thirty-one

A GUNSHOT BLAST has the power to illicit panic or deadly silence. The echo was still ringing in his ears as Ryan surveyed the eerie calm around him. Wide-eyed gala guests sought assurance from him and Charlie, who both had their guns drawn.

“Where did it come from?”

Charlie was an inch taller than Ryan, which gave him an advantage as they searched into the shadows. “I think from over there.”

Ryan turned to the boathouse. There was a large window where club members could place orders for food and next to it a door that led inside and to the attached bait and tackle shop. His eyes followed a long, narrow passageway from the café to the main clubhouse most likely used by the kitchen staff—and the perfect way for a person to sneak by undetected.

“Let’s go.” Ryan charged forward.

Charlie was on his tail, calling in their position to the law enforcement backup. They had begun doing a thorough sweep of the building while trying to organize the guests into groups to be identified.

Ryan paused outside the door of the boathouse, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. What was he going to find inside? If it was Vivian . . . he swallowed. He couldn’t let himself think like that. His gaze locked with Charlie’s as Ryan reached for the knob. Turning it slowly, Ryan raised his weapon and entered.

“One on the ground.” Charlie’s whisper directed Ryan’s attention across the room with sickening fear.

When he saw a pair of black leather shoes and not the silver ones that had peeked from beneath Vivian’s green gown, a small exhale of relief escaped his lips. His comfort was short-lived. Seeing Russell Bradley’s body lying on the ground meant the Watcher had just upped his game.

Deputy Hodges and Deputy Wilson entered the boathouse behind them and started taking care of Russell so Ryan and Charlie could clear the rest of the rooms. The search couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity with a horrifying result—Vivian was not there.

“Is he dead?”

“No,” Deputy Wilson shouted. “But he’s been shot and needs help now.”

The urgency in Wilson’s voice rattled Ryan as he started toward the back of the boathouse, where another door leading to the docks stood ajar. He needed to find Vivian, fast. “I’m going this way.”

“Right behind you,” Charlie said.

Both men had their weapons trained in front of them as Ryan went first. He kicked the door all the way open, sending it crashing against the wall behind it.

A scream directed his attention to a boat slip thirty yards away. Pete Robbins aimed his gun and fired off a shot, sending Charlie and Ryan ducking to the ground.

“We can’t let him get her on that boat.” Ryan edged around the Starcraft deck boat. “We gotta stop him.”

“We will.” Charlie inched up, his weapon aimed. “It’s clear, go.”

Ryan did a crouch walk down the dock toward the boat when he heard the rumble of a motor sputtering in the water. He jumped to his feet and ran, but he was too late. With Pete at the wheel, the small speedboat zipped through the water, curving sharply.

Ryan lifted his weapon, but Vivian’s terrified look over her shoulder made him lower it. He was unwilling to risk hitting her.

Ryan ran into Charlie on the way back. “We need a boat.”

“Savannah PD has one.”

Ryan shook his head, eyeing the options tied to the dock. “It’s dark out there, Charlie. If we don’t go after them now, we could lose her.”

“Here.” An older man with a scowl that looked like it was permanently etched into his thick face waddled over to them. A wet cigar, chewed at the edge, hung on his lip. “Third one down.”

Ryan caught the set of keys he tossed into the air. “Thank you.”

At slip 9 they found a slick speedboat Ryan guessed cost double his annual salary, with the name Dolly painted on the stern. They both jumped into the boat and he handed the keys to Charlie.

“You expect me to drive this?”

“You’re a Marine. Aren’t you supposed to know how to drive boats?” The wakes from the boat Pete had sped off in were still lapping against the boat they were in. “Come on, dude. You have your license, right?”

“Barely.” Charlie started the boat, the engines purring to life. “Wasn’t planning on honing my skills on a twenty-one-footer.”

Ryan looked in the direction where Vivian disappeared. This part of the Ogeechee River split into more than a dozen waterways that led to multiple creeks and rivers—all unlit and dangerous, depending on the tide.

“Charlie, we’re going to lose her.”

His friend must’ve sensed the panic in his voice, because he pushed the throttle, sending the boat lurching forward as they stumbled back, trying to keep their footing.

“Ooh, this baby has power.”

“Just take it easy.” Ryan held on to the back of the captain’s chair. “The river’s depth changes with the tide, and I’ve been on enough boats to know you don’t want to ground out.”

“No,” Charlie said, the boat picking up speed. “Do not want that.”

The boat was made for speed, and Charlie was a quick learner. A spray of brackish water whipped against their faces as they zipped along the Ogeechee River. No moon was out tonight. Ryan searched in the darkness, hoping to spot the boat, but the inky water revealed nothing.

“Where is she, man?” Ryan ran a hand over his head, gripped his hair, and sent up a silent prayer. “We’ve lost her.”

“No. There.”

Charlie wheeled the boat so that the left side dipped low toward the water, and Ryan saw it. A beam of light bounced off the tall marshland grass. The boat was heading in the direction of Skidaway Narrows.

“Can you get us closer?”

“I’m trying,” Charlie yelled over the rumble of the engine as the boat surged forward.

It was too dark for him to see Vivian . . . a sickening thought occurred. Ryan looked around them. What if Pete had thrown Vivian overboard? If they hit her at the speed they were going, they’d kill her.

“Can you see her?” The light from their boat wasn’t bright enough. Ryan moved forward, using the windshield to brace himself. “Don’t get too close to the sides or you’ll—”

“Ground out.” Charlie’s tone was tense. “I know. I just hope he does.”

The boat ahead of them was careening side to side, coming dangerously close to the edges where the water grew shallow.

Ryan had no idea where Pete was headed, but the farther into the narrow inlets they went, the more dangerous it was. And based on Pete’s erratic steering, the probability of someone dying tonight was increasing by the second. His grip tightened over the windshield.

