Knowing Vera (Romantic Suspense, Family Drama) (Chance for Love)

by Ayala, Rachelle

  Zach is still wearing his boxers. There’s no tent so I must have scared the erection right off him. He scrambles to pull on a pair of pants. The redhead gathers her panties and tank top and totters out the bedroom. I wait until the front door slams before sheathing the knife.

  “What the hell was that about?” Zach raises himself onto his right leg. “What gives you the right to barge into my house and scare my date away?”

  “I … I came to return your phone.” My voice quivers.

  He grabs a crutch and points it at me. “I’m not playing your games. You could have left it in the mailbox.”

  “I left it in the jeep.” I slump like a deflated balloon, dry and empty inside. “Let me get it.”

  “Keep it. I’ll buy a new one.” He hops to the dresser and pulls on a shirt. “I assume you’re flying out tomorrow.”

  “H-how do you know?”

  “You used my phone to browse the web. You sent and received texts with it. I have an app that logs every message and forwards it to my email. I also have a GPS tracker on it.” His upper lip curls thin, and he glares at me, his eyebrows lowered. “Next time, be careful who you borrow a mobile from.”

  I’m paralyzed, unable to utter a sound. All I’m aware of is my heart pounding too fast. Zach moves to my side and yanks the knife out of the sheath. “And don’t wave knives when you don’t know how to hold them.”

  He turns it in his palm. “This is an Australian bull horn skinning knife. Very sharp and used for slicing. You swing it around wrong, and … zip.” He makes a slicing motion across his throat. “Where did you get this?”

  “It’s Dex’s, Dex Ping’s.”

  “Interesting. Less than a hundred were made in the late eighties. They stopped inlaying ivory when it was banned in the early nineties.”

  “Dex got it from his father.”

  Zach keeps his lethal blue eyes on me as he slides the knife toward my face. “This knife is so sharp, I can cut you and you won’t feel it, at first.”

  I step back. “Don’t, you’re scaring me. Put the knife away.”

  “You’re the one waving it around.” He doesn’t remove his eyes from mine, but detaches the sheath from my waist. “You can tell Dex you lost it. If you say anything else, I’ll call the police. Breaking and entering, attempted murder. Don’t forget I have a witness.”

  I’m nodding and shaking, but my eyes are dry. My tongue tastes like sandpaper and a metallic tang lurks in the back of my throat.

  He pockets the knife and wipes his hand through his hair. “Do you have anything else to say?”

  It’s clear he’s dismissing me, but I force my head to nod, even though my mouth is mute.

  “Go ahead.” His arms are crossed, biceps bulging. There’s nothing friendly about him right now.

  “My father … My father k-killed …” My nails dig into my palms. The pain reminds me it’s real. Not a dream. “He killed y-your mother. And … and he’s still alive.”

  He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. The muscles on the side of his jaw pulse, and his stare remains hard on me. Eyes like ice—glacial blue eyes that haunt my dreams. I can’t remember anything but the eyes and the hands, the flash of a blade and spurting blood.

  I wipe the vision away, my hands dragging over my eyes. The back of my neck prickles with chills, and a sense of déjà vu overwhelms me.

  Screams pierce my throat, and I’m wearing a girly dress and clutching Bing-Bing and running, running and tripping over a leg—her leg stiff and white, her feet in gardening clogs. I tumble face first and crawl on my hands and knees. “Papa, I’m scared. I didn’t see anything.”

  Strong arms clamp me from behind. He’ll kill me if I tell. I gurgle and clutch my throat. He’ll strangle me, slice me open if I tell. “I didn’t see anything. No, nothing. Promise.”

  Black dust swirls, and my head is floating, dizzy. My heart flutters too fast as cold sweat pours over me. I step into nothing, and the blackness crowds the light away.

  “Vera, Vera,” someone calls me from faraway.

  Flashes of light explode behind my eyes. Someone pulls my head into a bag and smothers me. I kick and punch, desperate to save myself. Screams echo, and I’m shaking all over, cowering behind a vase, hugging Bing-Bing and sucking my thumb, tasting blood.

