Kit

by S. M. West

  He cocks his head to one side, wrinkling his graying brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Cut the crap, Victor. It’s just you and me, no audience.” I press my flattened palms into his desk, getting closer to him. “Caro doesn’t have what you’re looking for. She isn’t involved in any of this, so back off. Now.”

  “I’m sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Is Caroline okay?”

  Like snapping a twig in two, my patience is gone and I bound around the desk, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket and hauling him out of the chair. It falls backward and he lets out a groan when I slam him into the wall.

  “Look here, Beetle, it didn’t take us long to figure out who you were once those assholes ran us off the road. With the right info, it won’t take the police long either. We’re more than happy to fill them in.”

  With one of my hands, I secure his arms in front of him. I wrap my fingers around his wrists, grateful that with my size, I can easily control him. The forearm of my other arm presses into his neck, holding him in place. His eyes bulge and he gasps, features slack with shock.

  “We can prove you were behind the break-in at Caro’s house, those texts, and today’s crash.” It isn’t true—I don’t have solid proof but with some more digging, I’m confident I could nail him.

  I don’t need proof for this exchange. He only needs to believe I have what it takes to bring him down and I won’t hesitate to do so.

  Time is the problem. I don’t have all the time in the world, because if this keeps up, Caro could wind up dead. This must stop now.

  “Right now, you’re anonymous—the police are looking for you but don’t have a clue. I can change all of that and I will if you don’t stop going after Caro.”

  It’s as if my words release him from his act. His mask clatters to the floor and he sneers. “Give me what is mine and I’ll leave her alone. All of you, even Elliot.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about Elliot.” I jostle him some more and his teeth clack together. “He set up Caro. Leave her out of this.”

  “And I’m supposed to just take your word for it that she knows nothing.” He pushes on my hold but it’s futile. “Elliot disappeared with what’s mine, and Caroline knows where it is or how to find Elliot.”

  “No, she doesn’t.” I press a little harder on his larynx, hoping it might improve his hearing.

  “Well, Flora was a dead end. Pun intended.” His expression darkens.

  “What does that mean?” My blood runs cold, dizziness dancing around my head.

  Why didn’t I take action on Flora’s safety sooner? I’d only clued in to how they found us at the Deer Park clinic this evening.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “She’s quite the chatty one, but unfortunately she didn’t know much, not even where to find Elliot. But she did have lots to say about Caroline. So that leads me to believe Caroline knows more.”

  My teeth clash, grinding at the thought of what Flora might have said about Caro. I want her to be alive and safe, but my concern only somewhat lessens the burning in my gut at her potential lies.

  “If Caro is hurt at all, I will call the police.”

  He chuckles but doesn’t look me in the eye, suggesting a hint of fear or bluster.

  “I tell you what.” Victor pushes once more against me, and I loosen my hold but stay close. “Caroline is safe…for now. I give you twenty-four hours to find me Elliot.”

  “And if I can’t, then what?” As if I can trust this bastard.

  “Then Caro’s fair game.”

  I growl back in his face and my chest bucks against his clavicle. “No.”

  “Take it or leave it. None of this goes away until I get what’s mine. You either help me or you’re in my way.”

  A strange bristling at the nape of my neck causes me to look toward the door where two bodyguards are poised to attack, both with a hand on a gun in its holster. They are all too eager for Victor’s command.

  “Have we got a deal?” He pushes from me, straightening his jacket and wearing a smug smile.

  And it isn’t like I have a choice, so I nod, snarl, and storm past the gorillas.

  Caro

  Alone. Exhausted and also wired, I pace, waiting for a phone call or the buzzer, announcing Willow’s arrival. Finally my phone rings and I sprint toward it, hesitating when I don’t recognize the number. I can’t ignore it, not when Willow’s on her way and both Kit and Logan are out there doing dangerous things.

  “Hello?” Trepidation fills that one word.

  “Dr. Archer, it’s Detective Holman.”

  Great. “Oh, hello, Detective.”

