by Karen Anders
An apology was on her lips when she pulled the door open. But the eyes she met weren’t Chris’s.
Lieutenant Maria Jackson. She was the only other person who had been on the ship when the murders occurred. In her eyes was the coldness Sia had expected from Susan Cotes.
The eyes of a serial killer.
Chapter 11
“Hello, Sia. Surprised to see me?”
“Lieutenant Jackson.” It was all she could get out, because she’d looked past her face now and discovered the gun in her hand.
She gestured with it now. “The Navy JAG got caught off guard. That’s so delicious.”
Sia couldn’t move, couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t decide on any course of action, because too many things were racing through her brain all at once. Susan Cotes was telling the truth. She was innocent. Would she ever get the chance to tell Chris she was sorry, that she still loved him?
“Move back inside.”
She hesitated, not wanting to comply, debating for a split second whether to step back, slam the door shut.
“The bullet is faster than your reflexes, Commander,” she said calmly, as if reading her mind. “It’s not the way I want it to happen, but…” She shrugged. Once again she gestured for Sia to back up. “You have questions and I have answers. Do you want to go to your death not knowing what those answers are?”
Sia stepped back as Maria shoved her hard into the stateroom and closed the door.
She pointed at the locker. “Change.”
Sia’s gaze flew to the locker. “Into what?”
“Your dress blues.”
“Why?”
“Indulge me and I’ll allow you one question.”
Sia walked over to the locker and pulled out her uniform. As she took off her shirt she asked, “Did you try to kill Chris six years ago by spiking his coffee with GHB and tampering with his radar?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s two questions.”
Sia seethed as she ripped off her shirt and donned the white one, then stopped.
“Aw, the JAG officer wants to play games.”
“Answer the question.”
“I did you a favor. Men are nothing but abusers and leavers. You can’t trust them. I will admit there was a lot of satisfaction killing them inside their fighters. Cocky bastards. But it was even more satisfying up close when they knew they were going to die. You should have seen the look on the face of the one I pushed off the deck. And the one I stabbed to death. So surprised a woman would ever want to do anything more than fawn over him. They made me sick.”
Sia listened, shocked and repulsed at the lack of feeling in her voice. She was completely devoid of conscience. Emotionless, soulless. There would be no appealing to her sense of mercy or humanity, because she didn’t have any. Escape was her only hope, and that hope was slim with the gun pointed at her back.
“Chris isn’t like that.”
Her expression changed. “No, he isn’t. He was loyal to you and kind. I will give you that. But he looked like him and that made it okay to kill him.”
Sia put on the jacket. “Who couldn’t you trust? Who hurt you this badly that you kept seeking revenge?”
“The man who asked me to marry him, then left me at the altar while he ran off with another woman. He humiliated me.”
She donned the pants and fastened them.
“Looks like you’re out of clothes, but I’ll give you one for free, since I like a person who has spunk.”
“Was your fiancé a pilot?”
“There’s no flies on you, counselor…yet. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
Jackson responded by suddenly grabbing Sia’s hair and yanking her close. Her scalp was on fire; an instant later she also felt the cold muzzle of the gun against her temple. The voice next to her ear made her shudder. “Do not test me more than you already have.” Her fist was still in Sia’s hair, and tears sprang to the corners of her eyes as Jackson gave it a vicious twist. “Now, I will release you, and you will do as I say, when I say. Are we on the same page?” To underscore the question, she tugged harder on Sia’s hair.
“Yes,” she choked out.
“Good,” she said quite pleasantly, and released her as suddenly as she’d grabbed her.
Sia staggered forward and landed hard on her hands and knees on the steel deck.
“Get up. Time is precious. We must go.”
Sia obeyed for now. She opened her cabin door, but to her dismay there was no one in the gangway. “Which way do—” She had to break off, clear the sudden lump in her throat. “Which way?”
“Up to the deck.”
