Sweat broke out on her brow and beaded at her nape beneath her hair, but she had to know what he was hiding. With determination Sylvia placed her hand on the doorknob and tugged. Inside was a messy office with no receptionist or phone. Stacks of folders slumped on a table next to an open newspaper, a half-eaten tuna sandwich, and a glass of lemonade with lipstick on the rim.
Sylvia saw nothing on the walls to indicate who paid the rent. One connecting door led to a bathroom, the other to a long, narrow hallway. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Sylvia and her bodyguard walked down the hallway toward a room near the end.
As she reached the room, she heard a woman talking. “Ben, sweetie. Hold on tight. Push deeper. Deeper. Give me more of that. Yes. Right there. Lovely.”
What the hell? Pressure gathered in her chest. Sylvia didn’t know what she’d expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t Ben with another woman. Although some disabled men resorted to prostitutes, Ben had no such need.
The door to the room contained a Plexiglas window that cast blue and greenish reflections from the room into the hallway where she stood. Sylvia was about to shove open the door, but instead moved closer to the window and stared.
Inside, Ben stood between two parallel bars, holding himself upright with his arms. Tiny pieces of tape held wires to his legs, chest, and head. He hadn’t been here long, but he was sweating with effort, his breath labored.
A woman sat behind a computer screen. She typed a keyboard and issued another command. “A little step with the right.”
“Ow. I got a shock that time,” Ben complained.
“I’ll turn down the current. Try another step with your right leg.”
Sylvia’s eyes widened as Ben moved his right foot an inch forward. Oh, my God. Ben was standing and holding most of his weight on his hands but he had slid one foot forward. The effort cost him. No wonder he came home drained.
Why hadn’t he told her he was participating in an experiment or some kind of therapy?
As soon as the thought struck, she knew the answer. Bless his heart, Ben didn’t want to raise her hopes. After all, the doctors had told them he would never walk again.
“Left. Come on, Ben. Think. Dig deeper. Use what you can.”
Sylvia stared. Oh . . . Lord. His left foot moved.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d never been so proud of Ben in her life.
Ben would tell her when he was ready, and she would honor his decision. Wiping away her tears, she hurried away. She spoke softly to her bodyguard. “We were never here. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
On the drive home, she vowed to keep her husband’s secret until he was ready to reveal it.
Chapter Forty-Four
AFTER ZACK had repeated his conversation with Catherine, Mandy sat stunned and horrified in the plane’s backseat. Sam a murderer? It was insane. Although Sam had sometimes been aggressive and domineering, she’d always attributed his bullying tactics to his type A personality and determination to get ahead. She’d never have thought he’d resort to murder. Never.
At first Mandy had difficulty believing that Sam had had anything to do with the country administrator’s death. She’d pegged Sam as hardworking, well connected and determined, honorable—until she recalled how worried Sam had been recently. Once Mitch Anderson had disappeared, it seemed like every time she’d seen Sam, the mayor had been at his elbow, at the hospital after Dana had been attacked, even at Lisa’s funeral. Had Mitch’s presence prevented Sam from getting close to the mayor, so Sam had killed him? She didn’t know.
If Dana had somehow become a threat to Sam, he would have had reason to want her dead. But as a criminal attorney, Sam knew how difficult it was to get away with murder—especially if he was married to the deceased. So had he hired muscle to kill Dana for him?
After Zack hung up the phone, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Even if Dana overheard Sam’s conversation and Sam decided to get rid of her, why not arrange a simple accident? Why would he have targeted the lottery winners?”
Zack answered immediately, his tone grave. “When Vizzi pushed you off the bridge, you hadn’t won the lottery, yet. But Sam knew even then that if Dana was murdered he would be the number one suspect. Accidents are difficult to arrange. If even the tiniest suspicion occurred, the police would be all over Sam. However, with a serial killer, the police would have lots of suspects. They wouldn’t look as closely at Sam. So he hired Vizzi—”
“We don’t know that—”
“I’m theorizing, but it fits. Suppose Sam hired Vizzi to take you down first. Then, later, when Vizzi hit Dana, it would look as if the murders were connected to the firm.”
