Terror flashed in her gray eyes. Eyes that were identical to Jazz’s…except he’d never seen this level of fear in them. “I’m here to help you.”
Still yanking at the caught sheet, she looked from the plants to him. “Who…who are you?”
“My name is Alex. I’m here with your sister, Jazz.”
Her entire face changed, then hardened again. “Who?”
“Your sister. Your identical twin sister.” He nodded, taking a few steps farther. “Don’t be scared. Jazz came to find you. To help you.”
Her jaw dropped a little and her eyes filled with tears. “Where am I?”
“In the Keys, on a private island. Kimball Parrish brought you here.” He held the poncho toward her. “Put this on and I’ll get you out of here.”
With a shaky hand, she reached out for it. She pulled it to her and her eyes flashed again. “Jazz?”
He nodded slowly. “Jazz is here to help you.”
Her lip curled in a half smile so like the one he’d been falling in love with that his heart wrenched a little, but then her complexion paled and she turned, suddenly gagging and bending over. She dropped the poncho and threw up all over it.
He lunged toward her to help, but she jerked away. Under the wet sheet, she was trembling, her bones visible, her skin a yellowing blue. Had Parrish been starving her for a week?
“You need to get to a hospital,” he said. Fast.
Wiping her mouth and shuddering, she asked, “Who are you again?”
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I’m your bodyguard.” And his first responsibility was to get her to safety. Then he’d be back for Parrish.
Jazz had scoured the upstairs rooms, the kitchen, living area, bathroom, and ended up back in the little bedroom where Denise said Jessica had been sleeping. Her breathing shallow, she swiped a clump of wet hair off her forehead, her gaze darting around the room. The sour, stale smell of human sweat and vomit turned her stomach.
What had that bastard done to her sister?
Pivoting, she jogged into the hall bathroom, determined to find a clue to where Jessica might have gone. She closed the door and saw the khaki dress hanging off a hook in the back.
Her breath seized up in her throat.
A sudden bang shook the house, and Jazz instinctively locked the bathroom door and reached for the Glock. Was that a gunshot or a door slamming? She waited a moment, then footsteps hammered down the hall toward her.
“Where is she?” a male voice demanded.
Jazz’s first thought was relief. If Parrish didn’t know where Jessica was, then he hadn’t just shot her. But would Denise tell him that Jessica had escaped? Would that send him outside looking for her?
“Where is she?” he asked again. He sounded desperate, not at all like the confident man she’d met.
“She needed to take a shower,” Denise answered in a shaky voice.
Okay. Back to Plan A. She’d be Jessica and that would buy Alex enough time to find her sister and get her out of here. Otherwise, Parrish would tear outside the minute he found out Jessica had escaped.
She dropped her head against the door, her face buried in her sister’s dress, flipping through her options.
Her original plan was the smartest. If he believed she was Jessica, she could totally disarm him, get him into the studio to admit what he’d done—on camera, so he couldn’t pay his way out of a legal jam—and then, maybe as she undressed for her little porn show, she could pull the gun on him and hold him until Alex got back.
Denise whimpered something, a question so soft that Jazz couldn’t understand it. Then she heard a shuffle of steps and a woman’s gasp. Something hard banged on the bathroom door.
“I’ll be right out,” she called, purposely light and weak.
She’d already started kicking off her boots, and stripping her pants and top, and unfastening the ankle holster Alex had given her.
“Hurry up,” he ordered.
Again she heard a muffled cry from Denise. She slid the coat dress over her arms, buttoning it with one hand and patting it down in search of a hiding place for the Glock. There were no pockets on the form-fitting dress. The waist pinched in a bit, but if she stuck the gun in there, it could slip out. Damn it.
Her bra? It would show.
He slammed on the door again.
Denise whimpered. Jazz pulled up the skirt and stuck the gun in her underpants after a final check on the safety. She adjusted the dress over the slight bump on her stomach just as the door shuddered from a kick, then wood splintered everywhere as the door smashed open. She gasped and jerked back, then blinked into the face of her enemy.
