by Dana Mentink
He pushed in. The room was cold. He dared not turn on the light, instead using a penlight on his key chain to see. The contents of the room were boxed and labeled. Darius really was intending to leave soon. There was one box separate from the others and not yet taped shut. He reached for it and shone the light inside.
A photo of his sister’s face shone back at him, nearly startling him into dropping the flashlight. It was not one photo but many, obviously taken with a zoom lens when she was unaware. Pauline at work laughing with Harvey, unlocking her own front door, jogging near the marina. The last one made him stop short. Pauline on the remote beach where he feared she’d been killed, her rainbow scarf fluttering in the breeze, hair blown across her face.
It was a snapshot of his sister on the last day of her life.
“Figured you’d come back,” Darius said, shoving the stun gun against Brent’s neck and pressing the button.
* * *
Donna saw no sign of Brent until she caught sight of the open window and guessed he might be inside. She prayed he would find something that would put an end to the agonizing limbo and get out quickly.
She waited in the shadows of the bushes. One minute stretched to two, then five, and still there was no sign of him. A taxi pulled up in the marina and Fran got out, hugging herself as she walked along the path. She tried the back door and found it locked. She whacked her palm against the door until it opened.
“What are you making that racket for?” Darius growled. “I told you how things were. I got nothing more to say.”
“You’re not going to dump me like some bag of trash,” she said. “I’ve been with you since we were sixteen. We were going to get married.” Her voice took on a pleading note. “I love you.”
“Look, Frannie, you’re a good girl and it’s been great, but I’m leaving and I’m not coming back. You aren’t gonna be happy in Mexico, so it’s best we call it quits.”
Her back stiffened, arms straight at her sides. “You can’t leave me,” she rasped. “I know you used Kinsey’s car to kill Bruce Gallagher.”
Donna froze.
Darius took a step toward Fran and she flinched back. “You aren’t going to tell the cops, Frannie, because then you’ll be in trouble for staying quiet about it.”
“There’s something else I know...” She spoke so softly Donna almost didn’t catch it.
“You don’t know anything.” Darius’s face was monstrous in the meager light.
“What if I knew the truth about what you did to Pauline?”
“You won’t tell,” he said. “If you’re smart.”
She sucked in a breath, fighting tears. “Maybe I will.”
He raised a hand, his tone changing. “Aww, Frannie. You’ve been good to me when no one else was. Pauline didn’t mean anything to me.”
His voice hitched when he said Pauline’s name. Donna wondered if Fran heard it, also.
“I’ll get set up in Mexico, find us a place. Then I’ll send for you. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
Darius smiled. “That’s a good girl. I’ve gotta get packed up now before that cop comes back.”
Fran allowed him to press a kiss on her cheek before he closed the door again. She stood staring, motionless, until finally she hustled back to the waiting cab.
Darius might think he’d persuaded Fran, but the ferocity Donna glimpsed on her face as she passed by told the true story. Fran knew that he’d loved Pauline. And she also knew, or suspected, that he’d killed her.
Donna hoped Fran was on her way to the police station to tell everything she knew about Darius Fields. At the moment, she was more concerned with another matter. What had happened to Brent?
* * *
Brent still felt the agony of the electrical charge roaring through his body. When his senses returned, he found himself lying on his back on the floor, his hands secured with a plastic zip tie. Darius entered the room, smiling down at him.
“Think you’re so special with your coast guard credentials and your fancy boat. Not feeling so fancy now, are you?”
Brent tried to focus his blurry vision. “What did you do to my sister?”
“I killed her, stupid.”
Those words bored into his soul, nearly driving the breath from his body. “Why? What did she ever do to you?”
“She brushed me off, treated me like a nobody.”
“She didn’t. I know my sister. She never treated anyone like that in her whole life.”
Darius wasn’t listening. “So high and mighty. Too good to give me the time of day for anything but my little boat tours. Then I come to find out she hired Bruce Gallagher to investigate me for beating up Kinsey and torching his trailer. Little worm had it coming because he stole from me. Did she ever consider that? That I was the victim, not Kinsey? No, and the worm sees me on the beach with Pauline.” He grimaced, eyes rolling. “I just wanted to talk to her, to ask her to call off Gallagher, but she wouldn’t listen. Things got out of hand and Kinsey saw the whole thing.”
“So you killed him, too?”
“Had to sell my boat to pay off Mooch and his people. My boat,” Darius roared. “I got nothing now, thanks to Kinsey. Mooch was happy to take a little side job and get Kinsey out of the hospital so I could tow him out to sea and leave him to drown. Better than Kinsey deserved.”
Brent struggled to get to his feet, but Darius delivered a hard kick to the side of his head, sending him back to the floor.
“You’re not smart enough to get away,” Brent panted, blood trickling down his face.
“Oh, yeah? Maybe I will get caught on my way to the border,” Darius said with a laugh, “but you’ll already be dead by then, so you won’t be around to gloat. Let’s go, coast guard hero.”
