by Scott Cook
“What… what are you trying to imply?” Natalie asked quietly.
“Don’t…” Marcus muttered, but more to himself.
“I’m not trying to imply anything. I’m stating that Marcus and Marian were having an affair back in the early nineties,” I explained. “Julius and Marian were trying to get pregnant, but having no luck. Until miraculously, she became pregnant with Andy. A few years later, Julius met Veronica at a class he was speaking at USF. They had a fling and Veronica got pregnant.”
“Oh my god…” Will muttered.
Campbell looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon, but he still hadn’t spoken.
“It would’ve been a problem for Julius,” I explained. “So when Veronica went in for an ‘appendix’ operation, she actually gave birth to a girl. On the same day Marian gave birth to a girl.”
“But… Veronica had no kids,” Sarah Beth said dreamily, not wanting to face reality.
“Oh, but she did,” I said. “Marian was pregnant… but lost the child… or did she, Doc? Well, Veronica was told her baby girl died, but nice Doctor Felix here actually pulled the old
switcheroo and gave Veronica’s baby to Marian. Neither Marian nor Veronica knew this… but Julius did, I think. And Marcus certainly did, because he knew that he was the true father of Marian’s second child. That is to say, the second child Marian thought she gave birth to… she and Marcus were still having an affair at that point, it seems.”
“Jesus Christ…” Will muttered.
“So… so…” Andy couldn’t quite put it into words.
Natalie looked as pale as Marcus. Sarah Beth just stared. She slowly shook her head back and forth.
“Andy, you’re Marcus’ son,” I stated. “And Sarah Beth is, in fact, Veronica’s daughter. The daughter she pined for all these years. Only when the blood tests came back did Veronica begin to piece it together. That’s why she had to die. Marcus needed to silence her. Sarah Beth simply wanted her out of the way, so she was convinced by Marcus to facilitate the whole thing through her drug connections. Actually, both her and Uncle Mark did that. Both of them having a connection to Cardoza, I believe.”
“Hoo-rah…” Jackie muttered and shook her head in bewilderment.
“No…” Sarah Beth said softly, still dreamily.
“Sorry kid,” I said, feeling no pity for her at all. “You set up your own mother to be raped and murdered. Oh, and Natalie… you were the one who made contact with Otter. I had a little talk with him the other day, thanks to a friend of mine at SPPD. He admitted to speaking with a good-looking older blonde woman who matches your description.”
“God help us…” Rick muttered.
“Holy crap…” Shelby said in quiet awe, still writing.
I should have seen it coming. Honestly, this whole thing just wouldn’t have been right without it. I suppose I was distracted, so I maybe have an excuse as to why I didn’t account for the random element. However, when it appeared, throwing the cabin door open and entering with guns drawn, I can’t say I was floored.
“Brad…” Sarah Beth sort of exclaimed but still in that disjointed way.
“Oh, thank God… the police,” I stated.
Brad Raker, who I’d met on the salvage barge a week or so before, stood in the doorway holding a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol. Behind him, an older man wearing a cowboy hat and smoking a cigarette sauntered in, holding a big and nasty looking .357 revolver.
“Trip,” Rick said. “Well, don’t this just beat all?”
“Howdy, Rick,” the man named Trip said. “Finally got to see me this cabin o’ yours.”
“And the plot thickens,” I said.
32
The last chapter
“Oh man…” Clay muttered. “Missy is gonna kill me…”
No one moved. Although the people in the cabin outnumbered the two men by a large factor, most of them weren’t on the side of the good guys. Scott and Rick both had pistols. Sharon, Lisa, Clay and even Shelby did as well. Clay’s pistol being a large assault rifle. However, Brad and Trip had the drop on everyone, and it wouldn’t do for folks to go and start pulling weapons.
“You’re a cop?” Andy asked Brad.
“Saint Pete Police,” Brad said. “I’ve tracked you all down and have come to get you free. This man here, Lester Trip, has agreed to help me. I did promise him a reward if we succeed.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Marcus said with a self-satisfied grin that somehow gave his face an unpleasant appearance. “Damned glad to see you, Lester! This asshole here has been telling all sorts of lies and threatening us. I suggest you arrest him, young man. Lester, can you handle all of us on your boat?”
