Grace stared in disbelief. “You… killed Edward?”
“I thought that with him out of the way, I’d have a chance. But he still had you, even dead.” Lindstrom waved it off, as if it were really nothing to him now. “The point is that when it became clear to me that you would never love me, it also became clear that someday you’d leave me. Now, that was a thing I couldn’t abide. For many reasons.”
“You… planned all this?”
“Meticulously, Grace.”
“How’d you know Wes?” John LePere asked.
“He told you a story once, I believe, about a covert operation he was involved in as a SEAL that sank a Libyan tanker. That was my operation. Wes impressed me as a man with many skills and few scruples. I tracked him down when I decided to get rid of Edward.”
Cork coughed and groaned. Jo longed to hold him, to give him some comfort, to ease his pain. She glanced at Stevie and saw that his eyes were glazed. He stared at her as if he didn’t see her at all, as if he saw nothing anymore. She understood. How could so brief a life, so protected an existence, comprehend such horror as he’d been through?
Bridger opened the door and stepped in dripping rain. “All set. Here’s the remote detonator.” He handed the device to Lindstrom.
“We’re going for a boat ride,” Karl Lindstrom said to Jo and the others. “I’ll tell you up-front that you won’t be coming back. Now, I can kill you right here, or you can walk to the boats and have a few more precious minutes of life. I’d prefer not to have to carry you down to the dock, but the choice is yours.” He glanced at his watch. “You’d better decide fast. I have to get back to Grace Cove before I’m missed.”
He waited. LePere finally stood up. So did Grace and Scott. Stevie, who’d never sat down, stood blank-faced and rigid.
“You have to get up, Cork,” Jo whispered desperately. “Please get up.”
Cork slowly worked his way to his hands and knees, then pulled himself up by holding on to one of the tables. He stood, wavering, leaning heavily against Jo.
Karl Lindstrom said, “Give him a hand, Wes.”
“He’s all bloody.”
“So buy yourself a new shirt tomorrow. You’ll be able to afford it.”
“Why don’t you help him?”
“Somebody’s got to hold the gun.”
“Shit.” Bridger worked his shoulder under Cork’s arm and walked him to the door.
“Let’s go,” Lindstrom said, and he followed behind them.
They stumbled into the storm, walking a muddy path to the dock. Even with her arms bound behind her back, Jo managed to grab hold of the front of Stevie’s shirt, and she pulled him along behind her. He followed like a zombie. Bridger had tied the stolen motor launch to the stern of the Anne Marie with a tow line. They all climbed aboard LePere’s boat. Bridger hauled Cork over the gunwale and let him drop in the cockpit.
“That’s as far as I take him,” Bridger declared.
Lindstrom herded the others out of the rain into the deckhouse of the Anne Marie, but he left Cork where he’d fallen. “Just get him out of the way so we don’t trip over him,” he instructed Bridger.
Looking back, Jo saw Wesley Bridger roll Cork against the side of the cockpit, where he lay like a dead fish waiting to be gutted.
Lindstrom directed them to the other end of the deckhouse where a companionway to the left of the helm station led below. At the bottom of the short flight of steps, they entered the small, forward cabin that had a V berth shaped to the bow. Lindstrom shoved LePere to the floor. Jo and the others crammed themselves onto the berth. Bridger stepped down and joined his cohort.
“I’ll take her out. You keep them out of mischief,” Lindstrom said. He headed up to the wheel inside the deckhouse. Bridger closed the cabin door and stayed with the others belowdeck.
The Anne Marie pulled away from the dock. On the relatively calm water of Purgatory Cove, the boat rocked gently. As soon as Karl Lindstrom headed it out beyond the protection of the rocks, the bow began to buck wildly. Stevie sat beside Jo, stiff as a plastic doll. Grace and Scott were in the bunk on the other side of the V berth. LePere sat on the floor with his back against a door marked storage.
Bridger braced himself against the pitching of the boat and grinned at them. “Feels worse than it is. The waves are only three or four feet. Nothing, really. Relax and enjoy the ride.”
“Where are you taking us?” Grace asked.
“Not far. A mile or so out, just beyond where the lake bottom drops away. We want you deep.”
Jo thought about the remote detonator Bridger had handed to Lindstrom. She considered the motor launch in tow, and she understood. They meant to sink the Anne Marie and use the launch to return to Purgatory Cove.
Bridger seemed to discern her thought process. “We’re not going to blow you up,” he said. “We don’t want to attract attention with a big explosion and we don’t want any debris. No, I’ve rigged just enough of a charge to scuttle her. I figure it’ll take fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. Then you and the boat and all the evidence will be gone. But you won’t have to worry about that, because you’ll already be dead.”
Jo asked, “How much has he promised you?”
“What difference does it make to you? Thinking of trying a counter offer?” Bridger laughed.
“I was just thinking about something you said today.”
“Yeah? And what was that?”
“The only way for two people to keep a secret is if one of them is dead. Your exact words, I believe.”
“Lawyers,” Bridger scoffed.
“Think about it. What more does Karl need from you? You gave him your gun and he has the detonator. Right now, all you are to him is a loose end. One of two people who share a secret.”
“Shut up,” Bridger said. But Jo could tell he was thinking.
The boat pitched hard to port, and Stevie nearly fell off the bunk. Jo threw her leg across him and eased him back. He didn’t seem to be aware of it at all. He didn’t even seem to be blinking. A part of Jo thought maybe that was best. If they were going to die, she’d rather her son were somewhere else in his consciousness, somewhere he couldn’t see death coming.
“On the other hand,” Jo went on, once again addressing Bridger, “what’s he to you now but a loose end? You have two million dollars. How much more do you really need? The police will investigate him. They’ll start sifting and sorting and even though everything points another way, they’ll consider Karl Lindstrom seriously. The Fitzgerald fortune is such a magnificent motive. Has he really covered all his tracks? Think about it for a moment, Mr. Bridger. If they nail him and he wants to cut a deal, what does he have to offer them except you?”
She saw a look in his eyes, the kind she’d often seen in the jury box when she knew she’d put well into their minds the question of reasonable doubt. Bridger reached down and lifted his right pant leg. Strapped to his calf was a sheathed knife. He unsnapped the leather guard that secured the hilt.
“You all just sit tight,” he said. He winked at Jo. “Could’ve used you in the SEALs.” Once more he braced himself in the companionway and waited. When the motor cut out, he tensed.
Lindstrom pulled the cabin door open. He had the gun in his hand. He said to Bridger, “Topside, Wes. We need to confer.”
“Confer,” Bridger said. “Right.”
Lindstrom stepped back on deck and Bridger followed warily. The door closed. The waves thumped the side of the boat, and the hull creaked and groaned. Jo slid quickly from the bunk. “Move away from there,” she said to LePere.
He scooted from the storage compartment, and Jo tried desperately to open the door, hoping there would be something inside-a knife, anything-that might free them. Her taped hands were little help. She was still struggling when something slammed hard against the cabin door. A guttural cry of pain followed. Jo kept working at the latch as the sound of a fight in the deckhouse carried down to them. The crack of a pistol shot, followed almost immediately by another, brought the scuffle to an abrupt end.
They all stared at the cabin door.
When it opened, Karl Lindstrom stepped down. He looked drawn, and Jo saw a red stain on his right side above his belt line.
