Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) (27 page)

Kain made sympathetic noises. The woman accompanied us on
our rounds, striking provocative poses in her midriff-baring yoga getup. She
kept up a steady patter for his benefit. I hoped her attraction didn’t prove
fatal. I was invisible to her, though not to my warden, who kept me lassoed in
his peripheral vision.

I reconciled myself to the fact I couldn’t jump him here.
However, I decided the woman’s banter and his focus on the search might offer
enough distraction for me to leave a plea for help. With a fingernail, I probed
a scab on my wrist, one of several deep scratches from my Bobcat freefall.
Blood quickly welled up from my probe. We walked into the woman’s kitchen.
While Kain surveyed the pantry, I smeared blood on my finger, backed up to the
white marble countertop and wrote “911.” My body shielded my scribbling fingers
from Kain’s vigilant eyes.

“Everything looks fine here, ma’am,” he said. “Thank you,
Sherry, for your help.”

She cooed her appreciation. While he flirted with her, I
charged out of the kitchen as if I suddenly had to pee. I wanted their eyes on
me, not on my bloody message.

In a minute, we were out the front door. I sighed my relief
as I fast-walked, forcing Kain to trot to catch up. I wanted us out of Sherry’s
range when she returned to her kitchen and discovered my entreaty.
Hope to
God she doesn’t misinterpret and call us back to help
. I feared she’d
decide our fictitious burglar had bloodied her white marble, not stopping to
wonder why he would scratch out “911.”

Back at the cart, Kain stared at me. He was angry,
suspicious. “What’s your hurry? Two strikes. You know what happens on strike
three. You’re dead. I’ll cut my losses. Maybe I should kill you now. You don’t
have a single idea, do you?”

“No, but you’re not exactly helping,
partner
.” I’d
played to his enormous ego. “You say Hugh’s not very bright. Well, that must
mean
you
aren’t either. You
know
the man. I don’t. Tell me about
him. Give me something to work with.”

Kain raised his hand and smacked me hard across the mouth.
My lip split open and I tasted blood.
Uh, not the best tactic.

Then he smiled. “First things first. I want to make sure you
understand me. One more smart crack, and you’re dead. But you make a point;
let’s talk about Hugh,
partner
.”

Moonlight peeked from behind a cloud and plowed a golden
road out to sea. I blinked away the beauty, a mirage with this murderer at my
side. I imagined my watch ticking. Seconds, minutes disappearing—along with
Braden’s chances. Ask questions, I ordered myself. Buy time. Think.

I questioned Kain about Hugh and his lifestyle. Did he have
friends on the island? Did they ever meet anywhere besides the villa on Blue
Crab Point? Where did Hugh like to fish? What did the gigolo do before he met
Grace, his golden goose?

An epiphany. Bingo. The King’s home. Of course. Hugh had
been a Vegas entertainer.
If you’re a singer, who’s the king? Elvis. The
King’s home is
Graceland
.

Only islanders knew about Graceland. Its formal name is Cuthbert
Park, a tiny pocket of green that Gator and Sally set aside to honor their
benefactor, Grace Cuthbert. Islanders called it Graceland. The park’s pavilion
featured kitchen facilities, including a large trough to ice down soft drinks
and beer. A place for cold cash? The pavilion closed in winter and had yet to
reopen for spring picnickers. Had Hugh put the cooler in the trough? The King’s
House. Cold cash. A possibility. A strong possibility.

“Okay, what are you thinking?” Kain demanded.

I’d gone quiet while my creaky mental wheels spun. A clear
giveaway. Should I tell him?
If his
property
’s there, he’ll kill me.
Period. I don’t have a damn thing to gain by taking him to
Graceland
.
Or do I? When we left the palace, Kain cuffed my hands in front.

“Let’s go to the King’s home,” I whispered. As soon as I
finished my directions, the gag returned and the tarp fell, once more
obliterating the moon and stars. In my black cocoon, I tried to visualize every
crevice of the picnic pavilion, fix in my mind the exact position of the rusty
hatchet. A small one for splitting wood, kept handy by a fire pit. The last
time I’d been to Graceland—a shrimp boil—the axe leaned in a shadowed corner.
Not far from the ice trough.
God, help me.

