Blood?
Urine?
Lozza looked up and panned her beam along the roof rafter where the ropes had been tied. A sense of horror seeped into her. She entered the room slowly and the air stirred around her, lifting spiderwebs that wafted in the currents her movements created. Heat rose and the stench increased. She aimed her beam into the corner. Her pulse quickened. A pile of excrement.
Human?
She moved closer. Near the pile of feces lay a tangled pair of men’s cargo pants and once-white boxers. The pants were blood-soaked. The boxers appeared soiled with human excrement, and the stink was stifling. She moved her light back to the chair and froze as something near the far wall caught her eye.
Lozza inched toward it. Floorboards creaked beneath her boots. A gecko scurried, and something cried outside. She crouched down, her arm still covering her mouth and nose.
The missing fingers from the floater’s right hand. Three.
Beside the severed digits lay a pair of secateurs, pruning clippers. On the handle of the clippers was the name of the Cresswell-Smiths’ boat. Abracadabra.
Lozza came slowly to her feet. She began to back away, not wanting to disturb the scene any further. The heel of her boot kicked something that spun and clattered across the wooden floor. She swung her beam in the direction of the sound. A knife. Fishing knife. Bloodied. And behind the knife, more clothing.
Lozza walked slowly over the creaking floorboards, trepidation filling her throat. She crouched down beside the pile and shone her beam on it. A royal-blue windbreaker and a pale-blue Nike baseball cap. Bloodied. The label inside the jacket was legible.
CANADIAN OUTFITTERS
The jacket came from Canada.
She thought of Ellie and her soft Canadian accent, her big gentle eyes.
“I hope you don’t find him. And if you do, I hope he’s dead and that he suffered.”
She thought of all the witnesses who’d seen Martin and Ellie heading out in their boat, Ellie dressed in her royal-blue windbreaker and pale-blue cap, her long dark ponytail blowing in wind that had been too strong to offer a good day of fishing. Ellie returning home.
With a gloved hand Lozza picked up the cap and examined it more closely under the beam of her flashlight. A few long dark hairs—almost black—were caught in the Velcro of the adjustable strap at the back.
Thunder cracked. Lozza stiffened, glanced up. Lightning pulsed outside the broken windows, turning everything inside this room of horrors into a stark image of black against white. She felt sick.
Carefully she replaced the Nike ball cap as she’d found it. Lozza pushed to her feet and backed out of the room along the same path by which she’d entered.
THEN
ELLIE
Just over two years ago, January 9. Vancouver, BC.
I rushed toward the elevators, rounded a corner, and saw Martin step into an elevator. The woman was walking away. Insane relief gushed through me—the idea that he might have been heading off with that attractive businesswoman from the Mallard Lounge had galvanized me. I couldn’t wait for life any longer. I needed to grab hold of all the things with both fists and squeeze the glorious juice from them before someone else snatched them away.
The elevator doors started to slide closed.
“Wait!” I rushed forward.
He saw me. Shock registered on his face. He slapped his hand on the elevator door, stopping it from closing. His gaze locked on mine.
“Ellie?”
I breathed fast, both thrilled and terrified. My heart thumped with adrenaline. I saw he was alone in the elevator car.
“What is it, Ellie?”
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the brunette stop and glance back. A moment of doubt quivered through me. But the woman turned and disappeared around the corner.
I stepped into the elevator and placed my hand against the side of his face. His eyes turned dark. Desire changed the shape of his face.
“Ellie?” he whispered.
I leaned up and brushed my lips against his. The doors slid closed. His breathing quickened. He grabbed the back of my neck, his fingers thrusting into my hair at the nape, and he pulled me close. He pressed his mouth against mine. With his other hand he hit a button for a top floor. I reached for his belt and began unbuckling it.
He ran a hand up the side of my thigh, then up under my sweater dress. The elevator car began to rise, smooth, gliding to the top.
His body was solid, his thighs big. He inserted his knee between my legs. His lips forced open my mouth and his tongue tangled with mine. He tasted of port. He cupped my bottom and yanked my pelvis up against his. I felt his erection against my groin. My vision turned black and scarlet as he moved his hand into my pantyhose and cupped my crotch. I sagged into his touch, melted into it. A small groan rose in his throat as he pushed a finger up inside me. My brain swirled into a dizzying kaleidoscope of pleasure. He thrust up harder, deeper, kissing me more forcibly. I lost myself in the glorious, blinding sensation, feeling like I was going to explode as pressure built inside me.
Frantically, I undid his pants.
He moved fast.
Our sex was animalistic. Primal.
I gasped as he thrust up into me, and I braced a hand against the mirrored elevator walls. I gasped and shattered as he released inside me. I couldn’t breathe. I felt blinded. I struggled to focus.
The elevator bell pinged.
I blinked. We’d reached the thirty-second floor. The doors started to open.
He hurriedly extracted himself. As the doors opened wide I pulled down my skirt. My hands shook. He watched my eyes as he did up his pants. Intense. Like a wolf. Sex with Martin was like being eaten by a wolf.
No one waited outside the car. Thank heavens. Martin
