Moving wasn’t easy. It was packed.
She found a new position. Then she found herself staring at the young man in front of her. He was shirtless. His back was heavily tattooed. The tattoos were all the same. They were of a naked woman. She was sitting spread-legged, a dozen of her, all the way down the guy’s spine. Every time he flexed a muscle, her legs spread further.
“Oh, Gregory, this isn’t exactly the right place for you either,” she murmured, and they started back again. She paused, looking across the crowd, holding her breath.
The police had reached Thayer Newcastle. They talked to him—he protested vigorously. She saw an officer take him by either arm.
Shaking his head, he looked across the crowd, as if for help. His eyes caught hers. He looked completely lost— wounded. Then, for a moment, it looked as if he would break free from the police and run.
She felt horrible, like an adult punishing a child. He might have killed Chloe Lowenstein, left her in the swamp, left her to the awful predators there, she reminded herself.
The painting! How could she forget the painting?
Still, something felt wrong.
She watched his shoulders slump, watched him give in to the police. For some reason she simply felt that he wasn’t guilty, no matter what the evidence.
But if not him, who?
Rowan watched as the police escorted Thayer Newcastle out of the park. He tuned his guitar, making sure. He should have felt relieved. Thayer’s painting had given him chills, it had been so lifelike, it had so definitely been Chloe. And he had been the one to find the bracelet, the bracelet that had been so obvious in the painting…
But he didn’t feel relieved. He felt as if he was missing something. Maybe the police would feel that way, too. And they would have second thoughts. Marnie’s cellular phone had been used to make the calls. And the phone had been found in his yard.
A dozen people might have taken that phone from her at lunch that day—including Thayer.
A dozen people could have taken the phone, period.
And used it during the past week to make calls to Sam.
Yes, a dozen might have taken it, but…
Just how many of them might have planted it in his yard?
Whoa, it was crowded! This was really dangerous…
No, it was so crowded, no one would ever see anything. And loud! The first group finished up; Aidan’s group was going on. A radio announcer was saying that Rowan Dillon of Blackhawk fame would be joining the group, and the crowd was going wild.
Dangerous, yes! And exhilarating. So exciting. The challenge was like a high he'd never known before. The music was great. Thundering.
So many people.
He smiled.
Hide in plain sight. Hide in plain sight!
There she was. With the boy! Damn the idiot boy. He had seen. He knew, but he was an idiot…
Sam. In soft, form-hugging jeans and sneakers. Her hair loose, beautiful. A natural woman. She was in a knit halter top. It showed off her beautifully formed back and flowed with her movement…
Did she want to live ? Enough to be all he wanted her to be? He was so anxious to find out. All he had to do was lure her…
The music suddenly seemed louder. The crowd roared. The sound was deafening…
So many people, but he saw only Sam.
And the kid.
The kid suddenly looked at him. And began to scream.
He froze, then ducked, and started through the crowd. Now! Now was it. The kid had forced his hand, this was it…
The kid, in panic, ripped free from Sam.
And began to run.
Sam was dead still for a moment. Stunned. Then she ran after him.
His heart was pounding, yet he began to laugh. They were heading in the right direction. Down toward the boats. Out of the park, across the street. Toward the boats. He was prepared. He felt in his shirt pocket for his chloroform.
He needed split-second timing. His smile, his concern, the smile and concern she trusted so much…
After them, he told himself. It was now or never! And so he ran in pursuit himself. He ran and ran and ran…
Rowan pictured events in his mind’s eye. This last Friday night. Beth had been there, they’d fought, and then she’d been in the water. He thought of the man he had seen with Sam. A man she trusted. She had leaned on him. But he had been there. With every opportunity. Every opportunity to attack Beth, and then—reappear. Concerned. Ready to help out… tender, caring, protective.
Oh, God. He could see over the crowd. Gregory, breaking from Sam. Running.
A killer…
A killer he should have known, suddenly streaking after Sam, reaching her, talking, there to help and support her once again…
No, Sam!
But she smiled, ready to accept the help he offered.
Rowan leapt up. He had to reach her.
“Gregory!”
She’d never seen him in such terror. He heard her voice, acknowledged it. But then he looked at her, and then past her, and he started to run again.
“Sam!”
She turned. Thank God! Help had come.
“Gregory’s terrified, racing through the crowd. I don’t know what happened.”
Sam had long since given up saying, “Excuse me” to the people around her. She had help with her now. They plowed wildly through the crowd. Gregory somehow managed to stay ahead.
He streaked out onto the road.
She screamed herself, so afraid that he’d be hit by a car. But the road had been closed off for the day’s event. Gregory kept going, running hard for the docks.
“Wait!”
She tore after him, alone. Her friend had fallen behind. Dear God, but Gregory was fast. Faster and faster and…
He could swim, she reminded herself. He left the road, ran over the grass. He was heading toward the boats, down the first of the public docks.
At the very end, he stopped.
Thank God. She had thought she was about to have a heart attack. She could barely breathe. She had to pause, her hands on her knees, to get her breath. She gasped in air, smoothing back her hair, staring at Gregory, then shaking her head.
