Four Shades of Recovery: Boxed Set (31 page)

“Just tell me where you’ve got Matt and we’ll be done with this fiasco,” I reply and point my gun at Michael like I really mean it.

“If you kill me, you’ll never know where I’ve imprisoned your good for nothing, cheat of a lover boy.” 

“I don’t want to kill you Michael but I can wound you. Remember I told you that my father was a paramedic? Well, he also taught me to defend myself with and without weapons.”

“Oh yeah, he was your mother’s second husband. She told me all about him. If you wound me, I’ll certainly get my revenge.”

“How will you possibly get your revenge?” I ask to divert him. Just as he begins to answer me, I aim for his kneecaps. I fire off two more bullets and one hits its mark. Michael howls in pain and goes down for the count. He doubles over in agony while grasping at his left knee. His Glock falls to the ground and out of his hands.

“Dammit, that hurts like hell,” Michael curses while he places his hand over the gaping and horrific wound in his knee and writhes around on the ground. Cane then rams the Mercedes a second time while pushing it closer to Michael’s location on the ground.

“Just tell me where you’re holding Matt and I won’t shoot you in the other kneecap,” I promise.

“You’ll have to find him yourself, you little bitch,” he responds with anger and determination. I have to give it to him, Michael’s a tough bastard. Most men and women would be begging for mercy at this point but this guy’s truly deranged and not feeling it as he should.

“Michael, your car is out of commission. You can’t walk. I’ve got a loaded gun aimed at you and my security man is about to run you over with our bullet proof SUV. Give it up.”

“Just shoot me and get it over with then,” Michael pleads. I keep my loaded gun pointed at Michael while I edge ever closer.

Cane distracts him by ramming the Benz one more time. That action causes the Mercedes to bump into where Michael’s crouched over in a world of hurt. He’s writhing around in misery as I approach him. I kick his Glock far enough away so that he couldn’t possibly reach it. Since I’m standing relatively close to him at this point, he makes a final lunge at my legs.

He topples me over and I fall onto Michael. We each struggle to obtain the gun that I’m holding however. Cane quickly exits the SUV and dashes over to where we’re fumbling around.

I’m so absorbed with the wrestling match that I block out all other thoughts. At last, I hear a shot ring out and feel Michael go limp beneath me. Cane’s grabbed the Glock and blasted a whole through Kingsfield’s abdomen. He’s dead within moments. My heart aches for the person Michael used to be, before he went off the deep end. It’s probably a blessing that Cane ended his life today.

“You’re a good shot, Cane,” I admit as I disentangle myself from Michael’s cooling body. “How did you know that you’d hit him and not me?”

“I was a sniper in Afghanistan; trained for precision,” Cane assures me.

“How will we ever find where he’s holding Matt, now that Michael’s gone?” I ask with utter misery.

MEGAN’S POV

“Maybe we should look inside Michael’s Mercedes to see if we can find any clues about where he’s got Matt gagged and bound,” I suggest to Cane.

“Why don’t you do that while I check the pockets of the newly deceased?” Cane indicates while wrapping his superficial hand wound with his own tie.

“Oh, Cane, I don’t envy you that task but Michael’s tech toys or wallet could have some important info about my guy in them.”

I look inside the deserted car hoping for some clue about what’s become of both Matt and Jared.

“The glove compartment holds nothing but some old receipts. The back seat yields only fuzz from clothing as well as dust from driving around in the warehouse area,” I announce to Cane.

Cane recovers two cell phones from Michael’s pockets. The first looks like Matt’s familiar IPhone while the second must be Michael’s Android device. My breathing stutters when I take hold of my fiancé’s favorite PDA. I unlock the IPhone with the code that only I know, which happens to be 63426 (Megan).

I find the recent texts that Michael sent me along with the picture of Matt in a very helpless looking state. My eyes fill with tears as I gaze into the stunned expression on my baby’s face when Michael took his photo. Abduction and imprisonment would surely trigger all of Matt’s psychological panic buttons. Cane and I study the photo for any clues as to its background or location.  

