Alive at 5 (Entangled Ignite) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A gargled half groan escaped Sam’s lips. She didn’t even recognize her own voice. She closed her eyes.
Think. Think.
She could charge Robert, or maybe push George down if he fired. She jumped at the ring of her cell phone.

“Don’t even think about answering.” A different voice came from the other side of the room.

Sam wrenched around to see who it was.

Scott Fitzpatrick’s large frame filled the open doorway. “Say ‘hello’ and it will be the very last word you ever utter.”

Her phone clattered against the coffee table as she set it down with shaky hands. Immediately it buzzed again, and then went to voice mail.

“You said there were three.” Scott strode into the living room, a trail of pungent cologne following in his wake.

“What?” Robert shuffled a few steps back.

Interesting. She thought the two were supposed to be close, but after being in the room with them for less than ten seconds, she had no doubt Scott Fitzpatrick was actually in charge, and held little affection for his nephew.

“You said you were following a team of
three.”
Scott stood before the two of them, then leaned over to pick up her cell phone. “The reporter.” He nodded at her. “And the cameraman. Where’s the Army Ranger?” He pointed her cell phone at Robert. “Of the three, he’s the one we should be most worried about.” The older Fitzpatrick opened her phone. “Where is he?”

Was the man talking to her?

His heated gaze shifted her way.

She flinched. “I don’t know.” She tensed, waiting for him to erupt. “Really.”

“Was that the Ranger calling?”

“No.”

“I can check.”

“Be my guest.”
Asshole.

Scott’s black eyes narrowed. They were a stark contrast to his shockingly gray hair, which sprang out from his head like angry lightning bolts.

He glanced down at the phone and pressed a button. Had to be redial. He placed the phone to his ear. After a moment, “Who’s speaking?”

Sam knew who had answered the call. Even if she survived this kidnapping, her boss would probably fire her.

“I asked you a question.” Fitzpatrick’s voice was low, demanding, but still very much in control.

She could only imagine the words and attitude coming from her boss on the other end. Stan was a former New Yorker with a temper, and he didn’t like being questioned.

“There’s no Samantha here.”

Her boss knew better. Stan had issued her that cell phone for work. Plus she’d left him a message this morning, right after waking up George. Now he would know something was really wrong. But his help would get here too late.

“You must have dialed the wrong number earlier. Who is this?” Fitzpatrick scowled and held the phone away from his ear.

A slew of curse words exploded from the cell.

She shot George a knowing look. He lifted his eyebrows, acknowledging he heard it, too. This was the first time she’d actually appreciated Stan’s lack of a filter.

The older Fitzpatrick abruptly slammed the phone down. He stared at her for one long, uncomfortable moment.

She swallowed, her skin tightening.

“I imagine your boss will be looking for you now.” Scott walked toward Robert. “The clock is ticking. We have to make a move. But we need all three of them. What’s the Ranger’s name?”

“Zack Hunter,” Robert offered.

“Where the hell is Mr. Hunter?” Scott slammed a fist onto the bar next to the doorway.

She jumped.

When no one answered, he stalked back toward the couch. “All right, let’s work a little trade.” The big man sat down next to her. She fought the urge to turn away. “You tell me where the third member of your little party is, and I’ll tell you why I had Robert kill Maxwell Wentworth.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, but Sam struggled not to scoot away, even though her knees were knocking together
. Fitzpatrick was offering her a confession! And she was recording!

On cue, Robert shoved his gun at her temple.

She swallowed heavily. “Last I saw of Zack, he was at the hotel. I woke up this morning, and he’d already left.”

“And you came back here?” Scott Fitzpatrick asked. “Big, brave girl to come without your military man.”

“I thought maybe Zack was actually working for you guys.” She looked Scott Fitzpatrick straight on, hoping he wouldn’t notice her right eyelid twitching.

“That’s a lie.”

She could feel the man’s hot, rancid breath on her cheek as he spoke. This time she couldn’t stop herself. She scooted back. “I don’t really know Zack Hunter. And he lied to me at every turn. I found out about his uncle’s death from Robert.” She looked to Robert to back her up. “Ask him.”

Robert nodded. “It’s true.”

