The Killing Edge

by Heather Graham

  “Hey!” Chloe protested.

  She didn’t get a chance to say more—Victoria wasn’t going to let her take the blame.

  “She didn’t drag me, I dragged her,” she said. “And it was perfectly safe. We met Lucy Garcia, and all she cared about was convincing us that her brother had been framed for the Teen Massacre.”

  Chloe was dimly aware that she could hear a motor. She looked down toward the docks. There were only two slips left, and a boat was maneuvering its way into one of them.

  Victoria raised a hand to shield her eyes. “Hey, it’s Mark. Mark Johnston.”

  “Yeah?” Brad said. “Creep.”

  “Why is he a creep?” Victoria demanded.

  “He was dating Colleen and now she’s missing, so you tell me. He’s a creep,” Brad said.

  “I’ll bet someone from the church got hold of her,” Victoria said.

  “Oh, come on,” Jared said. “What the hell would people from the Church of the Real People be doing at a photo shoot on a private island? Get real. Brad’s right. That…creep did something to Colleen.”

  “I don’t think so,” Chloe said.

  “Of course he did,” Jared argued. “He claims he cared about her so much, but when she disappeared, he spent all his time defending himself.”

  “He had to defend himself,” Victoria said. “People kept asking him questions.”

  Jared stretched out a hand, caught her fingers and squeezed. “If you disappeared, I’d die before I stopped looking for you.”

  Victoria smiled warmly in return.

  So, the romance was heating up, Chloe thought.

  Chloe looked across the pool, toward Mark’s boat. It was berthed, but she didn’t see Mark.

  She saw someone else instead.

  Colleen Rodriguez was standing on the dock in her white dress, hair dripping, arms out stretched, as if entreating Chloe to come to her.

  Then she saw Mark. He was half-hidden by the branches of a huge mangrove next to the dock, and he was beckoning to her wildly.

  She frowned, wondering if it would be crazy to join him, as close to the water as he was.

  But the ghost was calling to her, too, and Colleen wouldn’t call her over if it would put her in danger. Mark couldn’t be evil—or Colleen wouldn’t be urging her closer.

  She’d brought her gun, but it was in her purse, and her purse was in her room. So was her phone, and she chastised herself for not keeping both of them on her.

  Why?

  There were plenty of people here, and she was safe so long as she stuck with the crowd. Because this wasn’t over, no matter what Stuckey thought.

  Sad, skinny little Lucy Garcia hadn’t killed anyone. Chloe would bet on it. She and Sanz hadn’t been killed for their crimes; they had been killed for what they knew, for what they might say. She was absolutely certain of that.

  Someone had butchered two people.

  And there was Mark Johnston, waving madly at her.

  Only a fool would walk away from a crowd, given the situation.

  She needed her phone and her gun.

  Armed, she would go see what Mark wanted.

  Even as she thought it, she felt foolish, because the truth was, for some odd reason, she just believed in him.

  And in Colleen.

  “I need my phone,” she murmured as she rose and stretched casually, then tried to motion to Mark that she’d be there in a minute. Was she crazy to trust him? No, there was just something about him. She couldn’t forget how he had known who Luke was and sworn to keep silent.

  When she got to her door, she found it locked. She knocked softly, but no one answered. Apparently Ted and Maria had left—and locked the door behind them. She was going to have to get another key.

  She turned back to the pool. Victoria and Brad were gone, and Jared had gone back to watching the news as it unfolded on his iPhone.

  “Jared, where’s Victoria?” she called, suddenly panicked.

  Jared looked around. “Here. Somewhere.”

  “Where’s Brad?”

  “Probably with Victoria.” He looked at her, frowning. “Hey, Chloe, lighten up. You’re too tense. It’s us. The Fighting Pelicans.”

  She nodded. “Right.”

  She walked down to the end of the pool and looked toward the docks, still anxious about Victoria. Had she seen Mark and gone to find out what he wanted? Her friend was nowhere in sight, but Colleen was still there, nearer the mangroves now, and looking distressed.

