Beau took a peek through the binoculars. “He found it.”
Zara nodded. “Okay, Ned, new plan. You’re going to drop Beau off behind the new guy and then take me around to Timmy.” If he’d really set up a hit on her father, she was going to make him pay for it.
“Bad idea,” Beau replied. “Let me handle Guillotine and then I’ll get Timmy.”
“No time,” Zara said. “Timmy’ll be gone by then. Guillotine’s no easy mark.” She looked at Ned. “Let’s go.”
He started paddling again and Beau grabbed his arm hard enough to make Ned yelp.
“You drop me off to take care of Guillotine and then you wait for me, you understand? I’m taking them both.”
Ned’s gaze darted from him to Zara, then back to Beau as he nodded.
Zara gritted her teeth, furious and annoyed, but kept silent as Beau let go of Ned and slid his fingers through hers, worry in his eyes.
“Zara, if Olivia and Melody are really both dead—”
“There’s no one to stop me from taking over.”
He frowned, his lips moving like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
Finally, just as Ned was pulling up behind Guillotine’s boat—a clear path for Beau to climb aboard, then drop down onto the island from the other side while Ned’s boat remained hidden—Beau sighed. “Your reputation isn’t exactly…I mean, I know it’s not your fault, but your cousin—”
“She poisoned everyone against me,” Zara finished. As much as she hated it, she knew it was true.
If everything had gone as planned and she’d been able to drag Melody home to a grateful Olivia, she had a clear path to ruling the family someday. But now, if the rumors were true, there’d be a war. And she didn’t have the loyalty to win, not if Zara’s father was gone too.
“I’m sorry,” Beau said. “But maybe we should rethink—”
“I won’t take over as me,” Zara realized, hardening herself to the idea of becoming the person she hated most in the world. “I’ll take over as Melody.”
“What?”
“I still look like her,” Zara rushed on, the plan gaining momentum in her mind, even as her heart contracted and her stomach rolled. “I’ve been away at school most of the time. I can pull it off.”
Beau squinted, looking unconvinced.
“And anyone who claims I’m not Melody, you’ll take care of, right?” She slid against him, a hard, full-body contact that never failed to get her what she wanted.
His smile started slow, then broke into a huge grin. “Damn right.”
“Now go get Guillotine.”
Beau started to reach for the bigger boat, then paused and looked back at her. “Zara, before I go, there’s something you should know.”
“What?” She prepared herself for a declaration of love she wasn’t sure would be true, but damn it, she wanted anyway.
“It wasn’t Melody who sent those goons after you five years ago.”
“What?” The water underneath her suddenly rocked, but when Zara glanced down, expecting to see a gator tail, there was nothing. The swamp was calm.
“It was Olivia.”
Killing Guillotine had been easier than Beau expected. Of course, he’d had the advantage and he hadn’t messed around. Normally, he’d give a guy like that—a professional who’d done him a favor or two over the years—a fighting chance. But not today. Not with Timmy on the other side of the island, digging up a fortune that they needed to kick-start Zara’s crazy new plan.
He’d slipped up behind Guillotine and taken him down fast, with a quick shot to the back of the head. There was the chance Timmy had heard the shot, but Beau was praying they were far enough away that the trees and water would buffer the sound.
Now he was climbing back over Guillotine’s boat, cursing with every slippery step, praying he didn’t topple overboard. If he knew how to get it started—and get out of this damn place himself—he would have just taken this boat.
In his haste, Beau slipped as he descended the ladder on the back of Guillotine’s boat. His feet slid off and his chin banged a metal step hard enough to make his head snap backward. But he clung tight to the top and got his balance again. Then he pushed off, landing hard enough to make Ned’s boat rock dangerously back and forth.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re going to make us capsize! The gators might not want to eat us, but we sure don’t want to take a swim with them. This boat—”
“Where’s Zara?” Beau demanded, realizing the boat was empty except for Ned. “Son of a bitch, you let her—”
“I had to,” Ned whined. “She pulled a gun on me. She’s quick. I tried to talk her out of it, but—”
“Damn it,” Beau swore. He’d expected that the secret he’d revealed would make her hate Melody—and by proxy, Timmy—less.