“Gregory—”
He pointed.
And once again he started to scream.
Puzzled, Sam turned.
There he was, panting as well, right behind her.
“Hey!” she called. “I think we’ve got him cornered. I don’t know why he’s so afraid.” Then she backed up, frowning, because he was coming at her. And Gregory was still screaming, louder and louder…
No one could hear.
There were thousands of people.
None of them was listening.
“Sam, there’s stuff all over your face.”
“What?”
“You need a handkerchief.”
And he had one.
“No!”
But he was there, with his handkerchief, and she smelled it, and she realized…
“No!”
She broke away, staggering. She could hear something. Her name? Rowan… God, was that Rowan rushing toward her?
“Damn you, Sam!” her attacker said. “I don’t want to hurt you. Make it easy.”
She tried to focus on him. “Stop it, what are you—” she began.
He suddenly hunched over. He’d picked up an oar.
She started to scream.
The oar smacked the side of her head, and she went down, dimly aware that Gregory was still screaming…
Right in the middle of the number, Rowan unslung his guitar.
Aidan turned around, frowning. Rowan shouted a name to him.
He leapt off the bandstand.
“Hey! Dillon, stop!” one of the cops, guarding the bandstand area, called to him.
He couldn’t stop. He didn't dare take the time to talk to a cop. The cops had Thayer, but Thayer was innocent, and they still wanted to arrest him. He looked the most guilty.
&nb
sp; He made it through the crowd, out of the park. He looked around desperately. For a moment he couldn’t find Sam. Then he saw Gregory at the far end of the dock. Screaming, pointing. He saw Sam, trying to get her breath.
He started running again.
“Hey, Dillon, wait, man, you’re not going anywhere—”
“I have to. Come with me. Just give me a minute—”
“No, man. Hey, you’re not running—”
It was a fellow in a uniform, pulling him back. Rowan swung around, forced to look at him. “Damn you, you may be famous, but—” the cop began.
No time.
“Sorry,” Rowan apologized. He swung with his right fist. The officer went down.
Rowan started running again. “Sam!” he screamed her name. She was stumbling around on the dock, as if she were drunk. Drunk…
Drugged.
But not enough! She had fought it!
He saw the man. Tall and dark, taking the oar. Swinging it.
“Sam!” he screamed her name again.
She went down.
He raced across the road, over the grass, along the dock. Full speed, heading straight for the man with his back to him, now hunkering over Sam’s fallen body.
“You bastard, I’ll kill you!” Rowan shouted.
The man was up, with Sam in his arms. Thanks to the music, to Gregory’s screams, he still seemed oblivious to Rowan. He hopped off the dock, Sam securely in his arms, down into a fair-sized motorboat with a small cabin.
Gregory continued to scream and point. Rowan kept running like hell.
Sam’s attacker disappeared into the cabin.
Reappeared.
Rowan knew him. Goddarn, but he knew him.
He carried a gun. He was aiming it at Gregory. “Idiot boy!”
“No!” Rowan shouted.
He had almost made it. “Run, Gregory, run!” But the boy was just standing there, staring. God, no! Rowan couldn’t reach the boy. He could reach the killer.
He took a flying leap from the dock to the boat to tackle the man. They fell together. The gun went off. Gregory’s screams began to fade.
Rowan’s vision began to blur.
Shit!
Then he knew.
He’d been shot.
The blackness was total. In fact, Sam wondered if she had opened her eyes at all, the darkness was so great, weighing down upon her, blinding her.
But then she tried to move, and the pain that streaked through her head brought with it a searing, bright light. Like a shaft of lightning, bursting through her skull, wreaking havoc on her mind, her nerves.
The pain was so great that she saw blackness again, slipping, fading, into nothingness.
But then the pain began to subside to a dull throb. She tried to move again. The darkness was encompassing, yes, but she wasn’t blind. She could see that the world was really more gray, deep, dark gray, but it had shape and shadow and substance. She had not fallen into limbo, a black hole. Nor had she died and fallen into a black pit of hell.
No. She wasn’t dead.
Not yet.
She closed her eyes, fighting the wave of nausea that seized her. She closed them tightly, gritting her teeth. The awful feeling in her stomach was good.
Even if…
It came with a sense of paralyzing dread.
Fear shot back into her heart and mind with the knowledge that she was still alive. Of course, she was still alive, she had to be alive to feel this kind of explosive pain. She almost groaned aloud, yet cautioned herself that she must not do so.
Carefully, carefully, she opened her eyes again. Yes, it was dark, dark as a tomb.
Bad comparison, she warned herself.
She kept her eyes open, looked around. She tried to move her limbs. With tremendous gratitude, she realized that she could do so. She was somewhere…
Where the killer had taken her, of course!
Yes, of course, but where was that? She had to think, to reason, to find her senses. She couldn’t lie here, wallowing in fear and wonder. Because if she did, she wouldn’t be alive for long.
She swallowed carefully. Her throat was dry. A wave of sickness swept through her again for a moment, and she thought, Yes, of course, the drug. It’s his way!