“But Vizzi shot Sam.”
“There could be several explanations. The most likely is that Vizzi was a subcontractor, working directly for someone—maybe Moose—whom Sam had hired to take care of his dirty work. Sam would have wanted to distance himself as much as possible from the murders. Vizzi probably didn’t know Sam was the person paying his fee.”
She supposed anything was possible. If Sam was behind the attacks, he could have given Dana and Mandy’s flight information from their trip to California to the press and cancelled the bodyguards Zack had hired. He’d have known where to send Vizzi to attack Zack and Mandy at Catherine’s rental house. “And the stolen ticket?”
“After you won the lottery, Sam switched gears. Since he’s already wealthy, going after the ticket and the lottery winners cast suspicion even farther from him. Why not steal and keep the lottery ticket, too? He could pretend to find it later in Dana’s things, and claim a bigger share after everyone else was dead.”
“But the lottery winnings would go to the heirs of the deceased.”
“True. But if Dana was dead, he’d inherit her entire share. It’s also possible that Moose stole the lottery ticket and never gave it to Sam. Moose could be heading to the Bahamas to kill Dana and Sam.”
Had Sam hired killers to do his dirty work? Had he planned that methodically, that carefully? Mandy shivered and rubbed her arms, sick with worry over Dana. “So you think Sam originally hired Moose?”
“He was Moose’s lawyer. Sam may know facts that implicate Moose in other cases—enough to use as blackmail. How difficult would it have been to make a deal?”
“And then Moose could have hired Vizzi.”
“Exactly. These are all possibilities, but right now I’m more interested in finding my sister before Moose catches up with her.” Zack frowned. “If Moose is Sam’s hired gun and their plan is to kill my sister, Sam could claim the “lottery killer” followed her to the Bahamas.”
Her head spun. Zack was making too much sense for him to be totally wrong. Dana was in trouble, and they had to warn her and stop the killer. “So why aren’t we calling in the cavalry?”
“I already did—right after I hung up with Mom,” Zack told her. She realized she hadn’t been listening closely. She’d been too upset over Dana being in danger. “My friends,” Zack added, “at the FBI are on the way, but we have a head start.”
She read between the lines. Oh, God. It might come down to Zack and her rescuing Dana. “How can we find her?”
“The DEA is searching with their high-tech equipment.”
“You have agents in the Bahamas?”
“A few, but none I can tap—since this mission hasn’t been authorized. But we’re following the money trail from the states.” His phone rang. He muttered thanks and turned to the pilot. “Can you land on Shell Island?”
“Let me check.” The pilot spoke into his radio.
“Where’s Shell Island?” Mandy asked, her heart jumping into her throat. It was bad enough flying in a tiny plane. Now they might land at a substandard airport.
“Shell Island is not too far from Walker Key, where Sam hired a yach
t to take them to the house he rented this morning.”
“How do you know?”
“Sam’s bank wired the money to a real estate agency that rented a house to him. The island has about thirty private homes, and the airport was too short for the jet to land. Luckily this plane is smaller.”
The pilot spoke up. “I don’t know if the airstrip is long enough for this plane.”
Mandy closed her hand into a fist and raised it to her mouth. She wasn’t going to think about how Gabby wouldn’t have any parents if this plane crashed. Not with the clouds streaking past the windows, so thick the wings disappeared entirely. Not with the electronic beeping of the various instruments, the only sound she could hear above the roaring in her ears. The only thing she would think about right now was that Dana needed them.
“Time might be of the essence,” Zack pressed the pilot. “Sam and Dana may have stopped to snorkel or fish or swim, but we can’t count on that.”
