Play Dead (29 page)

Think! Don’t give in to panic! Be logical. There’s an explanation.

Am I sitting up or lying down?
she asked herself to keep from going nuts. Focusing on determining the extent of her predicament might help. Panic certainly wasn’t doing her any good.

With an effort, she moved her carcass that felt like an arthritic old lady’s body and determined she was lying down on something firm—but not hard—and narrow. A bed? She didn’t remember going to bed.

How could she forget something as exciting as sleeping with Ryan Hollister? Where was he? From somewhere in her foggy brain she recalled Ryan promising not to let her out of his sight. Why not?

She couldn’t remember. Something to do with danger, she thought with a tremor of unease. Oh, yes. Now she recalled. Ryan had gone to the hospital. His father wasn’t well.

All right, concentrate,
she told herself again.
You’re not in a bed,
she decided,
but maybe a sofa or something like that.
Good news. She wasn’t in a coffin. She was in a place larger than that. Some loony hadn’t buried her alive.

She forced herself to remain still with her eyes open to let them adjust to the darkness. Time passed. A minute,
maybe two. Nothing. Her eyes didn’t register the faintest glimmer of light.

Closing her eyes, Hayley let her mind drift. A thought popped into her head unbidden: ESPN was coming any minute. Oh, my God! Were they already here? They couldn’t be. She didn’t hear any voices, just a muffled rumble that was too steady to be thunder.

She must have been in the booth not so long ago for the image to be so vivid, Hayley reasoned. So why couldn’t she remember how she’d gotten here?

In frustration she lashed out, kicking both feet. And hit a wall or something with the one shoe she seemed to have kept.
Thunk! Thunk!
She kept kicking the wall. It was a relief to hear a sound she could identify.

Tears welled under her lids and she blinked rapidly. They stung as if someone dropped acid into her eyes. Straining to see something—anything—she realized she was still suspended in darkness.

Her senses were gradually becoming more acute, she realized. Thank God! She was drifting or floating or something. She wasn’t in bed; her muddled brain had already confirmed that. A hammock? No! The word was on the tip of her tongue. It was…what?

A boat! Yes! Yes! That accounted for the slight rocking sensation and the rumbling noise of the engine. And what she smelled had to be diesel fumes.

A boat? Whose boat? What was she doing on a boat when she should be in the booth? Was she in the hold of a boat? No. There wouldn’t be a bed or sofa down there, but it would be dark like this.

“Oh, my God,” she cried. If she could hear and smell, why couldn’t she see anything? Even deep in the hold, she should be able to distinguish a shadow or something. Right?

Suddenly a gust of air blew over her, and she realized a door had been opened.

“Hayley? Hayley? Are you awake?” asked a muffled male voice that she couldn’t quite identify.

Something told her not to answer, but her kicking must have given her away. He knew right where she was. She sniffed again, ignoring her sore throat and picking up the scent of imminent danger. Any second might be her last.

She heard him but still couldn’t see even a shadow or a ray of light. Like the blow of a bat to the head, the extent of her peril overwhelmed Hayley.

She was blind.

“D
ETECTIVE
W
ELLS
said to come back to the dock and pick him up,” The Wrath reminded Ryan. The fighter had called Wells to let him know about the Sunseeker they were after.

“I’m not taking the time! They could have Hayley off the boat and into a car or something, if I turn around now.”

“You’re right,” The Wrath agreed. “We’re finding Hayley together.”

Ryan wished he could be as confident as the fighter sounded. He knew the harbor from back when his father had been better and kept a thirty-five foot Tiara at the Balboa Yacht Club. They’d cruised the harbor often and Ryan had learned its channels and secret coves like a local.

