by DV Berkom
Luke called from the inflatable. “Is she dead?”
I nodded, the adrenaline still pushing my heart rate to the moon. “Yeah. She’s dead.” I took the branch from Eve, wiped the end off in the sand, and brought it back to Luke. “Check her pockets for her phone, keys, anything that might be useful,” I called behind me.
Eve did as I asked while I shoved aside the thought that I’d eliminated another threat from my past. Her death was a hollow victory. Angie might be gone, but I’d still lost Sam. It didn’t matter what happened next. Luis was the only threat left. I shouldn’t have any trouble sidestepping him, if he was even looking for me. I touched my side and my hand came away wet. The wound was bleeding again. I had to get on board the Olympic Dream where I had access to medical supplies.
Eve straightened. “I got Luke’s phone and the SD card, but that’s it.”
“Should we do something with the body?” Luke asked. “I wish we could have had time to bury Darwin and Kitten.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Can I use that anchor?” I nodded at the one we’d used to keep the inflatable in the cove in case a storm came up while we were on the island.
“What are you thinking?” Eve asked.
“Burial at sea.”
Thirty-Five
AN HOUR LATER, we were onboard the Olympic Dream. After hearing the muted sounds of the explosion on the other side of the island, Lady D had been relieved beyond measure to see us, but broke down in tears at the news of Darwin’s and Kitten’s deaths. The anger in Eve’s eyes and set of her jaw told me that Dobson’s death probably wouldn’t be enough.
Thankfully, Luke kept a well-stocked first aid kit on the boat and I was able to dress my wound. Next, we set his leg using duct tape and an oar as a splint. He suggested I go below decks and try to get some rest, so I took his advice. Angie had left her purse in a locked compartment in the forward berth, which was where I found her phone after getting the extra key from Luke. Her screen was password protected, so I put it in my pocket to give to Eve.
Luke secured himself to the captain’s chair, and using a combination of the radio, charts, GPS, and the depth finder expertly steered us through the islands back to his parents’ house in Edmonds. Lady D, Eve, and I helped tie up to the dock and then went our separate ways, with Eve promising to look for Angie’s files after I gave her the phone. I told her about Chacon’s murder and how I was on the video, but that I hadn’t been the one to kill him. She took the admission in stride, letting me know she would delete the evidence once she found it.
“I’m still angry that we weren’t able to go through with our plan to make Dobson pay the victims.” Eve narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Some of the families lost their main income earner. A payout would have meant so much to them.”
“You know, there is one thing you could do.”
Eve gave me a sharp glance.
“Upload that video of Dobson confessing and wait until Pro-Pharma’s stock crashes.”
“I don’t get it. How would that get money to the families?”
“Ever hear of shorting a stock?”
***
I made it to my hotel just as Seattle was waking up for the day. The din of traffic from the early morning commute rang hollow in my overly sensitive ears, and I was happy to step through the glass doors into the hushed atmosphere of the hotel lobby. As I waited for the elevator to my room, the smell of coffee wafting toward me from the restaurant was almost overwhelming. I decided caffeine would interrupt the sleep I so desperately needed and opted out.
I slept all day, waking in time to catch the local news. The lead story screamed “Explosion in the San Juans,” and at first attributed the explosion to faulty propane tanks. Aerial views from the King 5 helicopter showed the damage to the home. A German shepherd ran excitedly from one side of the yard to the other, barking at the chopper. The reporter speculated on whether the CEO for Pro-Pharma might still be inside.
Later on, during the same newscast, the reporter broke in live to report that Dobson’s body had been found tied to a chair in the master bedroom, victim of a gunshot wound. There was a brief mention of three additional bodies—two in the house and one on the grounds—but no other identifying information was given. I waited for news of the discovery of another dead body on the other side of the island, tied to an anchor near a narrow spit of sand, but none came.
I calculated the hours since our departure from the island and figured the beach had disappeared under high tide, leaving Angie even deeper than where we’d left her.
I turned off the television and walked into the bathroom. A small amount of blood had soaked through the bandage and the wound still throbbed, but other than that things were manageable. I splashed cool water on my face and stared at my reflection.
A stranger looked back at me.
The old Kate had disappeared leaving a new, not necessarily improved Kate in her place. My emotions were raw, with emptiness the only definable feeling. I thought about texting my father to find out how Lisa was doing but couldn’t summon the energy to walk out of the bathroom to pick up my phone. I leaned forward with both hands on either side of the sink and looked into my eyes, searching for a remnant of something familiar.
I thought back to the events leading to this moment. Lisa’s overdose. Jason Whitmore’s death and his family’s need for closure. My stubborn refusal to wait for the DEA to do what they were paid to do while I tried to mete out my own justice. Training with Angie. Chacon’s murder. Losing Sam.
And now this.