“What makes you think that he hasn’t already . . . hurt her?” Mandy could barely get out the words. Zack met her gaze with a level stare that assured her that while he had to be as anxious about his sister as she was, he was thinking clearly—like a DEA agent.
“Sam will probably want to establish a strong alibi while he pays someone else to do his dirty work. That’s been his method so far.”
She prayed he didn’t change tactics and suppressed a shiver. Dana trusted Sam. And she didn’t even know she was in danger.
Mandy had to force herself to breathe. Looking out the window distracted her—but then she wished she hadn’t. When had the blue skies darkened? The thundershower appeared localized, but the plane seemed to be flying into a dark spot while the rest of the sky remained blue.
Below, the wind kicked up white caps, and she saw several sailboats heading for shore. The powerboats were more difficult to see, but they left a wake that could be spotted from the plane. She couldn’t help wondering if Dana was down there staring up at them, praying for help. Or was it too late?
Oh please . . . let her live.
Mandy refused to believe anything except that Dana was still alive. They would arrive in time to save her. She wouldn’t let a defeatist attitude creep in with the rain that now battered the plane.
Damn it. Why didn’t the pilot know if they could land on Shell Island yet?
Chapter Forty-Five
“MARIA. WAKE UP,” Catherine pleaded softly from the side of her hospital bed. She shouldn’t even be in ICU. But last year Catherine had helped out Dr. Warren with her divorce, and now the doctor was returning the favor by allowing Catherine to visit.
“You can’t talk long,” Dr. Warren warned. “My first responsibility is to the patient.”
“I understand.”
Although Catherine was terrified that Dana was in terrible jeopardy, she hadn’t any hard evidence to convince the authorities. Hearsay and supposition were not enough for them to start an international search for Moose and Sam. But if Maria could regain consciousness and if she could ID either Sam or Moose as her attacker, then Catherine could muster official support for her, Zack, and Mandy.
Since Ray was in an even deeper coma, Maria was her best chance. And she’d do anything to avoid losing another of her children. Not a day went by when she didn’t think about Kevin. She couldn’t lose Dana, too. Catherine leaned over the bed. “Come on, Maria. Wake up.”
Maria’s eyelids didn’t flicker.
Catherine took her hand. “I know it’s easier to sleep, but my daughter needs you, Maria. Please. Wake up.”
“Dana. Dana’s in danger,” Maria muttered.
“What do you mean?” Catherine wondered if the drugs were making Maria hallucinate. But when Maria slipped back into unconsciousness without supplying the evidence she needed, tears slid down Catherine’s cheeks.
Chapter Forty-Six
“WE CAN LAND on Shell Island,” the pilot shouted as rain sluiced the windshield. “If I use every inch of tarmac, the runway’s long enough.”
“What does that mean?” Mandy asked.
“It means he has to set the wheels down as close to one end of the runway as possible to have enough time to brake,” Zack answered, his tone tight.
The pilot handed him a headset. Zack placed it over his ears. Between the thunder and the rain, Mandy couldn’t hear the conversation. When he removed the headset his eyes were grim. “The DEA used Sam and Dana’s cell phones to locate them. Sam’s at a bridge tournament in a restaurant.”
“And Dana? You spoke to her?” Mandy prayed she was with Sam. In public. Still safe.
Zack’s eyes hardened. “She’s at the south end of the island but not answering her phone.”
The fear in Zack’s eyes told her there was more. “What else?”
“A man matching Moose’s description hired a motor boat to take him from Freeport to Shell Island.”
Mandy clenched the seat arms so hard she cut off her circulation. But no matter how often she told herself this was not happening, it was. This was the exact scenario Zack had predicted. Sam setting up an alibi while he sent Dana off, easy pickings for a killer.
Moose was here. With Dana’s partial amnesia, she wouldn’t recognize him.
“We have to try and land,” Mandy whispered.
Zack nodded and faced forward. “Set her down.”