“The lighting’s dark so maybe he’s being held in some sort of warehouse nearby,” Cane posits without much conviction.

I know how much Matt loves to use the map feature of his data device so I click on the app and stare at it. The blue dot indicates our current location. However, as I study his mapping display, I notice a red dot flashing nearby.

“Do you know if Matt ever used or had some sort of tracking device for himself, Cane?”

“Like some type of GPS chip implanted in his clothing or even in himself?”

“Yes, exactly. I know Matt often spoke of putting one on me,” I admit with some hope.

Cane chuckles and wags his head. “Well, you’ve got one for sure, I’ll tell you that. Not sure about Mr. Frazier himself.”

“And I don’t know about the fact that I’ve got my own GPS chip?” I ask with absolute shock.

“It’s in the base of your engagement ring, Ms. Pine,” he confides in an almost sheepish manner.

I pull my ring off and look at its underside. No one would ever know that a chip had been inserted into my ring because I can’t detect it in any way. I’m slightly irritated that Matt didn’t tell me about my own homing GPS but I’m not surprised. Then I burst out laughing at the lengths to which Matt goes to protect what’s his. 

At least if Michael abducted me, they’d have little trouble finding my location. I just hope Matt thought about how to reverse the process for himself.

“Is that what this red dot means on Matt’s map?”

“Yes, Ms. Pine, that’s our current physical location. Your ring is the source.”

“Maybe Matt’s had himself or Rush chipped. Where would we even begin to look?”

“Let’s look through his apps and see if there’s some indicator,” Cane suggests with an indulgent smile.

Then we begin to check the IPhone’s screen systematically. Unfortunately, there are so many icons and so many pages of them that it takes quite a while to search. I’m not even sure about what most of them mean. Finally, I spot a customized app that has an S on it.

“What about this one, Cane? Could the S stand for Security, Superman, or even Steele?”

“Let’s click it and see,” he huffs with eager enthusiasm.

This app also shows some sort of map and there’s another blinking green dot on it. The indicator appears to be across town. “Can you check what the location happens to be?” I ask with hope.

“It’s down by the pier,” Cane adds and then pulls me by the hand toward the SUV.

“Shouldn’t we stay at the scene of the crime and wait for the police to show up?” I question.

“Not if Matt Frazier’s in some sort of danger. I can’t leave you here and unprotected. Let’s go, now,” he insists. I jump in the passenger side of the vehicle as Cane speeds us away from Michael’s dead body.

Cane weaves through traffic like an invulnerable teenager who’s had too much to drink. I try dialing Rush’s phone number and even texting several times to no avail while we head to the water. We arrive at the pier within fifteen minutes. We also spot Matt’s yacht resting peacefully in her slip. The area’s quiet and deserted at this time of day. Also, it’s midweek and most people aren’t on their boats until the weekend.

The boat’s location and the indicator on the phone appear to be identical. Maybe it’s just Matt’s way of keeping track of his goodies and we’ve made the trip to the yacht club for no good reason. However, the S symbol doesn’t make sense unless it stands for sailing. Hmmm.

Once parked, we walk quickly to where his boat is docked and call out both Rush’s as well as Matt’s name as we jump on deck. At first it seems we’re engaged in some futile gesture. After a minute or two of pounding and calling out names, however, I hear a thumping sound.

“Cane, do you hear and feel the pounding below deck?”

“I do now. Good job, Megan,” he responds with newfound energy while trying to pick the lock on the door leading to the galley and living areas below deck.

“Matt, we’re here baby, don’t worry,” I cry out while listening to the now steady sounds of someone kicking on the paneling beneath where we’re standing.

It seems to take forever before Cane and I find ourselves near the source of the vibrations inside. It’s coming from beneath one of the benches found in the living area of the yacht. I tap on the side of the wooden structure and call out Matt’s name. Cane’s trying to pry the top of the bench off with the blade of a thick metal knife that he uncovered under the galley’s sink. I look for and find a butter knife and start to work the other end of the coffin-like structure. Nothing’s really budging except slivers of wood.

“This bench must enclose a large metal box,” Cane deduces as he kicks away at the structure.

