Chapter Thirty

The anchor slammed into the man’s chest with a thunk, knocking him sideways and forcing the air from his lungs in an audible huff. He grabbed his chest, grunted, tottered briefly, and dropped to the floor.

Andrea scrambled down off the cartons. Footsteps. The second minion appeared in the doorway. He must have heard the noise and come to investigate. His gaze went to his buddy on the floor, then swung quickly to her.

She put on an innocent expression, held out her hands palms up, and kept her voice weak. “Oh my gosh. I’m not sure how that happened.”

He pulled his gun as his buddy groaned. “Right. And I’m Santa Claus. Sounds like he’ll live, but I bet he’s not going to be happy with you.” He waved the gun toward the door. “Let’s go. Nice and easy, don’t you try anything else.”

She didn’t move, hoping to draw him farther into the room. He stepped toward her. She stood her ground, and he reached out to grab her arm. She whipped her foot up in a front kick. It connected, and the gun flew out of his hand. Grabbing his empty arm before he could lunge for his weapon, she spun around, bent at the waist, and threw him over her shoulder.

He hit the concrete floor with a thud that echoed off the walls. Striking while he was momentarily stunned and she had the advantage, Andrea knee-dropped onto his throat. His chin pressed her leg as he attempted to rise, but she slammed the heel of her hand against his forehead and banged his head back into the floor. His body went limp. She stood, grabbed the flagpole, and swinging it like a golf club, whacked the side of his skull for good measure.

She paused and scanned for the gun. Nowhere in sight. Boxes were clustered in the area where the weapon had most likely landed, meaning it could be sitting in any number of nooks or crevices. She couldn’t spend time searching. At any second, Elliott might show up with his own gun, and she could end up right back where she’d started, outnumbered and trapped in this room.

The first man’s eyelids fluttered like he might be coming around. To keep him out of the way, she slammed him with the flagpole, too. His eyes opened, rolled back in their sockets, and drifted back shut.

Clutching the flagpole, she rushed from the storeroom. She closed and locked the door, then turned to reconnoiter the showroom. Elliott stood in his office doorway, his gaze glued to the spot behind the door where the second big guy had gone down.

Elliott seemed to be in shock for a few seconds, then blurted, “Karli could never fight like that. Who the hell are you?”

“The lady who just ruined your plan. Karli is safe elsewhere.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. A vein throbbed red at his temple. “Touché. So Karli lives.”

She gave him a mock salute. “You win some, you lose some. Nobody but your buddies in there got hurt. Let’s call it a day.”

“Oh, no. You see, Dillon is still riding to the rescue.” He grinned. “My backup plan is to let him pay me fifty million not to release the videos I have of him and Karli. The payout won’t be as big, but I can give each of my friends in the storeroom there a million, take the rest, and spend the remainder of my days in Buenos Aires living the good life. I’ll still come out of this rich.”

“Ah, Buenos Aires.” She nodded. “Smart. No extradition worries. But you still have a rather large problem. Dillon might not be willing to buy you off. He knows about the camera and has already started working on damage control.”

“If he balks, I’ll make his precious Karli wish she were dead. Even if I can’t kill the two of them, I can still get my revenge. I can mail a copy of the videos to the local TV station and post them on YouTube.”

Andrea pointed to her face, appalled at her next suggestion, but willing to try a bluff. “Have you noticed I’m a double for Karli? I can claim I was the woman who had sex with Dillon.”

“A few people might believe you. Others are more interested in dirt. They’ll see your claim as a bogus attempt at a cover-up.”

She knew he had a valid point and tried another tack. “Maybe you should rethink this video thing. A scandal could damage the value of your Stone Industries stock.”

He snorted. “I don’t have any stock. They have all the money.”

Andrea glanced at the storeroom door. The two goons in there were out of the way for a while, but she couldn’t assume Elliott wasn’t dangerous or that he didn’t have other goons stationed outside. Had Mitch figured out where she’d gone? The ring with the tracking device hidden inside was on her finger. Maybe he would be able to locate her using the GPS signal. She had to buy Mitch some time to pinpoint her location and show up, had to keep Elliott talking and stall.

“I don’t get it,” she said, hoping that like most criminals he’d want to explain just how brilliant he thought he was. “Why would you try to kill or shame your own cousins?”

“They got rich when their parents died in that accident. Mine lived, and I got squat. That’s not what I call fair. Even when I got my old man out of the way so I’d be the only one left to inherit, I cleared less than fifty grand. The old man spent almost everything he’d saved. By the time I paid the hit man, I hardly broke even. I’m sick of Dillon’s measly salary and condescending manner. It’s my turn to control the wealth.”

She began to see the entire situation more clearly and nodded. “I have to give you credit for a pretty good plan. You’re behind all of this. The merger gave you the perfect opportunity to cover a murder plot. You sent the threats against Karli and planned to blame their deaths on Dillon’s employees. The bomb and the shot in the parking lot were just for show. You didn’t want to kill Karli alone—she and Dillon were supposed to die together. But you needed the threats to be public knowledge and on record with the local police. That way, if they didn’t believe the explosion was an accident, the blame would automatically be placed on someone unhappy with the merger.”

