JT draped a T-shirt over her wrists, hiding the cuffs, and stuffed his gun in the pocket of his jacket. He led her down the causeway with the muzzle pressed against her spine, a chilly reminder that he meant business.
To the casual passerby, they were a cozy couple taking a quiet stroll.
As they approached Fisherman’s Wharf, she felt another surge of panic. At dusk, the docks were quiet, but when one last boat cruised into the harbor, she knew it was
JT had lied. Not only had Sonny allowed herself to be captured, she’d given him an opportunity to use her as leverage.
“Don’t start resisting now,” he clucked, reading her body language. “It will hardly do them any good.”
“Eat shit and die,” she returned in a bored tone, deliberately relaxing her shoulders. If there was any time to fight, it was at this very moment, before James and Carly got involved. Twisting her body toward him, she swung her cuffed hands up, catching him under the chin.
He staggered back a step, stunned.
Encouraged by the small victory, she struck again, aiming a roundhouse kick at JT’s right hand, the one holding the gun. With amazingly fast reflexes, he caught her ankle before her foot connected and jerked her off balance.
Having no way to break her fall, she landed hard on her back. Pain jolted down her spine and the wind rushed out of her lungs.
He looked around to make sure there were no witnesses, keeping the gun in his pocket pointed down at her. “Get up.”
She rolled to one side, gasping for air.
He kicked her in the ribs. Pain exploded upon impact, sharp and exquisite. She would have cried out if she could have drawn breath.
“Get up,” he repeated, pulling her by the arm.
She couldn’t walk and he couldn’t make her, so he dragged her useless body the last twenty feet, coming to a stop in front of
Sucking in a desperate lungful of air, finally, brought another bolt of agony.
Inside the cab of the boat, James was behind the wheel with Carly at his side, leaning her head on his shoulder and ruffling a hand through his hair. When she saw Sonny and JT, she let out a little yelp.
JT took the gun out of his pocket and placed it against Sonny’s temple. “I need to go to Mexico.”
James put his body in front of Carly’s.
JT ground the muzzle against Sonny’s head. “Cooperate, and no one will get hurt.”
James’ dark gaze moved from the gun to Sonny’s face. She tried to blank her expression, hiding the pain, but he saw the evidence in her labored breathing and bowed back. Obviously, someone had already been hurt. “Let Carly out and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
JT didn’t appreciate James’ attempt at negotiation any more than he had appreciated hers. He took the gun away from her temple, preparing to point it at James.
In a last-ditch effort to save them, and herself, Sonny drove her elbow into JT’s midsection. It was a direct hit, and although she had the element of surprise on her side, he retaliated faster than she could follow up. With little more than an annoyed grunt, he backhanded her, sending her sprawling across the deck.
Her head rocked back against the planks so hard she saw dark flashes.
“As I was saying,” JT continued, rubbing his belly with his free hand and holding the gun on James with the other. “Cooperate. Keep your mouths shut. And take me to Mexico.”
Sonny squeezed her eyes closed, reeling from the blow.
“Carly doesn’t need to be here,” James insisted.
“Oh, but she does,” JT countered. “I think she needs to be here most of all.”
“Why?” James asked, fear making his voice quake.
“Because she has to learn a lesson. One that is overdue, judging by your lovesick face and torn shirt. It seems she’s a slut, just like her mother.”
Sonny forced her eyes open. James had a jacket over his shirt, both of which were open down the front, exposing a strip of lean midsection. His face was flat, but his stance indicated a barely restrained fury.
“You…” Carly stuttered. Her skin was ashen and her eyes huge. James tightened his grip on her arm, as if afraid she might lunge forward. “You killed my mom.”
“Yes,” JT admitted, sounding bored. Seeing a length of rope at his feet, he kicked it toward James. “Tie her up,” he said, waving the gun in Carly’s general direction. “I don’t need another she-cat clawing at me.”
Having little choice in the matter, James picked up the rope, darting a glance at Sonny as he did so. From the ground, she looked back at him, her wrists cuffed and her head swirling with nausea, unable to offer him any type of assistance.
James knew the score as well as she did. The options were to die now or die later. Eyes downcast, he tied the rope around Carly’s wrists, choosing to die later.
When Ben flipped on the bedroom light, Stephen Matthews was standing there, pointing a gun at him. It made a clicking sound as he pulled the trigger.
Ben froze, anticipating the explosion. He’d always thought images from his entire life would flash before his eyes at the moment of his death.
Only one did. Carly’s face.
“God
Ben let out a slow breath. Apparently, the kid hadn’t meant to give him a heart attack. Or to attempt murder. “Where’s my daughter?”
Stephen frowned at the gun in his hand, probably wondering why it hadn’t gone off. “She’s on the boat with James,” he said, inspecting the weapon. At his feet, there was a black leather handbag and some miscellaneous female items.
Recognizing them, Ben’s heartbeat began to thunder in his ears. He’d come to talk to JT, figuring he’d been the scumbag sleeping with Sheila. His friend had absolutely no discretion when it came to women. Now, seeing Stephen Matthews here with Sonny’s purse-and her gun-it occurred to him that JT had been up to more than adultery.
Quite a bit more.
“You’d better call the cops,” Stephen said.
Ben already had his cell phone out.
“I think the guy who lives here killed my dad. Probably all those women, too. I just saw him take off with an FBI agent.”
“Was she all right?” Ben asked, dialing 911 with trembling fingers.
“I think so. He might have had a gun on her. I couldn’t see.”
She was alive. Thank God, she was still alive.
“Emergency services,” an operator answered. “Please hold.”
Ben took the phone away from his ear, staring down at it in dismay. “Fuck,” he yelled, his blood pressure skyrocketing. He turned his attention back to Stephen. “Where did they go?”
“Toward the wharf,” Stephen said. His blue eyes widened. “You don’t think he’d go after Carly and James, do you?”
They both scrambled outside, looking past the edge of Shelter Island to catch a glimpse of America’s Cup Harbor. While they stood there, Ben with the phone pressed to his ear, listening to elevator music, a lone boat moved away in the distance, heading south.
“Holy Christ,” Stephen exclaimed. “That’s
Not Carly, Ben’s mind screamed. Please, not Carly. He searched the marina frantically, looking for a security guard, a uniformed officer, a man with an operating boat they could hijack. Anything. Anyone. But the place was deserted.
A soft rock instrumental continued to flow from the receiver into his ear. “Fuck!” he yelled again, not knowing which direction to run for help.
“I can hotwire this son of a bitch,” Stephen decided, stepping back inside