  Rough hands bind my wrists behind my back and a stinking rag is stuffed into my mouth. I’m hoisted over a shoulder and tossed onto cold, hard metal. A motor rumbles to life with the smell of exhaust. I bump my head and I see nothing.

  Dimly, I’m aware I’m in the bed of a truck. The sound of tires on gravel fade in and out of my mind. I’m thrown against a warm body and hear muffled groans. A small amount of light filters in through the pillowcase over my face, but I can’t make out anything but shadows.

  The truck bounces faster, and soon we’re on asphalt. I nudge the person pressed against me, but he doesn’t move.

  Across from me is another person making retching sounds. The sour smell of vomit mixed with the coppery scent of blood pours into the air. Adrenaline and fear spike through my veins. What happened? I was at Zach’s place. There was a woman and a knife. I told him the truth and everything went crazy.

  A chill descends on me, and I huddle against the man next to me. He reeks of beer, sweat, and ketchup, the same odors as the Grungy Caterpillar. Dex? Ben? Or Cliff?

  Zach probably had men waiting. He lured me with the redhead and I fell for it. I even let him take the knife.

  Stupid, stupid me.

  Chapter 23

  I wake to the call of shorebirds. Waves churn in close vicinity, their hypnotic cadence drowning the swish of blood through my ears. The sun has risen because I can now see through the pillowcase. I’m alone in the truck bed.

  Muffled voices and footsteps approach. My bladder is full, but I pretend to be asleep.

  “Up you go.” Firm hands tug me from the truck. “You need to use the outhouse?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Oh, polite, aren’t you, Miss Ping. Or should I say, Miss Custodio?” The man removes the pillowcase and unties my hands. He’s leathery tan with pale blue eyes and white hair sticking out from under a canvas hat.

  A greasy looking young man with crooked teeth stands with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “I say we have a little fun with her first.”

  “Now, Vic, that wasn’t the boss’s instructions,” the older guy says.

  “Who do you work for?” I huddle behind the older man. “And what have you done to my brothers?”

  The men sound familiar with heavy Aussie accents. Could they have been the ones Zach’s father sent to rescue me in the tunnel?

  Vic leers at me and pushes his face close to mine. “Would we be so stupid to tell you? How about a kiss?”

  I back away, but he grabs my blouse and tears it down the middle.

  “Stop it!” the old guy says. “Get the boat ready while I escort her to the loo.”

  “Sure, whatever.” The young man leers. “I want a taste of you, Chinky poo.”

  A ratty old windbreaker lies in the truck bed. I pick it up and shrug it over my shoulders, thankful that the older man is more decent.

  He takes me through the parking lot past docks full of fishing boats to a small, tin building. The smell is horrendous, oozing a fishy stench mixed with human offal. He sticks his foot in the door, not allowing me to latch it.

  After I finish, he offers me hand cleaner.

  “Thanks.” I flash him a smile. “And your name is?”

  “Tom. You hungry?” he asks as we walk toward the truck. “There are muffins and a carton of eggs and bacon in the cab. I’d eat up if I were you. Where you’re going, there aren’t any takeaways for food.”

  “Sure, I appreciate it.” I have no clue why he’s being kind, but I’ll take what I can get right now.

  The parking lot is almost deserted except for two motorcycles and a camper van. Unfortunately, no one seems to be around who I can scream to for help.

&nbs
p; We return to the truck. Tom offers me food and orders me to sit on the tailgate. I try to wolf down as much as I can, but Vic saunters up, grinning.

  “Look what I have.” He holds up a cell phone that looks like Zach’s.

  “Let me see,” Tom says.

  “It’s one of those fancy ones with games.” Vic swipes his finger across the screen.

  They’re so engrossed in the phone, I slide off the tailgate. If I can make it through the parking lot to the street, I can flag down a passing car.

  I hear the electronic sound of a camera shutter, and Vic passes the phone to Tom. “Get one of me and the chick.”

  He pulls me into his arms and mushes a kiss on my lips. Yuck! His breath is fishy and stale, almost as bad as the outhouse.

  “Got it.” Tom looks at the display and hands the phone back to Vic. “We better get going.”

