by Blake Crouch
It took her two fingers to pull the hammer back.
“Wasn’t personal,” Fitch said, the pitch of his voice kicking up a few degrees. “I hope you understand that. You are a formidable little girl. A scrapper. In another life, I’d have you come work for me.”
“Why is that all I ever hear anytime somebody does me wrong? Nothing’s ever personal anymore. All those people you ripped off…that wasn’t personal either, was it? Just business, right?”
“Letty—”
“No, you’ve explained yourself plenty. Your men are offshore in boats?”
“Yes.”
“Are there any other boats on the island?”
“No.”
“Do you have your cell phone with you?”
“No.”
“We’re going to the house.”
“Why?”
“Get up. Start walking.”
“Calling the police would be a very bad idea, Letty.”
“Get. Up.”
Slowly, Fitch stood.
“Now walk over to the dock,” she said. “And do it slowly, with your hands raised.”
But Fitch didn’t move. He just stared at her.
“Do you think I’ll tell you again?” she asked.
“I knew. I knew it all along. From the minute I met you. That this would be one hell of a night, Letisha. Rare to feel I’ve met my match.”
He let slip a long, tired breath.
Like he’d come to the end of something.
Then sprang at Letty.
It was the loudest gunshot she had ever heard, with a kick like a shotgun.
Fitch sat in the sand. His mouth dropped open. He made a sucking sound, as if trying to draw breath. The hole in the dead center of his chest was massive. Letty was shaking. Fitch fell back onto the beach and stared up at the stars. There was so much blood, she knew he was going to die.
Out on the water, a motor growled to life.
Letty turned around. She looked down the dock and out to sea.
A single spotlight glided toward her, the motor getting louder as it approached. Soon she could see the profile of the speedboat. It was seconds away from reaching the end of the dock.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Letty sprinted inland. Already she could hear men’s voices behind her. Shouting her name. Her real name. Ordering her to stop as their shoes pounded against the planks.
She tore up the steps onto the deck and shouldered her way through the front door.
After several hours in the dark, the onslaught of light made her eyes water.
Letty barged into the living area and rushed to the cordless phone. It was still lying on the floor where she’d dropped it. She grabbed it, hit Talk, held it to her ear.
Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep…
She raced down the hallway into Fitch’s bedroom.
Slammed the door after her, locked it, flipped the lights.
Thank god.
There it was.
Lying on the desk.
She picked up Fitch’s cell phone and flipped it open, praying it still held a charge.
Outside, she could hear numerous sets of footsteps hammering up the stairs.
Men screaming her name.
They charged into the house.
Hide.
Letty crossed the hardwood floor to the french doors.
Someone was coming down the hall.
She turned the handle.
Locked.
The knob on the other door rattled—someone trying to get in.
She was out of time.
Nothing left to do but fight.
Three bullets versus three or four men.
This may be how it ends for you. Are you ready?
The door splintered, a man kicking it in from the other side.
She aimed the revolver at the bedroom door.
After two more kicks, the door burst open, and the muscled girth of James filled the doorway. His cheeks were flushed from running. With one arm, Letty trained the Raging Bull on his substantial center mass. In her other hand, she gripped the cell phone.
Her thumb keyed in 9-1-1.
James held a black pistol at his side. At least for the moment, he was smart enough to keep it there.
Someone on the second floor yelled his name.
“Down here!” he shouted back.
“You got her?”
“Sort of!”
Letty moved her thumb toward a green icon on the cell phone’s keypad that she assumed would initiate the call.
As the other men came running, James said, “Who you calling?”
“Nine-one-one.”
“Why don’t we talk about that, okay?”
Letty’s right biceps had begun to cramp from holding the Raging Bull with one hand.
She could hear the other men in the hallway now.
James yelled over his shoulder, “Everybody stay back!”
“What exactly do we have to talk about?” she asked.
“How dialing that number is going to get you killed.”
“Way I figure, I’m dead either way.”
“That’s not true. But if you involve the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department, we’re going to have a problem. Why don’t you put that gun down? I’ll do the same. And we’ll talk.”
“I’m not putting anything down. You people tried to kill me.”
“What if I were to guarantee your safety?”
“I’d call bullshit.”
“You put the gun down. I’ll get you some clothes. And I’ll have you back on Key West within the hour.”
“You must think I’m really stupid.”
“No, ma’am.” He shook his head. “This can work out for everyone. Of course, you’d have to do a few things for me.”
“Like?”
“Like never mention any of this to anybody. Ever.”
“What about that famous dead man on the beach? Aren’t some people expecting him tomorrow?”
“We can damage-control the mess you made of Mr. Fitch.”
“The mess I made.”
“It’s you I’m worried about.”
Over James’s shoulder, Letty spotted a man creeping into view.
“Your buddy right behind you is about to get you shot, James.”
“Go sit in the living room!” he yelled. “All of you!”