I rotated my cuffed wrists and wiggled a finger into
position to illuminate the dial on my watch—7:14 p.m. The iridescent green
numbers kept marching. The bomb would explode in less than five hours. I could
reach Braden in plenty of time—if my plan worked.

Kain whistled a tune I didn’t recognize. I wasn’t sure what
made him happier, the prospect of reclaiming his treasure or killing me. My Graceland
leap of logic definitely cheered him.

“Sounds like Hugh,” he said. “Let’s hope it’s there.”

Oh, let’s.

I rehearsed the moves in my mind. Wait till he peers in the
trough, opens the cooler lid. Grab the axe and swing. Aim for his head? No, he
might sense movement and duck. The torso’s a bigger target. Better chance to
immobilize. You want him down. Dead can wait.

The golf cart shuddered to a stop. We’d arrived. My heart
skipped a beat; my hands trembled. Under the heavy canvas wrap, my body
manufactured heat like a stoked fire. Sweat streamed down my face. My shirt
plastered itself to my body.
God, he’ll know I have something planned.

Kain whipped the tarp off with a flourish, like an artist
unveiling a masterpiece.

His eyes gleamed. “I wondered when it would arrive—the fear.
I see it in your face. You’re shaking with terror. Sometimes I smell it on
people. An odor, bitter like almonds. You lasted longer than most, Marley.

“Come. Show me this ice trough.”

Thank, God. He read my shakes as fear of death not the flood
of adrenalin before a battle. The nearness of his quarry and my perceived
fright excited him. Still he took care. His fist tightly gripped my tether as
we crossed a spongy patch of grass to the pavilion’s graveled apron. Moonlight
bright enough to cast shadows silhouetted the building. Shadows pooled at the
intersection of walls where I hoped to find treasure.
Was anything there?

Kain recognized the rectangular ice bin and walked faster.
The noose tightened around my neck as he jerked me forward. The rope was a
spare four feet. Not enough to maneuver. The trough was six feet from the fire
pit and hatchet—if it was there. I strained to separate a shape from the
shadows. I saw it.
Hallelujah.

Kain reached the trough, my tether wound round his left
hand. With his right hand, he reached to lift a metal cover designed to keep
out animals and leaves. He’d almost forgotten me.
It’s now or never.

I grabbed the rope upstream of my throat and yanked as I
lunged toward the hatchet. Kain lurched sideways. I dropped the rope and
staggered to the hatchet. I closed my manacled fists around the handle.
Swing
now.
As I followed through, I realized my target had shriveled. The man
crouched, reaching for his gun. I saw a glint of metal. My aim was off. Kain
screamed as the hatchet connected with flesh. A second later, the blade bounced
on the dirt. A glancing blow.
Oh, no
.

I tried to lift the hatchet, swing again. Kain copied my
rope trick. He jerked my leash and toppled me. I collapsed flat on my face. I
saw his boot coming at my head. Black, ugly, huge.

***

I came to sprawled on a dock, my head painfully canted at a
ninety-degree angle to my spine. A shift brought instant pain. My choke chain
now anchored me to one of the dock’s steel piers. However, I’d seen enough to
identify our location. The Cuthbert dock.

Kain leaned over and slapped me lightly on the cheek.
“Colonel Clark, how disappointing.”

He held up a USB flash drive encased in a bulky plastic
package attached to a lanyard. He slowly swung the computer memory device before
me like a hypnotist with a pocket watch. “It’s even waterproof.” He chuckled as
he stashed the gizmo in a jacket pocket.

“As a reward for helping me recover my property, I’d planned
to let you die quickly. Now, well, infractions must be punished. You cut my
thigh. Quite a bit of blood, no permanent damage.

“Wonder why you’re alive? It would have been no fun to kill
you while you were unconscious. Besides, you have value as a hostage—until I’m
safely off the island.”

His slow, singsong words smothered hope. He didn’t expect an
answer. Had he wanted one, he wouldn’t have left the wadded rag in my mouth. I
snorted like a pig trying to inhale enough oxygen to fuel my frenzy.

My tormentor looked down at me and rocked contentedly on his
heels. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked upward, hoisting me to a
sitting position. My scalp burned.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

I felt woozy. My head throbbed. Oh my God, Braden. What
time is it?