But he should have realized it would only make her want to seize control of Olivia’s empire even more. And Timmy was the last thing standing in her way.
“Move it,” Beau cut him off.
Ned paddled with desperate intensity and a strength Beau hadn’t expected. The boat shot forward, almost making him lose his balance.
He shouldn’t have told Zara about Olivia the way he had. He’d known the truth for close to a year, ever since he’d killed one of her rapists. The guy had begged for his life, by the end saying anything, except this had contained the ring of truth, so Beau had made him pull up his bank account online. And there it was, in black and white. A huge deposit from Olivia herself.
The guy would have done it just to ingratiate himself to her, but she’d taken no chances, it seemed. When the idiot had seen Beau’s shock at the transaction, he’d relaxed, thinking he’d just saved his own life. Then Beau had slit his throat.
He’d kept the truth from Zara, knowing it would make her hate Olivia as much as she hated Melody. And by proxy, she’d hate her father for letting Olivia take charge.
Sheldon Duplass was the one person Zara really loved. Having that love turn to hate would have shredded her, so Beau had kept his mouth shut.
But today, everything had changed. Zara’s plan was crazy, but it could work. A wardrobe change, learning to give a secretive, one-sided smile instead of a hard nod, a few strategic payoffs, and everyone would believe she was really Melody.
But becoming the woman she hated would destroy Zara. He’d thought that with his revelation, at least that hate would be lessened, redirected at someone who deserved it more.
“Hurry,” he urged Ned, grabbing the binoculars Zara had discarded on the seat. Ned paddled even faster and Beau braced himself, searching for her through the lenses.
Zara’s breath was too shallow, messing with the edges of her vision as she stepped onto the hard-packed sand. She should have left this kill to Beau. He had fifty pounds on Timmy and probably fifty kills, too. And her? She panicked at the very thought of her cousin, Timmy’s lover.
Zara breathed deeper now, rage taking over her fear. This was the one man Melody had ever loved. Even if Melody was already dead, there was something right about taking her revenge this way.
She pulled the small pistol from her purse that her dad had given her as a gift at eighteen. If he’d known how often she’d put it to her own head over the years, he never would have done it. But now it would go to good use.
“He deserves it,” Zara whispered to herself as she crept forward, as Timmy’s gleeful, almost crazed laugh reached her through the trees hiding him from her view.
She didn’t believe he’d killed her father, couldn’t believe Sheldon Duplass was really dead.
But Timmy had to die. For her plan to work, there was no other option.
She slid forward another few feet, pressing up against the rough bark of a palm tree, her hands slick around the grip of her pistol. There was Timmy, grinning like an idiot as he clutched a briefcase close to his chest, as if someone might reach out and try to grab it from him.
; A quick grin tugged at her lips. Someone just might, Timmy.
Her heartbeat picked up, not fear this time but anticipation. If she could have dreamed up the guy Melody would fall for, Timmy was it. Handsome in an I-know-it kind of way, evil glinting in his gaze when he thought no one was looking—or he wanted only you to see it.
She barely knew him, had only met him once, briefly. The few other times, she’d seen him in passing, from a distance, when she’d been forced to come home for holidays. She’d done her best to avoid Melody, which meant avoiding Timmy, too. But she’d watched him. Studied him like a spurned lover, wondering how in the hell Melody had snagged him, what he saw in her.
Zara’s hand started to shake and she realized she was gripping the pistol so hard that her fingers were going numb. Easing up on her grip, she lifted the pistol and stepped out from behind the tree, feeling a tight-lipped smile form.
Timmy stopped, but instead of fear, there was shock on his face.
That’s right, you bastard. I’m going to end you.
“Melody?” he breathed. “But…” He shook his head, almost violently.