Lido Isle, the largest island in the harbor, was in the middle of the bay not far from where they’d found the shoe. The Sunseeker they were after could have gone around either side of the island. The boat Hayley was imprisoned on could be at any dock on Lido or going to several other islands. Since it was such an expensive boat—close to a million dollars—it stood to reason that it was headed to one of the more luxurious homes at the tip of Lido, on Bayshores near John Wayne’s old home,
or on either of the two most exclusive islands, Harbor and Linda.

“The prick wouldn’t go to one of the yacht clubs,” said The Wrath.

Ryan had already decided as much. Going down a gangway carrying Hayley had been a risky move, but to bring her up from a boat in front of a club’s restaurant that faced the docks would be downright stupid. And if Ryan was dead certain of one thing, it was that this monster was as clever as they came.

“I’m thinking he won’t use a public dock, either. Too many people around washing boats, hanging out, you name it. A private dock—”

“They’re pretty close together. Would he risk being seen?”

“I doubt it.” Ryan ground the words out between his teeth. “But you never know. I wouldn’t have expected anyone to snatch her from the booth the way he did. He must have a plan.” Again Ryan went into game mode and tried to think like the killer. “He doesn’t know we’re after him. He’s likely to keep her on the boat until it’s dark. Then he’ll move her.”

“If he hasn’t already killed her by then.”

The Wrath spoke slowly as if he was a foreigner or a young child yet each word hit Ryan like a blow. It was exactly the way he’d analyzed the situation. “He was ready to blow her up. I can’t imagine why he’d allow her to live for long. That’s why I’ve got to find her.”

“Why’d he take her? Why not shoot her or something less risky?”

“We’ve had her surrounded, kept her whereabouts when she wasn’t at the store a secret. He had to take the chance.” But why? Ryan asked himself. Out of nowhere
the answer came. “He’ll leave the body where it can be found. Hayley won’t simply disappear. They need to prove Hayley is dead or the estate will be tied up for years until the court declares her legally dead.”

“They?” The Wrath asked.

“This has to have something to do with her parents’ estate. Nothing else makes sense.”

If The Wrath knew about the estate or had an opinion, he didn’t voice it. Ryan didn’t have time to explain.

“Call the Sunseeker dealer. Give my name and pretend this is an official FBI call. Get a list of Sunseekers in the harbor in the forty-to seventy-foot range in case the boat-wash kid was off a few feet.”

The Wrath pulled out his cell phone while Ryan scanned the docks as they neared the tip of Lido Isle. Lots of yachts, but the only Sunseeker he saw was too small and there were two women sunbathing on it.

He gazed across the water at Bay Island. Now there was an exclusive address. The house on the point—considered to be the best view in the harbor—once belonged to Roy Rodgers and Dale Evans. It faced across the water toward where their old friend John Wayne had lived. Bay Island was unique because it didn’t allow cars. Access to the island was over a small bridge by foot or golf cart.

Ryan thought not having a garage with your home would be a pain, but there were over thirty homes on the island. Few of them changed hands and when they did they sold for millions. He scanned the docks he could see on this side of Bay Island. Lots of luxury yachts but no Sunseeker.

That figured. How would the killer get a body off Bay Island? On a golf cart that everyone could see? Not
likely. The creep must have gone to one of the other islands…or something.

For a second, Ryan’s mind drifted to Hayley. He’d been enthralled by her face, but when he’d actually met her, Hayley’s smile captivated him. It ruled her other features and made her more attractive than photographs revealed. Her smile brightened her face, drawing attention away from a nose that was a bit too small.

Get a grip, he silently ordered. Stay focused. Remembering how she looked, how she felt in his arms, wasn’t helping a damn thing.

“Great. Thanks,” The Wrath said. He turned to Ryan and told him that there were seven Sunseekers in Newport Harbor in the size category they wanted. The Wrath rattled off the names of the owners. At the third name, bells went off.

“Son of a bitch!” Ryan changed direction and revved the dinghy’s motor.

“C
OME ON
. I
KNOW
you’re awake.”