  The ghost hadn’t evaporated, hadn’t disappeared into the air. She was still there, and now she was waving madly at Chloe.

  Chloe started running toward the docks. She raced along the wood planks, past one of the Coco-lime dive boats and on to the place where she had seen Mark.

  She reached the ghost of Colleen Rodriguez, who had now fallen down on one knee and appeared to be sobbing.

  “It’s all right,” Chloe said. “I’m here.” She tried to touch the ghost, but she felt chill air and nothing more.

  She stared at Mark’s boat, which appeared to be empty. She saw eight air tanks in their slots in the rear of the boat, the ice chest clamped down, towels neatly folded…but no sign of anyone.

  Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, light as air, cool, and somehow urgent.

  She jumped and turned. No one was there. But before she had time to be afraid, she heard a groan and spun around again. The sound had come from the mangroves. “Mark?” she called tentatively.

  She felt like an idiot. Even her fear for Victoria should not have driven her to come down here like this, alone and unarmed.

  But Mark could be hurt, and Colleen had loved Mark. She had gotten Chloe to come to her, and she had remained visible because she was desperate. Mark needed help.

  “Help.” The call was faint, but it was real.

  She followed Colleen into the mangroves. There were roots rising from the water, and occasional patches of dry land. She carefully wound her way through the roots, her heart pounding as she saw a body.

  “Mark!”

  She rushed over to him and hunkered down. He had fallen like a rag doll between the gnarled roots, boneless on the sand, lying half in a seawater puddle. She was afraid to touch him and afraid not to. She gingerly reached for his arm and felt for the pulse in his wrist, then slid a hand under his neck, trying to cradle his head.

  That was when she felt the blood.

  His eyes opened, huge and blue against the copper of his skin. “Chloe. Get away. I tried to warn you, tried to tell you…went through her things…”

  “Mark, stop talking. I’m going to get help, all right?” she said.

  His grip around her wrist when she tried to move was surprisingly strong. “No, had to talk, you wouldn’t believe…I found it…here, in Myra’s office…I found…”

  He wasn’t making any sense, and he was losing strength.

  “Mark, let go. I’m going to go find Ted and Bill. We have to get you to a hospital. You have a head wound.”

  A voice sounded in her head. Not aloud, but undeniably there.

  Chloe, run! Get out of here now!

  Colleen’s voice.

  Then Mark stared at her, his eyes widening in sudden alarm.

  Had he seen Colleen’s ghost, too? Had he heard her?

  Chloe started to turn.

  But the old piece of dock planking caught her right in the temple.

  The world was there, and then the world was gone.

  She crashed straight down on top of Mark and felt no more.

  SIXTEEN

  For the fifth time, Luke tried Chloe’s number.

  For the fifth time, his call went straight to voice mail.

  He cursed as he drove. Naturally there was a Suburban pulling a boat going ten miles below the speed limit, and the next passing zone was miles ahead.

  He still didn’t know if Leo’s findings actually meant any thing, but Leo was concerned enough that he was heading south, as well.

  There h
ad been no way to keep Leo away, and it didn’t really matter anymore, anyway. All the dice would be on the table from this point on.

  Fact—the island could be dangerous.

  Fact—they could take all the pictures they damn well wanted, but more than extra security would be on Coco-belle.

  Fact—the shoot might not even happen.

  Fact—three people involved in one way or another with the Church of the Real People and/or the Bryson Agency had been in or near New Orleans at the time when Jill Montague had been murdered and thrown into the Mississippi, with a hamza hand carved into her back.

  Three.

  And they were all down in the Keys right now.

  He put through a call to Brent Black hawk.

  “Brent, is everything still all right?” he asked.

  “Still waiting, but there’s no way Stuckey can come up the driveway without me seeing him. But, Luke, isn’t he your old friend? A deco rated cop?” Brent asked, puzzled.

