Crash Into Me (45 page)

It
took her less than five minutes to break in.

The
place was neat as a pin and ruthlessly organized—necessary, perhaps, with such
limited space, but not what she’d expected from a party boy like him. She also
found things she did expect, champagne and candlesticks, condoms and soft-core
porn. Nothing terribly kinky. Just your average arsenal for seduction.

In
his closet he had casual, expensive sportswear, vintage T-shirts, and designer
jeans. He must be independently wealthy, because he also owned a lot of
high-tech gadgets, an impressive collection of surfboards, and a top-quality,
titanium-lined wetsuit.

Heart
pounding with excitement, Sonny worked faster, sorting through a significant
array of masculine beauty products and rifling through closed drawers.

There
was one nondescript cardboard box hidden beneath a pair of sweatpants in the
bottom drawer. Sonny pulled out the box and took off the lid. Inside, there was
a dirty green trucker hat and a pair of old sunglasses.

“Oh
my God,” she whispered. These things had belonged to Arlen.

Scrambling
to her feet, she dug her cell phone out of her purse to alert Grant. And heard
the click of a revolver in the entryway behind her.

Making
a split-second decision, she let the phone fall to the carpet and slipped her
hand into her jacket, going for her gun.

“I
wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned.

She
paused, fingers touching metal. If she ducked down as she drew her weapon,
there was a good chance he’d miss.

“This
is a .38,” JT explained. “At this range it would blow a hole through you the
size of a watermelon.”

Keeping
her hand where it was, she tilted her head to look at him.

He
smiled at her, coldly handsome without the charming, sleepy-eyed façade.
“Remove your weapon and take out the clip.”

It
occurred to her that not only did JT know she was carrying, he knew
what
she was carrying. He’d been in her apartment. Feeling sick with unease, she
slid her SIG out of the holster and let the clip drop.

“Good,”
he said, nodding. “Toss that on the bed.”

“Backup
is on the way,” she said, hoping it was true. “Any minute, there’ll be feds and
local police crawling all over the place.”

“Then
we’d best get going,” he said.

She
turned to face him, moving slow. His eyes were cool and his hands were steady,
but she knew he was afraid to approach her. As well he should be.

“Do
you have a pair of cuffs in your purse?” he asked, studying her warily.

“If
you think I’m going to make this easy for you—”

“Do
it or they’ll never find Carly.”

Her
stomach lurched. “Where is she?”

JT’s
mouth twisted with impatience. “We aren’t negotiating, bitch, we’re leaving.
Now take those cuffs out and put them on your wrists or I’ll just shoot you now
and be on my way.”

It
was highly inadvisable to let a perp take her to another location. Her best
chance at survival was to scuffle with him, even to risk taking a bullet in an
attempt to break free.

Because
she had Carly to consider, she removed the handcuffs from her purse.

“Make
them tight,” he said.

Gritting
her teeth, she secured her own wrists. She didn’t know how he’d snuck up on
her, because she hadn’t heard a sound, and the boat had never shifted under his
weight. If she made it out of this situation alive, and she wasn’t sure she
deserved to after this rookie mistake, she would never leave her back to a door
again.

Stephen watched JT and the woman from a
distance. They were walking away from Shelter Island Marina, and in the
deepening gloom, he couldn’t see her very clearly.

Something
about her was familiar.

He
hesitated, glancing back at the houseboat. It appeared as though JT had
forgotten to lock up on his way out. The woman wasn’t struggling or showing any
signs of distress, and JT was leading her toward other people, not away from
them.

If
Stephen followed them, he might not see anything more interesting than a
moonlit walk or a romantic dinner, and what he really wanted to do was snoop
through JT’s belongings. He waited until the couple was out of sight before he
stepped from the shadows, hurrying across the concrete pathway and slipping
onto
Captain Trips.

He
was afraid to turn on the lights, so he had to wait for his eyes to adjust.
Heart pounding a mile a minute, he stood inside someone else’s home, a silent
intruder. After an indescribable length of time, the gleaming surfaces and
clean lines took shape.

Stephen
gulped, more nervous than ever. This was the kind of place where one stray
fingerprint would be noticed. He had to be careful not to touch anything.

Hands
sweating, pulse racing, he moved from room to room, hoping his boots didn’t
leave scuff marks on the polished hardwood. A quick glance told him what was
out of place. In the bedroom, there was a clip on the ground and a gun on the
bed.

Next
to the clip lay a woman’s handbag. It was lying on one side, its contents
spilled across the carpet.

“Damn,”
he whispered, knowing he’d made the wrong decision. He should have followed
them.

Wiping
his palms on the legs of his jeans, he reached down to pick up a single white
business card. Flipping it over, he saw a familiar name.

Special
Agent Sonora Vasquez.

“Damn!”
he repeated. The woman who took off with JT was that blue-eyed FBI agent, the
one who’d treated him kindly. She’d made him uncomfortable—all women did—but
he’d felt an instant connection with her. A kinship.

His
eyes moved past the card, to an empty shoe box near the foot of the bed.
Inside, barely discernible in the approaching dark, was one of his dad’s old
trucker caps and a pair of dirty sunglasses. The lenses glinted wickedly in the
meager light.

Stephen
sucked in a sharp breath. And felt his vision narrow.

Arlen
may have deserved killing, but none of those girls had. He could still see
their pretty faces, smiling up at him from their photos.

“You
murdering motherfucker,” he muttered, picking up the gun. He didn’t know how to
use it, but it felt good in his hands. It felt damned good. He scooped up the
clip and jammed it into the chamber, surprised when it easily clicked into
place.

He
was locked and loaded. Ready to go.

And
when he heard a voice behind him, a man busting through the door, he was so
geared up for violence, he whirled around and pulled the trigger.