True, Dobson was dead, had paid for his transgressions with his life. But that one fact hadn’t filled the hole created by Lisa’s overdose, or losing my family and Sam.
What do I do now?
I turned from the mirror and walked back into the room. Suddenly restless, the thought of being alone spurred me into action. I threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, grabbed my coat and bag, and took the elevator to the lobby, intending to walk to a nearby restaurant for dinner. The elevator doors pinged open and I walked out onto the marble landing, stepping to the side when someone brushed past me.
“Sorry,” I muttered, and looked up to see who I’d stumbled into.
“Kate.”
Sam’s deep brown eyes stared into mine, and I stopped short, my heart fluttering in surprise. With an impatient snort, the man who had been behind me in the elevator shouldered his way past us to the lobby.
“What are you doing here?” My heart filled with hope, but a second later came crashing down to earth. My bad girl returned with a vengeance to tell me not to get my hopes up, to remember what I’d done.
Sam pulled me aside and walked me over to a nearby sofa, where we both had a seat.
“I came as soon as I heard about Dobson.” He lifted my chin with his hand and held my gaze. “You had something to do with it, didn’t you?”
I closed my eyes and nodded. He let his hand drop.
“But it’s not what you think.” I opened my eyes and searched his, hoping to find a hint of understanding, or at least a willingness to hear me out.
“I’m listening.”
I took a deep breath and recounted everything that had happened since we’d split up. How I couldn’t figure out a way to ditch Angie, since she still had the Chacon video. How she’d blackmailed me into going along with the hacker’s plan to exact vengeance from Dobson, and her real plan to steal the artwork, kill everyone except Luke, and leave me on the island to take the blame. I told him I stabbed her in the side but she’d reappeared, and how I’d killed her with the branch. I then explained how Eve had recorded both Darwin’s and Dobson’s murders with her phone but didn’t get Angie in the frame until she’d killed Dobson.
Sam let out a breath and his shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad Angie can’t hurt us anymore.”
I was about to reply when it hit me. He’d said us. A tiny flicker of hope blossomed inside of me at the word, but again, Bad Kate warned me not to get my hopes up.
<
br /> “At least I think so. She could have a dead man’s switch set up in the event of her death, although I don’t know if that’s her style. She was arrogant enough to think she wasn’t going to die. Not at my hands.”
“How did Angie survive the blast?”
“She was near the front door when she shot out the light. The propane hadn’t spread that far.”
He nodded. “What did you do with the body?”
“Eve and I tied her to an anchor and dragged her into the water as far as we could. It was low tide,” I added, by way of explanation.
Sam studied me for a long moment. “You’re different. Like a part of the Kate I used to know isn’t there anymore.”
I sighed. “I’ve been giving things a lot of thought.”
“And?”
A woman with a teacup poodle in her purse walked by, distracting me from answering. Sam put his hand on my arm. “And?” he repeated, his tone gentle.
I turned to look at him. “I know that we’re through, and I understand why. But I want to apologize. My anger made me foolish, and my actions put us both in danger.”
Sam crossed his arms and leaned back.
“I want you to know—” I cleared my throat. “How much I loved you. You were my home.”
Sam shook his head. “So what you’re saying is—”
“What I’m saying is, through this entire ordeal, I finally realized that you were right.” I watched people hurry past through the lobby, wondering if I could make Sam understand what I myself could hardly put into words. I took another deep breath and turned to face him.
“Look. I was filled with anger and hurt and guilt at what happened to Lisa. Then, when my family told me to leave them alone, that I shouldn’t have anything to do with them, it was more than I could take. I felt adrift, rudderless. I had to grab on to something concrete that I could do, something other than sitting idly by, waiting for whichever agency to make their move. I thought it was up to me to make Chacon and Dobson pay.” I stared into space. “I was wrong. Vengeance doesn’t make the pain go away. It makes things so much worse. By the time I figured that out, Angie already had her hooks in me and I didn’t know how to get out.”
Sam’s silence spoke volumes. He didn’t understand. The dead feeling returned, and I stood to leave. He took hold of my wrist.
“What?” I asked, looking into his eyes.
The expression on his face was unreadable. Pure Sam. He never showed emotion. I could count on one hand the times I’d actually been able to read his thoughts. I sank back onto the settee and waited.
“You spoke in the past tense. Are you telling me you don’t love me anymore?”
“I’ll always love you, Sam. Please believe that.” I moved to leave. His hand tightened on my wrist.
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, okay?” Tears sprang to my eyes, and I blinked them back.
“Does this new you mean that I won’t have to worry about you running out and getting yourself killed every time somebody does something that pisses you off?”
My cheeks heated from the pulse of hope rushing through me. Maybe he’d be willing to try again. “Probably not.” The corners of my mouth twitched. “But it does mean that I won’t try to kill the bastards myself.”
