by S. M. West
My heart plummets to my toes—Elliot is raving mad.
Kit
Sleet bites at my cheeks and the wind growls as Victor Walsh’s front door slams behind me. This is one hell of a storm.
I tuck my chin into my chest, shielding my face, pausing at the figure trudging up the driveway. The battle is real. It’s taking this guy every ounce of energy to push through the thick, wet snow.
He lifts his head and stops. His gloved hands grip the sides of his hood to keep the whistling squall from lashing at his exposed skin. Logan.
“What are you doing here?”
“Ah, Flora is dead.” He blinks back the flakes collecting on his lashes.
“Fuck.” Not only is it cold outside but now my insides are chilled. I shiver and stop walking. “Does Caro know? Did you find the body? Were the police there?”
“Hey, relax.” Logan holds up a hand.
Victor’s cryptic comment about Flora careens into my already troubled thoughts. Caro is the only thing on my mind. She’s alone. My need to get back to her suddenly overwhelms all my senses.
“I didn’t even make it to Flora’s. Caro got a call from Holman and texted me. So I turned around and headed here. What did you find out?”
“We gotta get back to Caro.” I jog through the drifting snow toward our cars on the road, Logan at my side. “Victor is an asshole.”
“Is he the Beetle?”
“Yeah, and he wants Elliot within twenty-four hours. Without him, Victor won’t leave Caro alone.”
It’s going to take at least five to ten minutes to clear off most of the snow from the car.
“Fuck.” He smashes his hand through the pile of snow on the hood of my car. “How the hell are we going to do that? That’s all we’ve been doing, looking for Elliot, and we don’t have any leads.”
“Paddy and Holman may have something more. I’ll call them. And Victor doesn’t know it yet but if I have to, I’ll turn over everything we have to Holman to nail the bastard. Meet you back at my place.” Before brushing the snow off the car, I start the engine and crank the heat.
The roads are thick layers of packed snow and ice and growing snow drifts. Even with the plows out, it’s slow going. According to the weather report, we’re in the thick of a blizzard and it’s only just begun. We’ve got another twelve to eighteen hours of this shit.
Needing to hear Caro’s voice, I dial her number. No answer. Shit. I try again and it rings and rings before going to voicemail.
Did something happen? Why the fuck isn’t she answering?
Next, I call Paddy, and he has nothing to report. The cop’s reluctant to dig any more into Holman’s cases. Every time he snoops, he’s at risk of getting caught.
I try Caro again, and still nothing. Desperation wheedles its way into my gut, coiling and churning around my insides. Clinging to hope, I dial the detective in search of anything to help us find Elliot.
Holman doesn’t bother with greetings. “Mr. Jensen, you heard the news about Flora Brown?”
“Yeah, I did. Have you got anything you can share?” I keep my tone friendly and optimistic.
Holman blows out a heavy breath and with it goes my hope. “No. We found her in her car, strangled. There was some kind of struggle based on the state of the interior of the car, but this weather is a bitch for forensics so we don’t have much more.”
“Fuck.” I press the back of my head into the seat rest and grip the steering wheel so tight that my fingers ache.
That’s what Victor meant by his comment. He had Flora killed and he had no qualms in making sure I knew it. Do I share this with Holman?
Do I tell him about Victor being the Beetle? Or do I wait until we regroup? There has to be something we’re missing.
If I tell him about Walsh, Caro could be in even more danger. I’ll play it Victor’s way for now.
“I said this to the doctor…we’ll need you to give a statement about your conversation with Flora. I’d have preferred it was tonight but this weather…”
* * *
“Fine, tomorrow. Any news on Foley?” The drive is taking way too long. And why the fuck won’t Caro pick up the phone?
“Nope. We’re still looking.”
“All right.”
The futile conversation with Holman plagues my thoughts, mixing with Victor’s threat and my unanswered phone calls to Caro. By the time I finally reach the loft, there’s a sharp pain stabbing at my chest, only intensifying with every second without seeing Caro.
Logan jogs toward the elevator as the doors start to close and I jab my finger at the open door button and wait for him. I bring him up to speed on the conversations with Paddy and Holman, and still no answer from Caro.
Forget an elephant on my chest. I’ve got a fucking city of dread ready to crush me. I have to see Caro, hear her voice and know she’s okay.
When the elevator doors slide open on my floor, we need no words. I race to my place and Logan’s right behind me.
“Fuck.” I burst through the open front door, all my worst fears imploding onto me like the demolition of a skyscraper.
Something is wrong. She’d never leave the door open like that. A sinking sensation overwhelms me and I’m drowning.
“Caro.” I don’t feel her presence. She isn’t here.
And despite the open concept and no sign of her in the bedroom, I shout her name over and over.
“Shit.” Logan laces his fingers behind his head and grabs at the back of his neck. “I should have stayed with her.”
“We don’t have time for that.” Guilt eats its way through the room, sucking out all of the oxygen. “There’s plenty of blame to go around. We need to find her.”
“Do you think Victor did this?”
Shaking my head, I scan the room. “No. He’s not above doing something like this, but the way he was talking to me tonight, he hadn’t made a move yet. This is someone else. Or something else?”
