Under Pressure

by Kathy Brandt

  “Why would you get involved? You’re successful enough.”

  “I could never say no to Zora,” he said, running his tongue over his bruised lip. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out how that had happened.

  “Besides, all the big stars have their own places—night clubs in Vegas, bars in Hollywood,” he said. “I’m just keeping up my image.”

  “Does Sammy know what you’re up to?”

  “No. Sammy doesn’t even know Zora exists. We’ve managed to keep the relationship a secret, even out of the tabloids. Amazing, huh? We meet at her office, at her condo. It’s the one thing that Poltolski insists on, his lawyer staying out of the news, and he makes sure of it.

  “Sammy’s the last one I wanted to know about her or this deal. As conniving as Sammy can be, he’s got this standard he lives by. He’d never get involved in anything illegal. Man, he almost dropped me when that whore I was with accused me of hurting her and threatened to go to the police. I convinced him she was lying and then I paid her off big time.”

  “What did Zora think of your being caught with a prostitute?”

  “Hannah, you are naïve. Zora was with me. In fact, she’s the one who got too rough. She was having a little fun with handcuffs and a knife.”

  “Are you the one who left all the papers piled on Kiersted’s chart table yesterday?”

  “Yes. I wanted to make sure he’d left nothing on his boat that would implicate us. I thought leaving that article out was a nice touch. I had just begun searching the Sea Bird for the camera when you showed up. I couldn’t believe Simon took that camera to school. It was like we were always about a half a step behind him. Jeezus, that camera should have been ruined in the crash. Why the hell didn’t that kid take the thing out of the waterproof case? Kids.”

  We were well out in the channel by now. In the distance, I could see the Mystic.

  “Head over to her,” Stewart said. I managed to turn the boat upwind as Stewart pushed the throttle all the way down. At top speed, the Sea Bird wouldn’t go above eight knots. In this wind, I was fighting to keep the boat at four knots and on course. The Mystic slowed to wait for us. I knew that once we reached her, my opportunity for escape would diminish exponentially. If Simon had not been tied up below, I’d have been over the side long before Stewart had handed me that damned duct tape.

  When we got closer, I recognized Zora standing at the rail. It was almost dark. Sheets of wind-driven spray blasted across the Sea Bird as we followed the Mystic across the channel and headed into Salt Pond Bay at Salt Island. I saw one of the crew, the woman with the ponytail, scurry up to the bow and open the hatch that held the windlass. Seconds later, the anchor chain rattled across the bow and the anchor splashed into the water a hundred feet off shore. Then the engines shut down.

  “Head us over there, Hannah, and don’t do anything stupid or Simon suffers,” Stewart said, shifting the Sea Bird into neutral. I swung her toward the Mystic and eased her alongside.

  I knew the anchorage well. It was a little harbor, deserted now. The tiny settlement on shore looked dark and abandoned. Normally a handful of islanders lived in the cottages on the strip of land between the harbor and the salt pond, where they harvested the salt. But no one would be stupid enough to stay out here with a category four hurricane moving through.

  Burke was standing at the rail. He lashed lines around the cleats on the Sea Bird and Zora jumped on board.

  “This is no place to be with a hurricane bearing down,” I warned. I knew that the holding here was bad—a grassy bottom and wind that would funnel down into the anchorage. In the best of conditions the winds were too fickle and the surge too intense to anchor in the harbor for long.

  “Nice of you to worry, but we’ll be out of here long before that storm hits,” Zora said.

  “You can’t outrun a hurricane,” I said. I could feel it coming.

  “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” Burke said. “It’s just a couple of miles over to Hurricane Hole on Saint John. In this boat we can be there, cozied up in the mangroves, in a half hour. Got a spot all picked out. Not much better protection around. Once that storm passes, we’ll be on our way to the Bahamas.”

  “You know, it’s especially gratifying to see you tied to that wheel,” Zora said. “Maybe we should have a little fun, Daniel.”

