Mary took off running down the alley, keeping in the shadows. She glanced behind her to witness Conrad fighting John. She tried to block out John shouting her name, but the mantra stayed with her. “Stop. Don’t run, Mary.”
Her heart beat painfully inside her chest. Her throat hurt, but she had to keep going. No turning back now. Bright light blinded her as she ran from the dark alley. She stumbled, nose first, into a banana tree. Grabbing hold of a limb for balance, a leaf came off. She held the cool soothing foliage to her burning neck, hoping to stop the trickle of blood. After a few blinks to adjust her sight, she searched for a taxi. Cars were everywhere, but none had a sign indicating cab.
She grabbed her phone from her pocket, blood smearing on her white jacket as she extracted the cell. Her shaking fingers slipped across the keys. Thank God Jenn had keyed the number in already.
“Yeah,” a man said in a deep musical voice that rang true and clear.
“Sasha, its Mary, Phoenix’s friend. I need a cab to get to your house. How do I hail one? None of the cars say taxi.”
“Where are you?” His smoky voice held an island rhythm, immediately relaxing her a bit.
She glanced behind her to the alley, free of John and Conrad. She didn’t know which one had won the confrontation. A quick glance both ways, and she moved to the other side of the massive tree taking up three-fourths of the sidewalk. The buildings were marked with numbers but no names. Holding the leaf to her throat, she kept to the shadows and walked farther away from the ocean, the vendors and John. “Kingston, next to the Blue Cafe.”
“Stay there, I’m five minutes away. I’ll be driving a yellow VW Bug.”
“Hurry.” She fled behind the building and slumped against the brick wall. Blood continued to flow down her neck, when she stuffed the phone into the side pocket of her backpack. The burning pain receded slightly as she shoved the cool plant against her throat.
Sirens sounded a street away. Would the cops–along with John, or if she were truly unlucky, Conrad–be looking for her? How could she hide wearing white stained with blood?
She dropped the leaf and removed the backpack. Shrugging the jacket off, she placed the purse onto her shoulders again. Pressing the edge of a sleeve to the wound, she used the hem of the coat to dab her shirt, trying to soak the crimson liquid. The blood smelled like sulfur, making her nauseous. The white material darkened to a brownish-red. Light headed, she hoped Sasha would arrive before she passed out.
Fingers tight against the cut, she held the now scarlet sleeve away from her body. If one of the workers from the restaurant came out, he or she would surely call the police. Her heart pounded at an unsteady, fast rate, either because of the blood loss or fear of being discovered. The sound of an engine purring brought her away from the wall. She glanced into the street. Yellowish-orange VW car with a dark-skinned driver. He flagged her forward, and then threw open the door.
Mary flung the coat toward the Dumpster and ran. Inside the car, she leaned forward to accommodate her backpack and slammed the door. Her bent position made the wound spurt. Blood gushed onto his carpet, making her dizzy and sick. Frozen with horror, she reacted by sticking her palm to the injury.
“I’m sorry. Do you have a cloth so I can stop the bleeding?” she said. Her voice was scratchy. Had her vocal cords been cut? She didn’t know enough to self-diagnose. She only knew she was going to be violently ill.
“Damn.” Focused on driving, he must not have noticed the geyser. He spun the car around and headed in the opposite direction. Driving at rapid speed, he maneuvered around slow moving and parked cars. The brakes squealed as he jolted to a stop at a light. “Lean back.”
She closed her eyes and awkwardly pressed against the seat. A small car and a large backpack made for a tight space. The snap of a compartment opening and papers shifting came to her. Air. She must have air, and wrapped her fingers around the window roller.
“Here.” A cloth squashed into her palm. She sucked in a breath and smashed the fabric against the cut.
“Thanks. Sorry about the carpet.” Unable to control the light-headed weakness, she swallowed the vomit in her throat. “Sasha…I’m going to pass out now.”
* * * *
John snapped the plastic band handcuffs on Peabody’s wrists, then flipped the safety latch on the pistol, and slid it into the ankle holster. “Where’s your partner in crime?”