“Sure can, Mark,” Lester Trip said with a big shit-eating grin that also gave his face an unpleasant appearance… or increased it at any rate. “Long as we can agree on a reasonable fee.”
“Sure thing,” Marcus said. “In fact, I’ve got a little side work for you. Why don’t you and me step outside and talk figures? I’m thinking something with about five zeroes.”
Trip whooped, “All right! Hey Earl! Come on in here and take my place, now.”
Earl came through the door and held his own pistol, a cheap but lethal looking semi-automatic. Marcus rose and walked to the door. Just before he exited, he turned to Jarvis.
“Should’ve thought this through a little better, asshole. I wouldn’t make any plans for your future now.”
Scott only treated him to a cold stare. He said nothing, however.
“Well, I don’t give a shit about any of this,” Brad said and turned to Jarvis. “Scott Jarvis, you’re under arrest for—“
“Cut the shit, Brad,” Scott said sternly. “Not only are you out of your jurisdiction, but you’re also outranked. I also happen to be in law enforcement… you dumb shit… and it’s you who will be arrested. SPPD knows about you, Brad. They know about you dating Sarah Beth. They know about your little coke habit, too. They’ve only been holding back because they hoped that one or both of you two idiots would lead them to a bigger fish. Cardoza, for example. So why don’t you quit while you’re ahead.”
Brad flushed but maintained his cool, “Not a chance, Jarvis.”
“That’s right,” Earl said. “None of y’all is goin’ no place. Me and my brother work for Mr. Trip out there. And I got a feelin’ that after he and the big man talk it out… none of y’all is gettin’ off this island.”
“I don’t care about that,” Brad said. “I came here to get Sarah. She and I are leaving.”
“Just like that, huh?” Sharon asked. “You’re a cop, is that right?”
“Yeah… or I was,” Brad said, sounding mildly regretful.
“Well, then be a cop one more time,” Sharon implored. “You take the step you’re considering, and it’ll be more than an ended career, kid.”
Brad shook his head, “Sarah and me are leaving. I saw two fast boats tied to that dock. I’m gonna take one and we’re getting outta here. We go nice and peaceful, and nobody gets hurt.”
“Maybe,” Earl added with a sneer.
“Nope,” Jarvis stated.
“I’m not asking, shamus,” Brad said. “Let’s go Sarah. To make sure you all behave, and nobody does anything stupid…”
He looked around and settled his gaze on Shelby. She only frowned and clutched her notebook. Clay stepped forward and blocked his look.
Brad smiled, “Your kid?”
“Yeah,” Clay said, his fists unconsciously balling. “Move along.”
Brad chuckled, “Perfect. She’s coming with us.”
“Absolutely not,” Clay said dangerously. He took a step toward Brad, who pointed the pistol at Clay’s chest.
“She’s my insurance policy,” Brad said. “You all let us go and nobody gets cute, and as soon as we reach land, she can call her mom or whoever and go free.”
“Fuck you,” Clay growled.
“Or I put a bullet in you now, Dad,” Brad threatened.
“Dadd
y…” Shelby said softly and got to her feet.
“I’ll go,” Jackie volunteered. “Leave the kid and take me instead.”
Brad chuffed, “Nope. Decision’s been made.”
Sarah Beth seemed to come out of her stupor, or at least somewhat. She got to her feet and grabbed Shelby’s arm and yanked her toward the door, “We’re going. Don’t try anything stupid… especially you, Jarvis!”
Scott glared. His own fists were balled but ,he only clenched his jaw. Brad grinned and he and Sarah and Shelby went through the door and down the path to the dock.
Clay stared after them and then back at Scott. His eyes were wide and there was real fear in them. Scott only shook his head ever so slightly.
“It’ll be all right,” Rick Eagle Feather said, placing a hand on Clay’s shoulder.