“Outside? But the storm is in full force.” She’d said it perhaps a bit too stridently, but her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear over it, and hysteria was edging up her throat, squeezing it tight.
“It’s perfect for where we’re going. I’m sure you’ll remember it.” She stepped closer and smiled, aiming the gun at her chest, and then lifting it to her head. “So let’s stop wasting time, shall we?”
Sia swallowed hard, trying to remain calm. Panicking wouldn’t save her.
She wasn’t given time to comply before Maria grabbed her elbow and shoved her roughly ahead of her. “No more questions. No more answers. Not until we reach our destination. Then I’ll grant you a few more.”
Sia climbed the ladder to the upper deck. As she approached the hatch, she could hear the rain beating on the bulkhead, metallic echoes adding an eerie quality to an already surreal experience.
But she couldn’t fool herself. She was in terrible danger. If she didn’t do something, she was going to die. There was no doubt where Maria was taking her. Sia didn’t know why, but she was sure of it.
“Open the hatch.”
She gripped the wheel and applied pressure, the metal cold beneath her hands. It made barely a noise as it turned. Nothing but a whisper of a sound.
Pulling the door was another matter. “It’s heavy,” Sia said. “I need a hand.”
“Don’t get smart now, counselor.”
“Do you want to be here all night while I struggle to get the door open?”
Maria sighed and jabbed the gun into Sia’s back. Pain exploded, radiating down the back of her legs.
“That was just a reminder not to try anything.”
As they pulled, the door swung inward and the sound of the rain and wind intensified until it was a pounding rhythm. Gusts of moisture coated Sia as she finally got the door open enough for them to see outside. Her breath caught in her throat at the violence of the sea, roiling with white-capped waves, the dark sky showing only flashes of lightning.
Thunder boomed and Sia jumped. Maria laughed at her discomfort.
“This is nothing compared to some storms I’ve seen,” she said and she jabbed Sia with the muzzle of the gun again. Sia never wanted to hit someone as badly as she did now. “Pull the door closed and secure it.”
Stepping out into the tempest drenched Sia straight through her heavy uniform coat. Icy rain poured down, pounding like nails on a roof, taking her breath away. The water was so heavy and came down so fast it almost made it difficult to breathe.
Sia knew she was not in sight of anyone on the bridge. It was a long shot, but if she could run far enough out onto the flight deck, maybe someone would see her from the bridge and send help.
She pulled at the door, her shoulder and arm muscles protesting as it swung slowly closed. She spun the wheel to lock the door in place. She tensed and like a runner off the mark she sprinted away from Maria. She was banking on the lack of visibility and the unsteady rolling of the deck to protect her from any gunshots. Sure enough none came, but Maria was obviously in just as good shape as Sia.
Fighting Maria was her only chance. She had no intention of dying without at least trying to save her own skin. It was about honor and principle. It was about survival.
Maria lunged at her, catching hold of her pon
ytail and jerking her back hard enough to make her teeth snap together. Sia shrieked in anger and pain and twisted toward Maria, lashing out with her feet, kicking at her knees, her shins, any part of her she could hit.
Maria’s lips pulled back against her teeth in a feral snarl, and the back of her hand exploded against the side of Sia’s face, snapping her head to the side, bringing a burst of stars behind her eyes and the taste of blood to her mouth. The sky and deck seemed to swirl, her arms flailing to futilely try to maintain her balance. She staggered sideways and fell. On her knees, she tried to scramble farther out onto the flight deck, well aware the lighted bridge was just above her. Adrenaline pumped through her like a drug, driving her forward even when Maria caught hold of her wrist and hauled her up and back, wrenching her sore shoulder.
But her struggles stilled automatically as the blade of a knife glinted off the flight deck lights.
Sia’s heart drummed, impossibly hard, impossibly loud as the blade came nearer and nearer her face. It was a military knife, built for one thing and one thing only—killing. The blade was polished steel, the tip tapered and the edge serrated. Sia knew Maria had used this knife to kill once, and she had no doubt she would use it again.