I’m coming, Vivi. Hold on.

Vivian dug her fingers into the seat, hanging on as Pete swerved around a curve so fast she was certain the boat was going to flip.

She searched for anything she could use as a weapon, but even if she could find something, she wasn’t sure it would be safe enough to let go of the seat for fear of being tossed over the side at the next turn.

There was one thing she was sure of, and that was how much danger she was in.

She couldn’t shake the image of her father’s face turning a ghastly shade of white before dropping to the floor. Russell should’ve waited until they were gone and then run for help, but instead, he . . . he tried to save her. And that explained why her heart screamed in horror as Pete dragged her away, leaving Russell facedown in a puddle of blood.

Alzheimer’s. The desperation in her father’s eyes was unmistakable. “I need you to hear me before it’s too late.” A hot tear streaked down her cheek.

She turned her focus to Pete. “Why are you doing this?”

“You’re the reporter.” He turned a hard stare on her. “Shouldn’t you have that figured out already?”

“Actually, I don’t. You target innocent people—”

“NO! They’re never innocent.” Pete’s dark gaze returned to the river just as they hit choppy water. The boat jumped, hitting hard against the current with a crack. “You of all people should know everyone has a secret.”

She shook her head. “No. Not Harold. He was trying to help . . .” Vivian stopped, remembering what Ryan had found out about Pete and Lauren. They had dated. Lauren had been scared of Pete—enough to ask Harold for help.

“You know, your friend might still be alive if he’d minded his own business.” Pete used the back of his wrist to wipe at the blood dripping from the wound Russell had left on his temple. “Costly mistake.”

“Is that all it is to you?” Vivian clutched at anything her fingers could wrap around to keep herself steady. “Destroy innocent lives for the money.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He seethed. “They were all guilty. Even Lauren.” He spat out her name like it tasted bad. “I loved her and would’ve given her the world, but she had to go and sleep around”—the muscles in his jaw clenched—“make me look like a fool.” His gaze landed on her. “All she had to do was tell me who he was and I would’ve taken care of the problem. As a favor. Like I could’ve done for you.”

“A favor?” Vivian reeled. “You shot my father and left him for dead.”

“I took care of the problem.” He shook his head. “Don’t act like that bothers you.”

“It does bother me,” she screamed, stunned by the implication of his confession. “He didn’t do anything.”

“Except leave you and your mom.” His voice was calm. Too calm. “Now he’ll never hurt you again.”

Vivian squinted against the salty spray. “Who hurt you? Who turned you into this monster?”

“You’d really like to know?”

“If I’m going to die tonight,” she said, her voice trembling, “I at least deserve to know who served you the Kool-Aid.”

“I like you.” He smirked. “You remind me of my mom.” The amused expression shifted back into darkness. “It’s what got her into trouble and eventually killed.”

Vivian felt sick and hated that she couldn’t resist voicing the question radiating in her brain. “What happened to her?”

“My father.” Pete’s jaw flinched. “He didn’t appreciate her sassy disposition—especially after he’d had a few drinks with his buddies. He beat the sass right out of her.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“You don’t think I did?” He pursed his lips. “I tried. My father was a stalwart member of the community. A successful banker who plied our neighbors and the police force with his generosity so that even if someone did believe me, they still looked the other way. I had no proof. No power. And no one wants to believe their neighbor, coworker, or friend could be capable of evil.”

“But they can be,” she offered, hating that while there was no excuse for Pete’s crimes, Vivian could empathize. How often as a teenager had she imagined picking up the phone to call the National Enquirer and sell out Russell’s perfect image as actor, husband, and father? Everyone saw him as ideal. All she saw was the truth he kept hidden behind lies and betrayal.

Pete cursed. Vivian dared a glance backward and caught sight of a boat chasing after them. Ryan. Another curse pulled Vivian’s attention back to the front of the boat just in time to see the strip of land so dark it was impossible to see until they were almost on it.

“We’re going to hit it,” Vivian screamed, bracing herself.

Pete gunned the engine, turning the wheel hard to the left. Her shoulder slammed into the fiberglass and she closed her eyes. Was this how she was going to die? The next swerve sent her to her knees and forced her eyes open.

Another sharp turn and the engine made a gurgling noise that sounded like they hit something, causing the boat to slow down. Vivian looked over the side and into the black water, wondering how badly it would hurt if she jumped. Maybe she could swim to the side and wait for Ryan.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw the other boat had gained on them. From the sudden thrust of speed pushing her against the seat, Pete must’ve seen it too.

“You’re going to kill us.”

The vibration of the engine shook beneath her with the increase of speed. Vivian’s hair whipped across her face, but not before she witnessed the cold stare lighting Pete’s eyes. Was that his intention?

Not without a fight. The second Pete’s focus went back to the water, Vivian jumped up and aimed her fist right for the bloody welt on the side of Pete’s head. He stumbled back, eyes dazed for a second before locking on to her with fury.

Grabbing the throttle, she pulled it back to slow down the boat. Her body and face collided into the control panel at the sudden decrease in speed. A coppery taste filled her mouth.

“You—”

Pete grabbed the back of her hair, ripping it back before he shoved her head into the console so hard it rattled her teeth and stars filled her eyes. Her legs gave out and Pete released her, letting her body drop on the boat’s hard fiberglass floor.

As the boat picked up speed, Vivian rolled onto her side, then got onto her knees and tried to stand. She had to get up—had to fight. But how? Her eyes caught on something near Pete’s feet. The gun. It must’ve fallen or he dropped it. If she could get to it—

Pete’s growled expletive was the last thing Vivian heard before the jarring impact that hurled her body out of the boat and into the dark night sky.