  Vic clamps his arm around me and drags me down the steps to the dock. We stop next to a sport fishing boat equipped with a rear facing angling chair and a fly bridge above the overhead cockpit. I shiver at the blood smeared across the rough white deck leading down the steps to the galley. What happened to the bodies that were with me in the truck?

  “Ever watch Survivor?” Vic asks as he lifts me into the boat. “The twist here is you have to save your brothers before they starve. They’re tied up and imprisoned without food and water. Your assignment, should you choose to take it, is to find them before they die.”

  My gut freezes thinking of Ben and Dex beaten and abandoned, likely because of me.

  “What’s the point of this?” I pull away from his grip, but Tom grabs me from behind.

  He pushes me onto the fishing chair and tightens luggage straps around me, tying me to the chair. “We’ll let you go when your father turns himself in.”

  “Oh, oh.” Vic raises his hand and bounces up and down like a child after trick or treating. “Tell her the last minute rule change.”

  “Yeah, that one.” Tom rubs his hands. “Your father chooses two of his children to be freed when he turns himself in. One has to be left behind until he transfers his winery back to the Spencers.”

  I knew it. The Spencers want their vineyard back, and I stupidly led them to my father. But how can I blame Zach, the poor motherless boy with those bright blue eyes?

  “Did you hear that? Your father has to leave one behind.” Vic snaps his fingers in front of my nose. “I’m betting you’re the odd man, or should I say, odd woman out. Tell her more.”

  “If you agree to testify against your father, we’ll let you go back to America,” Tom says.

  “But, my brothers, would you let them go if I testify?”

  Vic shakes his head and makes a show of sniffling and wiping his eyes. “So sad. Their elder sister only cared about herself and left them to die.”

  These two seem to enjoy playing good cop, bad cop. Whatever their game, there’s no way I’ll let my brothers suffer.

  I glare at both of them. “I’m going to the island.”

  Tom shakes his head as if I were an especially bratty child. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  He climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and starts the engine while Vic unties the boat from the mooring. Once past the no-wake zone the boat picks up speed, and we’re bouncing out of the bay into deeper water.

  Miles speed by. The ocean is rough and boisterous, and I’m clutching my stomach. The bacon and eggs churn in my belly, but I swallow desperately to keep them down. I’m so miserable I don’t even fend off Vic’s fingers running through my hair.

  “Not too late to turn back, baby,” he says. “I’ve got a bunk down there. How about it? Me, you, and a pack of extra large.”

  I’m numb to his grossness as he runs his hands over my body. Instead, I shut my eyes, praying I’ll survive long enough to save Ben and Dex. The boat rocks and pitches, and I’m so nauseous I wish I were dead. We seem to go forever before the motor thankfully slows.

  Vic and Tom are looking toward a small island not much larger than Alcatraz. It’s devoid of buildings, barren, with patches of windblown grass feathering its rocky surface. Shorebirds perch on the rocks overlooking a narrow strip of sand.

  “Off you go, girl.” Vic unstraps me from the fishing chair. The boat jumps up and down in the current and throws me against his side.

  “Wait, why can’t you drop me off closer?” Panic surges from my heart. I’m not a bad swimmer, but the water’s too rough.

  “You see any docks?” He leers and leans closer, his lips pursed, making kissing sounds. “Last chance to go below deck with me.”

  “Get away from me, you lech.” I backhand him.

  A wave pushes the boat up, and Vic heaves me overboard. I slam into the stinging cold water and gulp a desperate breath of air. Shutting my eyes, I still myself, knowing I’ll naturally float toward the surface if I don’t panic. The bubbling water drowns my hearing, and I can’t tell if the boat is still above me. My lungs ache, and I frog kick and sweep the water from top down with my hands until I break the surface.

  Taking big gulps of air, I lean back so my face is toward the sky. I can do it if I stay calm. When Emily was a toddler, I took her to mother-daughter swim classes and learned basic lifesaving.

  I glance toward the island. From here, the beach looks so far away. When I look back, the outline of the boat is heading toward the open ocean. Those cowards didn’t even stick around to make sure I’m safe.

  But then again, why would they?

