Unintended Target (Unintended Series Book 1) (10 page)

“Let’s go.” 

He opened the door, and they stepped out into the dark. At the bottom of the walk they turned left, down the slope of the street towards his car. No one was out. The moon was just a sliver at best. Even if someone happened to look out, they’d never notice anything strange about the pair of them. She was on her own.

With only twenty yards to go, they walked with her left side overlapping his right just enough for the concealed gun to be jammed into her back. Closer to the car, she recognized it as the same one she had seen from her porch that morning.
So I wasn’t crazy after all,
she thought.
Small consolation now.

Clutching her left arm, he pulled her closer, pressing the gun harder into her side. They were just ten yards away now, and Chloe could almost hear the countdown clock ticking in her head. She knew if she got in the car, it was over. Nobody would know where she’d gone. No one would know how to find her.
I’m the only chance I’ve got.
She swallowed her panic and forged a steely ball of determination in the pit of her stomach.

Swiveling her gaze in search of the one chance she needed, she spotted a huge grey rock that marked the top of a rough hiking path that led down the hillside on the right side of the street. ‘Path’ was really too generous a word for the series of sharp boulders and steep grooved ruts that descended dangerously to the beach highway below. But if she could navigate it, maybe she could flag down a car. Maybe he wouldn’t follow her.
Or maybe he shoots me.

They reached the passenger door.

“Move over against the car.”

Chloe stepped aside, pressing her back against the rear passenger door. With his right hand still wrapped around the gun in his pocket, he reached forward and opened the passenger door. “Get in,” he barked.

The open door blocked just enough of his right side to temporarily shield her from the concealed gun. Taking a step forward, Chloe put one hand on the open door and one on the roof, as if preparing to lower herself inside. But instead, she brought her right leg up and kicked him unmercifully in the groin. When he doubled over, she slammed the door into his head twice, then sprinted down the street, crossed to the opposite side and all but threw herself over the hillside.

Groaning, he straightened up just in time to see her head disappear over the cliff. Yanking the .38 out of his jacket, he clambered after her.

Pebbles and dirt shot out beneath her feet as she scrambled and slid her way to the bottom. She slipped several times, slashing herself on jagged edges and tearing a long gash in the skirt of her dress. She looked up just as he came over the top of the cliff.

She was completely unprotected. There was nothing to hide behind. No rocky outcropping, no trees, not even a street sign. She looked back at her pursuer, now slipping and sliding down the incline just thirty yards away. He would be at the bottom in less than a minute.

With the beach her only avenue of escape, she sprinted across the two-lane highway. Her pace slowed instantly when her feet hit the sand.
I’ll never outrun him in this stuff,
she thought, snapping her head back around to check his position. Just a yard from the foot of the hill, he slid the rest of the way down and bounded out into the road.

He was less than twenty yards away now, and there was nothing between them. He had a direct shot if he wanted it; if he didn’t, he would definitely be able to catch up to her. It seemed futile to run, and Chloe was considering surrendering to avoid being shot, when a large delivery truck rounded a bend in the road and slammed into her pursuer with a sickening thump. He flew backwards, hit the pavement, then flipped into a deep gully of weeds on the shoulder as the truck screeched to a halt.

Shock riveted Chloe to the spot. She dropped down and waited, expecting the truck driver to get out to check on his victim. Instead he revved his engine and shot forward, barreling away from the scene. In seconds, its taillights had disappeared around the next bend, and she was alone again.

Running on pure survival instinct, Chloe scrambled back up the hillside and raced to her cottage. She charged into the kitchen for her bag, which sat on the counter, its contents dumped beside it. She scooped them up, then dashed to the bedroom, popped open the nightstand drawer and fished out her passport from its hiding spot. She started to leave, then as an afterthought grabbed the old tee shirt, shorts, and canvas shoes she’d worn that morning and shoved them in the bag too. She ran back to the front room and pushed the curtains aside just enough to peer out. Seeing no one, she darted out the front door and dove into her car.

At the highway she turned south, speeding towards Binghamton with no particular destination in mind. Sobs came uncontrollably as she let herself melt.
None of it made any sense!
What were they after? What flash drive was Sampson talking about?
He’d been ready to torture her, probably kill her for it, and she knew absolutely nothing about it. And Ruby—where was she? And then there was the man in the gully. Nausea set in once more.