“We should call Nick.” He pulls out his phone and I wrap my hand around his with the device in it.
“No.”
How the hell am I going to tell Nick I let someone take his sister? Besides, it isn’t like he can help us. He has Maggie and the baby to think about.
“We need to focus on finding her,” I growl, ripping the phone from his hand. “Look around, there’s got to be something.”
My eyes drop to the floor and her phone at one end of the kitchen catches my eye. “Fuck.” My hand tightens around the device so hard it pops. We have no way of tracking her, and she’s without any way of contacting me or calling for help. “Fuck.”
The buzzer sounds and Logan hits the button. “Yeah?”
“Hi, it’s Willow.” Logan lets her in and I try to clear my mind. I can’t think straight.
A few minutes later Willow stands in the doorway. Snow falls from her parka and boots.
“Hello?” She’s cautious, rubbing the slick soles of her boots on the mat, but doesn’t come in. She must sense the tension or that something isn’t right. “Caro?”
“She’s missing. We just got here and the door was open and…” I hang my head, unable to continue.
I fucked up big time. If anything happens to her…
“We found her phone on the floor.” Logan picks up where I trailed off. “We were hoping you might know something.”
“Oh my God.” She covers her mouth, eyes darting around the room. “I don’t know where she is. I haven’t talked to her since earlier. I got stuck behind an accident—that’s what took me so long to get here.” She’s rambling and I’m only picking up pieces of what she’s saying. “I remembered something about Elliot…”
“What is it?” I rumble with such intensity she steps back.
Is this it? The missing bit of information that could change everything? Did Elliot take her? Or someone looking for Elliot other than Victor? Is there another player we’re not aware of?
“I’d been racking my brain for days now, trying to remember anythi
ng to do with Elliot or Flora from when they were at the clinic.”
I nod, rolling a hand in front of me, eager for her to get to the point. Logan casts a sharp glare in my direction, as if telling me to quit being an asshole. I don’t give a fuck. Caro’s life is on the line.
“Several months ago now, a call came into the clinic for Elliot about marina fees for a sailboat. They left a message, and I had to call them back and let them know Elliot wasn’t at the clinic any longer.”
“What about the boat?” Logan asks, and I want to yell at her to get to the point. I appreciate the help but every second counts.
“Elliot inherited a boat from a godparent, I think it was his godfather, about eight or ten months ago. The berth had been paid until the end of last year and they were calling for payment for this year. I was thinking—”
“What marina? Do you remember the name?”
If Elliot has a boat and he hasn’t transferred ownership, it would explain why no one knew about it, not even the police. He’s got to be hiding on the boat.
While finding Elliot is a priority, getting Caro back is more important, and he might not help us with that. If there’s another player, we might have to wait for them to contact us and make their demands.
Fuck, that’s if they have demands. Kidnapping Caro might not be about the drugs or money. It could be for revenge. Teach Elliot a lesson? We’re running out of time.
“Yes. In fact, we log all our calls at the clinic. If you have a computer, I could get the name and even the boat slip number. I remember they left a fairly lengthy voicemail. I’m sure that’s where Elliot is staying.”
Willow pushes the hood off her head and her long blonde hair is loose and slightly damp, clinging to the edges of her face. She unzips her jacket and takes off her boots while Logan and I head for the dining room table, toward the laptop.
That’s when I see it. The whiteboard.
It’s covered in the details from earlier tonight but what catches my eye are black marker rings, too many to count and as if done in haste, circling Elliot Foley's initials.
If ever there was a map, those messy black lines would be the X, marking the spot. Or in this case, the who.
“Look.” I point to the E and F encircled many times. “It’s a clue from Caro. Elliot took her.” My grin splits my face.
“Damn, I love that girl.” Logan chuckles.
“She’s brilliant!” Willow’s fingers fly over the keyboard.
“Shit, you weren’t kidding. It’s got everything here. You entered all this info yourself?” Logan stares at Willow in awe.
“No, the software turns voice into text.”
It’s all there. The name of a marina just west of Toronto, berth number forty-eight, and even the name of the boat, Destiny.
Perfect. We got him. Elliot is about to meet his destiny.
“Let’s go. I’ll call Holman on the way. We could use some backup, and I’ll let him know about Walsh too.”
“Walsh? Victor Walsh?” Willow slants her head to one side, studying me.
“Yeah, he’s the one Elliot was giving the drugs to.” I grab my heavier jacket with a hood from the closet and start putting it on.
“Holy…he’s the last person I would have suspected. He’s well regarded.” She puts on her jacket.
“Thanks, Willow. This is huge.” Logan steps into his boots. “You okay to get home in this? If not, you can stay here, or my place is just two floors down.”
“I’m going with you.” She puts on her gloves and walks to the door, leaving no room for objection. “I can help if Caro’s hurt…I’m a nurse.”
My stomach spasms, not willing to accept the possibility, but I don’t fight her on this.
The drive to the marina takes more than twice the usual time, and I curse Mother Nature all the way until I make the call to the detective.
“Holman, it’s Kit. Listen, we’ve found Elliot Foley.”
“What?” His voice rises several octaves. “Where is he?”
