Malice

by Lisa Jackson

  Terrified, she started swinging like crazy, smashing the cover into the tripod’s legs, swinging with all her strength, her fingers clenched over her makeshift weapon.

  Whack! Whack! Whack!

  All sounds above stopped.

  No footsteps. No scrapes of metal on metal. Nothing but the spookiness of the empty, rapidly-filling hull. Olivia’s teeth were already chattering, her fingers numb, her fear at the quietude complete.

  Give me strength, she silently prayed. Please.

  Then the sound of footsteps. Fast and furious.

  Olivia froze, the album cover raised for a final assault, cold water sloshing around her knees. Her pulse was pounding in her brain, her senses heightened as she strained to listen. More footsteps. Her gaze turned to the stairs as the door above opened.

  “What the hell?” the woman yelled. “What’s that banging? What’s going on down there?”

  Damn!

  Suddenly the footsteps were ringing down the steps.

  No!

  Olivia wasn’t ready.

  She threw another blow at the tripod, hitting hard as her attacker descended. Wearing a wet suit, she dropped to the floor of the hold, splashing water.

  The camera teetered.

  Olivia gave the tripod a final whack!

  The legs gave way and the camera flopped off its base and fell into the water.

  “Noooo! What the hell is this?” her attacker demanded, an expression of sheer horror on her face. “You miserable bitch, stop it!” She was sloshing through the salt water, trying to reach the camera as it sank.

  Olivia fell to her knees, her hands scrabbling outside the cage, trying to reach the camera, water splashing around her face. She held her breath. Scrabbled frantically. Her finger grazed the side of the camera. It floated off. She tried again, sweeping it with a paddling motion toward the bars.

  “Hey!” the woman screeched. “No! Stop! What do you think you’re doing?” She lunged through the water to the cage.

  Olivia’s fingers curved over the handle and she pulled. The camera hit the bars and she nearly dropped it.

  Her attacker sprang forward.

  Gulping salt water, Olivia adjusted the camera so that it slipped through the bars to the inside of the cage.

  Freezing, she was coughing and choking on the briny seawater, but she didn’t care as she turned the lens on the woman who’d abducted her, the woman glaring at her and standing knee-deep in water.

  “Give it back.”

  Olivia, seeing the red light was still glowing, kept filming.

  “I said, give it back to me right now, you little bitch!”

  “Come and get it.” Even if she pulled out a gun, or the Taser again, Olivia wouldn’t give up her prize.

  The woman was freaking. “I said…” Her gaze swept the interior of the cage where her pictures were floating in the water. “What? You tore up my album!” Her eyes rounded in pure horror. “No! You couldn’t.” As pages reached the edge of the cage, she reached through, plucking them up. “No…no, this isn’t right! This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.” She picked up each page and held it high overhead, shaking them off. “Oh God, what’s wrong with you? You can’t…” She spied more of the pages inside the cage, far from her, the pictures scattered, the bloody plastic sheaths cast aside.

  “No!” She was fumbling with her keys, desperate to retrieve the album. “No, this is all wrong.”

  Olivia just kept on filming.

  “Look what you’ve done!” She was frantic, desperate to retrieve what was left of the soggy, disintegrating album. “You screwed everything up! You’re ruining everything!” Her frustration and paranoia mounted and for the first time, it seemed, she realized her actions were being caught on camera.

  “Give that back to me now!”

  Olivia wasn’t in the mood. Shivering, keeping her tormentor in her viewfinder, she said, “You want it, bitch? Then come and get it.”

  “There she is!” the skipper yelled over the cutter’s engines and the rush of wind. They were jetting through the dark water, leaving a white wake behind.

  “Oh, shit, she’s listing.”

  Bentz squinted into the night, saw the Merry Anne in the powerful beam of the search light.

  His heart fell to the floor as he saw the skipper was right; the vessel was leaning hard to one side, sinking fast.

  “No,” he whispered, disbelieving. “Oh, God, no!” Against everyone’s protests, he’d donned a wet suit with the intent of boarding, but now the captain was pulling up short. “Get closer!”