Zara’s smile faltered, the tightness coming back to her chest. For her plan to work, she needed to be able to pass for Melody. But if even Timmy couldn’t tell them apart, it meant it was true. She really did look like Melody’s twin.
Then his expression shifted, confusion becoming speculation. The bastard grinned at her, a slick smile that said he thought he was in control here, her gun be damned.
“Zara,” he drawled, lingering on her name like a caress.
The sound made a violent shiver wrack through her and then his arm moved lightning fast, dropping the briefcase and whipping out a gun.
The weapon in her hands exploded, instinct taking over, even as her brain seemed to shut down and her mind screamed run, run, run.
Timmy didn’t make a sound as the bullet slammed into him, knocking him back to the sand. His legs twitched and then his hands went up to press against his chest, up near his shoulder.
She hadn’t killed him. Gun held out in front of her defensively, Zara stepped up beside him.
Blood was shading the front of his shirt rapidly, even as it drained from his face. The eyes staring back at her were wide, his mouth open in a surprised O, as if he couldn’t believe she’d actually pulled the trigger.
Then he smiled at her, a wry, disgusted half smile. “Do it,” he barked.
She adjusted her grip on the pistol, lifted it up, centering on his face, wanting to obliterate it the way Melody—or maybe her mother—had obliterated her joy, her very life. But instead of moving, her trigger finger just tensed and shook.
His smile faded and the hands at his chest moved, trying to get better pressure on his wound. “Do it!”
She tried to smile back at him, to give him the same sly, fuck-you grin he’d given her the only time he’d met her. But her lips didn’t seem to work right, just shaking like her hands.
She couldn’t kill him. She could leave him here to bleed out alone, but she couldn’t take his life. Damn it.
Lowering her gun, she yanked the briefcase off the ground and settled for the last word as she kicked his weapon away. “Bye, Timmy.”
Beau’s whole body relaxed as he spotted Zara, climbing into Timmy’s boat with a briefcase weighing down one hand. Something warm filled his chest as he watched her set the briefcase into the boat, start to paddle.
She’d done it. She’d killed Timmy. He was both proud and sad for her, knowing she’d never taken a life before.
Just as the boat started to pick up speed, movement behind her caught his eye and then Timmy was leaping onto the boat, blood soaking the front of his shirt. Zara jerked, spinning to face him, one of the paddles flipping away from her into the marsh. She tried to swing the other one at Timmy, but he charged her, the two of them falling to the bottom of the boat as Beau screamed at Ned, “Start the engine! Go!”
Behind him, the engine sputtered, once, twice, then nothing. Beau screamed at Ned again, but it was no good. They were too far away and damn it, he couldn’t dive in to get her. “Paddle! Fast!”
The boat started moving again, but too slowly as Beau watched Zara struggle upright, shoving Timmy off her. Then Timmy leapt forward again and as if in slow-motion, their boat rocked right, then left, lifting too high out of the water. Then it flipped, taking Timmy and Zara with it.
Beneath him, Ned’s boat rocked too, and Beau stumbled, dropping his binoculars into the marsh. He turned to yell at Ned, then realized the movement wasn’t from Ned’s paddling.
“Blood in the water,” Beau breathed.
“Gators aren’t going for blood,” Ned replied, his voice strained from exertion as he kept paddling anyway, straight for Zara and Timmy. “Its movement attracts those beasts.”
Beau sucked in a breath, praying as a head popped up above the water. But without the binoculars, facing away from him, Beau couldn’t tell whose head it was. He scoured the water for anyone else, but saw nothing—except a few feet away, a gator thrashed, something caught in its jaws.
Beau braced his hands on his knees, trying not to puke. Who did the gator have, Timmy or Zara?
The next few moments were going to change everything. If Timmy had gotten Zara killed, Beau was going to kill Timmy—and the man would wish it was gators who’d gotten him.
