"Nothing. He's not as worried about selling the gun to Teddy as he is about Kyle. He thinks it's all been about saving his son."
The boat slowed, and they were within only a few yards of Stewart's Cove before its horseshoe-shaped beach came into view.
"Patrick was in uniform that morning because he planned to take me in. I stopped in to see Olivia. She couldn't hide it, Zoe. She knew everything." Stick took in a breath, but Zoe didn't detect even a flicker of regret. "He never saw it coming. That's how I've consoled myself this past year. Knowing he didn't suffer."
"Bastard."
He beached the bow of the boat on the sand and made her get out first. She sank up to her knees in the cold water but slogged to shore as he splashed behind her with the same gun he'd used to murder her father.
He gave her no opportunity to escape or wrestle the Colt from him. She had to be patient. Keep him talking.
He stepped out onto the beach, sand sticking to his bare calves. "Teddy! Come on out. Luke sent me. I've got your bonus money. Let's finish this up and all go home."
Teddy Shelton emerged from the pines with Kyle shielding him, a gun leveled at Kyle's head. Stick seemed unsurprised. "Put the gun down, Teddy. Luke wants his kid back in one piece. Come on. We're all on the same side now. I think a hundred grand will put a lot of things right, don't you?"
"What's Zoe doing here?" Teddy asked, keeping his gun where it was.
"She's my insurance card."
"It was you on the phone earlier, wasn't it? Not Luke. I thought he sounded funny. What about the kid?"
"I'm not here to answer questions," Stick said.
Zoe tried to make eye contact with Kyle, but he was too frightened to focus on anything. He was rigid, just his teeth chattering slightly. She pushed back a wave of sympathy for him and concentrated on the tactical situation. What could she do?
Without warning, Stick stepped to her left and fired the Colt. Zoe immediately dropped to the ground and rolled, saw Teddy fall backward as he yelled out in pain.
Kyle staggered forward, in shock.
"Kyle, run—take cover," Zoe shouted at him.
He obviously didn't know what she meant and dove face first into the sand, as if that'd protect him. But it was better than standing there.
"No one move," Stick ordered. He stood over Zoe, pointing the gun at her. "I'll shoot you, Zoe. Don't think I won't. I can pull this off with you dead right here, right now."
Zoe went still and sat up in the wet sand. Teddy was shouting obscenities and grabbing his left arm. His gun had gone flying, but she couldn't get to it and didn't know if Kyle could see it. She didn't want him trying for it and getting himself killed.
Stick walked over to him and kicked him in the side. "Up."
Kyle obeyed, his front covered in clumps of gray, wet sand, his face ashen. He looked at Zoe, then turned away as if he was embarrassed by his predicament, or maybe just couldn't watch Stick Monroe shoot her.
"You fucking asshole," Teddy spat at Stick. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Delivering a murderer to the police," Stick said.
"Me? You're going to pin Patrick West's murder on me?" Teddy snorted in disbelief. "How?"
"I have the murder weapon. You, in your zest to own weapons of all kinds, stole it from Luke and intended to kill Kyle with it, but he instead used it to kill you— after you shot him with your own weapon, mortally wounding him. You'll both be dead, but the evidence will tell the story."
"You'll never pull it off," Teddy said, "not with DNA, blood spattering, all that forensic shit they have nowadays."
"You forget that I'm familiar with all of it."
"What about Zoe?" Kyle asked hoarsely. "What are you going to do with her?"
Zoe was wondering the same thing. But she knew. Stick was going to use her as a hostage to ensure his getaway. Then he'd tie a brick to her feet and dump her in the ocean.
That was what Stick was going to do with her.
He was just smart enough, arrogant enough, to think such a complicated plan, contingent on so much going his way, would work.
"Stick," she said.
"Don't try your negotiating skills on me, Zoe. You never made it to the academy, remember? You quit. You ran away."
Even now, knowing what he'd done, the contempt of this man she'd known and loved for so long stung. She had to steel herself against the affection and respect she'd had for him. Child porn. Extortion. Blackmail. Murder. He'd been living a lie for a long time.
"Screw this," Teddy said, and dove for his gun.