Only it wasn’t Kimball Parrish. A complete stranger stared at her, with sinister dark eyes, a black beard, and a Beretta 92 aimed directly at her heart.
Chapter
Seventeen
“W e…land…Sunset Key.”
Scooting Jessica’s limp body higher in his arms and cradling the cell phone between his ear and shoulder, Alex shouted into the wet speaker. “Did not copy, Gallagher.”
“We cannot…Sunset Key…you…to Key West.”
They couldn’t land on the little island. Son of a bitch. He’d have to take Jessica by boat to Key West, and let them get her there. In this downpour, it would be another ten minutes until he reached the dock, then at least fifteen to get across the water.
A lot could happen in twenty-five minutes. Jazz could be dead.
Dan’s voice faded in and out as he barked unintelligible instructions. With his shoulder, Alex pressed the phone tighter to his ear, but between the intermittent connection, the noise of the helicopter rotors, and the relentless rain around him, it was damn near impossible to hear a word.
“Did not copy, Gallagher. Repeat.”
One short beep, then nothing. He’d lost the line.
Jessica moaned, her head lolling on her neck, her eyes half closed. He’d thrown the poncho over her, but rain poured down her face and neck.
She’d drifted into unconsciousness for a moment, and still wasn’t coming out of a drug-induced fog. The bastard Parrish probably didn’t care if he killed her. The right dosage could fry her brain, if not stop her heart. She had to be pumped, and fast.
Otherwise he would have stashed her somewhere safe and gone back for Jazz.
He shut the phone and stuck it between his teeth as he pressed on.
“Stay with me, Jessica,” he growled around the phone. It didn’t matter; she didn’t know what he was saying anyway. “Do it for Jazz.”
Blinking through the rain, he searched for any sign of life. There were no cars allowed on this island, and any golf carts were safely stored away.
He even considered knocking on a door, if he could get past any of the security gates, but the time it would take to explain the situation could cost Jessica her life, or at least a good portion of her brain.
Dan was right about this jungle of an island. It was all foliage and private villas; there wasn’t any open area to safely land a helicopter, except the beach. And Parrish would see that. Overhead, the sky was soupy, the clouds just low enough to make any maneuver tricky.
As he reached the dock, Jessica shuddered and groaned in agony. The phone vibrated between his teeth.
Yanking it out of his mouth, he managed to open it and tuck it between his air and shoulder. “Gallagher! What are you flying?”
“A Bell two-oh-six on loan…TV station…”
The connection faded as Alex sprinted across the sodden wood planks, his cargo growing limper and heavier as an idea formed. The phone slipped between Alex’s shoulder and ear, and Jessica’s body threatened to do the same. “She needs medical attention. Fast.”
“This is a media chopper, Romero—not a medevac helo.”
“We don’t have time to get her to Key West,” Alex explained. “Get out here and pick her up before she dies in my arms.”
“Where are you?”
“On the dock at Sunset Key.”
> He waited a beat while Dan and Max talked. He knew what they were discussing. A TV news helicopter wouldn’t even have a sling on it, but if Roper could hover, Alex could pass Jessica over to Dan and they could fly her off.
A handoff like that was routine…in perfect weather.
“I can get to open water in five minutes,” Alex shouted. That would make the maneuver a bitch for him, but much easier for Max.
“All Max has to do is hover over a Boston Whaler with no tower. You grab her from me. Simple and easy.”
All he heard was static. Then he heard Dan’s voice. “We’re on the way. Get the principal out to open sea…pick her up…die trying.”
“Roger that.” Except no one was going to die, damn it—not on his watch. Alex squinted into the rain at the cruise ships in the channel. He gave Dan an estimated pickup location a half mile off one of the ships’ port side, and signed off.
Climbing into the boat, he tucked Jessica on the bow bench, then untied the dock lines.
As he twisted the key and goosed the throttle, the engine gasped and he gritted his teeth. Come on. One lousy Mercury outboard motor. If it died now, they were screwed.