“I used Zack Hunter as my cover to go on the adventure vacation because I wanted to find out if Maxwell’s death was really an accident. I found myself sexually attracted to Zack so I slept with him.” She shrugged, trying to play it off as casual. “Where he is now, I couldn’t say. Probably gathering a large contingent of police to come arrest you.”

Scott studied her for a moment. “I think she
is
telling the truth, which doesn’t make me happy.” The big man stood. “Wake up the captain. Tell him we shove off in less than fifteen minutes or he’s fired. And you know what
fired
actually means.”

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

Did she really want to know? Not really…

The former dead man peered down at her and smiled, but there was no laughter in his cold eyes. “Doesn’t really matter. Wherever we end up, you and your friend are shark bait. But I’ll be sure to have Robert shoot pictures, so your death makes the top of the evening news.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The hum of the yacht’s motor forced Sam’s pulse up. The captain was pulling away from the dock. She couldn’t look at Scott Fitzpatrick, afraid he’d sense the panic in her eyes. He’d probably enjoy that.

Her seat vibrated as the motor kicked up a notch. Each passing second took her farther away from escape, but oddly not any closer to a full-out panic attack. Instead, she was concentrating on finishing off the job at hand, getting a confession recorded, before either Fitzpatrick could finish her off. She was scared, for sure, but oddly she still felt in control.

Stall him. Talk to him
. “I’ve told you about Zack and me. You promised to tell me about Maxwell Wentworth. And I also want to know what happened to Jenny.”

“Jenny? Who is Jenny?” Scott Fitzpatrick asked.

“You told me to kill the fucking reporter.” Robert sounded agitated. “I thought that bitch Jenny was this fucking cunt.”

“You were wrong, asshole.” Jenny had died because they looked alike. She would have to live with that guilt. Forever. But at least, if she survived, she could make sure Robert did time for Jenny’s death. “Tell me about Maxwell.” Part of her seized at her callousness, her ability to put Jenny’s death into a compartment and move ahead with the plan. The map they had to follow to survive.

A flash of appreciation flickered in those hardened eyes. “Maxwell Wentworth. Now there was a man who made many enemies.”

“Yes, much to my surprise.” After Maxwell’s death she’d done her homework, unable to believe the hometown hero who’d helped her could make an enemy ruthless enough to kill him. “I recently found out Maxwell was having an affair with the wife of his company’s vice president. So, he had a scorned wife, a pissed off business partner, and a trophy mistress who wanted to become his new wife.” She counted them off with her fingers. “Not exactly the Maxwell I thought I knew, but not the first man to cheat on his marriage. So, those are his enemies, but which one wanted to kill him?”

Scott actually smiled at her. “Which would you put your money on, Samantha?” But his eyes remained cold and reminded her of a serial killer she’d interviewed in prison in Daytona Beach.

“If I were a betting woman, I’d say…the ex-wife.”

“Good guess, but you’re wrong. The ex-wife didn’t want him dead. She wanted him alive so she could keep taking his money. Bitch liked her monthly alimony.”

“Okay, then, the new girlfriend?” George leaned forward. “Women are so fucking greedy.”

Fitzpatrick lifted a finger. “But she also had everything to gain by keeping him alive. His name, his house, his money.”

“So, it was the vice president,” Sam whispered, totally appalled she was participating in this verbal banter with an arrogant killer…but also undeniably interested.

“Bingo,” Scott said.

The mystery of Maxwell’s death had finally been solved—another man who’d fallen victim to lust and revenge. Sam had put Maxwell on a pedestal, but in the end, he was just another vulnerable man controlled by his baser human urges.

“They all had motive for murder.” Scott Fitzpatrick reached out and grasped her wrist so tightly the blood supply to her fingers stalled.

She fought back the urge to yell and jerk away.

“But only his vice president had the balls to follow through.” The big man slanted forward. “Maxwell’s vice president financed his murder. And I paid Robert to execute it by messing with Maxwell’s parachute at Skydive Drop Zone.”

Her body tensed, but she tasted victory. A confession at last! A jury would hear how proud the asshole sounded as he described how he’d orchestrated the deadly plans. If she survived. “How did the VP find you to hire? I mean, I don’t get the connection.”

Fitzpatrick backed off a bit, but didn’t release her wrist. “I had an employee troll charity events for possible clients.”

“Monica.” She’d been right not to trust the woman. Monica had been in on it from day one.

