3 Lies (4 page)

Damn.

He was insanely rich and quite famous in certain circles.

Beth shook the idea from her thoughts. No. It’s only been two months. Few people even knew they dated. Maybe this was about Abe. Famous, definitely, but nowhere near Clint’s financial strata.

She felt a pounding at the seam of her chest. Dear, God. Maybe it wasn’t about money. Maybe he intended something sinister—

A din in the room finally pierced her perception. The cacophony separated into discrete sounds. She heard someone crying. So she wasn’t alone. She had company, of the misery kind. Or, perhaps, comrades.

Her eyes opened to slits. The walls met at the end of the room in hallucinogenic curves. The ceiling loomed. She gaped her eyelids to clear the distorted screen like wipers over the windshield in a downpour.

Even with cleared vision, the room still tapered at the end, distorted, bringing hazy childhood recollections of the carnival fun house. Endless mirrors—warped in form and reflection—flashing beacons, jarring horns, twisted walkways that swayed and pitched beneath, leading deeper and deeper into the snare.

But she saw no mirrors. Wood paneled all the walls and floors of this misshapen room. She rubbed her eyes with open hands and smoothed the hair away from her face. When her eyes widened again, the disjointed images coalesced to present a completed picture of something familiar.

It was a boat.

Keeping the weight off her sore side, she rolled over and pushed herself into a sitting position. A body moved on the other side of the expansive cushion. Probably a woman by the size and the higher pitch of the sounds, but she didn’t yet trust her eyes. Then sobbing came steady and deep. Beth’s blood warmed.

She leaned toward the sounds. “Are you all right?”

A black, womanly face lifted. “Yeah.” The woman wiped her eyes. “You?”

“I think so.”

“I’m Vonda. Vonda Creevy. Sorry, I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I’m Beth Sutton. Any idea why we’re here?”

“Money.” She pushed back her short locks. “They forced me to write my own ransom letter to my husband.”

Her Mom and Dad. Clint. Did they know she was missing? Blake Sutton was technically a step—but the only father she’d ever known. “I guess my turn will come.”

Whatever drug was used on Beth, its effect was mostly gone. A milder dizziness returned, and she leaned back to rest and observe. Any light that might have come from the narrow windows was blacked-out with paint. A small table and an ottoman sat on the only open floor space between the bathroom door on the left—what Clint would call the ‘head’—and the door leading out on the right. Two smoke detectors graced the ceiling and four sconce lamps decorated the walls. The rest of the room was a giant bed.

“Okay.” Vonda took a deep pull of air. “I’m finished with my pity party. Let’s try and figure a way out of this if we can.”

Vonda was small, her body slim with full even features. Beth placed her somewhere in her early fifties. She filled out her sweats better than many women half her age.

“I know we’re on a boat. But whose?”

“I’ve seen three different men. Each wears a different color ski mask. Blue, red, and black. Blue-Mask was just here,” said Vonda.

“We met on my front porch. What day is it?"

“I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday. You’ve been here a few hours.”

“Then we might still be close to Boston.”

“Boston?” The notion clearly alarmed Vonda.

“Where are you from?”

“Sausalito.”

“How long have you been here?”

“They picked me up Monday evening.” She clasped her hands under her chin. “Roger must be worried sick.” Her attention fell back to Beth. “What about you?”

“I’m not sure anyone knows I’m missing.” She thought about Clint. “I’m not married.”

“What do you do in Boston?”

“I’m a writer. Non-fiction feeds me, but I like to write scary stories.” The women shared a glance. “Ironic, huh?”

A small man entered the cabin door carrying a food tray. He left it on the table. A black mask covered his face, but his dark eyes held onto Beth’s gaze, his thick lashes lowering in acknowledgement of the moment. Beth looked away.

“Are you feeling any ill effects?” He walked over to her. A pistol sat on his hip.

“Who are you? Why was I brought here?”

He clasped the back of her neck. “You are a woman of uncommon beauty.” His fingers sought her skin beneath the mass of hair. “I can give you favors. As can you for me.”

A shudder quickened through her.

“Leave her alone, you pig.”