I glanced at my watch. The round face confused me. Digital
ants marched in circles. Oh. I was staring at my GPS, not my watch. In my
groggy condition, I looked at the wrong wrist. It seemed a lifetime had passed
since I’d strapped on my GPS to check Hugh’s coordinates. I looked at my left
wrist.

My God,
nine o’clock
. Only three hours
left.

Despair crept in and threatened to swamp me. I wanted to
cry.

Kain’s words hit me like ice water. “Sunrise Island. That’s
my first stop, your last. We’ll have a private party. You, me, and the crabs.”

He hummed a little ditty.

“Wonder who’ll find you? Maybe someone you know. I was
surprised to learn you were friends with that black girl’s aunt. America’s
chaotic social structure often amazes me.”

He glanced at me. “I didn’t kill Bea’s maid, you know. Just
drugged the girl and shipped her off. Piece of ass like her is worth money.
Never hurts to tend to the bottom line. After all, I am a businessman.

“But even a capitalist needs entertainment. Once I’m off the
island, I could just dump you overboard. But what fun would that be? We won’t
part company quickly. No, ma’am.”

I’d passed panic. My stomach heaved at the thought of this
miscreant torturing me for hours on an uninhabited island. My brain ceased to
function. A short-circuit caused the same prayer to play over and over, like an
old recording with a skip.
Dear God, please help me… Dear God, please help
me… Dear God, please help me…

Not very helpful if you believe God gave us brains so we can
help ourselves.

But I can’t do anything, I mentally whined.

Think ahead, dummy. He still has to wrestle you into his
boat. What are your options? Another swim?

The doomsayer side of my brain answered:
How long can
you hold your breath, genius? You’re gagged and handcuffed. You’ll be lucky not
to sink like a stone.

I refused to give up. My kayak waited right around the bend,
one dock down.

Kain quit humming and started whistling.

“I haven’t had much fun lately,” he chortled. “This makes up
for it. What message should I leave beside your remains? Notice I said
‘remains’ not ‘body.’ What’s left won’t be readily recognizable.

“Maybe I’ll let you vote on your epitaph—while you can still
talk. It’s hard to find a pun using Marley or Clark, and I’ve already done
Colonel. Perhaps I should combine a pun with a visual. How about
She-Crab
Soup
?”

The gag quelled my sudden impulse to scream. Besides, no one
would hear. No occupied homes within earshot.

Kain limped slightly, his only souvenir of my axe attack.
I’d blown my one chance to save myself and Braden.

My tether offered little play. If I so much as nodded my
head, I choked. Kain disappeared down the dock ladder and into the
flat-bottomed skiff. He pulled the motor starter and revved the engine. Oily
fumes belched from the two-cycle engine, adding to my nausea.

“Okay, showtime.” He sounded like a carnival barker.

Cautious before, Kain was doubly wary now. He pushed a
switchblade against my throat as he undid the knots that tied me to the pier.
After freeing the rope end, he gathered the excess and wound it round his fist.
He jerked until I gagged.

“So far, so good,” he said. “Move slowly. Walk to the edge
of the dock and kneel. Then put your legs over the edge so you’re sitting and
drop into the boat. I’m right behind you. Any stupid tricks and I’ll jerk this
rope so hard your eyes will pop out. But don’t worry: I won’t let you die. Not
till we party on Sunrise.”

Unfortunately, my frazzled brain couldn’t think of any
stunt—stupid or otherwise.

It’s hard to talk with a giant wad of cotton flattening your
tongue. Yet my involuntary silence seemed to irritate Kain. He kicked my leg
where I’d filleted it playing demolition derby with the Bobcat.

“Nod that you understand, bitch.”

I winced and nodded.

The moon rode high in the sky, offering ample light to scan
my surroundings. My mind raced as I tried to think of a ploy.
Anything. Come
on.

“Walk forward,” he ordered. He treated me like a dog he
wanted to heel. From the corner of my eye, I watched his gaze travel over the
bruises that covered my left side from haunch to ankle. Under the garish dock
lights they resembled ripening eggplants. To Kain, they were magnets, tempting
bulls-eyes. He kicked my calf. My strangled vocalization, the high-pitched
product of intense pain, brought a smile to his lips. He’d really enjoy
himself once he could remove my gag and hear my unmuffled screams.