And then he might as well jump into the marsh and let the gators take him, too. Better them than Sheldon. Assuming Sheldon was still alive to shred him to pieces.
If it was Timmy being ripped apart in those waters, then he’d take power alongside Zara—Melody to everyone else. But the fact she’d gone after Timmy—that she’d still wanted to destroy Melody so badly, even if Melody was already dead—meant Zara would never come back from this. Zara would never really come back to him.
“Go faster,” Beau growled at Ned as the person still alive by the boat grabbed hold and hoisted upward.
Beau’s breath caught, his eyes straining to see…
Back to TOC
A Close Shave
Art Taylor
With apologies to Ring Lardner…
Well, good morning.
Oh, sure, come on in.
You caught me napping—ha! Dozed off reading the paper. To look at it, a barber chair wouldn’t seem the best spot for a snooze, but you’d be amazed the customers who’ve fallen asleep on me over the years. Electric razor, snip snip of the shears. It’ll lull you, it will, and at my age…
But you came in for a cut, not a conversation.
Step on up. Two chairs, no waiting! Take your pick which. I’m the only one here. Been warming this one up, obviously, but—
Well, that’s fine too, that one’s fresher, I guess you could say.
Let me just get this cowl on you.
Not too snug on the neck, is it? Just want to keep your suit clean. A man doesn’t want trimmings on his shoulders, not the right look—or under his collar either. Something like that, it’ll nag at you, ruin your day.
Plus, you being a first-timer, gotta make a good impression, don’t I? Make it so you’ll come back, right?
Regulars, that’s what builds a business, and I’ve got a few. Less than I once did, that Hair Cuttery up the street and a new Supercuts too. But I don’t mind. I like the clientele I have, and really this is my retirement job, give me a little purpose, fill the day. Retired here for my health, strange as that might sound—Jacksonville, Florida of all places, and not for the reasons you might think. Now that’s a story.
Am I talking too much? Some people like a bit of quiet, get a nap themselves maybe. Sounds of a barbershop does it, like I said, clean smell too. It’s comforting. Fall day, I’ll leave the door open, breathe the fresh air—at least when it feels fresh, you know. Jacksonville weather.
You want me to prop open the door? No?
Maybe you want a newspaper?
Well, I read that one this morning, cove
r to cover. You take it when you go, fine by me. Not that it’s worth it, except for what you might call entertainment value maybe. Don’t believe everything you read, that’s what I say—more than ever lately, especially this big mob story day after day. The Duplass Family up in Atlanta, all these articles—and coming down here, they say? Mobsters in Jacksonville, mobsters in the Okefenokee, mobsters all over the headlines. An undercover agent and a posse of hitmen and a big stack of money—so they say.
You’ve been following it, I guess.
Or maybe you haven’t?
First time here, I mean, and me already talking about you becoming a regular, but maybe you’re just passing through?
Sometimes I get ahead of myself.
You’re not much of a talker, are you?
I can tell. Barbers and bartenders, we get to know people—know them at a glance, know what they need. A good barber, I mean, not that I’m patting my own back, but I’ve had some experience—barbering and listening both. Comes with the trade.
So the newspaper there and this mob story. Well, I mentioned retiring to Jacksonville—retiring so to speak—for my health, but it’s not the Mayo Clinic brought me here, and it’s not the air quality, ha ha! Good decision to keep that door closed. Coal-fired power plants, that’s where you get the soot and the smog. Only place in Florida dealing with it. Should’ve moved to Key West maybe, ocean on all sides, but not sure those people get haircuts the way I give them. Fringe population.
Where to start? Well, you’ve seen that movie Donnie Brasco, right? Johnny Depp and Al Pacino, good cast, good story—I mean, it’s not The Godfather or Goodfellas, not hardly, it’s not The Sopranos, but a fine movie still, you’d agree?
Well, Donnie Brasco—the real Donnie, I mean, Joe Pistone, the FBI agent pretending to be this Donnie Brasco, you know the story?
The Swamp Killers Page 24