He waved the gun at Vonda. “You, Madam, need to mind your own business.”

The blue-masked man stepped into the room, a satchel hung from his broad shoulder. “Is there a problem?” He glared at the other man as if contention were common.

Black-Mask’s smile, for Beth only, swelled until his teeth were fully bared. He turned to his cohort. “The lady and I were just discussing the rules of her visit, such as they are. All of our guests must be informed.”

“We all have rules we must obey.” Blue-Mask let his words settle. “You are wanted elsewhere.”

While staring at Beth, Black-Mask touched his right index finger to his nose and left the room.

“Has he hurt you in any way?” Blue-Mask’s eyes showed genuine concern, and he spoke as if giving his professional opinion on a legal matter, investments, taxes, or insurance.

She remembered his eyes from the morning. “He didn’t kidnap me. Or shoot me full of drugs.”

Blue-Mask’s expression did not change. “He is a pig, but you are not to be harmed if you are obedient. For your sake, and for the sake of the others, I sincerely hope that you are.”

“Why am I here?”

“You are collateral.”

Collateral. She sat up and gathered her hair behind her back. “How—”

“No more questions. You must write a letter.”

“A letter? To whom?”

He dropped the satchel from his shoulder and removed a clipboard with writing paper and envelopes. He handed this to her along with a pen.

“The details for the letter are there.”

She looked at the page.

“You are to write the letter exactly as it is printed. You cannot add anything to it nor leave anything from it. Is that clear?”

She nodded and read the letter to herself.

Dear Clint,

I have been kidnapped.

Her heartbeat skipped. She looked up at Blue-Mask. His eyes were on the rest of the room. She continued reading.

I do not know where they have taken me. I am in good health and have been treated with care. They want a ransom—

Her stomach churned. Her hand clasped her mouth. “I can’t tell him this.”

“You can and you must.”

Her hands rattled the page.

They want a ransom in unmarked bills packaged and delivered as instructed. They will contact you with the details. They are quite serious and dangerous. The kidnappers are heavily armed. You cannot contact the police. You are being watched. If you do not follow their instructions exactly, if you involve anyone else in this, you will be the cause of my death.

Bile burned her throat. “I can’t ask him to do this. We’ve only been dating for a little while.” She choked out her words.

“You are to write the letter and address an envelope. I will come get the letter from you within an hour. I will inspect it, so please do exactly as instructed.” He positioned the satchel back on his shoulder. “I would hate to see you get hurt.”

Clint yanked his hand from her flat stomach as if he’d been scorched. “A what?” His hand felt dirty. He needed to wash. “You can’t be pregnant.”

“Twelve weeks.” She massaged the spot where he'd touched her. “If you recall—” She stepped toward him.

“It was entirely memorable.” He took a long pull of air to fuel his anger. “By the end of that same week you filed for divorce.”

Her head bobbed at the comment. She went back to the table and sipped her water.

He got a bottle of ibuprofen from the cupboard. The childproof cap gained in significance. It took him longer than usual to navigate. He drowned a pair with a cup of milk.

“We always wanted kids, Clint.”

“
I
always wanted kids.” He slapped the counter with his cup. “You didn’t want any extra baggage to slow your climb.”

“But now we have a child coming. It’s a fact.”

“Is it?”

Her shoulders squared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“How dare—”

“Save it.” He laid his head back. “We’ve slept together once. In, what? A year?”

“I’ve always been faithful to you.”

“Give it a rest, Paige. You moved out. Remember? How does that count as faithful?”

At the sound of the word “out” Louie bit his leash and trotted over to Clint with it.

Clint rubbed on a long, black ear. Louie was a smart and obedient young dog. He did exactly what his master trained him to do. Obedience deserved reward. Clint clipped on the leash.

“I’m taking Louie for a run.”

“But what about us? What about the baby?”

Classic Paige. She didn’t just find out. She planned her visit to him, choosing her words and wardrobe with care as if preparing for court. She did not readily bear inconvenience. Any action item on her list required an emergency response from everyone in her trajectory.

