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.
“Goddamn, man,” Stephen said, lowering the weapon. “I almost shot you.”
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 Destiny.”
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 Captain Trips. Ben followed eagerly, relieved to be in the company of a petty criminal.
As it turned out, there was no need to resort to extreme measures. JT had left the keys on the dash. “Thank you, Jesus,” Stephen said, kissing the key ring and fumbling for the proper key to fit the ignition. Before the operator responded to Ben’s emergency call, Captain Trips was out cruising.
It took almost ten minutes of stammered explanations and department transfers for Ben to get though to Special Agent in Charge Leland Grant.
“The Coast Guard is on its way,” Grant promised. “I’m working on air support. You have to back off now. I don’t want him to know he’s being followed.”
Up ahead of them, Destiny chugged along, tiny in the distance, the length between the two boats seemingly insurmountable.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Ben complained, ignoring Grant.
“I’m doing my best,” Stephen replied.
“Turn around now,” Grant repeated. “Let us do our job.”
“He wants us to back off,” Ben said to Stephen.
“Fuck that,” was the kid’s succinct answer.
Ben nodded. His sentiments exactly.
“This is a midshipman’s knot,” James whispered in her ear. “Looks tight, but if I give it three good tugs, you’ll be free.”
Carly was careful not to nod or make any verbal reply. JT’s hands were busy with Summer, but his eyes were on her. James was only able to get a few words in by hiding his mouth behind her hair as he bound her wrists.
“I love you,” he added before he stood.
Tears filled her eyes.
JT strung Summer up like fresh catch, securing the chain between her handcuffs to a hook on the mast. With her arms extended over her head, she was stretched taut, barely able to touch the deck with her tiptoes.
It looked painful. Carly would have hung her head and cried, but Summer stayed quiet, her breathing steady, almost meditative, her eyes flashing dull blue fire.
There was something different about her, something a little scary. Carly was both afraid to analyze the change and glad for it. Having another helpless, hysterical female on board wouldn’t have done them any good.
Carly couldn’t believe JT had killed her mom. She wanted to throw herself at him, to slap him and hit him and claw at his face. But her arms were pulled behind her back, rendering her motionless. Useless.
JT kept his gun against James’ ear while he navigated Destiny through the fog. Carly felt like a trapped bird, her heart hammering in her chest, her pulse fluttering against the coarse rope at her wrists. Her frantic mind searched for a possible escape route, but she couldn’t find any way out. She could only see flashes of her mother, images from the past mixed with the reality of the present, Summer’s stoic endurance and James’ inscrutable face.
They hadn’t gone far when JT asked James to cut the engine-and the lights. When James complied, JT moved the gun away from his head. For a long, restless moment, Destiny floated on dark, calm waters. The glow from the dash illuminated his face from below, casting jagged shadows above his brows and making him appear twice as sinister.