The fear and the horror meet in a single, desperate need. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. She can’t help it. Can’t resist the pure, burning desire. She takes a desperate breath just as her father jerks her head out of the water by her hair. “Think you learned a lesson?” he growls.
She nods, apologizing as she bawls hysterically out of the only emotion her father has ever caused in her—fear.
There are other nights like this. A handful of them are worse. She will never learn to swim. Will always fear the cold, dark water. Will never understand despite a thousand sleepless nights why her own father hated her.
And like that nine-year-old girl, a part of her still believes it was her fault. Some flaw in her emotional chemistry. And nothing she can do, no amount of logic, no quantity of love from anyone, will ever make her stop believing it.
Letty came up suddenly out of the ocean.
If Fitch saw her and shot her, so be it. But she couldn’t stand another second underwater.
He was gone.
She spit out the snorkel’s mouthpiece. Took several careful steps toward the shore until the water level had dropped to her thighs. She stared down the north and south beaches—too dark to see much of anything.
Backing away, she settled down into the water until only her head was above the surface.
Waited.
Five minutes slipped by.
Twenty.
It was beyond quiet.
She watched the moon on its arcing path over the island.
So thirsty, her head pounding from the booze.
After a long time, she heard footsteps crunching in the sand.
Letty backed into deeper water and lowered herself once more until only her eyes were exposed.
Fitch trudged up the north beach and arrived at the end of the island. He stopped and waited, listening.
Letty forced herself back under.
When she came up a minute later, Fitch had started down the south side of the island.
Fitch has to report to prison tomorrow. If I can survive until then…
She returned to that comforting thought she’d had in the mangroves. The idea that if she survived until tomorrow, until Fitch was gone, she would be in the clear.
Is this another assumption that’s going to get me killed?
Fitch’s security detail had played a part in this. Exactly how much they knew was uncertain, but they were culpable. Fitch’s life would be over tomorrow, but theirs would carry on. If the old man didn’t close the deal, could she really expect this force of ex-military contractors to leave this loose thread dangling?
Another impulse of fear swept through her.
A new realization setting in.
Hiding all night from Fitch might not be enough to save her life.
14
Letty stood up and walked out of the sea, the taste of saltwater on her tongue. When she reached the shore, she pulled off the mask and dropped it and the snorkel in the sand. She gripped the knife. Headed quickly down the south beach. The fear fell away, anger rushing in to fill the void.
She could see Fitch in the distance—his white shirt bright as day in the moonlight. He walked sixty yards ahead and she was gaining on him, keeping close to the trees that lined the beach in case Fitch suddenly spun around. Her footfalls in the soft, white sand were soundless. She picked up her pace, moving now at a full run. The wind blowing her skin dry. The faster she ran, the angrier she got, the less afraid she felt.
Fitch was almost to the dock, Letty only twenty yards back from him now. Her legs ached from the full-on sprint. Her lungs burned. Tears streamed out of the corners of her eyes.
She knew exactly what had triggered it.
Being down under that cool, December water.
How could she not think of Daddy? Dead twenty years and yet still with her. Always with her. She’d heard somewhere that every person reaches a certain age, and though they keep getting older, they never feel any older.
In so many ways, she was still that nine-year-old girl shivering in cold bathwater.
In prison, she’d sat through enough AA and NA meetings to know the drill.
The propaganda.
Admit a lack of control.
Acknowledge a higher power.
Make amends.
Embrace forgiveness.
That was all fine and good. But at the end of the day, the nine-year-old trapped in this woman’s body could care less about twelve steps. Her world was imbalanced in the worst possible way—she’d had a monster for a father. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never get over it.
Up ahead, Fitch stepped over the dock.
Letty slowed from a sprint to a jog, trying to mask her accelerated breathing.
She leapt over the sand-blasted planks.
Took the final steps slow and careful.
Fitch held the revolver in his right hand. His gait looked tired, like an old man’s.
Letty tightened her grip on the knife and pushed the point of the blade into his back.
Fitch took a sudden breath and quit walking.
She said, “I’ll shove it through to your stomach. Drop the gun, I swear to God.”
He still held the gun. Letty leaned her weight into the blade, and as it started to penetrate, the revolver hit the sand.
She lunged down for the gun and let go of the knife as she swiped it up.
Stumbled back away from Fitch.
The revolver was a giant thing. Must have weighed four or five pounds. It was nickel-plated and over a foot long with Raging Bull engraved down the side of the barrel.
Letty had to struggle to keep it leveled on Fitch’s chest.
“You just stay right there,” Letty said, backing another foot away.
Four cartridges remained in the cylinder.
“You lost your lovely dress,” Fitch said.
“Get down on your knees.”
Fitch carefully lowered himself into the sand. “That’s a big gun for a little girl. Packs a helluva kick.”