“She left.”
Peabody meant Mary, but he lied. “Where is your real conspirator? Waterman. Tell me where the diamonds are.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He plopped onto the sidewalk and leaned his head between his knees.
“Is he nearby? Did he take Mary?”
Peabody shook his head. “No. I liked Mary. I didn’t mean to cut her so deep. God, the blood. So much rushed out, like a damn faucet full open.”
John couldn’t catch his breath, a result of the physical activity or seeing Mary gushing blood. Either way, he needed to find her. She could be… No, not dead. He couldn’t think like that. Critically wounded.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Peabody asked. Damn, why did he have to voice it? Vocalizing the possibility only made it seem real.
“John?” Debbie skidded to a stop in front of them. The crowds hadn’t dissipated, but huge numbers of people didn’t hover around them, either. It was as if the knifing and fight hadn’t occurred. Women laughed. Banana Boat currently rang from the steel drums and peddlers hawked their goods. The urge to cut and run made John anxious. He needed to find Mary.
The Kingston police, dressed in khaki shorts and capped shirts, arrived on motorcycles.
“What’s going on here?” A cop who could have been a suntan lotion model stared at Peabody trussed like a turkey with blood smeared on his hand and shirt. Mary’s blood. “Hand over your weapons.”
John bent and unsnapped his gun holster. “I’m John Kajiyama and this is Debbie Gilbert. We’re with Atlantic Coast Investigations. I have privileges to carry a weapon. The paperwork is in my back pocket. This man, Conrad Peabody attacked a woman, slit her throat. He’s also wanted for grand theft in South Carolina. The proper authorities will need to be informed.” He extended his gun, butt first.
“He attacked the woman in Kingston?” The cop was clever. If taken on his turf, the local police would keep him.
“Yes, and robbed a jewelry store in South Carolina,” John reiterated.
“Serg, there’s blood over here. Looks fresh,” a dark-skinned, thin officer said.
Serg lifted an eyebrow. “Injured?”
“Mary Keefe, the victim, escaped Peabody and darted down the alley.” John wasn’t going to declare she’d ran from him. His gut clenched at the thought she’d felt the need to run. “Could your men scan the area? Light brown hair and green eyes, five eight, about one hundred and twenty pounds. White suit. Backpack.”
Serg evaluated John for several minutes, then removed the radio from his belt clip and gave the instructions over the device.
“Let’s go to the station and talk details.” Serg nodded to the skinny officer. “Get that cleaned up. We don’t want our visitors disturbed from spending their holiday on the island.”
* * * *
John displayed his credentials and provided the contact information, including the police detective he worked with in Keefe, South Carolina. At the police station, he filed a report and left Debbie to deal with clean-up. They located Mary’s jacket a block away, blood soaked. No sign of Mary and not one person they interviewed had seen her running through the street or at the cafe. She had to have had a contact on the island. John would need to run a report to determine her last phone calls.
Back on the ship, he went through Conrad Peabody’s room, and found nothing but a note to meet one of the kitchen staff at midnight.
Peabody’s partner-in-crime comment rushed through his mind. He went to his room, packed up his equipment and carried it into Mary’s cabin. Deciding to start by sorting clothe
s to see if he could find clues to her innocence, he opened the closet door.
Three loud raps shook the cabin door frame. He rushed through the narrow passageway and answered. A customer service agent held three large packages in his arms.
A skinny hand appeared from behind the cumbersome containers. “Here are your boxes, sir. I’m Jared Knox, I’m to wait for you and help you carry them off the ship.”
“Thanks. It’ll be awhile.”
The pimple faced kid lowered the cartons to the floor. “Sir, I was asked to help you speed the process. We need to exit the port at oh-five-hundred.”
“Fine. Did you bring packing tape and a marker?”
In less than twenty minutes, they had Mary’s personal items packed and sealed. John signed documents allowing him to take her possessions. Jared carried the labeled boxes, to be delivered to the ACI office, off the ship and John loaded them into a taxi.