“James—”
“Right now, Scott.”
She heard them falling back.
James looked at her. “Better?”
“For some reason, I don’t think you’d be so interested in talking to me if I didn’t have this big goddamn hand cannon pointed at your chest.”
“Now that’s just not true. You put it down and see.”
“I don’t think so. Tell me again how you’re planning to ‘damage-control’ your boss.”
“If all goes well,” James said, “if you and me don’t have a big shootout, you’ll see some breaking news tomorrow morning. It’ll go something like this…convicted CEO of PowerTech found dead on his private beach. He took his own life the night before he was scheduled to report to prison. There will even be a suicide note.”
“Oh, you can fake his handwriting too?”
“No, he already wrote it.”
Letty’s strength was failing. She didn’t want to, but she set the cell phone on the floor at her feet and took a two-handed grip on the revolver.
“Asking yourself why he might’ve done such a thing?” James asked. “Regardless of what you may think of him, Fitch is a brilliant man. He saw this as a possible outcome of what he had planned for tonight. He didn’t want anyone to take the fall. Not me or the other guys. And not even you, the woman who killed him.”
“Prince of a man.”
James patted his lapel pocket. “I’ve got his note right here.”
“That’s a pretty story,” Letty said. “And you’re a world-class con man.”
“Call my bluff. Put that gun away and see. I’ve got a lot o
f work to do before the sun comes up.”
“I’m thinking if I put this gun down, you’ll do one of two things. Shoot me straightaway and bury me on this island. Or take me out into some deep water. Dispose of me there.”
“I can certainly understand you thinking the worst. All things considered.”
“So then, how can you honestly believe I’d ever put this gun down with you still breathing?”
“Because when you think it through, you’ll see there’s no other way. Maybe I’m lying. You’ve got three rounds left in that Taurus. You’d kill me. No doubt. If you got really lucky, you might kill one of my other men. But the third? And the fourth? They’d take you down. And you know this. The thing is, if you shoot me, you’ll never find out if I’m lying or telling the truth. ’Cause you’ll be dead. In fact, I don’t want to alarm you, I don’t want you to make any sudden moves, but there’s a man standing on the deck right behind you. He’s pointing a three-fifty-seven at your head through one of the panes of glass. And he could’ve fired sixty seconds ago.”
Letty exhaled a long, slow breath.
She hadn’t heard any footsteps on the other side of the french doors.
It was a smart play on James’s part. Get her to turn her head. Distract her just long enough to raise his weapon and fire.
James was smiling now.
Letty’s palms were sweating so badly the grip of the revolver was dripping.
“So what do you say, Letty? Doesn’t some part of you want to know if I’m actually this good of a liar?”
“Not really.”
She squeezed back the hammer.
The moment her finger touched the trigger, there was the sound of wood splintering and glass breaking behind her.
The gun fired as someone crashed into her back with devastating force.
She went down hard, crushed under the weight of a man with foie gras on his breath. Footsteps raced down the hallway, the other men pouring into Fitch’s bedroom.
She struggled, but it was no use. He had her pinned to the hardwood floor and the gun lay just out of reach.
The man on top of her said, “James, you hit?”
“Just a graze across my shoulder. Damn if that wasn’t close though.”
Letty’s eyes welled up as she felt him jerk her wrists behind her back and bind them together with a Zip Tie.
“Quit fighting me, sweetheart,” the man whispered into Letty’s ear. “It’s over. You’re done.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The noise of the powerboat engines was deafening.
Letty’s hair whipped across her face, but she couldn’t brush it away, with her hands still bound behind her back. James was at the controls, and she sat in the bucket seat behind him, next to the man who’d taken her down. He was the oldest of Fitch’s security crew. Forty-five or fifty with shoulder-length hair the color of dishwater.
The sun wasn’t up yet, but the first light of dawn had begun to color the eastern sky.
She shivered. She could feel goosebumps rise on her bare arms.
Waiting for the engines to go silent.
Dreading it.
Of all the ways to die, considering her past, she feared drowning more than anything. Would they tie something around her to weigh her down? Then just throw her over the side?
She would beg for a bullet when the time came.
And if they don’t oblige you?
They would have to. She’d do whatever it took. She couldn’t allow herself to be tossed overboard while still alive. Couldn’t spend her last three minutes sinking into the cool, dark sea. Fighting that terrible thirst for oxygen as it swelled up inside her lungs. Meeting the same death her daddy had almost given her.
The panic grew.
She could feel herself beginning to come apart at the seams.
And then…
Lights shone in the distance.
* * *
James throttled down as they approached the marina.
He guided the boat into an open slip and killed the engines.
He got up and faced Letty.
“Stand up,” he told her.
She stood.
The man beside her pulled out a folding knife and cut her wrists free.
James reached to the copilot seat and grabbed a wad of clothes. He handed them to Letty.