“I would prefer if you would cooperate, Commander,” she said, her face close to Sia’s as she shouted over the sound of the rain. Maria’s left hand slid along her jaw, fingers pressing into her flesh. The knife inched nearer.
The pitch of her voice was the same even tone that struck a nerve in Sia, but it was no longer devoid of emotion. Anger strummed through every carefully enunciated word as she brought the knife closer and closer. Sia’s breath caught hard in her lungs as Maria touched the point of the knife to her cheek.
“Be a good, brave officer,” she said, sliding the tip of the blade lightly downward. Over the corner of her mouth. “The Navy taught you how to do that, didn’t they, Commander?”
Sia said nothing, afraid to speak, afraid to breathe as the blade traced down her chin, down the center of her throat to the vulnerable hollow at its base. If she struggled now, would Maria lose her patience and slice her throat and be done with her? That seemed preferable, but there were no guarantees. If she waited, bought time—even a minute or two—might she find another chance to break away?
She blinked the rainwater out of her eyes and wanted to groan. The bridge was directly above her. She could see movement, but no one glanced down, no one saw them.
The storm intensified, the rain falling harder, pelting the deck like bony fingers.
The knife rested in the V of her collarbone, the point tickling the delicate flesh above. The sensation made her want to gag. She swallowed back the need, felt the tip bite into her skin. The pain came seconds later, throbbing with her heartbeat. Blood slid down her neck to mix with the rain. Every cell of her body was quivering. Sia held back her fear and panic, grabbed her sanity with both mental hands and defied Maria with her eyes.
Maria laughed. “You have more courage than any man I’ve killed.”
“Go to hell,” Sia ground out between clenched teeth. She didn’t even dare move her jaw with the knife so close to her throat.
“I’ve already been there. Now it’s your turn.” In one split second the knife was gone, but the gun was back in Maria’s hand and she got quickly to her feet, hauling Sia with her. She pushed her hard in the back to get her to move forward. Sia almost lost her footing on the slick, heaving deck, but regained it at the last minute.
They skirted bridge and moved to the edge of the ship. When they reached a ladder that went down into the darkness, Maria said, “Go.” But before Sia could comply, Maria grabbed her by the hair again, twisting brutally until Sia cried out. “If you try anything, I will shoot you in the back and throw your body overboard.”
Sia looked up as Maria released her hair. She knew where Maria intended to take her.
The sponson.
* * *
Chris stalked away from Sia’s cabin, his anger palpable. She was simply the most stubborn woman on the planet. She was hell-bent on saving her brother’s memory and destroying any happiness she could have had.
She certainly wasn’t doing it for Rafael. He was dead. Long dead. Sia was doing it to assuage her own sense of justice. She couldn’t accept the fact that mistakes had been made and as a result he died.
The fact that she couldn’t forgive him really had nothing to do with him at all. It was all about her own mission. The trouble was Chris needed it. He needed her to say the words. Needed it down to his battered soul, his broken heart.
He stopped and swung at the bulkhead, bruising his knuckles and sending pain down to his elbow in waves. But it felt good to have some outlet to release the tension roiling in him.
He was done with this. He had to be done with berating himself. He’d let Rafael go earlier, while he was on deck.
Why couldn’t he let go of the need for Sia’s forgiveness?
He didn’t have to soul-search too long to realize why he needed Sia’s forgiveness.
He knew why.
He was still in love with her, probably always would be. The pain of that admission made him want to run out on deck and howl at the storm.
He loved Sia just as much as he had six years ago. He’d never gotten over her.
Regardless of his anger and his sense of betrayal, he was in love with her. And he understood her better than he had six years ago when the feelings were raw and burned his gut like acid. It had never been about him. It had always been about her sense of loyalty to her family and to her brother.
Didn’t mean her rejection didn’t hurt. It did. Immensely. But the knowledge lessened it somewhat.