Stick shot him again, hitting him in the thigh but giving Zoe a split second to go for Teddy's gun herself.
But Kyle rolled between her and the .380, and that was that. Stick grabbed her by the hair and jerked her to her feet, sticking the Colt against her ear. "Always so full of yourself."
Kyle surprised her and scooped up Teddy's gun. He was shaking and clearly had no idea what to do now that he had it.
"You can't hold off Teddy and me both," Stick said. "Teddy wants to get the hell out of here, don't you, Teddy?"
Zoe thought Teddy wanted to kill Stick, but she let the judge think he'd succeed in manipulating him again.
"Don't do anything stupid, Kyle," Stick said. "I have a gun to Zoe's head. You know I'll shoot her even if you shoot me. A simple matter of reflexes. And if you take me on, you risk giving Teddy his opening. Don't you think he wants his gun back? If he gets it, you're dead. So if I were you, I'd point that gun at Teddy and let me go."
Kyle was sobbing. "Zoe…"
"Stick's right," she said gently, calmly. "Hold the gun on Shelton. Someone heard those shots. The police must be on their way. Stick won't get far with me."
Kyle nodded, crying openly now. He turned and redirected the gun at Teddy, who'd sunk back onto the beach, holding his bleeding thigh.
Keeping the gun leveled at her head, Stick marched Zoe back to the Zodiac. He left her no opening this time. Even when he pushed the boat back out into the water and climbed in, he managed to keep the gun on her.
The boat jerked and bucked as he got it up to speed.
The fog was thick now, and Zoe doubted Kyle could even see them ten yards out from shore. He wouldn't be able to tell the tac unit which direction Stick had taken her.
"On your stomach," Stick ordered.
"If you shoot me, J.B. will hunt you to the ends of the earth. He likes that sort of thing."
"Do as I say, Zoe, or I will shoot you."
She turned over onto her stomach on the boat's wet bottom. He used a length of rope to tie her hands behind her back, then his web belt to tie her feet together.
"I should have done this to begin with," he said.
"I would have."
He ignored her gibe. "You don't think I can get out of this, do you? I'd have preferred plan A. It would have made everyone happy. The police, the town and the West family all would have their killer. I could go back to my garden and resume my life there. It's all I ever wanted, you know. A simple life in Goose Harbor."
"With your kiddie porn."
He inhaled sharply, but said nothing.
"You were shocked my father was on to you, weren't you? You wanted him dead, for the insult of it." She remembered to control her breathing, tried to keep her muscles relaxed, her hands and feet from swelling against their binds. "You thought you were better and smarter and more worldly, and you assumed you could get away with your games right under his nose. You couldn't. He found out."
"Moral superiority will get you nowhere, Zoe." He sneered at her, and she recognized his arrogance now for what it was—a cover for everything he wasn't. "You're trussed up like the proverbial Christmas goose."
She managed to sit up in the bottom of the boat. She could smell the fog, its dampness seeping into her. Gulls, ubiquitous to the shore, cried in the grayness. Her father hadn't died in the fog. He'd died on a beautiful, cloudless morning.
"I don't owe anyone anything," Stick said, as if he
were talking to himself.
"Yes, you do. You owe a debt to society for killing a police officer in the performance of his duty."
Stick lurched suddenly and kicked her in the stomach. She moaned, doubling over in pain. She hadn't taken a kick like that since training for the state police.
"Don't you dare talk to me about debts to society. Do you know how many people I've had go through my courtroom in my life? Criminals. Lowlifes. Scum. Dirtbags. Sociopaths, drug addicts, alcoholics, murderers, terrorists—" "Pedophiles?"
He kicked her again.
"Go ahead. Keep kicking me. Give yourself a heart attack. You're not young anymore, Stick. How many more years do you think you have?"
This time he ignored her. They were on the northwest shore of Sutherland Island. She saw the rocks where she and J.B. had taken their break. She thought of him among his ancestors' tombstones, touching their names as he must have tried to absorb their connection to him.
She remembered what he'd said about the boathouse with the new lock. She stared up at Stick. "You've got another boat."