They waited. Through the still open door, the people in the cabin heard an outboard start. There was an electric charge of tension in the room, a crackle in the air that needed only the slightest impetus to set off a lightning strike.
And it was Jackie Stevvins who provided it.
She lunged toward Earl, bringing her pistol out from behind her back even as he spun and aimed, “Don’t do it, bitch!”
Unfortunately for Earl, Lisa and Sharon’s chairs were to either side of where he stood. Both women shot a foot out and connected solidly with the side of both of the man’s kneecaps. He cried out and went sprawling, his gun clattering to the deck. Scott leapt forward and snatched it up, tossing it to Clay in one fluid motion.
“Let’s go!” Scott called. “Jackie, with me. Lisa, Sharon, Rick, hold these assholes!”
Scott and Clay moved through the door just as Dale was coming in to see what the ruckus was. Scott bowled him over, planting a shoulder into his chest, seizing his gun hand and sending the man sprawling onto his back. He then sent a swift hard kick into the man’s right thigh muscle, eliciting a howl of pain and immobilizing him long enough for the others to deal with him.
Scott and Clay then split up, each one going to either side of the house. Trip and Marcus had gone around back, so they had the best chance of stopping them this way. Jackie went out and down the steps and circled around to the right along the tree line.
Sure enough, Trip and Bradford were standing by the fire pit. Trip spun when he heard the noise and raised his chrome-plated Magnum and searched for a target. Bradford had the AK-47 taken from Clay, but he was too stunned to use it.
“Drop ‘em!” Scott roared from the corner of the cabin.
“Now!” Clay added angrily from the other corner.
Trip evidently didn’t care to heed the warning and tried to train his pistol on Scott. Before he could fire, however, the big revolver flew from his right hand as the forearm connected to it was struck by a bullet fired from Jackie’s own Sig. The 9mm round passed between Trip’s ulna and radius, grazing the lower bone and breaking his wrist in the process.
Marcus Bradford, still holding the AK downward, looked at Clay and let the rifle slide to the dirt.
“Let’s go, in the cabin!” Clay barked, waving his gun.
Jackie ran up and snatched the AK off the ground. Scott ushered the two new captives into the cabin and handed the .357 that Trip had discarded to Rick.
“We’re going after Sarah Beth,” Scott said. “But they have a ten-minute lead on us… not sure how to get them.”
“They took my older skiff,” Rick said, peering through the window. “There is a spaghetti track on the plotter.”
“Does it lead outta here?” Clay asked.
Rick squeezed the younger man’s shoulder, “It does not, son. I’ve got the same track on my new Maverick as well as the real one to get out. You’ll see the difference, Scott. Go on, we’ll hold these people.”
“Good,” I said. “Here’s my phone… call Alex Muñoz. He’s a friend of mine with Saint Pete PD. He’s waiting for directions in here.”
“Will do,” Rick said.
Sharon and Lisa looked at me. I shook my head, “Me, Clay and Jackie. It’s his kid out there and Jackie and I are authorized to use deadly force. I hope it won’t be necessary, but…”
“Go,” Lisa said and kissed Scott. “Get her back safe.”
Clay, Jackie and Scott ran for the dock.
“You all right?” Brad asked as he held Sarah with one arm and steered with the other.
They were running up on a plane across the placid waters of the Ten Thousand Islands. Brad had activated the chart plotter and was following the spaghetti track to find their way out of the maze of mangroves and small islands.
“I am now,” Sarah Beth replied, albeit somewhat flat.
“You sure?” Brad asked. “You seem kind of… like you’re in shock or something.”
“I found out… found out some news today,” Sarah Beth stated, making a concerted effort to pull herself together. “If it’s even true… hell, it’s probably a bunch of shit.”
In front of them on the small bench, Shelby turned and speared Sarah Beth with a glare, “Scott doesn’t lie.”
“What do you know about it, kid?” Sarah snapped.
“I’ve known him a lot longer than you have,” Shelby retorted. “He told you the truth. You killed your own mother.”
“Shut up!” Sarah snapped. “You shut your fucking mouth!”
Brad looked from Sarah to Shelby, “What? What’s she talking about?”