It took two fingers to pull the hammer back.
“Wasn’t personal,” Fitch said, the pitch of his voice kicking up a few degrees. “I hope you understand that. You are formidable little girl. A scrapper. In another life, I’d have you come work for me.”
“Why is that all I ever hear anytime somebody does me wrong? Nothing’s ever personal anymore. All those people you ripped off...that wasn’t personal either, was it? Just business, right?”
“Letty—”
“No, you’ve explained yourself plenty. Your men are offshore in boats?”
“Yes.”
“Are there any other boats on the island?”
“No.”
“Do you have your cell phone with you?”
“No.”
“We’re going to the house.”
“Why?”
“Get up. Start walking.”
“Calling the police would be a very bad idea, Letty.”
“Get. Up.”
Slowly, Fitch stood.
“Now walk over to the dock,” she said. “And do it slowly with your hands raised.”
But Fitch didn’t move. He just stared at her.
“Do you think I’ll tell you again?” she asked.
“I knew. I knew it all along. From the minute I met you—this would be one hell of a night, Letisha. Rare to feel I’ve met my match.”
He let slip a long, tired breath.
Like he’d come to the end of something.
And sprang at Letty.
It was the loudest gunshot she had ever heard, with a kick like a shotgun.
Fitch sat in the sand, his mouth dropped open. He made a sucking sound, as if trying to draw breath. The hole in the dead center of his chest was massive. Letty was shaking. Fitch fell back onto the beach and stared up at the stars. There was so much blood she knew he was going to die.
Out on the water, a motor growled to life.
Letty turned around. She looked down the dock and
out to sea.
A single spotlight glided toward her, the motor getting louder as it approached. Soon, she could see the profile of the speedboat. It was seconds away from reaching the end of the dock.
15
Letty sprinted inland. Already, she could hear men’s voices behind her. Shouting her name. Her real name. Ordering her to stop as their shoes pounded against the planks.
She tore up the steps onto the deck and shouldered through the front door.
After several hours in the dark, the onslaught of light made her eyes water.
Letty barged into the living area and rushed to the cordless phone. It was still lying on the floor where she’d dropped it. She grabbed it, hit TALK, held it to her ear.
Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep—
She raced down the hallway into Fitch’s bedroom.
Slammed the door after her, locked it, flipped the lights.
Thank God.
There it was.
Lying on the desk.
She picked up Fitch’s cell phone and flipped it open, praying it still held a charge.
Outside, she could hear numerous sets of footsteps hammering up the stairs.
Men screaming her name.
They charged into the house.
Hide.
Letty crossed the hardwood floor to the French doors.
Someone was coming down the hall.
She turned the handle.
Locked.
The knob on the other door rattled—someone trying to get in.
She was out of time.
Nothing left to do but fight.
Three bullets versus three or four men.
Thinking, This may be how it ends for you. Are you ready?
The door splintered, a man kicking it in from the other side.
She aimed the revolver at the bedroom door.
After two more kicks, it burst open, and the muscled girth of James filled the doorway. His cheeks were flushed from running. With one arm, Letty trained the Raging Bull on his substantial center mass. In her other hand, she gripped the cell phone.
Her thumb keyed in 9-1-1.
James held a black pistol at his side. At least for the moment, he was smart enough to keep it there.
Someone on the second floor yelled his name
“Down here!” he shouted back.
“You got her?”
“Sort of!”
Letty moved her thumb toward a green icon on the cell phone’s keypad which she assumed would initiate the call.
As the other men came running, James said, “Who you calling?”
“Nine-one-one.”
“Why don’t we talk about that, okay?”
Letty’s right biceps had begun to cramp from holding the Raging Bull with one arm.
She could hear the other men in the hallway now.
James yelled over his shoulder, “Everybody stay back!”
“What exactly do we have to talk about?” she asked.
“How dialing that number is going to get you killed.”
“Way I figure, I’m dead either way.”
“That’s not true. But if you involve the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department, we’re going to have a problem. Why don’t you put that gun down. I’ll do the same. And we’ll talk.”
“I’m not putting anything down. You people tried to kill me.”
“What if I were to guarantee your safety?”
“I’d call bullshit.”
“You put the gun down. I’ll get you some clothes. And I’ll have you back on Key West within the hour.”
“You must think I’m really stupid.”
“No ma’am.” He shook his head. “This can work out for everyone. Of course, you’d have to do a few things for me.”
“Like?”
“Like never mention any of this to anybody. Ever.”
“What about that famous dead man on the beach? Aren’t some people expecting him tomorrow?”
“We can damage control the mess you made of Mr. Fitch.”
“The mess I made.”
“It’s you I’m worried about.”