JT draped a T-shirt over her wrists,
hiding the cuffs, and stuffed his gun in the pocket of his jacket. He led her
down the causeway with the muzzle pressed against her spine, a chilly reminder
that he meant business.

To
the casual passerby, they were a cozy couple taking a quiet stroll.

As
they approached Fisherman’s Wharf, she felt another surge of panic. At dusk,
the docks were quiet, but when one last boat cruised into the harbor, she knew
it was
Destiny.
Carly and James were safe inside, oblivious to the
danger, snuggling close as they came in from their stolen afternoon at sea.

JT
had lied. Not only had Sonny allowed herself to be captured, she’d given him an
opportunity to use her as leverage.

“Don’t
start resisting now,” he clucked, reading her body language. “It will hardly do
them any good.”

“Eat
shit and die,” she returned in a bored tone, deliberately relaxing her
shoulders. If there was any time to fight, it was at this very moment, before
James and Carly got involved. Twisting her body toward him, she swung her
cuffed hands up, catching him under the chin.

He
staggered back a step, stunned.

Encouraged
by the small victory, she struck again, aiming a roundhouse kick at JT’s right
hand, the one holding the gun. With amazingly fast reflexes, he caught her
ankle before her foot connected and jerked her off balance.

Having
no way to break her fall, she landed hard on her back. Pain jolted down her
spine and the wind rushed out of her lungs.

He
looked around to make sure there were no witnesses, keeping the gun in his
pocket pointed down at her. “Get up.”

She
rolled to one side, gasping for air.

He
kicked her in the ribs. Pain exploded upon impact, sharp and exquisite. She
would have cried out if she could have drawn breath.

“Get
up,” he repeated, pulling her by the arm.

She
couldn’t walk and he couldn’t make her, so he dragged her useless body the last
twenty feet, coming to a stop in front of
Destiny
as she docked. Not
bothering to wait for James or Carly to greet him, he shoved Sonny aboard,
digging the muzzle of his gun into the tender spot in her side.

Sucking
in a desperate lungful of air, finally, brought another bolt of agony.

Inside
the cab of the boat, James was behind the wheel with Carly at his side, leaning
her head on his shoulder and ruffling a hand through his hair. When she saw
Sonny and JT, she let out a little yelp.

JT
took the gun out of his pocket and placed it against Sonny’s temple. “I need to
go to Mexico.”

James
put his body in front of Carly’s.

JT
ground the muzzle against Sonny’s head. “Cooperate, and no one will get hurt.”

James’
dark gaze moved from the gun to Sonny’s face. She tried to blank her
expression, hiding the pain, but he saw the evidence in her labored breathing
and bowed back. Obviously, someone had already been hurt. “Let Carly out and
I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

JT
didn’t appreciate James’ attempt at negotiation any more than he had
appreciated hers. He took the gun away from her temple, preparing to point it
at James.

In a
last-ditch effort to save them, and herself, Sonny drove her elbow into JT’s
midsection. It was a direct hit, and although she had the element of surprise
on her side, he retaliated faster than she could follow up. With little more
than an annoyed grunt, he backhanded her, sending her sprawling across the
deck.

Her
head rocked back against the planks so hard she saw dark flashes.

“As
I was saying,” JT continued, rubbing his belly with his free hand and holding the
gun on James with the other. “Cooperate. Keep your mouths shut. And take me to
Mexico.”

Sonny
squeezed her eyes closed, reeling from the blow.

“Carly
doesn’t need to be here,” James insisted.

“Oh,
but she does,” JT countered. “I think she needs to be here most of all.”

“Why?”
James asked, fear making his voice quake.

“Because
she has to learn a lesson. One that is overdue, judging by your lovesick face
and torn shirt. It seems she’s a slut, just like her mother.”

Sonny
forced her eyes open. James had a jacket over his shirt, both of which were
open down the front, exposing a strip of lean midsection. His face was flat,
but his stance indicated a barely restrained fury.

“You…”
Carly stuttered. Her skin was ashen and her eyes huge. James tightened his grip
on her arm, as if afraid she might lunge forward. “You killed my mom.”

“Yes,”
JT admitted, sounding bored. Seeing a length of rope at his feet, he kicked it
toward James. “Tie her up,” he said, waving the gun in Carly’s general
direction. “I don’t need another she-cat clawing at me.”

Having
little choice in the matter, James picked up the rope, darting a glance at
Sonny as he did so. From the ground, she looked back at him, her wrists cuffed
and her head swirling with nausea, unable to offer him any type of assistance.

James
knew the score as well as she did. The options were to die now or die later.
Eyes downcast, he tied the rope around Carly’s wrists, choosing to die later.

When Ben flipped on the bedroom light,
Stephen Matthews was standing there, pointing a gun at him. It made a clicking
sound as he pulled the trigger.

Ben
froze, anticipating the explosion. He’d always thought images from his entire
life would flash before his eyes at the moment of his death.

Only
one did. Carly’s face.

“God
damn,
man,” Stephen said, lowering the weapon. “I almost shot you.”

Ben
let out a slow breath. Apparently, the kid hadn’t meant to give him a heart
attack. Or to attempt murder. “Where’s my daughter?”

Stephen
frowned at the gun in his hand, probably wondering why it hadn’t gone off.
“She’s on the boat with James,” he said, inspecting the weapon. At his feet,
there was a black leather handbag and some miscellaneous female items.

Recognizing
them, Ben’s heartbeat began to thunder in his ears. He’d come to talk to JT,
figuring he’d been the scumbag sleeping with Sheila. His friend had absolutely
no discretion when it came to women. Now, seeing Stephen Matthews here with
Sonny’s purse—and her gun—it occurred to him that JT had been up to more than
adultery.