My pathetic compliance turned Kain on. He was addicted. The
vulnerable skin on display through my shredded pants must look irresistible. I
sensed his overpowering need to kick me again…soon.

That’s when it came to me.
Wait till he lifts his leg to
kick. Charge him while he’s off balance. Force him into the water. It may be
your last chance.

I’d barely completed the thought when I caught movement out
of the corner of my eye. Kain hauled his foot back to land a stout blow on my
calf. I coiled all my energy into one explosive full-body thrust. I locked my
elbows, pivoted at the waist and used the power in my legs to land the blow to
his face. My handcuffs worked like brass knuckles. I carried through with all
my weight. Our bodies collided.

“Bitch,” Kain screamed as our momentum took us sideways.

My feet left the dock. Yes! I felt myself suspended in air.
Then I met the icy water in a graceless belly flop.

I had surprise going for me. I’d planned to land in the
drink; Kain hadn’t. He flailed like a drowning man. He made a desperate lunge
at me. I weaved and ducked out of his grasp. His heavy camouflage weighed him
down. Blood spurted from his nose where I clocked him with my heavy-duty
bracelets.

Good. Where’s a shark when you need one?

Even without the handicaps, the man didn’t appear to be a
swimmer. Me, I was Red Cross certified. Never mind that was thirty-odd years
ago. I’d never stopped swimming. I could evade him—if we both stayed in the
water. And if his hand weren’t still twined around a rope that terminated in a
noose circling my neck.

I pulled the gag from my mouth, tearing my skin in the
process. While doing a modified float, I wiggled my cuffed hands between the
noose and my neck so he couldn’t choke off my air. Kain was smart. In a minute,
he’d quit thrashing and reel me in like a hooked fish. I couldn’t give him that
minute.

I heard the whine of the skiff’s motor and made a decision.
I sucked in air and dived. Kicking with all my might, I pulled the rope and
Kain with it. My body went numb with cold. My lungs burned.

I kicked harder. My eyes opened. I might as well have been
swimming in ink. Sound offered the only guide. Had I gone far enough? I
jackknifed to the surface and gave a fierce yank upward on the rope. The motor
whined; I was thrilled. The dead weight on the other end was gone. The rope
floated free. The motor blades had sliced it in two.
Hallelujah.

Kain’s screams failed to penetrate for a moment. My tug had
brought more than the rope in contact with blades. I’d hauled some part of his
anatomy into the motor’s twirling maelstrom.

“You’re dead, you whore,” he yelled. The swear words and
female slurs that followed were in Polish. Apparently English could no longer
express his rage.

That’s when I saw a swatch of red and blue, bobbing my way.
The flash drive. I grabbed it. Kain saw me sweep the prize into my hand.

Treading water, I gasped to inject oxygen into my burning
lungs. Saltwater stung my eyes. Barely six feet away, he pulled himself up the
ladder one handed. Darkness wouldn’t let me assess his injuries. He was down,
not out.

“I’m coming for you,” he yelled.

That got me moving. My rope trick fouled the motor. He had
to free it before he could start the boat. And he was injured. But as cocky as
I was about out-swimming Kain, I knew better than to think I could outpace a
motorboat—or a bullet. He still had his gun. I had to hide, then find a way to
reach Braden.

I knew of no swimming stroke to adapt to handcuffs. At least
my hands were secured in front. I stretched my arms ahead and flutter-kicked
for long yards. When exhaustion set in, a frog kick carried me the last few
feet to the dock where my kayak waited.

I’ll choose waterways too shallow for his motorboat.
Ditch the kayak upstream. Then head for civilization.

Climbing the ladder proved a challenge. No way to separate
my cuffed hands to reach the next rung while I clung to the step below. Finally
I used my chin as a lever. I heaved myself onto the dock, then shoved the kayak
into the water. The splash sounded deafening. Had Kain heard it over the cough
of his starter?

I held onto the ladder frame and slid into the seat. I undid
the bungee-style clip to free my paddle from its cradle.

Bollocks.
From the first stroke, I was in trouble.
With handcuffs, I couldn’t spread my hands far enough apart to gain leverage on
my down stroke. And shifting the paddle from side to side proved a coordination
nightmare. Fluid movements that seemed second nature with unfettered limbs
became jerky comedies of error.