by Dawson, Cam
She wiped a tear away, leaned back, and closed her eyes once again.
She woke as the wheels of the plane touched down in Miami, bringing her ever so much closer to decision time. Unable to broach the subject of what to do next, she sat in her seat bewildered. In a matter of minutes she would deplane and be faced with deciding where to go. And she was no closer to making up her mind than she had been days ago, when she first thought of where she might want to start a new life. As the door opened and passengers began to exit, she donned the hat and sunglasses and gathered her belongings. She stepped down the stairs and walked to the tram, which would take her to the main terminal. As she made her way to the back of the bus, the nerves returned. Even though the odds were in her favor that Brad would be nowhere in sight, she fought the urge to stay on the bus as long as possible, before realizing her best bet was to exit in the middle of the crowd, hoping to blend in.
As darkness settled in, she arrived without incident to the ticket counter in the main terminal. She found a seat in an obscure corner of a food court and resolved to collect her thoughts and decide where to go from there. With plenty of money left in her stash and a new passport in her purse, she could go pretty much anywhere she wanted to go. The range of destinations was endless.
Even with her newfound freedom and the means to start a new life, she sat hopelessly lost as to what to do next. And then her emotions provided her with the next option on the agenda that was one Samantha Jane Bartlett’s life. It soon became apparent what was next.
She leaned her head back and began to cry.
Scowling, Drew stepped onto the dinghy and tore off the business card taped to the throttle of the outboard motor, then read the raised print on the front.
Terrence C. Walters
Special Services
Below was a number, with the area code for greater Miami. On the back was a scratchy hand-written note.
Mr. Richey, your boat has been repossessed. To claim your provisions and personal belongings, call the number on the other side. Have a nice day.
His blood began to boil. Have a nice day? What the fu—
Crushing the card in his fist, he brought his other hand up and combed his fingers through his hair, trying to decide what to do next. He slapped his stomach and realized he had made a good decision in strapping his money and the extra sailboat engine key in a flat pack around his waist. Yet how foolish he’d been to think no one would take off with the boat. He silently cursed himself for not locking up and disabling the engine. He had been so fixed on Sam’s leaving, he’d dropped his guard. He straightened the crumpled card and shoved it in his pocket.
Okay, assume this Walters guy had been tracking them and was waiting at the marina when they arrived earlier that day. And if that guy could have done it, why couldn’t Brad? Too late to worry about Brad. He looked at his watch. He and Sam had left the sailboat about five hours earlier. Further assume Walters would be taking the boat back to Miami to arrange return to Fairhope, or await disposition by the bank. At seven knots, Sail Out would be about twenty-five to thirty miles from the marina at present. Even though it was getting dark, the boat would be running with lights and fairly easy to locate. In the dinghy, Drew could run faster, and dark, although not silent. Also assume Walters might not be a sailor, but would have to know at least a few things about boats. No doubt he would be motoring and not sailing, given Drew had topped off the gas tanks earlier. He would have enough range to make it all the way to Miami, if he ran the engine efficiently at about five knots.
Walters might not be careful to protect Sail Out, once he arrived in Miami. Drew wasn’t prepared to run the risk of losing anything else from the boat, especially his ticket to the big payoff. Although the urn was tucked away securely in a locker, without it he was dead in the water. He doubted Walters would have an issue with him getting it back, but he wanted that to happen before the boat reached Miami. There was no way he could get Sail Out back, at least legally, but by God he would get that urn back.
Drew tested the weight of the gas tank. It was full. He made his decision quickly. He was going after Sail Out. Climbing back onto the dock, he headed for the marina store for supplies. With any luck, he could locate the boat, make his deal with Walters, and be back to Exuma in time to catch a flight to San Juan and onto Beef Island in the BVI. One way or another he was going to get there with the urn for that payoff.
In less than an hour, he was ready to shove off. He stowed the flashlight, extra clothes, food, and water under a tarp in the bow of the dinghy and hit the start button.
Nothing.
Son of a bitch.
Walters had disabled the engine. Drew took the flashlight and removed the engine cover.
The spark plug wire was missing.
Samantha barely made the last boarding call for the flight from Miami to Atlanta. The Delta flight was to arrive at 8:45 p.m., giving her an hour to catch her final connection to Knoxville, Tennessee. Why she had chosen Knoxville eluded her, other than the fact she loved the Smokey Mountains. Her father had taken her there when she was ten, for hiking and camping. It was, after all, as good a place as any. She had never mentioned her love for the mountains to Brad and doubted he could make the connection, given her father was no longer alive.
She settled back into her seat in the near empty plane, relieved that it had been fairly easy to check out the few passengers as they boarded, to assure herself Brad was nowhere to be seen. She tucked a blanket around herself and imagined it was Drew. She drifted quickly into sleep, escorted by sweet thoughts of him and how his body felt next to her. How his warm strength had filled that yearning space inside of her, and the feel of his rigidity filling her.