  “No. We’d better leave this to the Guard,” he said. Already rescuers were trying to board the smaller craft. “Just wait.”

  Not a chance.

  “Pull up closer,” Bentz insisted.

  He thought Montoya would argue. Instead, he turned to Hayes and ordered: “Do it.”

  The cutter drew alongside the listing boat. “Really Bentz, you should leave this to the professionals,” Hayes warned. They were less than twenty feet from the sinking Merry Anne. “You’ll only get in the way.”

  “I am a professional,” Bentz reminded him as he climbed onto the railing. “And it’s my damned wife.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Hayes lunge, ready to restrain him, but Montoya caught the L.A. detective’s arm. “Let him go.”

  Bentz focused on the boat, looming larger as they closed in. Twelve feet away…eight feet…five…At that second, Bentz jumped.

  The killer’s plan was falling apart.

  As her precious photos swirled on the surface of the rising water, she gathered them, one by one. “No, no, no!” she whined, temporarily forgetting her prisoner. “All my work…years…oh, God, this can’t be happening…my photographs!” She seemed near the brink of tears as water sloshed around her waist and Olivia, fighting cramps and freezing, caught her paranoia on film. Plastic pages floated past, photos curled as they became saturated with water. Olivia’s back was pressed against the bars, the boat tilting at a frightening angle. In a few minutes it would be over. She had to get the damned keys!

  Plastic pages floated past.

  Olivia thought she heard a noise, a thud. Oh, Jesus, was the boat breaking apart?

  The woman heard it as well and she seemed to snap back to reality, noticed again that she was being caught on film.

  “Give me back the camera!”

  “I said come and get it.” Olivia stood firm, propped by the steel bars, the camera trained on the bitch’s face. Water was splashing above her waist now, weighing her down.

  “Damn it!” the woman held the wet photos against her with one hand and struggled with her keys in the other.

  “Who are you?” Olivia said. “You might want to tell the viewers your name so you get all the credit that’s due you. Let’s see, is your name…Dawn?” Olivia guessed, remembering that Bentz had once been involved with a cop by that name.

  “Stop it.”

  “Or are you Bonita…was that it?”

  “That bitch? No way!” She snorted in disgust. “Bentz must have mentioned me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Another thud…oh, God, the boat was going down!

  “Sure he did. Corrine. Right?”

  Olivia shook her head. This woman was Corrine O’Donnell? Of course she’d heard the name before, but she wasn’t going to give this twisted killer the satisfaction. The boat groaned menacingly.

  “Corrine. I worked with him. Dated him. Jesus, we slept together and…he loved me. We…we dated twice, almost lived together but then he left me. Both times for Jennifer…” Her voice trailed off. “They all leave, you know. Every one of them but Bentz…I was fool enough to have trusted him twice and he left me alone…all alone…” She shuddered, then, as if realizing she was letting on too much, focused on Olivia again. “I should have used the stun gun on you again!” Another picture passed by, this one of her with Bentz.

  She let out a little squeak of denial, then snatched it up
. She nearly lost the keys, trying to unlock the gate, “But I wanted you to fight. I wanted ‘RJ’ to see you straining to breathe your last pathetic breath, and now…” She gasped as the keys fell from her fingers, drifting through the bars to the inside of the cage.

  Panicked, she tried to stretch her hand into the cage to take hold of them.

  Olivia, seeing her chance, shoved the woman back. If she could snatch the keys and unlock the gate, maybe make it to the stairs…

  The boat let out a long, low moan and the lights flickered. Olivia’s heart sank. It was now or never!

  Taking in a gulp of air, Olivia spotted the fallen keys, then dove down. Her hair and clothes floated around her. On the floor of the cage, the keys glistened enticingly as she reached for them.

  To her horror she saw the killer’s hand snake through the bars even further, her index finger catching the ring!

  No! Olivia thought, her lungs protesting, her abdomen still cramping. No!

  She surfaced at the same moment the killer did and thrust her arms through the rails, her fingers tangling in the woman’s hair and pulling her under.

  Her assailant struggled, wrenching back, whipping her head around.