Sam’s mask slipped for a moment, and a look of relief swept over his face. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my neck.
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
And that was all I needed, too.
Thirty-Six
TWO WEEKS LATER, Pro-Pharma’s stock took a nosedive over rumors of illegal activities. Someone hacked into one of the national news sites and uploaded the video with Mick Dobson’s confession. When asked for a comment, the acting CEO of Pro-Pharma issued a brief statement of denial accusing Mick Dobson of skimming off the top and distributing subpar meds to an illegal drug network, headed by the now-deceased Andrew Chacon.
The public outcry far exceeded the company’s ability to spin the problem of shipping deadly pharmaceuticals to foreign countries under the guise of “helpful commerce,” and Pro-Pharma’s stock tanked even further. The Food and Drug Administration was in the process of building a case against them, and the Department of Justice had opened an inquiry.
A few days after Pro-Pharma’s collapse, I walked into the kitchen to see what Sam was making for dinner. Onions and garlic and all sorts of wonderful smells were emanating from a pan on the stove. Sam dipped a spoon into the mixture and held it up for me to taste.
“Oh, that’s good. When’s dinner ready?”
Sam smiled and turned back to the pan. “About twenty.”
At that moment, my phone chimed, indicating a text. I checked the sender. The screen said anonymous.
Vigilante Kate. Check your bank account. Thanks for the idea.
Puzzled, I pulled up my banking app.
“Holy crap.”
Sam glanced at me and then at the phone. “What?”
“Take a look.”
He came over to join me, and I turned the screen toward him.
“Whose account is that?”
“Mine.”
He gave a low whistle. “Seven and a half million? That’s some serious bank. What did you do?” He stepped back and raised his hands. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
I swatted at him. “Don’t be silly. It has to be a mistake.” I checked the deposit. It looked legit—the funds had been wired into my account that morning. I replied to the anonymous number and asked who it was, but I had my suspicions. The reply came back instantly:
An art lover.
I texted back with a simpleThank you. Shaking my head in disbelief, I set the phone on the counter.
“She actually did it.”
“Who, and what?”
“Shorted Pro-Pharma’s stock. I mentioned it to Eve the last time we spoke.” Laughter bubbled up inside of me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. Apparently it was catching because pretty soon Sam had a big grin across his face.
“I’m betting that there are some mighty grateful families who recently lost a loved one to an overdose.”
“Yeah. Seven and a half million will go a long way toward providing high quality care for Lisa.” I’d set up an account as soon as I finished breakfast and give my dad access. “Knowing Eve, she covered her tracks and the tracks of everyone involved so there won’t be any question of insider trading.”
“Now that’s my kind of vigilante.”
I nodded. “Vigilante Kate. What do you think? That’s a good moniker, right?” I walked over to the cupboard to grab a couple of plates for dinner.
“Definitely better than Vigilante Dead.”
I smiled at his play on words. Yes. Yes it is.
THE END
About the Author:
DV Berkom is the USA Today bestselling author of two action-packed thriller series featuring strong female leads (Leine Basso and Kate Jones). Her love of creating resilient, kick-ass women characters stems from a lifelong addiction to reading spy novels, mysteries, and thrillers, and longing to find the female equivalent within those pages.
Raised in the Midwest, she earned a BA in political science from the University of Minnesota and promptly moved to Mexico to live on a sailboat. Several years and many adventures later, she wrote her first novel and was hooked. Bad Spirits, the first Kate Jones thriller, was published as an online serial in 2010 and was immediately popular with eBook fans. Dead of Winter, Death Rites, and Touring for Death soon followed before she began the far grittier Leine Basso series in early 2012 with Serial Date.
D.V. currently lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband Mark, and several imaginary characters who like to tell her what to do. Her most recent books include The Last Deception, A Killing Truth, Cargo, Vigilante Dead, A One Way Ticket to Dead, and Yucatán Dead.
Note from DV:
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Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the following people for their help and support in writing Vigilante Dead. First and foremost, Mark Lindstrom for your unconditional support, fabulous dinners, and wicked sense of humor; my amazing editor, Laurie Boris—I consider myself lucky to work with you; my writing group: Ali Mosa, Jenni Conner, Darlene Panzera; Mistress of Mayhem, Ruth M. Ross-Saucier; early readers Michelle and Brian Yelland, and Bev and Larry Van Berkom. Special thanks to the stellar ARTeam (you guys know who you are ;-), and as ever, TSODA134 (a.k.a. Special Forces Dude)—your detailed input adds an element of realism to my novels that I wouldn’t be able to achieve without your help.
Writing is never a solitary endeavor.
Other books by DV Berkom:
Kate Jones Adventure Thriller Series:
Kate Jones Thriller Series Vol. 1
The first four novellas in the bestselling Kate Jones Thriller Series: Bad Spirits, Dead of Winter, Death Rites, and Touring for Death.