  “All I know right now is that he’s one of the three people involved in this case who happened to take a trip to New Orleans at the time Jill Montague disappeared,” Luke said. “Don’t confront him, just hang with him—and don’t leave him alone with the girls. I’m almost there.”

  “Are you certain he’s coming this way?”

  “No, he left ahead of me, and I thought he was headed back to his office, and for all I know, he is. But after I heard from Leo, who’s had his contacts tracking people’s movements over the last decade, I got worried that maybe he was heading down to the Keys instead. But what I called to say was, don’t worry about Stuckey for now. I keep calling Chloe’s cell, and she’s not answering. I need you to attach yourself like glue to her, and Victoria, too, if you can,” Luke said.

  “All right. They’re at the pool—maybe she forgot her cell phone,” Brent said. “And Nikki called Mama Thornton. I know they’ve been trying to find the receipts.”

  “Okay, go.”

  Luke hung up, gritting his teeth, knowing it would be senseless to beep at the Suburban towing the boat. Not even the cops could get by right now.

  He thought about calling Stuckey, but decided against it.

  Stuckey was one of the three who had been in New Orleans when Jill Montague went missing. Stuckey had been in Miami a decade ago, when the Teen Massacre had occurred. Stuckey had been at the mansion after the slayings there. Stuckey had access to the Church of the Real People. He could control reports and records.

  No, he refused to believe it. Brent was right. Stuckey was a good cop. A friend.

  He called the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department instead. Stuckey couldn’t do anything that he couldn’t do. He asked them to send a car to Coco-lime. He might not know exactly what, if anything, was going on there, but his gut told him that backup could be useful.

  He couldn’t think of anything but Chloe. If he couldn’t reach her directly, maybe he could reach her through the hotel. He tried the main number and was relieved when Maria answered. “Maria! Thank God. It’s Jack.”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “You’re all right? Everyone there is all right?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief that at long last he was coming to the passing zone. He pulled out and hit the gas.

  “Everything is fine.”

  “Chloe hasn’t been answering her phone.”

  “She’s at the pool with Vickie and Brad and Jared.”

  “Maria, where is Ted? Is he with you?”

  “He went out to get supplies for a last-minute barbecue.”

  Ted was the number-two name on the list.

  “All right. Maria, do me a favor. Go down to the pool and make an excuse for Victoria and Chloe to go to your room with you. I want the three of you to lock yourselves in somewhere together.”

  “I’ll call Ted. He’ll come back.”

  “No, no, don’t call Ted. Just get Chloe and Victoria. In fact, I sent Brent Black hawk out to the pool, too, so take him with you. The three of you should go to his room and wait for me to get back. And get Chloe to call me right away. All right? Is Bill around?”

  “Bill was working on one of the dive boats. Do you need him? If you want to hold, I can get him for you first.”

  “No, no, listen, Maria. I’m worried. I think people might still be in danger. The sheriff’s department is sending people out. Ask them to wait until I get there, okay? And do exactly what I’ve asked you, please. It’s very important.”

  “You’re scaring me,” Maria said.

  “You don’t need to be scared. Just do as I asked you.”

  He hung up and kept driving.

  No one called him.

  He wound up behind a delivery truck that poked along and looked as if it would incinerate if anything so much as tapped it.

  He stared at his phone, willing it to ring. Seconds seemed to last forever. He wanted to call Stuckey. He didn’t dare.

  Nikki Black hawk was Mama Thornton’s friend, and she had Mama doing her best, he was certain. But that wasn’t good enough. He dialed Joe.

  “Hey, how’re you?” Joe asked cheerfully. “Nikki has been hounding us all to death, you know. And to think— I introduced you.”

  “Joe, time is ticking.”

  “I know. I saw the news.”

  “So, any luck finding what we need at Mama’s place?”

  “I’m there now, going through receipts with her staff. We’re doing our best, Luke. Honest to God.”

  “Thank you, Joe.”

  “You bet. Be patient.”