John’s stomach roiled and his heart pounded as fast as the steel drums beating out a rapid tune. Had Mary been killed and they’d find her body buried in the tobacco fields or in the ocean?
boomark:Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Water lapping against the side of the hull woke her. Mary opened her eyes. She wasn’t in her stateroom on the cruise ship. She rolled to her side. Pain pierced her neck, arms and legs. Using her elbows she came upright, then pressed a hand to her throat and slowly shifted from the bunk to land on her feet. A window was to her left. She only had to turn her head an inch or so and she could see outside. Bruised skin pulled tight, then a squirt of liquid flowed from her wound. At least she was alive.
From the porthole, she gathered it was night. No stars and no running lights on the boat. Where was she?
She glanced around, finding the exit, and unsteadily walked toward the source of fresh brine-scented ocean air. As she passed a mirrored door, she stopped. Her neck had a bandage wrapped around and tied in a knot at the back. She had to look at the cut and peeled the edge of the bandage.
“Don’t. We just got it to stop bleeding,” Sasha said from behind her.
She jerked, bumping her hand against her jaw. “I just wanted to see how bad it is.”
“Lots of blood loss, but the slice will heal fine.” He wrapped his thin ebony fingers around her arm. His fine brown hair appeared wet, as if he’d taken a swim. “Come, sit down and I’ll get you some juice. You’ll need to rebuild your energy.”
She took a seat on the bunk she’d just vacated. “Where are we?”
“Outside Miami, Florida. I’ve arranged fare for you on a train, Amtrak I think, to Vermont. You have a private passenger car with only one change over and that’s in Chicago.” His lyrical voice ebbed and flowed with a rhythm as sweet as the juice she was about to consume. He placed a small glass of orange liquid with lots of pulp in front of her. “Drink.”
The red-orange thick liquid had a pungent odor, reminding her of seaweed. “Where’s my bag? I have a change of clothes in it.”
“It’s at the end of the bunk.” He retrieved a black satchel and plopped it on the table. “However, you’re not going to wear jeans.” His black eyes glimmered. Jenn was right; this man had all the attributes of a very sexy donor.
He must have transferred her stuff from the backpack to the bag. Skeptical, she took a drink. “I’m not?”
He shook his head, his product-slicked wet hair not moving. Drops of water slid from the strands, landing on his plain green tee shirt. A little lower and the liquid would have landed on his protruding nipples. The guy worked out.
“No. In order for you to remain hidden, you’re going to wear…” His muscles bunched under his khaki shorts as he pivoted and reached inside the closet. “…this.”
She lowered the somewhat tasty beverage to the nearby table, and raised an eyebrow. “Because it goes so well with the bandage?”
He laughed, a deep throat-vibrating chuckle. “No one will bother you if you’re dressed like a nun, and hopefully you won’t have to show ID, just your ticket.”
“Fine. I don’t care. I’m tired.” She laid her head on top of the pleather bag and looked at him.
He winked, a slow, steamy eye catching move. Just as Jenn had predicted, the man was sex personified. A black robe and Egyptian-style hat landed on the chair. “Thirty minutes. You’ll need to get changed, and remove those earrings.”
“Yeah, I’ll be ready.”
He strode up the stairs and outside, leaving the door open. As if weights were tied to her ankles, she dropped her hand to the tabletop and stood. A quick sort through the bag proved everything was present, even the cash she had stashed in the cellphone pocket. But where was her mobile?
She loaded the items back inside the satchel. Her clothes had hardened with blood, which scratched her skin. Carefully she eased the blouse and slacks from her body. Brownish red smears trailed from her right shoulder down to her waist. Dried crusts of blood flaked from her panties, falling to the floor as she walked. She went into the bathroom, grabbed a clean cloth, removed her underwear and quickly washed her skin. A quick scrub to her bra and panties, then she rolled them in a towel to get them as dry as possible. With the water squeezed out, she wrapped them in a hand towel and traded dry undergarments for the semi-wet ones.
Dressed in the black gown, she knotted her hair and whipped the handkerchief hat onto her head. The piece fit tight on her forehead, making her look dowdy, pale and unkempt.
