Joe laughed and said, “Aye, Aye, wench. That just might be the angle this story needs.”
That night his station ran the story.
Three days later he had an even better story:
Libby Vail had gone missing.
Part One
NOW
Chapter 1
IT WAS ONE of those arguments you could see coming a mile away.
“Things are going great between us,” Rachel said.
I nodded, warily.
We were on the porch swing of The Seaside, a bed and breakfast in St. Alban’s Beach, Florida. It was early evening, and the light summer breeze from the ocean kept the mosquitoes at bay. We’d had dinner at Chez Vous, a pretentious little grease pit on Cane Street, and though I’d rate our meal somewhere between appalling and insulting, neither of us seemed worse for the fare.
“You love me,” Rachel said.
“I do.”
“And I’m fun, right?”
“Undeniably.”
“Just imagine how much fun we’d have if we lived together!”
I didn’t respond, didn’t so much as lift an eyelid.
“Kevin?”
“Mmm?”
“What do you think?”
It was one of those moments when you have to be honest or happy, and you can’t be both.
“Kevin?”
A train rumbled faintly in the distance. Rachel’s head was in my lap. She looked up at me, studying my face, as I rocked the swing with my feet.
“Kevin?”
Rachel knows my name is Donovan Creed, but she’d met me as Kevin Vaughn, and she’s comfortable calling me that, so I don’t make a big deal out of it.
“Know what I think?” I said.
“What’s that, honey?” she purred.
“I think things are perfect just the way they are.”
Her body stiffened a half-second before reacting—a useful bit of information to file in my brain, since my continued existence often comes down to knowing such details. Compared to most humans, a half-second is quick. In my line of work (I kill people) it’s a lifetime.
Literally.
So Rachel was painfully slow by my standards, a good thing, since her bi-polar personality dysfunction had become more pronounced each day of our vacation, occasionally leading to sudden violent outbursts. I love dating her, but my life could be in danger with a live-in relationship. As long as I remain conscious, she can't seriously harm me. But if we were to live together I’d eventually have to sleep, and all bets would be off.
“You’re a fucking bastard and I don’t want to see you, ever again!” Rachel shrieked.
She jumped off my lap and launched her hand toward my face. I could have easily avoided the slap, but it had been weeks since I’d sparred, and I missed the physical contact. She smacked me two, three times, grabbed her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and stomped off into the dusk.
Rachel had been slightly unstable even before she’d been locked in a Lucite container for two days and nights. I busted her out, what, two weeks ago? Since then we’d been on vacation, making our way down the Atlantic coast, hitting all the beaches of consequence, while her mental condition steadily deteriorated.
You may be wondering how I managed to catch a few hours of sleep while traveling with Rachel.
Simple: I drugged her.
So sure, I could move in and live with Rachel, bring my pills and knock her unconscious every night, but in the long run that’s no basis for maintaining a healthy relationship.
I closed my eyes and listened to her cuss a blue streak as she moved down the road. Her fury was almost poetic, as sudden and dangerous as a cyclone. She was heading north on A1A toward Amelia Island Plantation, the place where my associate, Callie Carpenter, and I killed a woman named Monica Childers five years ago.
Chapter 2
ANGRY OR NOT, Rachel was kick-ass sexy in that mouth-watering, leave- your-wife sort of way, with long brown hair; blonde highlights, and eyes the color of tupelo honey.
I let her get a half-mile down the road before starting after her. When we’d gone about a mile, I moved to within three feet and remained behind her, matching her pace, giving her space in case she wasn’t ready to talk. I shadowed her like that until I suddenly felt something that’s hard to describe. It was a type of serene presence, like a drug-induced high, but calming and blissful. One minute I’m normal, the next I’m practically euphoric, and then it passed.