  Olivia hung on. If she was going to drown, by God, this woman was going to drown, too! Struggling, fighting, splashing, they fought. Twisting, turning. Olivia’s lungs felt as if they would burst. Oh Lord, help me…

  Again she thought she heard something.

  But not the boat keening. No…it was different. Shouts?

  Footsteps?

  Could someone be on the boat? Oh, God, please!

  The lights flickered again.

  She took in another huge gulp of air mixed with salt water.

  Coughing, sputtering, hanging on for dear life, she dragged the killer’s head closer to the bars and swung hard with the camera, connecting with the woman’s skull. Thud! A sickening crunch.

  Blood stained the water.

  More shouts from above!

  “Help,” she screamed. “Help! Down here!”

  Corrine grabbed her by the neck and dragged her down. Olivia, gasping, took in air and water as together they sank below the surface.

  No! No! No!

  Olivia thrashed wildly.

  Corrine’s grip tightened. Their eyes met. Corrine was smiling beneath the water, her dark hair and a spreading plume of blood fanning around her, her eyes bright and psychotic. I’ve got you, she said without words. You and your baby are going to die right now!

  Olivia’s lungs were on fire.

  The world was swirling, swimming. She tried to pry Corrine’s death grip from her throat.

  She couldn’t hold on. She needed air!

  Feebly, Olivia struck again with the camera, connecting with Corrine’s forehead.

  Then the lights went out.

  Were those footsteps? Frantic voices? The sound of angels calling?

  In the darkness she felt the camera slip from her fingers…felt Corrine’s hands on her throat…felt herself drifting away in the cold and the blackness…

  Her abdomen ached and she thought of the baby and of Rick Bentz. I love you, she thought and saw the light, the round white light as if it were in a tunnel.

  We’re dying, she thought, floating upward. My baby and I…we’re dying.

  The lights went out just as Bentz and two rescuers from the Coast Guard entered the hold. He caught a glimpse of the two women struggling, separated by the horrible cage, Olivia trapped inside, Corrine on the outside. Blood diffusing in the salty water.

  “No!” His voice ricocheted through the dark, cavernous hold as he raced down the stairs, his feet splashing in water covering the lower rungs.

  “Hey, wait up, man,” one of the divers said, flipping on a flashlight that gave the interior of the listing bolt a weird, macabre look.

  Bentz sprang, diving into the water, thrusting himself toward the cage, guided by the eerie light. He was vaguely aware of the others behind him, rescue workers with flashlights and crow bars and floatation devices.

  A horrid gash cut across Corrine’s forehead, still oozing blood as she looked up at him. “Bentz,” she said with a ghastly smile. “You son of a bitch. This is all your fault…she’s going to die, her and her baby, because of you.”

  “No way,” he growled and pulled her away, flinging her toward one of the divers. “Arrest her!”

  “No! You can’t!” Corrine was sputtering, blood coming up with her spittle.

  Bentz ignored her, reaching for Olivia, who was drifting away from him, so blue and cold…He pulled Corrine away, then reached for Olivia through the bars. “Livvie!” he cried, holding her face above water. “Olivia!”

  The boat let out a long groan, like a whale in death throes. “Let’s move it!” One of the rescue workers switched on a high-intensity under water light, illuminating the hold, showing Olivia floating inside her cage, her hair a golden mane on the waters’ surface.

  “We’ve got her, sir!” one of the divers said as he found the keys and unlocked the cage. The other diver had dealt with Corrine, dragging her up the stairs, bracing himself against the wall as the boat sank deeper, shuddering. “Let her go…we’ll take care of it.”

  “No!”

  “Sir, please!” the order was sharp but Bentz ignored it. Olivia was his wife. She was barely breathing, but alive. He carried her up the stairs and she coughed.

  “Olivia?”

  She coughed again, a deep, racking cough, and he held her tight while she spewed salt water all over him as the boat shuddered, a horrid cracking sound ripping through it.

  “Let’s get out of here now!” The divers pushed them forward, across the steep deck.

  “Hold on,” he said, feeling the seams of the vessel, giving way.