Hayley stubbornly remained silent, the words magnifying her power to resist. Her body was chilled by the fresh air that had drifted over her and evaporated the sweat sheening her skin.

She longed to feel more in control of her body. Not that she stood a chance when she couldn’t see a damn thing, but she intended to fight to her last breath. Her pulse accelerated at the thought of dying.

The idea of never seeing Ryan again tore at her heart. Why hadn’t she told him how she felt? Letting that jerk Chad Bennett ruin her relationship with a good man was just…unforgivable.

“I don’t have time to fool around.”

She kept her eyes closed as if she was unconscious. Her feet seemed almost normal and her arms were now tingling. The man speaking could kill her but she would be certain traces of his DNA were under her fingernails. She’d yank out his hair by the root so it, too, could be IDed. With any luck, she’d leave a mark on his face that Ryan would notice.

She wasn’t sure of Ryan’s love; he might not be over his wife’s death. But she knew he wouldn’t give up until he found her killer. She smiled inwardly at the thought of scaring this lunatic.

But who was he? Not Trent. She knew his voice too well. Not Chad, either. She would have recognized his voice by now. This man sounded familiar but her brain wasn’t functioning well enough to come up with a name. It seemed to take forever to get a thought to register and send back a response.

“I can kill you now or I can kill you later,” the threatening man told Hayley.

Around her, the air shifted and she knew he was leaning closer. If she started talking now, he might postpone killing her. Surely by now Ryan must be looking for her. What made her think that?

The shoe. From some dark, remote crevice in her brain resurfaced the memory of Ryan inserting the tracking device in the heel of her left tennis shoe. The missing shoe! Oh, my God! She’d told Laird about the shoe.

Laird McMasters. Her befuddled brain had finally managed to provide the monster’s name. Why would he want her dead? Simply because she didn’t want him for a partner?

Start talking,
urged an inner voice. She tried to speak but the words stuck to her dry tongue and her throat
burned as if she’d swallowed acid.
You’re as good as dead if you don’t say something—anything—to distract this nut.
She tried again, but failed.

Open your eyes. Let him know you’re awake. She fluttered her eyelids as she opened them to make certain he noticed.

“That’s better,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see me, did you?”

It took a second to realize Laird didn’t know she was blind. How was that possible?

“N-n-n.” She struggled to speak but still nothing intelligible came out.

“Can’t talk, can you?” From the self-satisfied tone of his voice, she would bet the lunatic was smiling. “That’s to be expected. Don’t remember much, do you?”

She jerked her head from side to side to indicate she didn’t remember. She
had
to keep him talking. Buying time was her only hope.

“Scopolamine does that. It’s a surefire way to induce amnesia. That’s why criminals like it so much. Slip it into a drink, spray it on someone and
wham
—they forget who you are, what you look like. Perfect for robbing people.”

“Naaaah,” she managed to utter, meaning no. No, she didn’t remember anything.

“The Russians and the Nazis believed scopolamine was a truth serum. Didn’t work on everyone, but it worked on you. I asked about a tracker and you pointed right to your shoe.”

How could she have been so stupid? Hayley wondered. If she’d just kept her mouth shut, Ryan could have found her. Now it would be impossible. She was on her own. There wasn’t much hope of saving herself since she couldn’t see, but she intended to inflict as much damage as
possible on Laird. “W-w-w-aah?” She tried to form the word
why.

Laird understood; he chuckled softly, a grating sound that filled what suddenly seemed to be a small room. “Why do I want you dead? Curious, aren’t you?”

Again, she jerked her head from side to side. Keep him talking. Her arms had to move in order for her fingers to scratch his eyes out.

Or die trying.

He ran his finger along the line of her cheek and down to her neck; edging still lower he stopped at the top of her breast. She inhaled sharply at the contact. “I guess you deserve to know.”