But the Merc sputtered to life and Alex slammed the boat into reverse. The action and rain woke Jessica up, and she huddled deeper into the poncho, her teeth chattering.
As soon as he cleared the dock, Alex swung the boat starboard. “Hang on!” he yelled over the deafening noise. Her eyes widened as she grasped the rail. He gunned the throttle and the bow lifted out of the water, but she managed to hold on. Rainwater sluiced over his face, forcing him to wipe his eyes with one hand and steer with the other. Jessica closed her eyes and clung to the railing, her head slumping to her shoulders.
Sorry, honey. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.
The little Whaler tossed and dipped in the whitecaps, fighting across the normally calm waterway. All Alex could do was steer and concentrate. He could not, he would not, think about what might be happening to Jazz.
In less than ten minutes, he heard the distant whir of a Bell Jet Ranger. He cut the engine and stepped away from the center console to signal to Max. The clouds were thick and the wind strong enough to lean the Whaler starboard. Not perfect conditions, but Max could do this.
Max had to do this.
As the chopper dipped below the cloud line, he knelt next to Jessica, who still drifted in and out of consciousness.
“Jessica?”
Her eyelids fluttered and she tried to lift her head. He had to prepare her for what was about to happen.
“You ever been on a helicopter?” Stupid question; she was a reporter. “’Cause one’s coming to get you right now.”
“Don’t leave me….”
“I have to get Jazz.”
“Jazz…” Her eyes narrowed at him. “Jazz is here?”
“She found you, Jessica.” He squeezed her shoulders through the slippery poncho. “She wouldn’t give up until she did.”
A hint of a smile lifted her lips.
The wind whipped up as the chopper closed in, the engine noise and rotors making it impossible to talk. Alex looked over his shoulder, lifted her from the seat, and turned her around to face the helicopter. “Here’s your ride, honey.”
A blast of propeller wash pitched the boat, and they stumbled. Water spray nearly blinded him, but he managed to hold on and get her positioned for a handoff.
Max worked the nose of the chopper into the wind, bringing the passenger side door to the port side. The door slid open and Dan locked himself into position to reach for her, half hanging out over one of the skids.
Alex hoisted her forward. “Lift your arms, Jessica. Let him take you.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Dan called. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
But Jessica looked at Alex. “Don’t let anything happen to her,” she demanded in a raspy whisper. “I love her.”
He squeezed her shoulders. So do I. “She’ll be fine. I promise.”
Dan’s strong grip closed around Jessica’s outstretched forearms. The Whaler rose with a wave, and Dan pulled her up out of the boat to safety.
Alex didn’t even wait for the chopper door to close before he threw the throttle forward and headed back to Sunset Key.
All the color drained from Jessica’s face as she stared at the gun, and then met his eyes. Her silver-blue gaze went utterly dead, almost as though she didn’t recognize him. But then, after what Parrish had put her through, maybe she didn’t. If she realized she’d be dead in a matter of minutes, she didn’t let panic show on her face.
Of course not. She was a professional. As poised facing a gun as she was facing a camera. He jerked his head toward the hallway. “We’re going downstairs.”
She didn’t move. “Why are you doing this?”
“And I was just thinking how smart you are, Jessica.” He shook his head and tsked. “Don’t go stupid on me now. After all those clandestine interviews we had, I happen to know you are a very bright lady.”
She wet her lips and took a deep breath. “Miles.” She said his name slowly, then touched her temple. “I’m sorry, my memory is so blurred from those drugs he gave me.”
Which would show up nicely on her autopsy. “Go downstairs, Jessica.” He glanced at the other woman, cowering in the corner. “Kimball Parrish is waiting for you.” In a pool of his own blood.
He grabbed the other woman’s sweatshirt sleeve and shoved her ahead of Jessica. “Go,” he said.
Then he put his hand on Jessica’s arm and tugged her out of the bathroom, jamming the barrel of the gun in her lower back as he walked next to her. He didn’t have much time before Lucy’s men showed up, or Romero and Jessica’s sister got tired waiting for them. But he had enough time to stage a horrific scene of bloodshed. Enough time to drop a media bombshell that had all the ratings-worthy buzzwords: celebrity, murder-suicide, jealousy, pornography, sex, and violence.