* * *
Maybe I was wrong, Donna thought to herself. Maybe Brent had thought better of the idea and hadn’t gone into Darius’s office. Or it could be he’d been and gone. Donna was reaching in her jacket pocket for her phone when Darius came out again, hauling something behind him. In a moment of sick horror, she realized it was Brent, his hands tied, stumbling.
“Come on.” Darius shoved Brent. Brent stopped, aiming a kick at Darius that never reached its target. There was a crackle of electricity, a sizzle of light and Brent dropped to the ground, twitching.
Donna wanted to run to him. Instead, she clapped a hand over her mouth to contain the scream. Darius picked Brent up, tossed him over his shoulder and walked toward the parking lot.
Her mind whirled. She had to call the police, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off Darius and Brent. If they got out of her sight, he might be dead before the police arrived. Keeping to the shadows, she hurried after them so quickly that she skidded on a rock. The noise sounded loud in the darkness and Darius stopped.
Donna dived behind a trash can and waited, her heart thundering. When she dared to peek around the edge of the can, Darius was walking fast, nearly jogging to the parking lot. She stayed as close as she dared and saw him dump Brent in the back of his truck and head out of the lot, towing a small motorboat on a rig behind him.
Giving him a head start, she drove after him, praying she would not lose him. Hands numb with icy terror, she found her phone and pressed a button.
“Marco,” she pleaded, “please pick up.”
He answered on the second ring. “Where are you?”
“Following Darius. He’s heading for the bridge. Brent is unconscious and he’s taking him somewhere.” She told him what she’d overheard Fran say.
“Pull over. Stop following,” he barked. “Right now.”
“I can’t, Marco. Darius is going to kill him.”
“Donna, I mean it. Pull over right now.”
“I’m sorry, Marco,” she said.
* * *
>
Brent drifted in and out of consciousness, finally coming to at the feel of the waves slapping against the side of the motorboat.
Darius piloted the craft away from shore as Brent tried to get his bearings.
“The police know everything,” Brent said. “You’re wasting effort killing me.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s a wasted effort,” Darius called over the motor. “I’m going to enjoy killing you. And drowning.” He laughed. “Don’t you think that’s the perfect irony, to drown a coast guard hero? There are no boaters out where I’m taking you. No one to call in for help.”
Brent tried to figure out where exactly they were. He saw enough of the coastline to realize that Darius was going to dump him in the ocean near the caves at the foot of Coronado Bluff. It was a good choice, he thought ruefully, because the storm-tossed waves were going to drive him immediately into those caves and batter him to pieces on the rocks. He’d be dead within minutes.
Except that Brent had other plans.
When Darius slowed the boat, he kicked hard and took the legs out from underneath him. Darius went down only partially, grabbing again for his stun gun. One more shock and Brent would be out and powerless, so he took the only choice he had. He leaped overboard.
Darius tried to grab him, his eyes burning with fury. Then a smile wreathed his face. “Okay, hero. If that’s the way you want to play it, so be it. Don’t take too long to drown.” He yanked the boat around and raced away over the waves.
Brent felt the cold seep through his body. With his hands bound, he had to rely on his legs to keep him above the waterline. The shore was a half mile away, which would have been attainable if he could use his arms. Tugging against the binding, he realized there was no way he could loosen the plastic ties. He put his head down and kicked with all his might, but the waves continued to tow him, in spite of his efforts, toward the mouth of the cave. The current gained power.
He paused, gasping for breath, his body still aching from the stun gun attack.
Come on, Brent. Time for you to save yourself.
* * *
Donna screeched the truck to a halt at the top of the bluff, which looked down over the ocean. She saw Darius zooming away in the boat, but there was no sign of Brent.
Where are you?
Her body was taut with fear as she grabbed the tiny binoculars from her glove box. With only moonlight for help, she could see nothing.
Where? Could she have been wrong? Was Brent still in Darius’s boat? Should she follow as best she could from the road? Paralyzed with indecision, she peered once more through the binoculars. A tiny glimmer of color, the white of a face, shone against the gray waves.
Brent.
He was being carried toward the mouth of the cave. Even if Marco got the coast guard to deploy immediately, it would be too late for Brent. She fired a quick text to tell Marco of her location.
Frantically, she scanned her car for anything floatable. She saw Tracy’s life vest, left in her car from their last visit to the beach. It was child sized, but it was the only thing she had. Quickly, she dialed 911 on her phone. When the dispatcher answered, she yelled, “There’s a man drowning outside the caves at Coronado Bluff. I’m going in after him.”
“Ma’am,” the dispatcher said, “please do not...”
The words faded away as she tucked the life vest over her arm and crashed into the surf.
TWENTY-TWO
Brent knew he was on his way toward losing consciousness. His shivering had slowed and he was starting to feel drowsy. Come on, Brent, rescue swimmer training was harder than this.
He flipped on his back to rest for a minute, and the water continued to shove him toward the cave. The roar of the waves crashing inside reminded him what would happen to an incapacitated swimmer. He’d be tossed against those rock walls and it would be lights out.