When she awoke the flight attendant was gently nudging her. After stretching, she gathered her belongings and struggled to become awake enough to deplane. The concourse brought her abruptly back to reality. Even at that late hour, a myriad of travelers hustled to make connections, pulling luggage and weaving in and out of traffic. As she prepared to join the hordes of travelers, and feeling a little braver, she folded the shades and slipped them into her purse and placed the hat in one hand and hoisted her handbag over the other shoulder. The thought of Brad was only a lingering memory, far in her past.
“Trouble?”
The voice rang out from an adjacent pier, as Drew contemplated what to do. He had been the last customer at the marina shop, hurrying to get his supplies before they closed for the night. And without land transportation, Drew weighed his options to get the missing wire and be on his way. He looked up and noticed the man standing on the next pier over, facing him from across the water.
“Yeah, somebody made off with my spark plug wire.”
“Looks like they made off with more than that.” The man eyed the empty slip.
“Hasn’t been my day, I guess.”
“Sit tight. I have a similar outboard on my dinghy. Might have a wire in my spare parts.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll buy it from you.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just a boater helping another boater.”
Within an hour the wire had been replaced and Drew started the engine, while his new friend stood on the pier above him.
“Works great. Thanks. Sure I can’t pay you?”
“No problem.” He brushed the offer aside. “Glad I could help. Hope you get that boat back.”
“Thanks.” Drew untied from the cleat and engaged the gear, idling out into the marina basin. Walters now had about seven hours’ head start. Once out of the marina channel, Drew took a compass from his pocket and set his course toward the direction he suspected Walters would be heading. If he didn’t run into the boat after enough time to catch it, he would span out five or ten degrees in each direction until he located it. With any luck at all he could find the boat within a few hours. The dinghy wo
uld have a distinct edge in speed and Drew planned to use it to his advantage.
Around midnight he got a break, as the anchor lights of a sailboat came into view in a cove of an out island north and west of Exuma. As he got closer, his smile faded.
It was Sail Out all right. But apparently he wasn’t the only one who had been looking for the boat.
At ten forty-five, the Delta flight reached the gate and its final destination. Unlike Atlanta, the smaller airport at Knoxville was nearly deserted at that late hour as she walked from the ramp into the concourse. Only a few scattered people stood near the gate. A chill ran down Sam’s spine as she glanced at the signs above to determine where to claim her baggage. A man stood in the recesses of the gate area across the concourse, staring at her and talking on his cell phone. When she looked at him, he turned away, and hung up his phone.
Easy now, Sam. Don’t be imagining things.
Thankfully, when she reached baggage claim the man was nowhere in sight. As she waited for her bag, she looked again at her phone and memorized the address of an inexpensive hotel near the airport. She would take a taxi there and start looking for a place to stay until she could determine what was next. Thoughts of her last run-in with Brad at a hotel ran through her mind and caused her to shiver. She gathered her belongings and stepped outside the terminal in search of a taxi.
A different reason to shiver promptly presented itself.
It was snowing. She had not thought about the weather and had no idea that several inches of snow had accumulated, with apparently more on the way. Despite the cold, this excited her. She had seen snow only a few times in her life, but nothing as heavy as this. She hailed a cab and gave the driver the address, and watched as the falling snow drifted past the car window en route to the hotel. It seemed like only hours earlier that she’d made love with Drew in the balmy air of the Atlantic. She yearned to make love with him again under covers, isolated from the cold weather and snow. Her smile faded as she realized what a picture that created for her of Drew. He would truly be like a duck out of water here. That vision did little to reassure her that she had made the right decision leaving him. If anything, the more time went by, the more she missed him and wanted to be with him.
After checking into the hotel, she picked up a local paper from the lobby and walked to the room. After a good night’s rest she would start the process of finding a place to live, and more importantly finding a job. Once settled in the room, she took a notebook from her purse and reviewed the papers she had folded and placed in an envelope. She’d given little thought to this since the night of her escape from Brad. In that envelope was her new life. From the moment she’d arrived in Knoxville, she was officially Elizabeth Randal. After considerable research, through mountains of obituaries from all across the country, she had arrived at this identity. The original Ms. Randal was now deceased. She had lived in a remote area of Montana, never married, had no children or surviving relatives, and had apparently lived off a trust fund, so she’d never worked. It was as if she’d lived and died without existing.
The woman had been deceased for better than three years now, and any memory of her would soon vanish, if not gone already. Samantha had gone to great lengths to become Elizabeth Randal, who would have been near her age had she lived. She had even found a way to get and use the woman’s social security number, which she would use to get a Tennessee driver’s license and a new picture ID. Hopefully before the money ran out, she could use the name to get a job, banking on the fact that the real Elizabeth’s death was not registered with the Feds. And even if it were, it would buy her time to make some money and perhaps buy a new identity, if needed.