  I hadn’t seen the knife until she moved in close and smiled, a warped, seductive smile. She ran the blade down my neck, paused for a second, sliced down the raincoat, through the buttons on my shirt, tipping it open with the point. Then she moved the knife to her mouth, ran her tongue along the steel, placed the tip between my breasts and ever so slowly glided it down to my navel, leaving a thin strip of blood. The pain was nothing compared to the anger. All I could do was struggle uselessly against the bonds that held me to the wheel.

  She held the knife pressed against my stomach for what seemed like an eternity. I waited for the thrust. It’s funny what you notice at times like this. I found myself staring at Zora’s purple running shoes while I anticipated the cold steel that would nick a rib on its way to my heart.

  In one swift move, she ran the knife down my arm and slashed through the tape.

  “Get her aboard the Mystic,” she said, turning to Burke.

  Stewart was already pulling Simon aboard. The kid turned and gave me this look like I was going to be able to do something about this. Then he saw the blood that stained the water-soaked shirt I’d pulled back over my chest.

  Chapter 33

  Simon and I were sitting in the salon of the Mystic, each of us tied to a chair. It was pitch-black now. The wind howled and the boat shuddered against each violent gust.

  Simon and I had been talking nonstop. I’d been trying to keep him calm. He told me about his mother, how he remembered her reading to him at night and taking him to the park. I told him about my family and about O’Brien. Then I started telling him stories, some of the same ones O’Brien had told me about the sea.

  Finally, Simon got around to asking about Stewart.

  “How could he be so mean, Hannah? I thought he was the Avenger and the paper said he was a hero rescuing that lady from the plane.”

  “Some people get lost along the way, Simon. They get confused about what’s right.”

  “How do you keep from getting lost, Hannah?” he asked.

  “You have people who care about you and show you the way,” I said, then immediately regretted it.

  “Don’t worry, Simon,” I said. “I won’t let you get lost.”

  All the while we’d been talking, I’d heard muffled voices up top. There had been an argument with the female crewmember. She’d said she had not signed on for anything like what was happening on the Mystic. She wanted out. They’d obliged her. I’d heard a gun shot, then something hit the deck and tumbled into the water.

  “Just the boats bumping against each other,” I said to Simon, but the kid was not stupid. He knew the score.

  “Don’t worry, Hannah. I know you won’t let them hurt me,” he said, his voice small in the chaos of waves and wind smashing against the hull and foaming over the windows. I hoped I’d be able to live up to his expectations—live at all, actually.

  I could hear someone on the Sea Bird, slamming a sledgehammer into her hull.

  “You’ve got to make it look like it went down in the storm.” It was Zora yelling at Burke and Stewart.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Stewart said, breathless.

  Then I heard another loud bang and the hull cracking under the blow.

  “That’s got it,” Burke hollered. “She’s filling with water.”

  I heard them scrambling back onto the Mystic and the sound of water rushing through the Sea Bird. Then it was quiet. The Sea Bird, along with everything I owned, was sinking to the bottom.

  Finally, Zora and Stewart came down, followed by Burke.

  “Too bad about your boat,” Zora said. “Guess you shouldn’t have been out here with that storm
bearing down. Sooner or later someone will find what’s left of it, and then maybe they’ll discover your bodies washed up on shore.”

  “No one will ever buy that,” I said, knowing damn well it was the perfect ploy. It would look like I’d had problems getting the boat over to Road Town and into the shelter of the lagoon and had been swept into the rocks at Salt Island.

  “We’ve got just enough time to have a little fun,” Zora said, leering at me. “It will be the best sex Daniel and I ever had. We’ve never gotten to take the violence to the level we will with you. You’ll be dying to the sounds of our climax.”

  “Zora,” Burke warned, “we don’t have that kind of time.”

  “It won’t take long,” Stewart said. He had the knife now and was holding it against my chest. He leaned over and ran his tongue down my cheek and across my lips, then bit down hard. All I could do was struggle uselessly against the bonds that held me to the chair.

  “No point in fighting it, Hannah,” he said, licking my blood from his lips. “Although that does make it more enjoyable.”

  I could see the look of shock in Simon’s eyes. Jeezus, he didn’t need to see this.

  “What about the boy?” Burke asked, clearly uncomfortable with what was happening in front of the kid.