She waited again for the feeling to subside, cursing herself as she did so. She’d had to know the truth, she’d had to find Marnie.
Don’t think about that now. Find out where I am, so that I can escape.
She was on her stomach. She carefully rolled onto her back. It seemed that every muscle and bone in her body hurt. Why? She couldn’t quite remember.
Where in God’s name was she? The smell around her was strange. It was a smell of decay. It was like a hot, humid night locked in, a smell of mud, of trees, of earth, and of rot…
A smell like death.
Fear nearly overwhelmed her again. She closed her eyes tightly, took a deep breath, and told herself that she had to find the strength to move, to find out where she was. She had to escape. Because she knew what would happen if she didn't…
She began to move, cursing herself feverishly. She’d been warned to be careful by everyone. Even the killer had called and warned her. Leave it be.
Would anyone come for her, would anyone help her? Oh, yes, Rowan would come if he could.
If he was not dead already…
She had heard him. Heard him calling her.
And she had heard a shot!
Oh, God, he had tried! He had warned her!
She had to live, to survive. She could not let others fall into this trap.
Gregory had known all along. Gregory had seen the face of the killer. But Gregory couldn’t help.
Feverishly, she tried to move. Her ankles were tied, her wrists were tied. She brought the rope to her teeth, ripping her lips as she gnawed it, alternately cursing and praying, and working harder at the knots, reminding herself that God helped those who helped themselves.
The knot wouldn’t give. Wouldn’t give, oh, damn, damn, damn… Tears welled in her eyes.
No!
Be patient. Keep at it.
How much time did she have?
Please, God, please. She wanted to live so badly. She would never whine about petty things again, so help her. Please.
The knot began to give just a little. He must have tied the knots in a hurry, been distracted by all the commotion.
Slowly… slowly at first.
And then…
The rough cord bit at her lips, tearing, rasping against the tender flesh. Her throat was dryer than ever. Her tongue seemed swollen as a balloon. Every muscle in her body ached as she strained to free herself.
Then the knots gave, and the rough rope that had chafed her wrists fell away at long last. She sat up, working at the rope that tied her ankles together. Her nails were torn and split; the tips of her fingers, she was certain, were bloody.
Her ankles were free. In a panic, she kicked the rope away. She tried to stand. Dizziness swept over her until she was almost ill. She went still on her knees, praying for the blackness and the whirling to go away again.
Too soon to stand.
She began to crawl.
The floor beneath her was wood.
Old wood, covered with dirt. The dirt had a thick smell to it. Like a mud that was naturally rich with the decay of foliage.
Move slowly. Don’t panic again, she warned herself.
Because it was quiet now. Quiet meant that maybe the killer wasn’t around. That she could find out where she was. Get away.
She’d had to know, oh, God, she’d just had to find out the truth about Marnie.
She crawled, came to a wall, backed away, started again. And the…
She touched flesh.
And the fear and the terror bubbled in her throat. She fought not to scream.
She hadn’t just found out the truth about Marnie. She had found Marnie.
Marnie, yes, cold, how cold? Dead, alive, so cold, where was her throat,
a wrist, a pulse, any sign of life?
“Marnie!”
Marnie did not move.
Her horror was so great that at first she didn’t hear. Then she did. Noise… from beyond the darkness.
Footsteps.
The killer was coming back.
And now he was coming for her…
* * *
Rowan dimly felt…
The rays of the sun. Weak. They were the rays of a dying sun.
And still…
It must mean that he was alive.
Where?
Sam! Where was she? Think, remember. Gather your strength, get it together so you can help her…
He remembered the boat. The shot. He had taken the shot intended for Gregory. Had to be glad for that.
He had failed Sam. No, he was still breathing, dammit, and he would find her. But where was he? What had happened? The shot. Then he had been unconscious. And then…
He frowned. It hurt. Hurt was good. More proof he was alive. But how hurt?
Yes, the boat. He remembered the motor. And then…
Then he had been dragged. A blanked had been thrown over him, and he’d been dragged and thrown. They’d reached a different marina; the boat had been taken out of the water. He’d been in the back of a truck, and the killer had stared at him, talked to him, even though he had never opened his eyes.
“You dead yet? You will be. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig. That’s okay, I can’t keep so many. So I’ll take one, and leave her there with you, like she shot you, dying herself. The story will be great.”
The killer was a powerful man. Rowan had been vaguely aware again when he had been carried. But the pain had been excruciating. He’d known he was back in the boat. He’d even known how the killer had worked. He’d stalked his victims from the bay. Taken his boat out of the water at a marina south of his stalking grounds, driven to the Everglades, then gone by boat again out to the canals—and hammocks.
Just like now. From the truck bed, Rowan had been thrown back into the boat.
And now…
He opened his eyes. It hurt. He closed them. Tried again. Yes, the rays of the sun were pale. It was late afternoon, almost dark. And the thick, verdant foliage in the area always made it a green darkness.
Tall, Dark, and Deadly Page 32