He headed to his stateroom and lay down on his bunk. Closing his eyes, the pitching and the rolling of the ship lulled him into sleep.
The buzzing of his phone roused him. Blearily he looked at the display, but didn’t recognize the number. It had a Virginia area code.
He answered.
“Special Agent Vargas. This is Commander Soto’s aide, Gabriel McBride, sir. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to track down the commander.” The concern in the man’s voice brought Chris up to a sitting position.
“She’s in her stateroom. I left her less than a half hour ago.”
“She’s not responding to my calls or emails. I really need to speak to her. It’s important.”
His phone beeped impatiently to tell him he had an incoming call. When he saw it was Math, he said, “McBride. Hold on one second.”
“Chris, check for your weapon.”
“What?”
“Now, man. Check it now!”
At Math’s urgent tone, Chris lurched out of bed to tear open his locker. His sidearm was gone and his gut clenched hard.
“It’s gone.”
“The person who shot at you has it.”
“How do you know that?”
“The bullets and the casings you sent me! The ballistics match your gun!”
“Son of a bitch. I’ve got to go.”
Chris pinched the phone between his shoulder and ear as he frantically got dressed. He pressed the key to disconnect Math. “McBride. You have information regarding the case?” he asked urgently.
As soon as he was dressed, he bolted out the door, his lungs pumping with adrenaline and fear for Sia.
“Yes, I’ve got some information that ties the master chief to one of the crew members aboard. I think that’s relevant to the case.”
When he reached Sia’s stateroom, he knocked, but there was no answer. His stomach sank when he tried the handle and discovered the door was open. The stateroom was empty.
“Agent Vargas, are you all right, sir?”
Chris realized McBride had spoken to him, but Chris had been distracted by the empty stateroom. Sia had to have been taken. There was nowhere for her to go. The ship was in lockdown.
“Yes, McBride, give me a minute.”
His gaze snagged on Sia’s computer. The laptop w
as open as if she’d been working on it, but the screen was dark. He went to it and pushed a button. The screen flashed on. He saw the website she’d visited. Then he noticed another file was open. He clicked it to open it. When he saw the personnel list and the name the blinking cursor was on, he swore.
“Sir, what is it?”
“Tell me what tie you have to the master chief?”
“Well, when I was investigating him like the commander asked me to, I stumbled over some records….”
“McBride! The information!”
“The master chief was Lieutenant Maria Jackson’s stepfather.”
In a flash, memory came rushing back at him. She had been the LSO when he was aboard the McCloud and she’d been in the wardroom before he and Rafael had taken off. Both wingmen of the dead pilots remembered that she’d been in the wardroom before they had taken off. She was the one who had spiked their drinks, not Susan Cotes. The woman had been framed as she’d claimed. The scar, he remembered her scar. He remembered he’d gotten dizzy shortly after takeoff. His radar was messing up and he’d focused on it. Tried to see clearly, but his dizziness had gotten worse. Then he’d jerked at Rafael’s voice in his ear and the plane had swerved, collided against his wingman’s. Rafael had shouted an order, told him to eject as the jet spun out of control, whirling in midair. And it had been Chris’s sense of survival that had saved him, that and his training as he lurched for the eject button and jettisoned from his impaired jet.
Jackson was the killer. She’d orchestrated the evidence against Susan Cotes. She framed her to distract and mislead them. She was the one who had taken his gun right before she’d come to them on the flight deck. She must have shot at them when she’d left, then cleaned and replaced his gun in his locker. He was sure of it.
He was sure of one other thing. She was the one who had Sia and if he didn’t find her, Jackson would kill her.
He closed his eyes and swore softly.
* * *
Sia shivered as her sodden dress uniform coat did nothing to keep her warm. Her back was pressed to the rail and the ocean churned below her, the waves breaking against the hull in white froth fury. There was no way to survive a plunge from this height. Even if she did, she wouldn’t last a minute in the heaving waves below.