The advertising money his network would make when the ratings soared was really only a side benefit.
He stole another look at Jessica as they went down the stairs to the temporary studio Kimball had built. Except for her clenched jaw and shallow breaths, you’d never know she had a gun pointed at her kidney.
A shame, really, to lose such cool talent for his network.
But Kimball Parrish had been right about one thing: Ambition was Jessica’s downfall. When she uncovered the revenue connection between Climax Distribution and Adroit, she should have kept her mouth shut—along with the file of information she’d snared from various sources. But she had a journalist’s nose on that camera-perfect face, so he’d encouraged her. Exposing the seamier side of Adroit Broadcasting would rid him of Parrish.
It would have been much neater than what he’d done downstairs. That hadn’t worked out quite as he’d planned, but he was flexible; thinking on his feet was a hallmark of his success.
At the bottom of the steps, Miles instructed Denise to open the door to the apartment. He heard her gasp and whimper at the sight of Parrish’s body. He shoved Jessica in.
“Shut up!” he said to the woman who’d doubled over and started sobbing.
Jessica stared at the body, her face even paler. “Why did you do this?” Her voice cracked, but the fire still burned in her eyes.
“Don’t ask questions.” He glared at both of them. “Just shut up before you look exactly like he does.”
Denise sucked in a huge, loud breath and clutched her stomach, falling to her knees. “Please don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. And don’t kill her. She’s not even—” She stopped, staring at Jessica. “She hasn’t done anything wrong,” she finished weakly.
“Let’s do this fast,” he said. “You.” He pointed the gun at Jessica. “Go over there, directly across from him.”
She didn’t move.
He lifted the gun to her face. “Go.”
“Not until you tell me why.”
“Because you need to be on your mark,
just like in the studio,” he said.
She still didn’t move. “Why did you kill him?”
Miles angled his head and looked at her. “I had to make an adjustment in our plan. A shame, because it was brilliant, really. I loved you going undercover to a studio with a hidden camera. And it might have landed you the Metro-Net job you crave, dear, and relieved Yellowstone of the headache of Kimball Parrish. But when he discovered what you were doing, he decided to get rid of you himself.”
“And covered by hiring a bodyguard.”
He nodded. “Very sly of him. He even came to me for a recommendation and I sent him directly to Lucy Sharpe.”
Her eyes widened. “Is she in on this?”
“God, no.” He laughed. “My only original goal with Lucy was to be sure I had someone near Kimball who could observe his behavior.” He’d wanted a mole, and who better to recommend one than a former CIA agent? Without his wife’s entrée, he could never have scaled the wall around Lucy Sharpe. Valerie was a very handy accessory for an executive to have. “But he screwed everything up with his elaborate scheme to make you a porn star and ruin your career.”
She met his direct gaze. “But why kill him, Miles? Why not just expose him for what he is? That would have been enough.”
“Because he really did plan to stop the flow of revenue from Climax Distribution.” He grinned at her. “I own Climax Distribution. I like the relationship with Adroit Broadcasting. It keeps my wife in diamonds and yachts.”
“But you’re a rich man. You don’t need money from porn movies.”
His laugh was dry, even to his own ears. “You can never be secure enough, Jessica.” He couldn’t have cared less if the world found out that Climax was associated with Yellowstone. Stockholders weren’t stupid; they wanted to make money, and exporting cheap porn did that. When he realized Parrish’s real goal was to stop it altogether, that hit him in the wallet.
He paused to listen to the rain. Good, it was slowing a bit. He could get out on the Donzi and disappear long before that helicopter showed up. The one he had on the roof of the Biltmore had been much faster, getting to the Keys long before the Bullet Catchers ever made it. And now it waited for him on top of the Key West Hilton, ready to take him back to Valerie who, if he ever needed an alibi, would vouch that he’d been in Miami all day.
Kill Me Twice Page 24