His face grew crimson. “It was a genius plan. I was going to be rich, finally get the money I deserve. But as you said, you’ve ruined it all.” His mouth twisted in a sneer. “You’re not going to get the chance to claim it’s you in the videos. You’re going to be permanently out of the picture, you interfering bitch.”

His hand lifted toward the inside of his jacket. Toward a gun?

He was at least twenty feet away. Even if she were a championship sprinter, she couldn’t cover the distance fast enough to disarm him. The double exit doors in her peripheral vision were closer. In this situation, without a weapon to defend herself, fight was a loser. Flight was her only option.

She bolted for the doors. Outside, she paused for half a second and pulled the door closed. As soon as the two halves touched, she jammed the flagstaff through the handles, preventing the door from opening.

Her gaze lit on the boat returned by the salesman, floating at the dock. Leave the keys in the boat. The door handles jiggled behind her as she took off running.

A minute later, a side door slammed against the building. Elliott was outside and running toward her. He fired from his hip, but his gait ruined his aim and the shot went wide.

She needed to find cover. The water beckoned, and for a split second she considered diving in, staying under, and swimming away. Logic ruled out that option. Elliott would get in the boat and be on her before she could escape. When she surfaced for air, she’d be in his sights like a proverbial sitting duck.

She jumped from the dock and onto the bow of the boat, where she tossed off the dock line. She scrambled into the cockpit and turned the ignition key. Crouching to present a smaller target, she pushed the throttle forward. Another shot rang out. A chunk of fiberglass flew into the air near the stern. The boat rose up and roared away from the dock. Holding on to keep from being thrown as the boat accelerated, she glanced back over her shoulder.

Shit. Elliott had jumped into another boat and was following. A knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach as she rammed the throttle all the way to the stop, hoping her boat was faster. Because if Elliott caught up with her, she had no doubt she’d end up dead.

Damn Mitch for not trusting me and taking away all my weapons.

…

Damn it, he should have trusted her skills and left her with a weapon. Or two. Or three.

Mitch called a Ranger support tech. “I need to know the location of the GPS tracker on Dillon Stone’s sports car.”

“Just a minute please.” Mitch hurried toward his cabin. The tech came back on the line. “He’s at the intersection of Veterans Drive and Guttets Gade.”

A couple miles from the speedboat dealership Elliott managed.

Mitch grabbed his laptop from his cabin and booted up the GPS tracking system as he ran down the corridor. A map of the island and harbor appeared with a bright dot blinking in the center. The red dot indicated Andrea was next to the dealership on the far side of the harbor.

The traffic in town was always snarled. He changed direction and sprinted for Dillon’s speedboat. In a boat, he could cut across the harbor, avoid the city traffic, and get to Andrea quicker.

He radioed Kenyon and Gregory and told them Andrea’s location. “I’m taking Dillon’s boat. Gregory, notify the local marine patrol of my destination, see if they can get under way, pick you up, and meet me there. Asking the local police to stand by wouldn’t hurt either, but tell them to stay back and not use sirens. We don’t know the situation. Kenyon, take the car and intercept Dillon. Break every traffic law on the island if you have to. The last thing we need is to have him walking into the middle of a fight.”

…

Andrea struggled to control the boat as it sped across the water, shooting spray high on the sides of the bow. A shot rang out behind her, and her stomach quaked.

She wanted to head for the narrow slot between the islands, but as she looked over the water, the seaplane that shuttled passengers to and from Saint Croix was visible in the distance, losing altitude and preparing to land. A stray shot could cause the plane to crash and kill everyone aboard.

Shardae’s husband was a pilot. Was he sitting in the plane’s cockpit, trying to get home to his happy family, anxious to kiss his wife and hug his young sons?

She couldn’t risk innocent lives, needed to stay away from any civilians who could be hit.

A catamaran with at least twenty partying tourists spread over the deck blocked her path toward the inner harbor. Hating the option of steering away from other people and the possibility of help, she aimed the speedboat in the only clear direction, the channel heading south and toward the open sea.

Another shot. She prayed Elliott wouldn’t be able to hold his gun steady. Maybe he’d run out of bullets.

Black scudding clouds hung low on the horizon, and beneath them, the wind kicked up whitecaps. Was a squall blowing in? Great, that would make her situation worse: strong, gusty winds and rolling waves. A little blinding rain might be nice, if it meant Elliott would lose sight of her boat. But a whiteout would work both ways. She’d be lost and not know which direction to steer.

Trying not to think about the possibility of a storm, she steered a zigzag course down the channel. If she steered too far to one side or the other, her turn back toward center would be sharp and she’d be in danger of flipping the boat. But if she held a steady course in front of Elliott’s bullets, she’d be exposed.

She sped along at maximum speed. She had to think, couldn’t just blindly drive toward the ocean. Damn, she needed a plan and a destination. Mitch knew the geography and would know where to head in a second, but she had only a vague idea of the layout of the islands. Where the hell could she run?

A new worry flashed in her mind. She glanced down and found the fuel gauge. Half a tank. Crap. Would that be enough to lose Elliott and get to somewhere safe?