“You’re letting me go,” she said.
James nodded.
“But you let me believe you were going to—”
“You tried to kill me, Ms. Dobesh. My shoulder is still burning. If I were you, I would put those clothes on right now and get the hell out of my boat.”
* * *
Letty moved through the lobby of the La Concha Hotel. Despite the wreck she must have looked, the concierge still smiled and nodded as she stumbled past.
She wasn’t drunk anymore. Just tired to the point that nothing seemed real. Not the planted palm trees or the chandeliers. Not the eerie quiet of 5:00 am. Not even her own reflection in the elevator doors as she rode up to her room.
She drifted down the corridor like a vagabond. Old pair of flip-flops. Boxer shorts. A Jimmy Buffett T-shirt from Fitch’s closet that had faded into oblivion. She couldn’t even think about the last ten hours. They were beyond processing.
Morning was almost here.
She had no money, no idea how she would get back to the mainland.
But one thought kept needling her.
Javier.
The strangest thing was that his betrayal didn’t just make her angry. It hurt her too. It wasn’t like he was a friend. She couldn’t believe that Jav was even remotely capable of experiencing the feelings it required to maintain a friendship.
And yet…it hurt.
They had worked together two times before. Both had been successful. So why had he done this to her?
She shoved her keycard four times into the slot before the light on the door blinked green.
Because he’s a psychopath, Letty. He had a need. You filled it. End of story.
She kicked off the flip-flops and staggered toward the bed.
Smelled his exotic cologne a half second before she noticed Javier sitting at the small table by the window.
She brought her hand to her mouth.
The door whisked closed behind her.
In a night of being chased and shot at, none of those horrors could touch the sheer terror of seeing Javier Estrada sitting like a demon in her hotel room.
She stood frozen, wondering if she could get out the door before he stopped her.
“You wouldn’t make it,” he said. “Please.” He motioned to the bed. “I’m sure you’re very tired.”
Letty sat down on the edge of the mattress and put her face in her hands.
She said, “Oh god.”
So many times tonight, she had thought she was going to die and didn’t.
Now this.
After everything.
It was too much.
“What do you want to ask me?” he said.
She made no response.
“Nothing? How about…am I surprised that you are not dead?”
“You son of a bitch.” She muttered it under her breath.
“Ask me,” he said.
She glared over at him. “Are you surprised I’m not dead?”
“I am not,” he said.
“Good for you.” Her eyes were filling up with tears. “Good. For. You. Why didn’t you just let Fitch’s men kill me? Wanted to clean up this last little detail yourself?”
“I like you, Letty.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re deranged?”
Javier opened a laptop sitting on the table beside a Slimline Glock.
He said, “You may choose to believe I betrayed you. I don’t see it that way.”
“Really.”
He began typing, still watching her out of the corner of his eye.
“There were reasons I couldn’t tell you the true nature of the job. It partly had to do with promises
I made to our client, Mr. Fitch. But some of it just came down to my faith in you.” He stared at her. “Two times before this, we worked together. I’ve seen you in action. Simply put, you’re a survivor. I believed you would survive tonight.”
“You had no right to—”
“And yet I did. Next topic. Part of my agreement with Mr. Fitch was that if you survived, if you killed him, his men were not to touch you. I went so far as to promise him that if anyone other than him laid a hand on you, I would kill his men and his sons too. Was a hand laid upon you?”
“Why didn’t you just let me in on this?”
“Because you might’ve said no. Come over here. I want to show you something.”
Letty stood, slowly, awkwardly. Already her legs had gone stiff.
Three feet away from him, she stopped.
“What?” she asked.
Javier was pointing at the laptop. “Do you see this?”
She leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen.
It was an accounts page on a website for the First National Bank of Nassau.
“What’s this supposed to be?” Letty asked.
“It’s an account I opened for you. Do you see this?”
Javier was pointing at a number.
$1,000,000.
“Is that…”
“Yes. That’s your balance. Do you remember the first thing I asked you when we met back in Atlanta?”
“You asked if I’d risk my life for a million-dollar payday.”
“And do you recall—”
“I said yes.”
“You said yes. I know I said four million, but I wasn’t even paid four for this job. I’m giving you fifty percent. You earned it.”
Javier stood.
He stared down at her through those alien-blue eyes.
“You know to keep your mouth shut about Fitch.”
Letty nodded.
Javier lifted his Glock and jammed it into the back of his waistband. He picked up his leather jacket, slid his arms carefully into the sleeves.
“Why are you giving this to me?” Letty asked.
“Who can say? Maybe we’ll work together again.”
“You still sold me out.”
“You’ll get over it. Or you won’t.”
He walked out.
Letty sat at the table and stared at the computer screen for a long time. She couldn’t take her eyes off that number. Light was coming into the sky. The lights along Duval Street were winking off. She couldn’t imagine falling asleep now.