He didn't deny it. "Didn't you think I had a contingency plan? I've had a year, Zoe. A quick change of appearance, a new boat—I'll be long gone before anyone even realizes I have you." He eased back on the speed, taking the Zodiac around a rocky point, toward the boathouse. "Zoe, I want a simple life. The bad times are over for me. My trip to the dark side. Now I'm back."
"You just pumped two bullets into a man. You intended to kill him, and Kyle, and you still intend to kill me." She tried to move, but winced in pain. "You just kicked the hell out of me. Your bad times aren't over, Stick. Don't delude yourself."
"When I was on the bench, I sent people away for the rest of their lives who would never kill anyone again if they were set free. They were no longer a danger to society. That's me, Zoe. I don't need to be in prison. After today, I won't be a danger to anyone."
"Today's a pretty big day, Stick."
He reddened at her sarcasm, but didn't kick her again. When he thought he'd escaped and didn't need her as a hostage, he'd pitch her overboard. Zoe had no idea how long she had, but she hoped Special Agent McGrath was good at what he did and at least bought her some time, gave her an opening, to save her own skin.
Thirty-Four
Bruce came in as close to the cove as he could without grounding his boat, and J.B. jumped into the water, gun drawn, never mind that Kyle Castellane had called to him that it was okay, he had things under control.
Nothing was under control.
When he reached him, the kid's fingers were so cold and stiff from shock, he had trouble letting loose of the gun. He was sitting on a rock with Teddy Shelton down in the sand, complaining about bleeding to death. J.B. did a quick check of Shelton's wounds, but he didn't appear to be in imminent danger.
"He's got Zoe," Kyle said. "Stick—the fuck. He put a gun to her head and took her with him in the Zodiac. He wanted to kill me and Shelton, but I had the gun and he couldn't risk it."
J.B. nodded. "Did you see which way he went?" "I couldn't with the fog, and I was afraid to take my
eyes off Shelton." "It's okay. You just have to hang on for another few minutes." He gave the kid an encouraging smile. "The
cops are on their way by land and by sea."
"Zoe—if Stick killed her father, he'll kill her, too."
"I know."
Teddy moaned. "I hope you kill the fuck. I should have done it a year ago."
Kyle tilted his chin up, and J.B. could see the kid was trying to be brave. "I was wrong about everything. Why don't you go? Give me the gun back. Shelton's in no shape to make a move on me, not with a bullet in his leg and another in his shoulder."
But J.B. wasn't leaving Kyle alone with even a wounded Teddy Shelton. He could hear the police moving closer, and he had his badge out when they arrived and informed them he wasn't sticking around. "Tell marine patrol Sutherland Island. An old boathouse on the north end. Stick Monroe's been planning his escape for a long time."
They'd have to contend with the fog. He was close to Sutherland Island. He had Bruce and knew he'd be game to navigate among the islands. As far as J.B. was concerned, he had no other choice. He had to act or Zoe would be dead.
He splashed back out to the lobster boat, Bruce hauled him in, and they were off.
"Sutherland Island," J.B. said.
"My great-great-grandmother was born on that island."
"Mine, too."
Bruce glanced at him. "The fog's a bitch. I can't make any promises."
"If it's a bitch for us, it's a bitch for Stick."
"A bigger bitch. I know what I'm doing. Stick doesn't."
* * *
Stick hadn't counted on the fog. He even told Zoe so after he dumped her into the speedboat he had hidden in the boathouse, paid for with the money he'd gotten off Luke to keep his bumbling gun deal secret. Zoe didn't think Stick had been honest about having reformed.
Apparently he had another boat waiting farther north, thus creating two additional hurdles for the police. They'd expect him to go south. He'd go north—and change boats.
But he didn't know the islands, and even on a good day, the currents and swirls and underwater ledges would be treacherous for an experienced boater. On a bad day, an inexperienced boater like Stick Monroe was way over his head on this one small stretch of Maine's southern coast.
Zoe heard him muttering that one island looked like another. Good. She hoped he was lost. It'd give the tac unit and J.B. more time to find her.
Her hands and feet ached. Her cut from yesterday had opened up again.