“Ready?” Sasha whipped his gaze around her, inspecting.
“Where’s my cellphone?”
The motor cut, the boat slowed, causing the waves to hit the hull harder, throwing her off balance.
He gripped her arm. “I had to deep six it about five miles outside Kingston. The phone has a GPS, and we didn’t need to be tracked.”
“Also, the pay-as-you-go?”
He nodded.
Her heart clutched. She’d planned to get rid of it once she’d contacted her friends. They wouldn’t know what happened to her. Maybe the news had a spot about an attack on a passenger from the ship on Kingston. They would be worried. “So I’ll be without communication for forty-eight hours? Will you call Jenn?”
“I did. Your friends are aware you’re safe. Stay in your passenger car. We have enough food packed for three days. You won’t need to go out except to change trains in Chicago.”
“I understand. What about the neck?”
Sasha lifted an eyebrow, a glint crossing through his wide-eyed stare.
She lifted an index finger toward the slice on her throat.
“We did the best we could. Cleaned the four inches, slapped steri-strips and wrapped the gauze around. You might get an MD to look at it.” He pulled the material higher on her neck. “Come on, we’ve docked. The cops will be searching for your backpack as an identifier for you. Let’s hope they won’t look twice at a nun.”
* * * *
John paced, his already-small apartment shrinking with each step. He stopped in front of Mary’s clothing pile, picked up a blousy thing and sniffed it. Her scent–perfume and her own personal smell–remained on the material. An image of her dancing and the sweet exhilaration as she’d climaxed under him. He tossed the garment on the stack and moved to the jewelry. Traveling crate in hand, he sat on his black leather sofa, placing the box on the glass coffee table. The latch came free. Obviously the case had been frequently used. Simple designs in silver and one set of gold earrings rested on black velvet inside.
He picked up a triangle-shaped necklace. Scrolls and leaves were embedded on the outer rim. A blue stone, the color of the water outside of his parent’s beach house was set inside the trinket. He held it to his lips, trying to connect with her through her personal possessions.
Mary wasn’t dead. He wouldn’t believe it until he touched her cold hard body. Somehow she’d escaped and sought refuge. Peabody had been captured, but his partner remained at large. She had every reason to be afraid. But what if she’d had the diamonds all along?
> John put the necklace back in the square. He clicked on the music folder. A song rang through the room as he gathered a pen and paper from inside the glass and chrome desk. He re-positioned on the sofa. One knee drawn upward to hold the pad, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the song. The very music they’d danced and made love to filtered through his mind. Momentarily taking his thoughts away from sorting and categorizing information, he relived the small fraction of time they’d shared. Their bodies had finally connected after two days of verbal foreplay.
Hot anger ripped through him. He would find Waterman before the deviant found Mary.
Her items had been logged at the police station and at his home office, but he’d dragged the luggage home. He had hoped to discover something, anything that would provide him a clue as to where she’d gone. He grabbed her notebook and reread the entries. Likert Scale of one through five was easy enough to understand. She sought a future boyfriend and her questions, while odd, did lead him to believe she was searching for a partner.
Pages fluttered as he slipped through looking for other leads. Text on the first three pages, then the data she’d started to accumulate. The bartender, his name had hearts above the I. DONOR…D rated a solid four, O had a four plus, N equaled five, A the number five with two stars nearby and R only had question Jenn beside it. The next entry was the First Mate, who rated all fives and three hearts. Then testosterone guy ranked three or less on all entries. Clearly the First Mate had all the points, if five was the highest, and from John’s point of view the First Mate was the best of the three. John evaluated each sheet in the rest of the book, searching for embossed writing from where a page had been torn out. Nothing.
Where was his entry? Hadn’t she considered him as a prospective candidate?
The vibrations from his phone brought him out of the disappointment lull. “Kaj–
“John, GPS took us to the sea,” Debbie said. “No doubt her phone is at the bottom. Either she was taken by someone and they dumped the cell overboard, or Keefe herself ditched it so she couldn’t be found.”
Jewel Hiest Page 9