Over James’s shoulder, Letty spotted a man creeping into view.
“Your buddy right behind you is about to get you shot, James.”
“Go sit in the living room!” he yelled. “All of you!”
“James—”
“Right now, Scott.”
She heard them falling back.
James looked at her. “Better?”
“For some reason, I don’t think you’d be so interested in talking to me if I didn’t have this big goddamn hand cannon pointed at your chest.”
“Now that’s just not true. You put it down and see.”
“I don’t think so. Tell me again how you’re planning to damage control your boss.”
“If all goes well,” James said. “If you and me don’t have a big shootout...you’ll see some breaking news tomorrow morning. Go something like this...convicted CEO of PowerTech found dead on his private beach. He took his own life the night before he was scheduled to report to prison. There will even be a suicide note.”
“Oh, you can fake his handwriting, too?”
“No, he already wrote it.”
Letty didn’t want to, but her strength was failing. She set the cell phone on the floor at her feet and took a two-handed grip on the revolver.
“Asking yourself why he might’ve done such a thing?” James asked. “Regardless of what you may think of him, Fitch is a brilliant man. He saw this as a possible outcome of what he had planned for tonight. He didn’t want anyone to take the fall. Not me or the other guys. And not even you, the woman who killed him.”
“Prince of a man.”
James patted his lapel pocket. “I’ve got his note right here.”
“That’s a pretty story,” Letty said. “And you’re a world-class conman.”
“Call my bluff. Put that gun away and see. I’ve got a lot of work to do before the sun comes up.”
“I’m thinking, if I put this gun down, you’ll do one of two things. Shoot me straightaway and bury me on this island. Or take me out into some deep water. Dispose of me there.”
“I can certainly understand you thinking the worst. All things considered.”
“So then how can you honestly believe I’d ever put this gun down with you still breathing?”
“Because when you think it through, you’ll see there’s no other way. Maybe I’m lying. You’ve got three rounds left in that Taurus. You’d kill me. No doubt. If you got really lucky, you might kill one of my other men. But the third? And the fourth? They’d take you down. And you know this. The thing is, if you shoot me, you’ll never find out if I’m lying or telling the truth. ‘Cause you’ll be dead. In fact, I don’t want to alarm you. I don’t want you to make any sudden moves. But there’s a man standing on the deck right behind you. He’s pointing a three-fifty-seven at your head through one of the panes of glass. And he could’ve fired sixty seconds ago.”
Letty exhaled a long, slow breath.
She hadn’t heard any footsteps on the other side of the French doors.
It was a smart play on James’ part. Get her to turn her head. Distract her just long enough to raise his weapon and fire.
James was smiling now.
Letty’s palms sweating so badly the grip of the revolver was dripping.
“So what do you say, Letty? Doesn’t some part of you want to know if I’m actually this good of a liar?”
“Not really.”
She squeezed back the hammer.
The moment her finger touched the trigger there was the sound of wood splintering and glass breaking behind her.
The gun fired as someone crashed into her back with devastating force.
She went down hard, crushed under the weight of a man with foie gras on his breath. Footsteps raced down the hallway, the other men pouring into Fitch’s bedroom.
She struggled, but it was no use. He had her
pinned to the hardwood floor and the gun lay just out of reach.
The man on top of her said, “James, you hit?”
“Just a graze across my shoulder. Damn if that wasn’t close though.”
Letty’s eyes welled up as she felt him jerk her wrists behind her back and bind them together with a Zip Tie.
“Quit fighting me, sweetheart,” the man whispered into Letty’s ear. “It’s over. You’re done.”
16
The noise of the powerboat engines was deafening.
Letty’s hair whipped across her face, but she couldn’t brush it away with her hands still bound behind her back. James was at the controls and she sat in the bucket seat behind him, next to the man who’d taken her down. He was the oldest of Fitch’s security crew. Forty-five or fifty with shoulder-length hair the color of dishwater.
The sun wasn’t up yet, but the first light of dawn had begun to color the eastern sky.
Letty’s underwear rippled in the fierce wind.
She shivered.
Waiting for the engines to go silent.
Dreading it.
Of all the ways to die, considering her past, she feared drowning more than anything. Would they tie something around her to weigh her down? Then just throw her over the side?
She would beg for a bullet when the time came.
And if they don’t oblige you?
They would have to. She’d do whatever it took. She couldn’t allow herself to be tossed overboard while still alive. Couldn’t spend her last three minutes sinking into the cool, dark sea. Fighting that terrible thirst for oxygen as it swelled up inside her lungs. Meeting the same death her daddy had almost given her.
The panic grew.
She could feel herself beginning to come apart at the seams.
And then...
Lights shone in the distance.
# # #
James throttled down as they approached the marina.
He guided the boat into an open slip and killed the engines.