Hayley couldn’t stop a grateful gruntlike sound from escaping her lips. A reprieve. How long would it last? She’d given up any hope of rescue, but she needed circulation to return to her arms, hand and legs in order to launch herself at him and draw blood. She didn’t stand a chance against him, but she was going to do her best.

“I need to merge Surf’s Up and Rip Tide. I can make a killing selling them together to WaterExpo. Or I can do an IPO.”

Hayley understood. WaterExpo was one of the original surf companies that had gone public. They were enormous and had an international name much bigger than Surf’s Up. They’d once approached her father, but a huge company with layer after layer of management wasn’t her father’s style.

“Trent went for it. He saw the possibilities and could have convinced your father. But you—” his fingertip slid down another inch “—wouldn’t go for it.”

Not true,
she wanted to shout, but the words lodged in her throat. She would have said no, but Trent had never
asked her. Of course not. It was easier to blame Hayley and stay on Laird’s good side. But even if she had been in favor of it, her father—and mother—wouldn’t have wanted to be dictated to by corporate types.

“Surf’s Up was desperate for money, thanks to your brother’s greediness. He thought he’d corner the surfboard market in SoCal. He came to me and I agreed to help, even though I was tight for cash myself. What happens? You little bitch! You went to your aunt and cut me out.”

The venom in his voice took her breath away. She’d known Laird for years but never suspected he felt so intensely about this. This deal would have meant millions to Laird, she reflected. To some people money was their God.

“With you out of the picture, the estate will be divided two ways. Farah doesn’t give a shit about the business and Trent needs the money. I’ll get the company.”

“Umm-hmm,” she managed to mumble. The extent of Laird’s enmity toward her was stunning. She’d dated him—briefly—but often saw him at parties and around town. She’d never suspected how much he hated her.

“What I can’t understand,” Laird continued, “is why your father had so much faith in you. He left you the company.”

Laird McMasters was behind the destruction of the trust. She took a quick breath of utter astonishment. Hayley could go to her grave knowing the half siblings she’d been raised with hadn’t been the ones to destroy the document. They didn’t hate her.

“C-c-chaa.” She tried to ask about Chad but the word wouldn’t pass her lips.

“Chad? Is that what you’re asking?” His laugh
sounded like a death rattle. “He’s easy. Money talks. His business hasn’t gone so well since his old man kicked the bucket. The house on Harbor Island, a brand-new Sunseeker in its dock. Oh, that’s where we are by the way. Chad’s place. He’s down in San Diego on a deposition. I ‘borrowed’ his boat.”

Chad! She trembled with impotent rage. Did he kill Sylvia Morrow to keep her quiet? Or had he gotten Laird to do his dirty work? If only she could talk. She tried to ask but merely sputtered.

“Chad loved you, Hayley. Really adored you. But he couldn’t keep his zipper closed. When you threw him out, poor guy knew it was over because you are so fucking stubborn.”

Now, facing death, Hayley was thankful she hadn’t taken the skunk back. If she had, she would never have met Ryan. Never have known what it was like to be with a good man, someone she could truly love.

“What I need to do,” Laird said, as if he was discussing a new boogie-board design, “is to get you topside. I don’t want to kill you down here and leave a lot of blood and evidence.”

He slid his hands under her. Hayley made a split-second decision. She could try to fight him now or she could wait. She decided she had a better chance of getting away if she allowed him to carry her topside.

“You’re no featherweight,” he said as he trudged up the stairs. “This is an awesome boat. Right out of
Architectural Digest
—all clean lines and contemporary Italian furniture. Blood will show on the white carpet.”

Good, she thought. He walked a few steps and she realized they were no longer on the stairs. From his comment, they must be in the main salon. She couldn’t
see anything, but in her mind’s eye a stretch of Arctic white carpet was at his feet.

Now! A juggernaut of adrenaline jolted through her body. She clawed at his face and bit his shoulder at the same time. Kicking with all her might, Hayley scratched where she thought his eyes must be. She struck the side of his cheek, then found an eye.