  “NOW!” With the help of the rescuers, Bentz helped Olivia into the cutter, just as the Merry Anne, with a final horrifying groan, cracked apart, timbers and glass sliding into the sea.

  A medic attended to her while another worker wrapped Corrine in blankets in the next berth. She was barely breathing, her eyes fixed. “She’s still got a pulse,” the medic said, though Bentz didn’t care.

  He was only concerned about Olivia and the baby…isn’t that what Corrine had said, that she intended to kill both his wife and unborn child?

  “Rick?” Olivia whispered as they stripped off her wet clothes and wrapped her in blankets. She was blinking against the bright lights, her hand searching for his, lying on a bunk only six feet from where Corrine lay, handcuffs surrounding her wrists.

  “Right here, honey,” he said, his throat thick, his eyes hot from the threat of tears.

  “I…I lost the baby.” She looked up at him and swallowed hard. “I was pregnant. I should have told you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He clung to her hand. “You’re all right. That’s what counts.”

  “But the baby…”

  “There will be others, Olivia,” he said, bending down to kiss her lips. “I promise.”

  EPILOGUE

  Olivia opened her eyes slowly, against soft lights that seemed impossibly bright. She was in a hospital room of sorts and there was someone in the room with her, a glow near the window.

  You’re going to be all right, the emanation said to her without making a sound. You and the baby, you’re going to be fine.

  “Excuse me? Who are you?”

  But the figure only smiled.

  “Olivia?”

  She blinked. Bentz’s voice jarred her back to reality.

  “Did you see that?” she asked, turning to the window that was now just a view of pink sky streaked with orange and lavender as the dawn rose.

  “See what?” he asked, glancing at the window.

  “There was someone…something…” But when she caught the look on his face to see if she was pulling his leg, she shook her head. “I think I was dreaming.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like I need to get out of here.” She’d been
in the hospital for two days now, under observation for the ordeal she’d been through, but the baby was still viable, and she had suffered nothing more than trauma.

  “I’ll see if I can spring you.”

  “Please use all of your powers of persuasion.”

  “You got it.” He leaned over and kissed her on the lips, a sweet lingering kiss that promised more to come, once they were home in New Orleans again.

  She couldn’t wait to get back, to plan for the baby, to put the trauma of Los Angeles behind her. “City of Angels,” she muttered sarcastically, then looked at the window again, wondering about the spirit that she could swear had been there.

  According to Bentz, Corrine’s attack was recorded on the camera that was found on the Merry Anne just before it had sunk. No doubt she would be in prison for the rest of her life.

  In the two days since then, details about the deranged woman had emerged in the newspapers. Olivia glanced over at the L.A. Times on her night stand, which had published an updated piece today.

  Apparently Corrine had faked an injury to get a desk job at Parker Center-a way to gather information about new cases and about former LAPD Detective Rick Bentz. There was now evidence linking O’Donnell to the murders of Shana McIntyre, Lorraine Newell, Fortuna Esperanzo, and Sherry Petrocelli.

  “O’Donnell wrought a trail of death and anguish,” the article stated, “which included the kidnapping of a New Orleans woman who is married to O’Donnell’s former lover, New Orleans Police Detective Rick Bentz.”

  Poor Hayes, Olivia thought. He’d been duped. He’d repeatedly told Bentz that he’d been a fool not to have seen the signs and that he was swearing off women for the rest of his life.

  “Won’t last long,” Bentz had predicted.

  Montoya had already returned to New Orleans to be with his wife and the Los Angeles Police Department was returning to a routine without the agitation of Rick Bentz. Though Fernando Valdez and Yolanda Salazar seemed to have been duped, rather than participants in Corrine’s grand plan, the LAPD was taking another look at them as well as Jane Hollister.

  As for the Twenty-one killer, Bledsoe, with the help of two female detectives as decoys and a lot of searching Internet chat rooms, had run a sting operation and caught someone who fit the profile-Donovan Caldwell, older brother of someone the LAPD had thought might have killed his sisters. It looked like he was their guy. The speculation was that the return of Bentz to L.A. had set him off and that he loved all the attention he was getting.