  “I tried calling Kit but it went to voicemail and this…um, it’s the kind of thing you…ah, don’t leave a message about.” He sounds odd, more uncomfortable than usual.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s no easy way to say this but I wanted you both to be aware…Flora Brown is dead.”

  “What?” Bile races up my throat and I bend at the waist, covering my mouth to stifle a cry and the urge to vomit.

  “Yes. Her body was found an hour ago.”

  “What happened?” I force the words past my queasiness. “Do you know who did it?”

  Flora…Logan. I switch to speaker phone and text Logan the news, explaining I’m on the phone with the detective.

  “It’s an ongoing investigation—”

  “Detective Holman, don’t give me that garbage.” On shaky knees, I drop onto the couch. “You can’t call and drop that bomb in my lap without details.”

  I stare at the three little dots, waiting for Logan’s reply.

  “Ah, Doctor, I really can’t say much. We don’t know a lot.”

  “Was it an accident? How did she die?” I blink back my tears, furious with myself. Logan’s text comes in—he hadn’t even reached her apartment yet in this weather. He’s going to turn around and asks for the address to Victor’s. He’ll join Kit.

  Did we get her killed? Oh my God, did our visit today lead the Beetle—no, Victor—straight to her? Or was it Elliot? I’m no longer sure of my ex and what he’s capable of.

  “We found her in her car just outside her building. It looks like there was some kind of struggle, and while I can’t say for sure until we get the medical examiner’s report, it looks like asphyxiation.”

  My hand flies to my throat and breathing becomes difficult. She was strangled. “She was murdered.”

  “Look, I realize this is horrible news and I have questions for both of you. Kit mentioned Flora earlier today and we’d already questioned her.”

  “You did?” A flurry of sensations clouds my mind. Were we already too late when Logan left to get her?

  “Yes, her number was on Elliot’s phone. I need to know what you discussed with Flora.”

  The sharp buzz of the intercom for entrance to the building startles me. Willow.

  Mindlessly, I hit the enter button while still talking with the detective.

  “We talked to her briefly, and she basically confirmed she was helping Elliot. He used the clinics, first Jane Street, then Deer Park, as a place to ship the oxy to. At Deer Park, Flora would then get the shipment to him.”

  “Did she know where Elliot was or how to find him?”

  I huff sarcastically, wiping at a stray tear on my cheek. “No. Don’t you think if we knew how to find Elliot, we’d have him? Or told you?”

  He utters a derisive huff. “Okay, I’ll need you both to come down to the station and make this official.”

  My head shakes from side to side before I even respond. “Not tonight. We can do it in the morning.”

  “Very well. The weather is crap out there.” He sounds beyond tired. “Have a good night, Dr. Archer.”

  There’s a hard knock at the door and I head to open it. “Goodnight, Detective Holman.” I swing open the door.

  My heart stops.

  All the air rushes from my lungs.

  Elliot Foley,
snow sprinkling his hair and jacket, stands in front of me.

  A mad scientist, that’s what he looks like, with ill-kempt, dark-brown hair and glassy dark-brown eyes, almost wild. His jaw is covered in a dark beard with a smattering of gray. He doesn’t look like the Dr. Foley the police and maybe even Victor are looking for. I’ve never seen him so disheveled.

  Jaw slack and mind reeling, my finger is still on the end call button. Shit. Holman. Could I hit redial? I no sooner think it than his feral gaze darts to the phone in my hand. He lunges and knocks the phone from my grip, where it clatters to the floor.

  He kicks the phone farther from me, and I use the chance to get away. I want to push past him out into the hall and scream fire—isn’t that what you’re supposed to scream instead of help?

  But I can’t get past him. He’d grab me for sure, and then he slams the door. Retreating into the loft, I try to put as much distance between us as is possible.

  “Caro, finally, it’s just the two of us.” He advances on me.

  “Elliot, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.” My tone is reedy and sounds nothing like me as I try to act normal. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been close by. I see you’re back with the big guy. What’s his name again? Rock?” There’s a slight curl to his lip.

  “Why are you here?”