Once downtown she turned off the main road onto dark back streets, making quick turns from the wrong lanes and running red lights, trying to lose anyone that might be following her. But when she passed a patrol car, she slowed down, realizing that erratic driving might get her pulled over, which would likely land her right back with Sampson.

And that’s when it hit her. There was no one to help her. She couldn’t go to the police for obvious reasons. She couldn’t go to Jack—not after Ruby. Her trembling hands gripped the steering wheel harder.

What flash drive?
Sampson’s words replayed in her mind, scrolling along with the black pavement.
Her heart fluttered frantically, and she breathed deeply, unsuccessfully trying to force herself to be calm.
Why was he so sure I was playing games with him? Why
involve Ruby—

Suddenly, comprehension struck and she swerved to the curb, screeching to a halt and causing the car behind her to honk in frustration.
The envelope Ruby had given her!
Whirling towards the passenger seat, she grabbed her bag and raked through it, finally dumping its contents out.

But the envelope wasn’t there. Chloe threw the bag aside and banged hard on the wheel a couple of times before seizing it, her knuckles white, eyes fixed forward. She closed them and breathed in deeply.
Had Sampson or his man found it?
She considered this.
No. If they had found it they’d have said something.

She strained, trying to remember.
Ruby gave me envelope and I threw it in my bag. I drove to the resort. We ate and then went to the resort shop. Did it fall out in the dressing room?
But Chloe didn’t remember ever opening her bag in the shop. She hadn’t even needed her wallet because Jack had paid . . .

My receipts,
she thought.
Where are my receipts?
She always kept a paper-clipped stack of work receipts in her bag, but she hadn’t seen them when she’d rummaged through it just now. Her eyes shot down to the passenger seat and she took a quick inventory of the bag’s contents. The receipts and Ruby’s envelope weren’t all that was missing. A lipstick and brush were gone, too.

Chloe’s heart skipped a beat as a wave of understanding passed over her. Cursing herself for not figuring it out sooner, she threw the car into drive, turned it around and zoomed away.

SIXTEEN

Jack stepped into the cabin of the 40-foot yacht that served as his home and froze at the sight of shredded upholstery, scattered papers, and glass littering the teak plank floor. Desk drawers had been dumped out, and books swept off their shelves. Senses on overdrive, he stepped cautiously over the rubble to an open closet at the rear. Sports and boating equipment lay in a jumble at its bottom, topped by suitcases that had the lining cut out and ripped back. The locked box where he kept extra cash had been pried open, the bills left scattered around it. And the small gun rack on the back of the door was empty. Jack fished a golf club out of the pile and, brandishing it like a bat, spun into the sleeping quarters.

No one. But it had been trashed, too. He felt under the mattress. His .45 was gone.

A docile warbling sounded from his pocket. Watching the door intently, he steadied himself and pulled out his cell phone. “This is Jack.”

“Oh, thank God you’re there,” Chloe exclaimed, her breathing heavy and rushed. “Listen, I know why I was attacked. It happened again tonight.” The words rushed out without a break between sentences.

“What? Chloe? What happened?”

“Jack, just stop talking and listen. I think you’re in danger.”

Jack’s eyes flitted around the room. “Danger? Look Chloe, what’s going on? I came home and found my boat ransacked.”

“You’ve got to get out of there right now!”

“I’m okay. No one’s here.” He paused, her earlier words finally registering, “What do you mean it happened again?”

“Somebody tried to kidnap me tonight, and I got away but—”

“What!”

“Jack, I know this sounds crazy, just listen. Someone tried to kidnap me tonight after I got home. I think it’s the same people who were in my house before, and it’s because of some flash drive they’re after. I think whoever wrecked your boat was looking for it.” She paused. “I think they thought Ruby had it, and now she’s gone. You have to get out of there.”

“Ruby’s gone?” he asked disbelievingly.

“I checked myself. Jack, please, I couldn’t live if one more person—”

“Chloe, who’s after you?”

“Not on the phone.”

“Not on the . . . what, you think they’re listening in on cell phones?”

“I don’t know,” she squeaked desperately. “The cops are involved.”

“The cops? How can you—”

“One of them was there tonight. He threatened to torture me for information.”

Jack’s body tightened. “What?” he growled. “This is crazy. I’m coming to get you.”

“No, listen. You know where we took those pictures? You know where I’m talking about? Meet me there.”