“Jarvis is still on about how we all worked to kill Veronica,” Sarah said, making an insufficient attempt to rebuild her calm. “It’s a bunch of shit, Brad.”
“Nope,” Shelby told him. “She, her uncle, her brother… they all worked to make sure that lady would be killed so they could take over the company. But it turns out that this Veronica lady was actually Sarah’s mom. And that’s not all. You’re a policeman, right?”
Brad clamped his jaw and nodded ever so slightly.
“So why don’t we turn around and go back?” Shelby asked. “These are bad people, mister. If you’re really a cop, then you need to arrest her. You can always get another girlfriend.”
“Shoot her!” Sarah suddenly raved, searching around Brad’s clothing with her free hand. “Shut her up, Brad!”
“Take it easy!” Brad said. “I’m trying to drive this—“
He was turning a rather sharp corner. Shelby saw what was coming first and dove into the well between the bench and the forward casting deck. She heard Brad shout in alarm and then the boat seemed to rise up out of the water. There was a tremendous splash and the outboard propeller was kicked up out of the water and whined horribly.
They’d gone from twenty-five knots to zero rather abruptly. Both Brad and Sarah Beth were thrown forward, the woman landing flat on her belly on the casting deck and Brad smashing his nose into the aluminum frame around the small windscreen. His abused sniffer erupted into a torrent of crimson.
“Jesus Christ!” Sarah screeched as she tried to regain her senses. “What the hell happened?”
Shelby didn’t wait around to hear the explanation. She didn’t need one. She leapt to her feet and looked around. The boat had run up on a shallow spur of a sandbar that jutted out from a good-sized island to their left. The island was ringed by large mangrove patches, and she could also see pines, a big banyan and a few palms. The island looked to be a couple of acres across.
Having little time or little choice, Shelby ran to the bow and jumped, landing in six inches of water and followed the sandbar to the island.
“Hey, stop!” Brad shouted, although it sounded a bit muffled with the front of his T-shirt being held to his bleeding schnoz.
Shelby didn’t stop. The sandbar met the island at a small beach that was clear of mangroves and led directly into a tangled forest of leafy trees and pines. There wasn’t a trail to follow, but enough space for her to quickly vanish into the foliage.
“Goddammit!” Sarah raved. “We’ve got to stop her, Brad!”
“We’ve got to get this damned boat off this
sandbar,” he protested. “And stop this friggin’ nosebleed… see if there are any rags in the console.”
Sarah huffed and dug around until she found not a rag, but several folded up T-shirts. She took a navy blue one and unfolded it. It had a little alligator wearing a cowboy hat on the left breast above the words Eagle Feather Eco Tours.
“Here, put this one on and use yours to stop the bleeding,” Sarah said, feigning patience. “I found a couple of bottles of water, too. Stop the bleeding and work on the boat… I’ll go after the kid.”
“Out here?” he asked nasally as he pinched his nose.
“Give me your gun.”
He sighed and handed over his service semi-automatic. It was a Sig Sauer P226. He knew she could shoot; they’d been to the range together on several occasions.
“You gonna shoot her?” he asked, feeling more than a little uncomfortable with the idea.
Sarah smiled thinly, “Not unless I have to. You take care of that nose, baby.”
With that, she quickly leapt over the side and followed Shelby’s path into the island. For several long minutes, Brad Raker stood alone at the skiff’s helm. Suddenly, he felt very small and alone among so much wildness. The occasional mosquito would buzz, or a dragonfly would chitter by. Uncounted birds in dizzying varieties chirped, whistled and cawed around him. More than once, he heard the guttural croak of a bull gator somewhere out of sight.
Aside from the island, there were other small islets and little patches of land around him. All of them, except for the meagerest little single mangrove here and there, were separated from his island by several hundred feet. Mullet or maybe some freshwater fish splashed and jumped… and from off to the right, there was a larger splash. Something very large had dropped into the water. The place was teeming with life, both large and small. Suddenly, standing there in the still heat of the day surrounded by the endless chorus of raw nature, Brad Raker felt very vulnerable.