  “Take him up top and wait for us,” Zora commanded. “As long as he’s alive, Sampson will cooperate. I know her type. She’ll believe until the very end that there’s something she can do to save him. Won’t you, Hannah?” She was taunting me, hoping I’d give her an excuse to strike.

  I didn’t give her the satisfaction, but she was right. I was waiting for the first opening. She was cocky enough to think I’d fail. I admit it, things weren’t looking too good. But I was not going to let Simon die.

  Burke untied the kid and pulled him kicking and screaming all the way out of the salon.

  Once they disappeared up top, Stewart moved back in. Zora was right behind him, a look of hunger in her eyes. She grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, exposing my throat. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I tried to hide my fear, but my breath was coming in short rasping gasps.

  “Good, Hannah,” she said, her face just inches from mine. “I like the fear. I can see it in your eyes. You’re like a trapped animal. This will be fun. Get her out of that chair, Daniel.”

  Stewart cut me loose with one quick swipe while Zora pointed the gun at my head. He pulled me out of the chair and shoved me into the master suite and onto the bed face-first, my hands still tied behind my back.

  “Turn her over, darlin’,” Zora said, moving around to the other side of the bed. Stewart was kneeling next to me. When he pulled me onto my back, I caught sight of the leather straps attached to the bedposts. This had to be the epitome of their fantasy—the bondage scene—woman bound, helpless victim ripe for abuse. Once they had the straps tightened around my wrists, it would be all over. But, they were going to have to untie my hands. This was my one chance. I would either die now or I would get out. I was not about to be the sacrifice for their perverted needs. It was just not going to happen. My mind was racing, my body tensed, waiting for the opening.

  Stewart still had the knife and was taking his time, relishing every moment. He’d climbed on top of me and was sitting on my hips, teasing, running the knife around my breast, over my collar bone, and across my throat. As Zora watched, mesmerized, he slid the blade under the shirt again, baring my chest and the thin wound that seeped red. Then he circled the knife around my belly. Finally, he reached behind my back and sliced though the tape that held my hands, and clutched my wrists in an iron grip. Zora put the gun on the bedside table and moved in next to me on the bed. She grabbed one of my arms and was working it toward a leather strap as Stewart bent over and took my breast into his mouth, the hand with the knife dropping to my side.

  I moaned in the best imitation of ecstasy I could muster and pushed my hips into his groin while twisting out of Zora’s grip. Stewart was too aroused to react and Zora wasn’t fast enough. I had the knife before either one of them knew what was happening. I caught Stewart with a slash across his chest, and followed through, catching Zora across her cheek. The next one sliced across Stewart’s neck. He grabbed his throat, stunned, blood gushing from between his fingers. Then he fell, his weight pinning me on the bed. I could hear Zora screaming and I knew she would be going for the gun.

  I wrapped my arms around Stewart and rolled with him off the far side of the bed in a tangle of bloody covers.

  “You bitch! You killed Daniel!” she shrieked. I kept moving, rolling away from the mass of blankets and Stewart’s body.

  I was crouched and opening the door when Zora started firing. I felt a stinging blow in my side, then more bullets crashing into the door as I slammed it closed and tipped the bronze statue against it. It wouldn’t hold her for long.

  I scrambled up the stairs, ignoring the blood that splattered on the steps. The only thing that mattered now was getting to Simon. I knew the bullet had gone all the way through, tearing flesh, but I’d live.

  When I stepped up on deck, I was struck by a blast of wind. The storm was moving in fast. A deck chair let loose, narrowly missing me before it flew over the side. A sudden bolt of lightning lit up a sky of contorted ink-stained clouds. On shore, I heard the sharp crack of a tree snapping like a dried bone.

  I was about to climb up to the wheelhouse when Burke came out. No doubt he’d heard the blast of gunfire above the roar of the wind. He had hold of Simon's collar and was pushing him ahead of him.

  “I’ll break his neck if you come any closer,” he said, wrapping his arm around Simon’s throat. I knew he’d do it.

  “Put the knife down,” he said, tightening his grip on the kid.