The distinctive purr of a lobster boat off in the fog roused her. She didn't know if Stick had heard it, too. They were hugging the shore of what he apparently thought was still Sutherland Island, but it wasn't. It was one of the two smaller islands.
The lobster boat came around the tip, just barely visible in the milky fog.
She knew it was Bruce's. She knew J.B. was on it.
Stick swore and gunned the engine, going too fast for the conditions. He was coming to a narrow passage between the two tiny islands. In low tide conditions, it would be mud, impassable. "I can't see in this goddamn fog. Once I get out of these islands—"
"You want to avoid the narrow passage between the two small islands out here," Zoe said, trying to play on his confusion. "It's right up there. It's treacherous— nothing but mud and tide pools at low tide. There's a deep channel near Sutherland, but I hope you get lost and end up stuck in the mud."
He ignored her and glanced back, the lobster boat gaining distance on them. Zoe knew J.B. wouldn't do anything precipitous. It was a hostage situation. He'd isolate them and get the tac unit in there.
Unless she made it not a hostage situation.
Stick turned the boat, and Zoe heaved herself to her feet. Without hesitation, she rolled over and dropped into the water like a hunk of bad bait.
The water was cold and deep, and she sank, in case Stick decided to waste time trying to shoot her. His boat could outrun the lobster boat. All he needed was enough time to disappear into the fog.
No shots.
Zoe concentrated on not drowning. Moving mermaid style, she thrashed her way to the surface, gulped in air and tried to stay afloat.
"Just pretend she's a fish," Bruce was saying somewhere in the fog. "Hook her and pull her in."
"Go after Stick." She spit out saltwater, her hands and feet numb. "Don't let him get away. I can float."
But Bruce maneuvered his boat alongside her as if she were a stray lobster pot, and J.B. had a long metal pole that he managed to shove between her bound hands and the small of her back.
"Don't try to be gentle," Bruce told him. "Just snap her on in like a big, fat fish. Mind her head."
J.B. hauled her to the side of the boat, then he andBruce grabbed her by her hands and feet and waistband and pulled her in, coughing, spitting. Her stomach ached where Stick had kicked her. Bruce handed J.B. his Leatherman
to cut the ropes on her hands and ankles. Zoe tried to get to her feet, but her elbows hurt from having been bent back for so long and the blood was still rushing back into her fingers and her feet.
J.B. managed a smile at her. "You'd have aced
drown-proofing, babe."
"Stick—"
"I'm on him," Bruce said, back at the wheel. "The
dumb-ass went up West Passage." Zoe nodded, shivering. "It's mud at low tide."
J.B. winked at her. "Even I knew that." Bruce pulled his boat as close to the mud flats as he could without running aground himself.
Up ahead, through the swirling fog and mist, Zoe saw that Stick was in his boat, trying to get it to move in the mud, only digging himself in deeper. She could hear him cursing, as if he of all people was entitled to get away.
J.B. had his gun out and called to him. "Freeze, Mon-
roe. FBI. Put your hands up." Stick complied. He was maybe thirty feet away. "Don't move," J.B. ordered. "Keep your hands up
where I can see them." Bruce radioed the police. He glanced back at Zoe. "Did you steer him into the mud flats?" "Misdirected," she said. "I knew he wouldn't believe me."
J.B. didn't take his eyes off Stick, and she was vaguely aware of thinking that if she was J.B., she'd do the same. She wouldn't shoot a man with his hands up. She wouldn't shoot him even if he was the man who'd killed her father.
"How long before the tac unit gets here?" she asked. "As long as it takes," J.B. said without moving. "I can spell you." "I'm good." But Stick didn't last. He went for his gun, and J.B. shot him.
Thirty-Five
The rain, the ocean and the wind pounded and swirled and howled outside the house where Olivia West had lived for a century. J.B. sat in the front room while Zoe and Bruce, like the childhood friends they were, argued over the fire they were trying to light. J.B. wasn't following the particulars, but finally Bruce looked around at him. "You're from Montana, McGrath. You must know how to light a fire. You do it."
"I can do it," Zoe said.
"Fine. Do it." Bruce got to his feet. "You remember how?"
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