  The water rolls and swells, burning my eyes as the wind blows spray into my face. I bury my head into the water and swim steadily, pacing myself. A rock formation is my reference point, and I stay to the right of it.

  Birds flutter and circle above me. A swell throws seaweed over me, and I swallow water. Push, keep pushing. My life has funneled into stroke, stroke, kick, kick.

  I don’t know how much time passes. But my arms ache and I’m breathless. Taking my bearings, I find I’m no closer to the beach than when I started. Despite the sun, I’m cold, gasping and shivering. The current swirls around me as I push toward the breakers.

  A wave crashes over me and sends me spinning like I’m inside a washing machine. I’m flailing, trying not to panic when another one breaks and dunks my head underwater. A wicked cramp radiates from my calf and seizes my thigh. I bob like a cork, lifting my head just enough to take a breath, but the waves pummel me, and I sink under each trough before popping up on the other side.

  Shadows creep behind my eyes along with flashes of light, and cold fear threads through me as I suck in water.

  Oh, God. I’m not going to make it.

  Mama. Emily. Zach!

  Chapter 24

  I fight for every breath in the churning water. The shoreline flickers like a distant mirage, and a large shadow approaches behind the crest of the next wave. A shark? I gasp, my heart hammering, expecting a thrashing set of jaws to clamp down on me. Instead, a shock of blond hair shakes from the surface, and Zach tugs me into his arms.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” He pulls my chin up in the traditional lifesaving posture.

  I’m coughing and sputtering, my mind racing. “But, I thought you set me up.”

  He lets go and stops paddling. Oops, wrong thing to say to a guy trying to save my life.

  “I didn’t mean it … One of their demands—”

  He steadies me in the water. “Let’s get onto the beach before you start the accusations.”

  I’m tongue-tied, unable to sputter a response. The best thing for me is to lie still and float while Zach drags me away from the waves breaking over the rocky ledges. We swim parallel to the beach until a swell lifts and throws us on the sand.

  Scrambling to my feet, I reach for Zach. He lets the next wave wash over him as he crawls on his hands and knees. The lower left leg of his jeans drags behind because he’s missing his prosthesis. Fortunately he still has a sneaker on his right foot.

  I grab ahold o
f him, and he loops his arm around my shoulder. Using me as a crutch, we stagger up the beach before collapsing on the hot sand littered with bits of wood and broken shells.

  Zach is still catching his breath while I crouch with my hands on my knees and cough, spitting out seawater. His white shirt is torn and unbuttoned almost to his waist.

  Head down, I stretch my cramped muscles, my mind as disarrayed as my hair. If Zach wasn’t behind the kidnapping, who was? What happened after I told him about my father?

  My temples throb to the constant pounding of the surf, and I can’t get over those haunting blue eyes—the ones I saw right before everything turned bloody.

  What if my memory’s returning? What if I saw the killer? Do I really want to know who it was?

  Turning my back to the biting wind, I scan my surroundings. Tufts of long grey-green grass clump between craggy rocks; there appears to be a trail crawling toward a line of spindly trees where a tin shed sits.

  Zach pushes off the ground and shuffles on his knees toward the rocky path. I rush to his side, but I’m not sure how I should respond to him. The last time I saw him, he was about to have sex with the redhead, and then I was attacked.

  He peers at me from under his brooding brows. “I can’t believe you thought I had anything to do with this.”

  Maybe it’s not Zach directly, but he must have led them to me. How would he have known I’d go to his place though? Or had he lured me with the redhead, knowing I’d turn jealous? Then again, no one forced me to charge in there with a knife. What had gotten into me?

  I gather my hair and twist it under the collar of the jacket, trying to appear unconvinced. “I was talking to you when I was attacked.”

  He rubs his five o’clock shadow and grimaces. “You freaked out and went delirious. I tried to calm you down, but some guys wearing masks barged in and grabbed you. By the time I put on my leg, all of you were gone.”

  Sounds plausible.

  “How did you find me? I didn’t have your cell phone.”

  “No, but someone had it.” He blinks and looks toward the ocean. “The GPS tracker showed it heading down the peninsula toward the harbor. I also received a text telling me to meet you at Yaringa Boat Harbour in front of my father’s fishing boat.”