“Okay,” he agreed quickly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Drive your Jeep, Jack, okay?
Your Jeep.”

“
What else would I—”

“Hurry, Jack, please,” she begged, then hung up.

He stared at the cell a moment, thrown by the sudden cut off, then set aside his questions and waded through the flood of belongings to the stairs at the front of the cabin, golf club in hand. He had just set his foot on the first step when a gloved fist smashed into his face, sending him stumbling backwards over the piles on the floor. The club flew from his grasp as he landed hard on his back. Shaking it off, he jumped up, instinctively shifting into defense mode.

The intruder, a huge, hulking figure dressed in black, charged towards him, raising a Glock 9mm. Jack executed a sweeping kick, knocking the gun from the intruder’s hand to the floor, where it disappeared beneath the clutter. Two more swift kicks to the intruder’s head stunned him long enough for Jack to shove past and run up the stairs. As he landed on the top step, the man’s hand wrapped around Jack’s right ankle, bringing him crashing down on the upper deck. Shaking his leg violently, he freed it from the intruder’s grasp, kicked the man square in the face, and scrambled away.

Jack scanned the deck for a weapon. His gaze fell on the cockpit, where a flare gun was strapped to the shelf by the radio. He started towards it and heard a silencer-muffled gunshot. Instantaneously, pain seared across the outside of his calf, and he cried out before forcing himself to continue sprinting down the port side. Clambering up the cockpit steps, he caught a peripheral glimpse of another man in the distance headed for the boat dock, gun in hand. Propelling himself inside the cockpit, Jack unstrapped the flare gun, removed it from its holster, and looked up to see the intruder right behind him on the stairs. He fired.

The flare struck the intruder in the chest, igniting on impact and sending him flying backwards. Jack jumped down to where the man landed. He was unconscious, his Glock resting a few feet away, precariously near the edge of the deck. Jack scooped it up just as he heard footsteps on the opposite side of the yacht.

Jack flattened himself against the cockpit, crouched down, and considered his options. Committing himself to the best of those, he crawled three feet to the edge of the deck and gently lowered himself down the side of the hull. Without a sound, he slipped like a dart into the water and disappeared while the second intruder boarded from the starboard side and started around.

Barely half a minute passed before Jack emerged from the black water on the starboard side of the stern, directly behind where the second man had just boarded. He pressed himself against the hull. Grasping a tethering rope dangling off the side of the boat, he began climbing hand over hand out of the water. When the top of his head was level with the deck, he stopped moving, his fingers on fire as the rope dug deeper into his skin. His biceps bulged as he hung above the water’s surface. He craned his neck until he could see over the edge and looked around. The starboard side was clear.

Using the side rails, he pulled himself the rest of the way up, swung his legs over, and dropped quietly onto the deck. He crouched, clothes dripping wet and sagging on his frame. Removing the Glock from his waistband, he crept to the cockpit wall. He inhaled deeply, then scooted to the right and peered around to the port side. The second man had moved past his dead counterpart and now stood fifteen feet away, his attention focused on the bow. Jack stepped out into the open and took a firing stance.

“Turn around slowly,” he barked.              

The man hesitated, then in a flurry of motion, whirled towards Jack, his semi-automatic poised to fire. Jack dropped to one knee and fired two shots, striking the man in the arm and chest. The impact spun the intruder around in the opposite direction, slamming him into the railing. He bounced off and dropped to the deck.

Neck veins bulging, his face hot from the adrenaline-infused blood pumping angrily through him, Jack strode to the fallen man and kicked his weapon away. He kept his gun trained on the man’s chest, where the bullet wound poured red as he struggled for breath against his filling lungs.

“Who sent you?” Jack growled through clenched teeth.

The man’s lips moved, but only wet choking noises escaped.

“Talk to me!” Jack bellowed. The man’s head rolled to one side and the sounds stopped. Jack hunched down and checked for a pulse, but there wasn’t one. A quick search revealed that all that the man carried on him were two ammunition clips. No identification. Jack tucked the clips in his pocket before rolling the corpse into the water. Then Jack moved to check the man’s cohort. After finding no pulse or identification on him either, Jack pushed him in the water too.

Jack grabbed the second man’s gun off the deck and slipped it into his waistband as he sprinted down the steps into the cabin. Half a minute later he shot back up, stuffing a folded envelope into his waistband and covering it with his shirt as he raced down the dock to his Jeep.