  He isn’t acting like himself. Is he high? His eyes rove around the room, and his posture’s wiry, strung tight.

  “I’ve been watching, trying to get to you.” His fingers rake through his nest of hair. “I need your help.”

  “Help? How can I help you?” Maybe if I stall him long enough, Willow will get here and call the police when I don’t answer the door.

  He’s stolen a large shipment of oxy and done who knows what with it. He has Victor Walsh, the cops, and maybe other bad people after him and he wants my help?

  “Come with me.” His arm shoots out but I’m quick, putting more distance between us.

  We’re six or seven feet apart and his arms are open as if ready to embrace me but it’s more like grab me. I move two steps to the right and he mirrors my movements.

  “This doesn’t have to be a big deal. Come with me. Put on your coat and let’s go.”

  “Where are we going? Why?” I can’t leave with him.

  What does he want with me? To kill me? No one knows he’s here, and apart from escaping, who knows if I’d ever be found.

  I back up farther, closer now to the table with the whiteboard and markers. The kitchen would be good—I could grab a knife—but I can’t get there without going closer to him. I need something, a weapon. Something I could throw at him or hit him with.

  He edges in my direction, teeth bared and nostrils flaring. “You’re going to make me hurt you, aren’t you?”

  He dives for me, fingers grappling for my shoulder, but I push him hard. He stumbles, falling onto his ass. He’s down, but still in my way. I have to go past him to get out of here. Dammit.

  I lift my foot to kick him in the groin and he’s quick, grabbing my ankle and bringing it down to the floor. Quickly, I roll out of his reach, kicking out my feet and making contact with his body.

  He releases a wail and a groan as I ignore the ache in my side and spring to my feet. I’m trapped, with no way out. He’s still blocking the path to the exit.

  Not one to readily give up, I’ll fight him to the end, but in case I fail, I need to leave a message or clue for Willow or Kit, or someone.

  He growls from the floor, grabbing at one side of his head and pushing up onto all fours. I grab a dining chair, lifting it over my head and throwing it in his direction. But he’s fast, rolling away before the chair crashes to the hardwood.

  “Caro, fucking stop,” he roars, face dark and menacing.

  Shit. With a marker in hand, I quickly scribble on the whiteboard, then drop it onto the floor before Elliot realizes what I’ve done. I whirl around and he’s right there.

  His hands grip my shoulders so hard it feels as if my bones will crack, and I cry when he tosses me against the wall and my head smacks against the hard surface.

  Little white dots dance in my vision, growing bigger and brighter until everything swims and I see nothing.

  Someone slaps my cheek and my eyes snap open. Elliot’s looming over me and snow pelts my face. I’m bundled in something, arms tight to my body and legs touching. It’s like I’m a burrito, and I’m cold and damp. We’re…we’re outside?

  He yanks at whatever is around me and rolls me three times, then he pulls on my arm until I’m sitting. It was some kind of sheet he had around me. Is that how he got me out of the loft?

  My head throbs and I remember hitting my head against the wall. Or more like, Elliot threw me into the wall.

  Blinking, I try to get my bearings, inhaling deeply to lessen the pain. Where are we? My teeth chatter and my blood is so cold. I’m chilled to the bone with no jacket.

  Through the gusts of snow and wind, I make out what looks like the deck of a boat. A boat in the middle of a blizzard? Is that even possible?

  “Where are we?” I stutter through blocks of ice where my lips once were.

  “Shut up.” He wrenches my arms behind my back and heaves me onto my feet.

  My vision isn’t clear, and nausea ebbs and flows in the pit of my stomach. Planting me in front of him, Elliot pushes me across the snow-covered deck into the cockpit.

  Immediately, I welcome the shelter from the elements. He nudges me downstairs, below deck, into a small living space. It’s warmer, heated. Thank goodness.

  “Stay still.” He pushes me onto my knees, tying my hands behind my back. “Why are you always so stubborn? Always thinking you’re in charge? You couldn’t just make it easy and come with me, could you?”

