.”
“Be my guest.” Asshole.
Scott’s black eyes narrowed. They were a stark contrast to his shockingly gray hair, which sprang out from his head like angry lightning bolts.
He glanced down at the phone and pressed a button. Had to be redial. He placed the phone to his ear. After a moment, “Who’s speaking?”
Sam knew who had answered the call. Even if she survived this kidnapping, her boss would probably fire her.
“I asked you a question.” Fitzpatrick’s voice was low, demanding, but still very much in control.
She could only imagine the words and attitude coming from her boss on the other end. Stan was a former New Yorker with a temper, and he didn’t like being questioned.
“There’s no Samantha here.”
Her boss knew better. Stan had issued her that cell phone for work. Plus she’d left him a message this morning, right after waking up George. Now he would know something was really wrong. But his help would get here too late.
“You must have dialed the wrong number earlier. Who is this?” Fitzpatrick scowled and held the phone away from his ear.
A slew of curse words exploded from the cell.
She shot George a knowing look. He lifted his eyebrows, acknowledging he heard it, too. This was the first time she’d actually appreciated Stan’s lack of a filter.
The older Fitzpatrick abruptly slammed the phone down. He stared at her for one long, uncomfortable moment.
She swallowed, her skin tightening.
“I imagine your boss will be looking for you now.” Scott walked toward Robert. “The clock is ticking. We have to make a move. But we need all three of them. What’s the Ranger’s name?”
“Zack Hunter,” Robert offered.
“Where the hell is Mr. Hunter?” Scott slammed a fist onto the bar next to the doorway.
She jumped.
When no one answered, he stalked back toward the couch. “All right, let’s work a little trade.” The big man sat down next to her. She fought the urge to turn away. “You tell me where the third member of your little party is, and I’ll tell you why I had Robert kill Maxwell Wentworth.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, but Sam struggled not to scoot away, even though her knees were knocking together. Fitzpatrick was offering her a confession! And she was recording!
On cue, Robert shoved his gun at her temple.
She swallowed heavily. “Last I saw of Zack, he was at the hotel. I woke up this morning, and he’d already left.”
“And you came back here?” Scott Fitzpatrick asked. “Big, brave girl to come without your military man.”
“I thought maybe Zack was actually working for you guys.” She looked Scott Fitzpatrick straight on, hoping he wouldn’t notice her right eyelid twitching.
“That’s a lie.”
She could feel the man’s hot, rancid breath on her cheek as he spoke. This time she couldn’t stop herself. She scooted back. “I don’t really know Zack Hunter. And he lied to me at every turn. I found out about his uncle’s death from Robert.” She looked to Robert to back her up. “Ask him.”
Robert nodded. “It’s true.”
“I used Zack Hunter as my cover to go on the adventure vacation because I wanted to find out if Maxwell’s death was really an accident. I found myself sexually attracted to Zack so I slept with him.” She shrugged, trying to play it off as casual. “Where he is now, I couldn’t say. Probably gathering a large contingent of police to come arrest you.”
Scott studied her for a moment. “I think she is telling the truth, which doesn’t make me happy.” The big man stood. “Wake up the captain. Tell him we shove off in less than fifteen minutes or he’s fired. And you know what fired actually means.”
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
Did she really want to know? Not really…
The former dead man peered down at her and smiled, but there was no laughter in his cold eyes. “Doesn’t really matter. Wherever we end up, you and your friend are shark bait. But I’ll be sure to have Robert shoot pictures, so your death makes the top of the evening news.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The hum of the yacht’s motor forced Sam’s pulse up. The captain was pulling away from the dock. She couldn’t look at Scott Fitzpatrick, afraid he’d sense the panic in her eyes. He’d probably enjoy that.
Her seat vibrated as the motor kicked up a notch. Each passing second took her farther away from escape, but oddly not any closer to a full-out panic attack. Instead, she was concentrating on finishing off the job at hand, getting a confession recorded, before either Fitzpatrick could finish her off. She was scared, for sure, but oddly she still felt in control.
Stall him. Talk to him. “I’ve told you about Zack and me. You promised to tell me about Maxwell Wentworth. And I also want to know what happened to Jenny.”
“Jenny? Who is Jenny?” Scott Fitzpatrick asked.
“You told me to kill the fucking reporter.” Robert sounded agitated. “I thought that bitch Jenny was this fucking cunt.”
“You were wrong, asshole.” Jenny had died because they looked alike. She would have to live with that guilt. Forever. But at least, if she survived, she could make sure Robert did time for Jenny’s death. “Tell me about Maxwell.” Part of her seized at her callousness, her ability to put Jenny’s death into a compartment and move ahead with the plan. The map they had to follow to survive.
A flash of appreciation flickered in those hardened eyes. “Maxwell Wentworth. Now there was a man who made many enemies.”
“Yes, much to my surprise.” After Maxwell’s death she’d done her homework, unable to believe the hometown hero who’d helped her could make an enemy ruthless enough to kill him. “I recently found out Maxwell was having an affair with the wife of his company’s vice president. So, he had a scorned wife, a pissed off business partner, and a trophy mistress who wanted to become his new wife.” She counted them off with her fingers. “Not exactly the Maxwell I thought I knew, but not the first man to cheat on his marriage.
So, those are his enemies, but which one wanted to kill him?”
Scott actually smiled at her. “Which would you put your money on, Samantha?” But his eyes remained cold and reminded her of a serial killer she’d interviewed in prison in Daytona Beach.
“If I were a betting woman, I’d say…the ex-wife.”
“Good guess, but you’re wrong. The ex-wife didn’t want him dead. She wanted him alive so she could keep taking his money. Bitch liked her monthly alimony.”
“Okay, then, the new girlfriend?” George leaned forward. “Women are so fucking greedy.”
Fitzpatrick lifted a finger. “But she also had everything to gain by keeping him alive. His name, his house, his money.”
“So, it was the vice president,” Sam whispered, totally appalled she was participating in this verbal banter with an arrogant killer…but also undeniably interested.
“Bingo,” Scott said.
The mystery of Maxwell’s death had finally been solved—another man who’d fallen victim to lust and revenge. Sam had put Maxwell on a pedestal, but in the end, he was just another vulnerable man controlled by his baser human urges.
“They all had motive for murder.” Scott Fitzpatrick reached out and grasped her wrist so tightly the blood supply to her fingers stalled.
She fought back the urge to yell and jerk away.
“But only his vice president had the balls to follow through.” The big man slanted forward. “Maxwell’s vice president financed his murder. And I paid Robert to execute it by messing with Maxwell’s parachute at Skydive Drop Zone.”
Her body tensed, but she tasted victory. A confession at last! A jury would hear how proud the asshole sounded as he described how he’d orchestrated the deadly plans. If she survived. “How did the VP find you to hire? I mean, I don’t get the connection.”
Fitzpatrick backed off a bit, but didn’t release her wrist. “I had an employee troll charity events for possible clients.”
“Monica.” She’d been right not to trust the woman. Monica had been in on it from day one.
“Yes, beautiful Monica could throw on a long gown and fake diamonds and fit right in with the rich and powerful. The inebriated fools who flirted with her never realized she was nothing more than ambitious trailer trash doing my bidding for cash.”