I tell him about Caro’s kidnapping and the information we got from Willow about the boat and the marina, and that we’re on our way.
“Wait for me, Jensen. Do not get out of your car or get on that boat. Cruisers are on their way. Wait.” Holman’s tone is both commanding and frantic.
“I'm not waiting. Elliot has Caro and he’s desperate.” I don’t mention we may already be too late. I can’t even let myself think it. “And one more thing. We know who the Beetle is.”
He sucks in a breath but quickly gets ahold of himself, coming on strong and authoritative. “Who is it?”
“I’m not saying right now, but I will. Gotta go.” I hang up before Holman can say something else.
He’ll be pissed at me, and I can’t blame him, but withholding all the details on the Beetle is deliberate. It gives him more incentive to get his ass here soon.
We pull into the marina, and with the weather as it is, it’s difficult to see your hand in front of your face, much less anything else. From where I park, there are only a handful of boats in the marina, most of which are shrink-wrapped in white plastic.
I never thought it was possible to live on a boat in the winter. How cold would it get? Especially in this storm. Fuck, Caro better be okay. Otherwise, Elliot is going to wish he was dead.
“You see that boat with the lights on?” Logan points ahead of us to a soft yellow glow that stands out in contrast to the stark white snow swirling around.
“Yeah, that has to be Elliot’s boat.” I turn off the engine and we all get out of the car.
I’m armed, as is Logan, and he thought ahead and brought bolt cutters. Just what we need to get past the locked chain-linked door into the marina.
The walk down to the boat is brutal. Wind and snow nip at my exposed skin, and every step is treacherous. Parts of the dock are slippery as an ice rink and other parts are snow drifts, easily a foot or two high.
When we finally make it to slip forty-eight, Logan shines a light along the hull of the boat toward the back, scanning for the name. Through the gusting snow, the Destiny comes into view. This sailboat is it, and the lights are on inside.
The idiot also doesn’t have his boat shrink-wrapped so both the steps and railing used to climb onto the boat are slippery and the deck is covered in snow.
The wind batters me about and I cling to the railing, trying to stay upright on the deck of the Destiny. I reach out with my other hand to steady Willow, who is having a hell of a time putting one foot in front of the other.
She’s a slip of a thing and Logan’s behind her, quick to come to her side and hold her by the shoulder. His sharp gaze, even in this blizzard, tells me to let go. He’s got her.
The cockpit is only a few feet away, and it’s where the boat’s helm and steering controls are. It’s a slim possibility, but what if this is a trap? What if Caro didn’t leave that message and it was Elliot or one of Victor’s men? And worst of all, even more so than risk of death, what if Caro isn’t here?
Terror grips my throat and I briefly close my eyes, trying to rein in all emotion. I can’t think about that right now. I’ve got to stay focused. Find Caro. Bring down Elliot. I motion for Logan and Willow to check the deck and I’ll go down below.
Face angled down to shield my exposed skin from the attacking storm, I make my way inside. It’s instantly warmer and although not as deafening as on deck, the boat rattles and shakes, sounding as if it’s about to fall apart.
Quietly, I descend several steps to below deck and anguish fills my lungs at the streaks of blood on the floor and walls.
Caro.
My knees lock and my hands press into the walls on either side of me as I try to stay upright. Fuck, it’s a lot of blood.
Whimpering, barely audible over the uproar outside, snaps my gaze to a corner. Tied up and gagged, Caro’s doe-eyes fill with tears, and her dry lips tremble around a rag in her mouth.
My muscles taut and primed for a fight, I rush to her and she j
erks her head violently from side to side, stare fearful.
It’s too late.
Something hard plows into the side of my head and I stagger backward, gut clenching, and fall to my knees.
Everything spins. Caro is there, crying, rocking back and forth, and then she isn’t.
Black and white, light and dark. Who hit me?
Whack. Another strike to my head and my back bows, my legs tremble, and I fall like a redwood cut down, crashing to the forest floor. I curl into myself, head pounding, dizzy.
A dark figure looms over me, and the hazy shape of a boot smacks into my side, jarring my ribs, and the air whooshes from me.
I can’t breathe. It hurts to even try.
My vision is a blur and I can’t grasp what or who is in front of me.
Caro is the first, the last, and only thing on my mind.
I must get to her…
Black eclipses light.
Darkness eats everything around me.
Caro
Shards of ice carve into my chest, cracking bones and tearing tissue and organs. A knot builds in my throat with nowhere to go. Kit is motionless on the floor, blood pooling on the rug by his head.
Elliot is enraged, face blotchy, teeth bared, and animalistic sounds come from his mouth. He’s kicking Kit in his side and stomach. After a while, Kit no longer moves and my heart stops. Tears sting my eyes, clouding my sight, overflowing and streaming down my cheeks.
I struggle to get off my ass and onto my knees, shuffling toward Elliot with my arms tied in front of me. My body swings into his back and my screams, begging for him to stop, are frantic and garbled.
The monster swings around to face me. “Look what he made me do.”
He grips my neck, nails tearing into my skin and fingers squeezing my throat, as he hoists me to standing. “We’ve got to get out of here. Fuck.”