  Down below, I could hear Zora trying to shoot her way out of the bedroom. It would be only a matter of minutes before she succeeded.

  About then Simon gave a nod toward Burke’s feet. Burke was shoeless. I knew what the kid had in mind. I stooped down to lay the knife on the deck and stepped toward the rail as Simon made his move, slamming his shoe down hard on Burke’s arch. The kid was light, but the surprise as much as the pain threw Burke off. Before he could recover, I had Simon in my arms and we were over the side and falling into the raging sea.

  We’d barely hit the water when the shooting started and a slurry of bullets peppered the water around us. I dove down, Simon in my arms, kicking hard, ignoring the pain in my side, the cramping in my calves, the water surging against us. I kept swimming, moving farther and farther from the zing of the bullets that still ripped through the water. I swam until I could no longer hold my breath or lift my arm to take another stroke.

  Finally, I surfaced, gasping for air, Simon sputtering and coughing up seawater beside me. We were out of range now, and I could see the white sandy strip of shore less than thirty feet away. I turned on my back, held Simon in my arms and kicked, mindless now except for the focus on moving my legs. Finally my ass scraped bottom. Simon helped me struggle to my feet and up onto the beach, where I dropped into the sand and lay, spent, as the storm raged around us.

  “Come on, Hannah. We’ve got to keep going,” Simon yelled, pulling me up as another muffled shot sounded through the riot of wind.

  We were staggering across the sand when I heard the speedboat engines roar to life. I took Simon’s hand and we ran toward the settlement, pushing against the needles of rain and sand that exploded into our faces. I heard the speedboat crash up onto the shore, then spotted Zora struggling onto the beach.

  We darted into the nearest cottage. It was one room with a cement floor. I knew I’d lost a lot of blood. I sat on the floor and pulled my shirt away from the wound—very messy. Simon found an old piece of clothing balled up in a corner, knelt down next to me, and tied it around my waist tight enough to stem the bleeding.

  “What are we going to do, Hannah?” Simon asked, trembling with the cold and the fear.

  “We’ll be okay, Simon,” I said, get
ting to my feet. I stumbled around in the dark, feeling my way over countertops, pulling drawers open, looking for anything I might use against her. The most lethal weapon I found was a soup ladle. I ran my hand along the wall and worked my way around the room, tripping over bags of what I presumed was salt. Finally my fingers found the handle of a rake. Christ, at least it was something.

  I could hear Zora out in the storm yelling. “You killed Daniel, Hannah,” she screamed. “I’m going to kill you and the boy. You can’t hide from me, Hannah. You’ll watch the boy die first.”

  I peered through a window, trying to see through the wind and the blowing sand. The rain was coming down in horizontal sheets now.

  I caught a glimpse of her as lightning shot through the dark. She was running between the cottages. Her eyes were crazed, her hair a wild mane that looked like tangled snakes.

  She had the gun in one hand and the knife I’d left on the deck of the Mystic in the other. She disappeared around the corner of a building, then I heard her inside and the sound of glass shattering.

  I tightened my grip on the rake and stepped back into the shadows of the cottage.

  “Simon, get out of here now. Go straight past the salt pond and keep running to the other side of the island. There’s a bluff there. You can climb down into the rocks. It will be protected.”

  I knew that these cottages offered no refuge, either from Zora or from the hurricane-force winds that would soon be turning them into a pile of rubble. Anyone inside would be pummeled by debris or swept away in the water that would rush over the sandy spit. With the wind blasting in from the southwest, the rocks below the butte would be the only protected spot on this godforsaken island.

  “I don’t want to leave you, Hannah,” he cried. “Come on, Hannah, come with me!” He had a hold of my hand and was pulling with all his strength.

  “Simon, I can’t go,” I said.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  Why not? I asked myself. Because I felt compelled to face this seething woman who had two weapons, no concern for her own life, and was raving out there in a hurricane? And I was going to go out there after her, bleeding with a damn rake? To protect Simon? Get real, Sampson. I knew what this was about. Sure, it was the cop mentality, but I also wanted revenge, and I was willing to risk Simon to get it. Christ, Zora was going to die out there with or without my help.