Once more, he turned over and started kicking with all his strength. His brain told him it was fruitless effort; without his arms he was at the whim of the ocean. Because his brain wasn’t going to answer for his body, he pushed on, fighting through the numbing cold and sting of water. Inexorably, he was sucked toward the mouth of the cave.
Praying for a new reserve of strength, he kicked harder, his body sinking lower and lower until he began to swallow mouthfuls of salt water. Coughing, eyes stinging, he felt his reserves drain away. All around was nothing but an uncrossable expanse of ocean.
This was what it felt like, he realized, to those victims he’d plucked out of the water when all their hope of rescue had faded. What he wouldn’t have given to see an orange coast guard helicopter at that moment, a rescue swimmer rappelling down a cable. Oddly, he felt a surge of happiness knowing that he had been that comfort, that miracle, for dozens of victims. Not through his power and skill, but because God had allowed him to be there when he was needed the most. The honor of it tingled inside him, the privilege of being blessed by God to bless others.
He had not been granted the ability to help Carrie, but finally, as the water pushed him slowly under, he came to peace with it.
Another wall of water doused him, holding him under until his lungs burned. The cold was painful now, and he imagined he heard voices. A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him upright.
He gaped in shock as Donna stared back at him.
He blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating as she shoved a tiny life vest around his neck.
“How...?”
“I followed Darius. Help is coming.”
“Donna,” he said, spitting out a mouthful of water. “You’ve got to swim back.” He held up his hands. “I can’t get us to shore with my wrists tied.”
“I know,” she said. Her mane of hair was plastered around her. “I’m not strong enough, either, but we’re going to stay afloat until the coast guard arrives, I can promise you that.”
“No,” he started again, desperate to see her back to safety. “Go back to shore.”
“Listen, Brent,” she said, grabbing the edge of his life vest. “You’re not the rescuer here at this moment, so get used to it. We’re gonna do this together.”
He wanted to shove her toward the beach, to propel her back to safety against her stubborn protests, but he couldn’t. The cave was so close now he could feel the vibrations of the surf crashing against the rock. “Please,” he said. “You’ve got to get out of here.”
She shoved her sodden hair from her face. “I thought I told you that Gallagher women are stubborn stock.”
“Donna...”
She held two cold fingers to his lips. “Partners stick together until the case is closed.”
He shut his eyes. How long could they stay afloat? Would he witness her being sucked away, broken and battered against the rock walls? Another woman he loved taken by the ocean, and him helpless to do anything about it. He forced himself higher in the water. “We have to keep from being swept into that cave.”
He could tell she was tired, cold, her shoulders lower in the water. He gestured for her to turn her back to him, and then he looped his bound arms over her shoulders. “I can kick for us.”
She nodded, cleaving the waves with her hands as he propelled with his feet. They made several yards of progress until her strokes became weak and they were gradually sucked back again.
“Where is that chopper?” she moaned. “I thought you guys were fast.”
“They’ll be here. A few more minutes.” But nothing appeared as he scanned the predawn sky. It would take them time to deploy and to locate two swimmers in these choppy waters. It was time they didn’t have.
“Donna,” he said one more time. “I want you to go. You can still make it if you aren’t dragging me.”
She turned in his arms then, wrapping him in a ferocious embrace. “We’re going to ride this ou
t together because we’re partners, Brent Mitchell.” She pressed her cold mouth to his and kissed him. “Now keep kicking.”
With the feel of that kiss, strong and tender at the same time, he kicked on.
* * *
The minutes ticked by in slow motion. Donna tried to hang on to Brent, but her arms were so cold they went numb. Her finger muscles had deadened into useless lumps. The life preserver was suddenly ripped away from Brent’s neck.
“Hold on to me,” she yelled.
He could not answer as he whirled out of her grasp.
“Brent!” she screamed, and then there was a splashing nearby and Marco appeared, holding Brent by the shirt.
“I am so glad to see you,” Donna panted.
“All the ladies say that,” Marco said. He pulled a knife from his belt and sliced the zip ties from Brent’s wrists. “Can you make it now, Coastie?”
Exhausted as he was, Brent managed a nod.
“Put this on.” He thrust a life jacket into Donna’s hands. “Hold on to me. We’re gonna swim toward shore. I would have brought a boat but I didn’t have time to find one.”
They’d gotten only a few yards, with Marco shouting commands at Brent, who was barely managing a crawl, when the coast guard cutter Haddock drew near, searchlights probing the water, orange stripe standing out boldly in the gloom. Donna had never realized how utterly beautiful a ship could be.
She held on to Brent, while Marco waved his hands and signaled the boat. A smaller boat launched from the cutter and within moments they’d been brought aboard the quicker vessel, blankets thrown around them, a coast guard sailor checking them over, trying to extract information from Brent.
“ETA to the dock is five minutes,” the sailor said. “Ambulance is waiting.” He shot a glance at Brent. “Man, if we’d known it was you, we’d have sent the helicopter so you could hitch a ride on your own bird.”
Brent managed a wave. “Believe me, the small boat is just fine.”