  “Elliot, what do you want with me?” I can’t think of one reason why he wants me, of how I could be of use to him. The only thing running through my mind is that he’s going to kill me.

  I’d never have believed him to be a killer, but it’s clear I don’t know this man at all.

  “I just need to think.” He sits on the small sofa across from me, head in his hands. “Why isn’t Flora answering?”

  “Flora’s dead.” The words are out before I even have time to think, to consider whether sharing that news with him is a good thing or a bad thing.

  His head snaps up and he’s pallid, sickly. “Dead? Fuck, no.” His hands shake in his lap where they are balled into tight fists.

  I don’t move or breathe, struggling to keep the pricks at the back of my eyes from turning into tears.

  Why did I have to open my mouth? Judging from his reaction, Flora’s death is news to him. I had thought it was Victor, one of his men, but Elliot had crossed my mind. But he didn’t kill her. Maybe this means he won’t kill me?

  “When? How? Who did it?” Now in front of me, he clutches the sides of my head, grasping my skull so tight the pressure in my eyes is unbearable. I’m going to throw up.

  “You’re hurting me. Stop.” I wriggle my head and shoulders from side to side and he releases me, sliding back onto his calves. “She was strangled in her car. The cops don’t know who did it.”

  “When?” His voice is so low, I barely hear him over the howling wind above.

  “Earlier tonight.”

  “Fuck!” He gnashes his teeth together and jumps to his feet, once more towering over me. “What the hell am I going to do now?”

  “Let me go,” I plead, letting him see my fear. If he believes he’s got all the power, maybe it’ll work to my advantage. “Turn yourself in before whoever is looking for you finds you. They’ll kill you.” I’m rambling, not even sure if I’m making any sense, but I need to get through to him. “I can help smooth things over with the police. If you untie me, I’ll say I came willingly.”

  At this point, I’ll say anything to get away from him. He’s unstable and I just want out of here alive.

  “No, no, no.” He paces in front of me.
/>   “Elliot, give them back the oxy and whatever else you took.”

  He rolls his eyes with a dramatic, disgusted sigh. “Give them back the oxy? Do you hear yourself? I do that and they’d kill me. There’s no forgiveness in this business. Fuck, that’s just one reason I wanted out. They’re ruthless killers. Besides, the oxy is gone.”

  “Gone? What?” My heart nearly leaps from my throat, struggling to believe the one thing that could save my life is gone. “What did you do with it?”

  “Shut up! I need to think.” He stops for a second, then resumes wearing a hole in the floor. I’m getting dizzy watching him tread back and forth.

  “I need to leave. Find a country with no extradition to Canada. Somewhere in Africa or the Middle East. Fuck!” Like a child throwing a tantrum, he stomps his feet and I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my breathing.

  I’m not sure what’s coming next. Is he taking me with him? Going to kill me? One thing is for sure, it won’t be good. I’ve got to get things under control if I stand a chance of getting away.

  His fingers dig into my chin, causing my eyes to spring open and breath to lodge in my throat.

  “I knew you’d prove useful.” His sinister chuckle surprises me. Who is this man? “I’ll leave you for the Beetle. Yes, yes, this could work.”

  On his feet, he starts his pacing again, talking out loud. “I’ve already laid the groundwork and planted enough clues to implicate you in all of this.” He halts, gazing down at me. I’m a rabbit, trapped, looking into the savage eyes of a wolf.

  “He already thinks you’re involved, now he needs to find you here. I know, I know.” He bounces, eyes and mouth widening like he’s just discovered the cure for some infectious disease. “I’ll make it look like you killed me.”

  Is he serious? He’s going to frame me for murder? Not only will I have Victor gunning for me, like I already do, I’ll have the police. So if I don’t die at the hands of a drug lord, I have life in prison to look forward to.

  Pointing at me, he rubs at his bearded jaw. “Sorry, I thought about killing you. Sparing you the torture and God knows what else Victor will inflict on you, once he gets a hold of you, but I can’t. He won’t be satisfied with both of us dead—he needs someone to work out his rage on. And he must believe I’m dead. I can’t have him hunting me.”