He ignored her and went above deck with Louie. They strolled amid the boats, stopping wherever Louie located an interesting smell, which occurred every few feet on any dock. Clint tried to absorb her words.

The sun failed to warm his shudder. Paige pregnant. He could be a father in less than a year. He'd expected to have kids.

Swing the bat. Hit the ball.

Get married. Have kids.

Simple.

Louie pulled Clint along the dock.

He and Paige lived in different houses for over nine months. Months before that, she started to keep her distance. How they landed in bed at all that night still baffled him.

What a moron. He thought sex meant reconciliation. He asked her again to join him in marriage counseling. Her answer came to his door a week later as a summons.

“Hey, Clint.” Merlin called from the other dock. “Wait up.”

Louie stood at alert while Merlin huffed up to them. With a build from a routine of manual labor, he looked pretty good in spite of the lines and creases etched in his face by a life of poor decisions. A gold hoop earring spangled from his left ear when not covered by his charcoal hair. Include the fact that he routinely needed a shave, he was a parrot shy of looking like a pirate.

“I’ve a phone message for you.” He searched the pocket of his stained linen trousers.

“Who’s it from?” Clint said.

“Don’t know. Don’t want to know.” He handed Clint the message and stooped to ruffle Louie’s head. “Trouble finds me enough without lifting her skirts.”

The message was from Beth’s uncle, Abe Melinger. The time-stamp indicated the call came before the office opened for the day.

Sorry. Can’t go boating. Where’s Beth? Only got VM when I called. Rain check, please. Abe.

Beth. His anxiety returned. He tucked the note in his pocket. Merlin shook hands with Louie and tried to teach him to do it on command.

“Say, what are you doing later?” said Clint.

“I’m having tea with the Queen, mate. Why’d you ask?”

“My fishing plans changed, and I’m on my own.” He glanced back at his boat. “I don’t feel like hanging around here today. You game?”

“What time do we shove off?”

“Meet me at the
No Moor
around noon.”

“Aye, Skipper. Count me in.” Merlin chucked Louie’s chin and whistled off toward the parking lot.

Clint and Louie sauntered on toward the shoreline past row after row of sailboats, motor yachts, cabin cruisers, and fishers. He considered the tidal wave now swamping his life. A promising girlfriend gone uncharacteristically AWOL and a damn-near ex-wife who tells him he’s going to be a father. And the day only hours old.

He was almost glad Beth hadn’t been home, so he didn’t have to tell her about Paige. The pregnant part. Beth already knew about Paige. Beth had few expectations of him, and that was the sole reason he would want to tell her—her distinct lack of need: need to control, need to worry, need to manage, need to exact, need to be needed, need to need.

Beth.

She could genuinely lay claim to need. Her beautiful body required routine blood dialysis to keep her alive. An underlying infection had overwhelmed her kidneys, but they were improving. She said her nephrologist expected the treatments to be temporary. But it wasn’t over. Not yet.

Louie bolted for the water as soon as they reached the end of the dock. Clint barely kept up, letting out fresh line as they ran. Louie pounced on waves tempered by the docks and the jetties at the mouth of the harbor. He barked at a crab snapping at his shiny nose. The dog played a while before they went for a short run.

Clint made his way up to the chandlery and tied Louie outside. Merlin helped on a part-time basis in exchange for slip fees, but someone else ran the register today. Clint paid for some doggie biscuits and minnows.

He and Louie walked past the parking lot on their way to the boat. A white van like the one he’d seen that morning pulled out of the lot from a back row. The V-8 engine noise was unmistakable. As it made the corner leading out to the street, he checked the license plates. He wasn’t sure what state it was from—possibly Maryland—but it was definitely not from Virginia.

Odd.

A V-8 swap for that van wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t common either. Now he’d seen two in the same day. He didn’t think to look for the glue-stain of Australia on the back door. Not that he could’ve seen it at this distance.

They continued back to the boat. Clint tied Louie to the mast and left the dog gnawing a biscuit. He went below deck. Paige was still there.

She snapped her phone shut when she saw him.

“I figured you’d be gone by now.” He set his bag on the counter. “I should have taken longer.”