Finally, a new life, free from the horrors of Brad. She laid her head back onto the pillow of the queen sized bed and for the first time since leaving Drew, she relaxed.
The feeling was short lived and died quickly with the rapid knock on her hotel room door.
Drew killed the engine of his dinghy and watched from a safe distance with horror as the scene unfolded—the same scene he’d witnessed a short while ago from the deck of this boat–his boat. There were four of them, same as before, and they silently tied the skiff off and crept onto the deck of Sail Out. This visit would be different, if it was the same group of pirates, because they would be bringing with them the anger and humiliation of their last failure.
He quietly paddled closer as three of the men went below, while the fourth stayed on deck. Within seconds he heard a man shout in protest. Drew stripped the shirt from his back and removed his boat shoes, then slipped over into the water, stuffed his knife into his pocket, and gave the dinghy a shove toward the beach of the island. There was little wind or current, and with any luck the dinghy would remain close by for when he needed it.
Silently, he breast-stroked to the stern of his boat, keeping an eye on the pirate still on deck, and ducking from the man’s periodic scan of the waters. The conversation below deck was loud enough to provide cover for Drew as he pulled himself up onto the transom, crouching below the gunnels of the stern, and waiting a few minutes to drip dry. He timed the man’s steps, then jumped him when he took another rotation around the deck. Grabbing his rifle, he slapped a hand across the guy’s mouth, then just as quickly moved his hand to the pirate’s belt loop, retrieved the pistol tucked there, and placed it at the man’s temple.
“Make one sound and it will be your last,” Drew whispered in the ear of the much smaller man, moving closer to the hatch that led below. Hiding behind the pirate, with the pistol on the back of his neck now, he aimed the rifle toward the cabin, until the other three were in sight. Drew spotted the man he assumed to be Walters gagged and tied on the floor.
“Kill him,” the leader said—the same man from the previous attack. Walters began crying and begging. Another of the pirates lifted his rifle to carry out the sentence.
“Pull that trigger and you’re dead.” Drew snapped, keeping his gaze on the leader. Neither of the others looked familiar. Apparently, this die-hard leader had recruited new troops.
“Ah, so we meet again,” the leader said calmly in broken English, but Drew saw the fear in his eyes. “And I suppose you think you can take us all out before one of us takes you and your friend out? Hey, amigo, you think you can shoot all four of us?”
“Not really,” Drew countered. “Just you, amigo, and your friend here.” Drew jammed the pistol into the temple of the pirate he’d captured. “And the man on the cabin floor is not my friend. Shoot him if you want, but try not to bloody up my boat.”
The color faded from the leader’s face. The gagged man’s eyes grew big and he mumbled. The leader slowly lowered his rifle and raised his arms.
“You know, I’m feeling charitable today. Drop your guns on the cabin deck, untie this man, and I’ll allow you to be on your way.”
“I recall the last time you allowed us to go on our way, you left us for dead.”
“Somehow, I think assholes like you always live. So if you want to live to see another day, do as I say.”
The pirates lowered their weapons and slid them away, then untied the man. Drew glanced at the guy as he ripped the gag from his mouth.
“I take it you’re Walters.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, after you make sure they aren’t hiding any other weapons I want you to take their guns into the aft cabin.”
“Yes, sir.” It seemed to be all that Walters could say.
When he had done as instructed, Drew made the pirates file up the ladder into the cockpit, as before. After tying their hands behind them, Walters loaded them all into their skiff.
“Now take the outboard cover off and rip out the spark plug wire. I’m sure your remember how to do that, don’t you Walters?”
Walters’ face flushed and he looked down. Another, yes sir.
“Now, drop t
heir anchor and untie the skiff.”
Drew took his foot and shoved the bow of the skiff away from Sail Out. Drew nearly laughed as the leader braced himself for gunfire. He handed the pistol to Walters, who began to get color back into his face. “Now keep an eye on them until I can radio to get someone out here to pick them up. These guys need to get taken out of commission.”
“But, amigo, you said—”
“I lied.”
After getting the marine patrol on the radio and giving them their position, Drew returned to the cockpit with a tall glass full of scotch. Walters eyed the drink and swallowed hard. Drew held his hand out and took the gun from him. “Go below and make yourself a drink. You look like you need one.”
Walters smiled nervously and disappeared below. In a matter of minutes he returned with a drink and sat across from Drew. “I want to thank you, Mr.—”
“No names,” Drew interrupted.
“Right.” Walters took a heavy pull from his drink. “I want to thank you for saving my life.”
“You should know, I had to think about it first.”
“I . . . I can understand that.” Walters appeared to be deep in thought. “Look, I have to be honest with you. I’m way out of my league, motoring around in these waters.” He looked nervously over to the pirates, who appeared to be lusting over the drinks.
“Hey, I get it. I realize you’re only doing your job. But you pissed me off, taking off without giving me a chance to get my stuff.”