As if the weather understood the urgency of the situation, the shower stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The storm clouds dissipated. When they broke through the mist, Mandy leaned forward to see the land below.
Shaped like a crescent moon, the island was dotted with two-story homes, their roofs glistening white in the sunlight from the rain runoff. The waterfront homes themselves were painted soft pastels, pink, turquoise, and aqua with a variety of multihued shutters and wooden docks that housed an assortment of watercraft. She saw no cars on the island, not even a real road. The southernmost part of the island appeared desolate.
When she spied the landing strip, her hopes plummeted. It was too short and unpaved. Even if the pilot set them down perfectly, they could not possibly stop before they ran out of runway.
But they were going in.
Mandy leaned forward to grab Zack’s hand. Trees rushed by, and at the end of the runway, she glimpsed the ocean and rocks. If they didn’t stop in time, they’d crash into the sea. She closed her eyes, too scared to think or breathe.
They hit softly, and she opened her eyes. The pilot jammed on the brakes, the force pulling her forward until the seat-belt strap cut into her hips. Then they skidded and bumped. She prayed her seat belt would hold.
Using her free hand, she braced herself and never let go of Zack with the other, clinging to him as if he could control the crazy fishtailing of the plane. One moment they were upright, then they skidded and tipped.
Finally, they righted and slid to a halt in a cloud of dust. Mandy coughed until her eyes teared. But they’d made it. They were alive. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, for getting us down alive,” she said to the pilot. Zack popped open his door, climbed out, then helped her down.
At the sight of how close they’d come to the rocks and ending up in the sea, her legs weakened. But then she thought of Dana and strength surged back.
“Now what?” she asked.
Zack took her hand. “Dana’s at the southern tip of the island, or at least her cell phone is. I have her GPS coordinates. Let’s go find her.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
DANA WOULD HAVE been happy to stay with Sam and play bridge. But her husband knew how she loved to snorkel, and he’d insisted that she go with the guide he’d hired to take her to a reef just offshore on the island’s southern tip. Disappointed that they wouldn’t be together, but appreciative he’d arranged an adventure, she kissed Sam goodbye and left with the guide, who introduced him
self as Moose. A black man with deep scars from acne, he didn’t speak with a local accent. In fact, he sounded as if he were from the southern part of the United States.
Moose wasn’t talkative, and Dana didn’t mind. He’d picked her up from the restaurant in a golf cart, snorkeling gear for a bigger group in the back. The ride had been short and silent, slightly uncomfortable, actually. She kept thinking she’d met him somewhere before and should remember him.
But she was more concerned that a second thunderstorm might catch them. However, the dark clouds had blown offshore and dispersed. When they reached a sandy spit that gently sloped to the water, she could see that the storm had left the emerald-green sea calm and the inviting pinkish white beach dotted with shells.
The roar of a plane took her attention from her swim. She craned her head and looked back over her shoulder. Sam had told her only tiny planes could land here since the runway was so short. However, the pilot must have landed without problems because she heard no crash, saw no sign of smoke.
Dana set her sights on the coral reef in the cove below. From her elevation, she could make out the dark emerald of the reef that bisected the lighter waters of the rest of the cove. While the variety of shells on the beach would have been a collector’s dream, Dana was eager for a swim. Her passion was for the colorful sea life and diverse coral.
Moose drove the golf cart straight down to the beach and parked above the high-tide mark. Dana hopped out, peeled down to her swimsuit, and then grabbed some gear. As she dipped her mask into the water and cleaned it and put flippers on her feet, she looked forward to swimming off the tension of the last few weeks. Sam had read her mind perfectly, understanding how much she’d needed the soothing balm of this vacation, knowing how she’d enjoy hitting the water while he played bridge. They both liked to unwind with activities, then spend a romantic evening together.
They’d hired local guides on other trips, and all of them had been chatty. Moose worked silently and efficiently, and when he placed a belt around his waist and sheathed a gleaming knife, she asked, “What’s the knife for?”
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