by Linda Bond
Selling her soul to the devil was more like it. “So, Monica hung out at charity events and asked drunk, rich people if they wanted anyone murdered?” She hiked her brows at the absurdity of the idea.
“Stretch your mind a little, Miss Reporter. What do most of these charity events include?”
George snorted. “Besides wealthy, whiskeyed-up people?”
Curiosity overpowered her terror, if only for the moment. “There’s always a band, and a rubber chicken dinner.”
“Amusing. Before that.”
“A silent auction with—” The match finally fired, and she made the connection. She met Scott Fitzpatrick’s smug eyes. He’d let go of her wrist and was now gripping the gun in his other hand.
“You offered Adventure Vacation packages as silent auction items at charity events.”
“That’s right. In Wentworth’s case, it happened at the St. Francis Society Gala in Tampa. By that time, Wentworth’s affair was public knowledge. He and his vice president were already circling each other like wolves, trying to figure out ways to ruin one another. I provided them with a clever way for them to compete, bidding over our popular vacation.”
The sound of metal hitting something hard outside made her jump. Someone was out there. Robert stuck his head out of the doorway to check.
Fitzpatrick was too carried away in the story and didn’t notice. “Wentworth’s ego got the best of him. He couldn’t let his rival win the adventure vacation. A bidding war ensued.”
George faked a cough.
Sam assumed that was a hint and glanced around the room. She checked out both doorways. Robert had disappeared from the one doorway leading to the deck. No one else was around, at least that she could see. Every nerve in her body went on high alert.
“Wentworth won of course, which made his death look even more like his own fault.”
She shook her head, sickened. “So, Maxwell actually paid for his own murder.”
“And his business partner paid me another seven-hundred thousand dollars to make sure it looked like an accident.” Fitzpatrick thrust his chest out as he said it.
Sam’s jaw nearly hit the deck. This man had made almost a million dollars on Maxwell’s death. No wonder he continued his murder for hire scheme. It probably funded his secret, underground lifestyle.
“That’s the going price for a CEO?” George asked.
Fitzpatrick smacked George on the back of his head, sending him flying forward. “Yes, but I’ll kill you for free. Does that tell you what you’re worth, camera boy?”
George finally snapped. He jumped up from the bench and dove at Fitzpatrick, body-slamming him onto the floor. Scott’s gun sailed across the carpet.
The gun! Get the damn gun!
“Fucker. You want to kill me? Do it with your hands in a fair fight,” George yelled as the two rolled and wrestled on the carpet.
Sam dove for the gun, her heart galloping, but Scott kicked it away.
“Ahh!” George yelped, and the gun slid to a stop against the far bulkhead.
Could she still get to it? If so, could she actually use it?
George let out another grunt, and she flinched at the sound of something slamming against a wall.
“Don’t move.” A familiar hiss stalled her going for the weapon. Once again, Robert stood at the door, his gun pointed at her. His finger moved to the trigger, deadly intent gleaming in his eyes.
Hell. This was it.
“Nobody move!” A different voice rang out from the other side of the room. Calm. Cool. In control.
Oh, thank God.
Zack!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sam wanted to run and hide behind Zack, but Robert stepped in front of her with his damn gun pointed at her head.
Scott Fitzpatrick and George must have stopped fighting because the grunts and groans had ceased. She could hear George’s labored breathing. Risking a quick glance backward, she swallowed. The big man was holding George in front of him like a human shield, one arm tight around his neck.
Silence swept through the room, leaving nothing but her crazy heart pounding in her ears.
Zack took a few steps closer, but he never stopped glaring at Robert.
Her mouth turned dry and chalky. She figured she had about half a second to make a move, or her destiny would be sealed.
She raised her hands in surrender. “I don’t have a weapon. I’m not a threat to you.”
“Samantha,” Zack warned.
She zeroed in on Robert. “I just need to know one thing before I die.” She took a small step to the right. She had to get around the coffee table to reach him.
“We’re all done talking.” His stare hardened.
“Just one more question.” She took another small step and saw his hands were shaking again. “Who paid for Jackson Hunter’s death?” She had to do this. For Zack.
“Shoot her,” Scott commanded. “She’s stalling for time.”
“Wait!” Sam took another step toward Robert, holding out both hands like a school crossing guard. “Answer the question. I have a right to know everything before I die.” The air in the room crackled with electricity. She inched closer.
“His own brother paid,” Scott snapped. “Now kill the bitch, Robert!”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Zack standing frozen in shock. Damn.
Her heart flipped erratically. “Robert, why are you doing this? Why kill all these people for your uncle? You’re the one who’ll pay if you’re caught.”
“Revenge, okay?” Robert wiped his brow. “Now, shut up!”
“Jesus.” Scott’s voice thundered through the room. “Fucking kill her. She’s playing with you, fool.”
George wheezed as Scott’s hold tightened around his throat.
A click sounded from Robert’s gun. The hair on her arms stood.
“Revenge against whom, Robert?” she said desperately.
“Move another millimeter, asshole, and I will happily shoot both of you.” Zack’s voice was calm but chilling.