“Maybe there’s another lock on the side of this bench,” I infer while trying to think like Matt would about security and hiding places.

“Why don’t you look around for some keys and I’ll try to find out if there’s another lock?”

I check various pegs around the galley and eating areas of the boat but come up empty. Eventually, I notice a small set of keys hanging near the entry to our bathroom. Cane’s located a small lock at the far end of the bench and we start the process of trying to match the two. We get lucky with the second key.  

When we open the top of the bench at last, we find my prize. Matt’s been tightly folded in half inside the four foot long metallic box but he’s conscious. His grey eyes burn with joy to see us. He’s gagged and bound at both the wrists and around his ankles. Cane and I work efficiently at undoing his shackles.

I manage to get Matt’s gag off first. He breathes with relish as we pull the cotton stuffing from his mouth. Cane cuts the plastic cuffs from Matt’s ankles and wrists while I massage his limbs. He must be numb and stiff from confinement in this tight space. It takes a few minutes before he’s able to recover.

“Oh, baby, how did you ever find me? Did you force Kingsfield to fess up?” Matt asks as soon as we’ve got him seated in an upright position on the bench.

“I had to shoot Michael, Matt. He’s dead,” Cane begins the tale. “Finding you actually involved a fair amount of luck combined with a creative mind. Megan’s mind that is.”

“So Michael actually got to you before you shot him?”

“He texted me with your phone, Matt, and asked us to meet at the site of your new construction project.” We briefly describe our deadly encounter with Kingsfield in the warehouse section of town before Matt fills us in on his crazed encounter with Michael.

“I was afraid of that when he took me out down here. He really fooled me.”

“How the hell did you end up trapped on your own boat?” Cane asks with an expression that can only be described as confounded.

“Also a combination of both luck and skill but this time it was really bad luck and also lack of skill,” Matt admits with an embarrassed grin.

“It all started with my plan to take Megan on a surprise excursion this weekend to Orcas Island. Since my regular fellow wasn’t available to stock and prep the boat and I had back to back meetings at work, I’d asked Rush to do it.”

“So, what happened, did Michael follow Rush to your boat?” I prod. Matt sits down on the other bench and pulls me onto his lap while Cane pulls up a nearby cushion. I’m rubbing Matt’s back gently with my hand while we speak.

“That’s what I’m guessing although I haven’t seen Jared or even heard him since I arrived here.”

“Then how did you manage to get to the pier by yourself?”

“I received a text from Rush telling me that something strange happened on the boat and that I should get out here pronto.”

“What strange thing did Rush tell you happened with the boat.”

“That it looked as if someone had broken into it and I needed to verify what might be missing.”

“Then you drove out here in your own car and walked into a trap that Kingsfield set?”

“Yeah. You know me. I’m always so anxious about protecting what’s mine. Before I left work, I checked the GPS to make sure that you and Cane were at SIP. You two looked to be in a safe place so I felt reassured. I never dreamed it was a set up to trap me. I just wanted things to go well this weekend with you, baby.”

“So you drove to your slip and got ambushed by Michael when you walked onto this boat?”

“As soon as I entered the galley, I felt something sting my neck. I think Kingsfield used a tranquilizing dart to disorient me. He probably shot it at me before I could orient myself to the darkness below deck. All I recall, before I passed out, was Kingsfield standing over me and laughing as I staggered toward the living area. I don’t know what happened to Rush. I just hope he wasn’t shot and tossed into the water.”

We look out the windows of Matt’s yacht but don’t see anything unusual floating nearby. I swallow and tear up to imagine that Jared Rush might have been killed here because of me. On the other hand, he might simply be hiding.

“Maybe Jared’s imprisoned in this other bench,” I offer as both Matt and Cane stare at me in wonder. We stand up immediately to investigate the contents inside the bench that we’re sitting upon. The same key that helped us free Matt works on this one.

We scramble to open the bench and as soon as we do, we find Rush. He’s still passed out from whatever drug Michael used to disarm Matt but he’s breathing. However, he’s gagged, cuffed and arranged in the same manner that my fiancé happened to be found.