  Patient? Fat chance.

  He called Coco-lime again.

  The phone rang.

  And rang.

  Someone was trying to wake her up. She felt someone tenderly stroking the side of her head. But when she looked, no one was there.

  She became gradually aware of the slap of the water against the boat and the staggering pain in her head. But at least her instincts had been right about Mark. He was innocent. He had been trying to warn her, even though she still didn’t understand what he’d been trying to say.

  Mark was lying just inches away from her. They’d been tossed on the bottom of the dive boat as if they were fish that had been reeled in.

  Then she realized who’d been trying to wake her up. Colleen Rodriguez was there, looking extremely agitated. She was so easy to see now, as if she were made of mist, her eyes…haunted and in agony. She looked at Chloe, and Chloe could hear her again.

  I’m so sorry! I wanted you to help Mark. I didn’t know, I didn’t see…

  Chloe’s heart sank as she realized that Victoria was just a few feet away, as well. Her alabaster forehead was marred by a streak of blood. Chloe’s heart began to thunder as she feared that her delicately built friend might already be dead.

  And if she wasn’t? Maybe it would be more merciful if she was….

  No. While there was life, there was hope.

  She tried to twist around, to see who was manning the boat. It was Mark’s boat, she realized, but she couldn’t tell who was at the wheel.

  She tried to shift position so she could see what was going on, but when she couldn’t move she realized that her wrists and ankles were tied by white nylon bands, the kind used to secure diving tanks. She blinked and tried to focus. Mark and Victoria were neatly bound as well, their wrists and ankles secured like hers.

  Feet. She saw feet. And legs. But she had no idea whose feet she was seeing.

  She got a glimpse of scenery and realized they were approaching Coco-belle, cruising around to the tangle of mangrove roots and vines just past the manicured patios of the hotel. She had spent dozens of hours there, laughing with friends, sharing drinks and secrets.

  Suddenly she knew.

  This was where Colleen Rodriguez had died. How easy. The hotel and the manicured lawns led straight to the mangroves. Maybe there were old pilings below the surface. Not that it really mattered what was down there. There was something below, hidden by seaweed…something tha
t could hold a body down.

  She would soon discover what.

  The motor stopped, leaving only the slap of the water against the hull.

  Then the killer turned.

  Colleen tried to stop him, tried to keep him from touching Chloe, and he frowned, as if he felt something, but Colleen was only mist. She couldn’t stop him.

  Then he hunkered down next to her and smoothed back her hair, as he had so many times before.

  Brad. Brad Angsley. The friend she had turned to for safety, time and time again.

  “Oh, Chloe. I wish there were more time,” he said. “I’d really like to explain it all to you. You would understand.”

  Her mouth was like cotton, but she tried to speak. She needed to buy time.

  There couldn’t possibly be enough time. No one knew where they were, and no one was close enough to help them even if they knew where to go. Still, she had to try.

  “I would love to understand,” she managed to say, her voice thick.

  What fools they’d been, spending so much time worrying about Rene Gonzalez because she’d been Colleen’s friend. But Colleen, like so many others, had died only because she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, a convenient victim to satisfy his need to kill.

  Colleen had never been the target.

  “This is all for the glory of God,” he said, his voice ringing with passion. “I am the instrument of God. I must…I must keep my talents honed, and so I release those who are laden with sin. That’s what it is, you know. Death. It’s a release. I am his machine, and I must keep myself fit, so…I practice my craft. But I’m careful, choosing only those who need to die before they’re eaten alive by sin. Please, Chloe. You have to understand.” He rose.

  Colleen jumped up as well, panicked, looking from the killer to his three victims, but she could do nothing. She was a ghost. Vapor. Insubstantial.

  Panic filled Chloe. The three of them were trussed like hogs for slaughter. He was going to kill them, then dispose of their bodies in the water, where they would decompose quickly, where evidence would be lost.

  “Wait!” she cried. “I’m just beginning to grasp—”