Robert’s frantic gaze darted to Zack.
Just the break she needed. She lunged forward, diving toward Robert’s short, stocky body.
Bang!
Oh, shit. Body in motion, she tensed, waiting to feel the searing fire of a bullet penetrating her flesh.
Instead, Robert’s hand jerked. He screamed and the gun clattered to the deck just as she crashed into him shoulder first, bounced, and then tumbled to the floor.
White-hot pain shot through her body. She started scrambling to her knees. Where was the gun?
“Get down!” Zack shouted, and she instantly obeyed.
Bang. Bang. Bang!
George let out a bellow that sounded like it came from hell itself.
Oh, God! He’d been hit!
“Take cover!” Zack called.
She glanced around and rolled toward the solid wood wet bar near the door. A hand grabbed her ankle.
Robert. He was dragging her back into the open. The heat of carpet burn ignited her skin. She dug her fingernails into the rug but couldn’t get a grip. Fear tore at her heart.
She kicked, then kicked harder. Her right foot found flesh and bone. Robert squealed. She drew in a deep breath and kicked with all her might, letting out a mighty yell as she flipped over.
His hand on her ankle relaxed just enough for her to break free.
She scampered behind the cover of the bar.
Where was Zack? And George? Oh, Jesus.
More explosive gunfire erupted. She scrunched into a ball, her spine hitting the bulkhead behind the bar.
“Fuck,” came a deep growl. “I’m hit!”
Ohmigod! “Zack!”
Chapter Thirty
Sam heard Zack fall to the floor with a moan.
Her muscles went weak. “Zack!” She peered around the corner of the bar. No one had a gun pointed her way, so she bolted out toward him.
She almost stumbled over a body. Robert was sprawled acros
s the floor, bright red stains soaking into the beige carpet under him. His eyes were open and glassy.
Oh, sweet Jesus. He was dead.
“I had to shoot the fucker.” Zack’s voice was weak, but at least he was still conscious.
She let out a rush of air as she reached him, dropping to her knees. “Where are you hit?” She touched his face first, her heart racing. She ran her fingers down his body. He was putting off waves of heat, but no blood was pumping onto his shirt.
He struggled to sit halfway up, resting on his elbows. “I’m okay. The fucker was dragging you away. I had no choice.”
Her gaze locked into a hole in his shirt on his left side. He pushed up and ripped open his shirt. He was wearing a Kevlar vest.
The air whooshed out of her lungs. “Oh, thank God.” She threw her arms around him.
He tumbled backward. “Ouch!” Despite the sound of protest, his arms wrapped around her, squeezing tight. “Damn. My ribs will never be the same.” He rolled her over so she lay by his side. “Be gentle with me.”
Tears welled up as she nodded. “George?” She sat up and scanned the room.
“Over here.”
He was sitting with his back against the opposite bulkhead, looking dazed. Scott Fitzpatrick was slumped over in a heap next to him. Dead?
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Never better.” He cocked a brow and chuckled.
“Really? This is funny to you?” Freaking men.
“Fucking-A. Did you see that? Zack nailed the bastard while he was still holding onto me!” His eyes shone with hero-worship as he looked at Zack. “That was frikkin’ awesome, dude.”
She just shook her head, and glanced at Scott Fitzpatrick, who was apparently still alive—his breathing was shallow and raspy but steady. Zach crawled over to secure his wrists with zip-ties.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“Backup and paramedics are on the way,” Zach told her.
She let out a sigh of relief. “So, it’s over.”
“I wish we’d been able to take both Fitzpatricks alive. They both deserve to swing.” Zack stood, both hands on his hips, looking angry but focused.
George pulled himself up off the floor. His tall, lanky body didn’t make it all the way vertical. Still bent at an odd angle, he groaned. “My back is shot. No pun intended.”
She rolled her eyes. “Glad to see you still have your sense of humor.”
She waited for a reaction from Zack, but he was pacing the room. “What are you looking for?”
“Won’t know until I find it.”
“Yeah, about that confession you wanted?” Sam couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.
“Thanks for asking about my uncle.” Zack stopped dead in his tracks, turning to look at George. “Please tell me you managed to get that on video.” His voice held such hope.
“Sorry, no. They made me turn it off.”
Zack resumed pacing around the cabin.
“However,” she said with a rush of satisfaction and joy. “I got the entire conversation on my undercover mini button cam.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Sam had around thirty minutes before Catch Me if You Can, now captained by a U.S. Coast Guard Petty Officer, returned to dock in Port Orange. Thirty minutes to get cleaned up, get her shit together, get her story straight, and get her plan to fix her mess of a life in order.
Only her life no longer felt so disastrous. Zack was alive, and she had him with her.
At least figuratively.
Standing on deck alone, the warm wind whipping through her already tussled hair, she wondered what would happen to the two of them once they made shore. Would he have to leave her? He had just shot and killed a man. There would be an internal investigation.
Would she have to leave him? Her heart ached at the thought. “How are we both going to get out of this situation without being fired? Or arrested?” she asked herself out loud.
“Sam, I have a plan.”
She jumped at the sound of Zack’s voice behind her.
He’d just called her Sam. He’d never done that before. He had always called her Samantha. She looked up into his eyes, longing to put her questions behind them. “You always have a plan. Most of the time the plan involves something dangerous and even illegal.”
“If I spell it out for you, will you stop worrying?”
“Are we negotiating?”
“Jesus, Sam.” He pulled her to him, locking her lips with his. His kiss was intense and way too short. When he pulled away, his eyes were on fire. “Here’s your scoop. When we get back to Port Orange, the local police department will be waiting for us. When I called them last night, they almost creamed their pants at the thought of such a high-profile bust. They will arrest Scott Fitzpatrick, with the assistance of the Coast Guard and the FDLE, of course.”
Her heart sped up. “Your bosses know you’re here.”
“Confessed last night.”
“And you still have a job?”
“I told them I wanted to check out the vacation my uncle went on and I ran into a hot young reporter who’d uncovered some important clues the FDLE missed. Okay, maybe I didn’t say hot. I did tell them I’d been tailing you and your evidence and keeping it safe until we could get back to shore. That explains why I was on the yacht, and why I had to use force.”
“You told them all that and they didn’t fire you?”
“Haven’t yet. But they’re very interested in seeing what evidence you have.”
She dropped her gaze. “Including the evidence you took from me.”
He lifted her chin.
Something in his gaze shifted.
This new vulnerable look tugged at her heart.
Then he pulled George’s video card out of his jeans pocket. “I should be turning this evidence over to my superiors. But I’m giving it back to you.” He handed her the video card.
Her heart swelled. “Why?”
“When I first met you my goal was to keep you from splashing any evidence you uncovered all over the evening news. Now, that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’m trusting you to make sure this video and the confession you videotaped get into the news before prosecutors and defense attorneys get involved. I want the public to hear the truth, and I want them to hear it from you.”
Her breath stilled. He was trusting her with one of the goals most important to him—justice for his murdered uncle. “I have evidence that will guarantee Scott Fitzpatrick will be charged with murder, on top of all those other fifty-eight counts.”
“And you have the power to follow this story and make sure it doesn’t die, that he doesn’t get off by paying off some greedy judge or financing a get out of jail free pass.”
“Not going to happen. I promise. Not on my watch. I’ll see this through for you.”
“One more thing.”
“Anything.”
“You can’t use my name or face in any of your stories,” he said. “I have to remain an anonymous source, and I’m trusting you not to reveal my real part in this investigation. If you do, I will get fired.”
“Protect my source. I can do that.”
“And don’t worry. You’ll get your exclusive.”
She threw her arms around his neck.
“Which means you’ll keep your job,” he huffed as she continued to squeeze the air out of him.
Zack Hunter was a changed man. Maybe she’d changed him. Maybe finding the truth about his uncle had worked, too. Whatever it was, he was now trusting her with the two most important things in his life. His honor and his reputation.
But she still didn’t know if he was healed enough to trust her with his damaged heart.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A wave of warm, tropical air blasted Sam as she stepped off Catch Me if You Can. They’d docked again at the Port Orange Marina, and police officers moved onboard as she and Zack
tried to get off the vessel.
“First ones off the boat?”
She jumped at the sound of Stan Delamonte’s voice. Her boss? Here? Her heart flip-flopped. Shit.
“Hear you’ve got a hell of a story, Sam.” Yep. That’s Stan. She stumbled.
Zack steadied her. “Watch that last step.”
“Well?” Stan asked when she reached his side. “Are you going to introduce me to—”
“Zack Hunter, this is Stan Delamonte. He’s my boss at the news station.” Before the men could even shake hands, she faced her boss. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”
Stan stepped around her and shook Zack’s hand. She noticed the firm grip and the hard shake. Men. “You left me a few pertinent details on your voicemail. I used to be a reporter, remember?” Then to Zack, “I understand you saved my reporter’s life today.”
Zack shrugged off the compliment. “Your reporter solved the mystery the FDLE has been investigating for months. I guess we can call it even.”
Stan acknowledged Zack with a knowing look and turned his attention back to her. “You and I need to have a little sit down.”
“Stan—”
“And we will, right after you do your live shot at noon.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You brought a live truck?” She didn’t need him to answer. A satellite truck, from their sister station in Orlando, sat about fifty feet in front of her, ready to beam video from Port Orange all the way to Tampa. Oh boy. She waited for the familiar tightening in her chest to begin. But this time it didn’t. “Where’s George?”
Stan pointed. “George, who obviously still has his mind on work, already shot the ambulance taking the injured guy’s body off the yacht. The Medical Examiner is here, onboard still I think. George got his arrival as well. And now he’s over in the sat truck dubbing that undercover confession video so he can send it back to the station.” Stan shot Zack a look. “Don’t even bother. Some other FDLE guy already asked. I need a court order to share that video.” Her boss placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s eleven fifteen. Say good-bye to your…partner. You’ve got forty-five minutes to get your shit together and tell the world about the incredible plot you’ve just uncovered.”