“Yes, beautiful Monica could throw on a long gown and fake diamonds and fit right in with the rich and powerful. The inebriated fools who flirted with her never realized she was nothing more than ambitious trailer trash doing my bidding for cash.”

Selling her soul to the devil was more like it.
“So, Monica hung out at charity events and asked drunk, rich people if they wanted anyone murdered?” She hiked her brows at the absurdity of the idea.

“Stretch your mind a little, Miss Reporter. What do most of these charity events include?”

George snorted. “Besides wealthy, whiskeyed-up people?”

Curiosity overpowered her terror, if only for the moment. “There’s always a band, and a rubber chicken dinner.”

“Amusing. Before that.”

“A silent auction with—” The match finally fired, and she made the connection. She met Scott Fitzpatrick’s smug eyes. He’d let go of her wrist and was now gripping the gun in his other hand.

“You offered Adventure Vacation packages as silent auction items at charity events.”

“That’s right. In Wentworth’s case, it happened at the St. Francis Society Gala in Tampa. By that time, Wentworth’s affair was public knowledge. He and his vice president were already circling each other like wolves, trying to figure out ways to ruin one another. I provided them with a clever way for them to compete, bidding over our popular vacation.”

The sound of metal hitting something hard outside made her jump. Someone was out there. Robert stuck his head out of the doorway to check.

Fitzpatrick was too carried away in the story and didn’t notice. “Wentworth’s ego got the best of him. He couldn’t let his rival win the adventure vacation. A bidding war ensued.”

George faked a cough.

Sam assumed that was a hint and glanced around the room. She checked out both doorways. Robert had disappeared from the one doorway leading to the deck. No one else was around, at least that she could see. Every nerve in her body went on high alert.

“Wentworth won of course, which made his death look even more like his own fault.”

She shook her head, sickened. “So, Maxwell actually paid for his own murder.”

“And his business partner paid me another seven-hundred thousand dollars to make sure it looked like an accident.” Fitzpatrick thrust his chest out as he said it.

Sam’s jaw nearly hit the deck. This man had made almost
a million dollars
on Maxwell’s death. No wonder he continued his murder for hire scheme. It probably funded his secret, underground lifestyle.

“That’s the going price for a CEO?” George asked.

Fitzpatrick smacked George on the back of his head, sending him flying forward. “Yes, but I’ll kill
you
for free. Does that tell you what you’re worth, camera boy?”

George finally snapped. He jumped up from the bench and dove at Fitzpatrick, body-slamming him onto the floor. Scott’s gun sailed across the carpet.

The gun! Get the damn gun!

“Fucker. You want to kill me? Do it with your hands in a fair fight,” George yelled as the two rolled and wrestled on the carpet.

Sam dove for the gun, her heart galloping, but Scott kicked it away.

“
Ahh
!” George yelped, and the gun slid to a stop against the far bulkhead.

Could she still get to it? If so, could she actually use it?

George let out another grunt, and she flinched at the sound of something slamming against a wall.

“Don’t move.” A familiar hiss stalled her going for the weapon. Once again, Robert stood at the door, his gun pointed at her. His finger moved to the trigger, deadly intent gleaming in his eyes.

Hell. This was it.

“Nobody move!” A different voice rang out from the other side of the room. Calm. Cool. In control.

Oh, thank God.

Zack!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sam wanted to run and hide behind Zack, but Robert stepped in front of her with his damn gun pointed at her head.

Scott Fitzpatrick and George must have stopped fighting because the grunts and groans had ceased. She could hear George’s labored breathing. Risking a quick glance backward, she swallowed. The big man was holding George in front of him like a human shield, one arm tight around his neck.

Silence swept through the room, leaving nothing but her crazy heart pounding in her ears.

Zack took a few steps closer, but he never stopped glaring at Robert.

Her mouth turned dry and chalky. She figured she had about half a second to make a move, or her destiny would be sealed.

She raised her hands in surrender. “I don’t have a weapon. I’m not a threat to you.”

“Samantha,” Zack warned.

She zeroed in on Robert. “I just need to know one thing before I die.” She took a small step to the right. She had to get around the coffee table to reach him.

“We’re all done talking.” His stare hardened.

“Just one more question.” She took another small step and saw his hands were shaking again. “Who paid for Jackson Hunter’s death?” She had to do this. For Zack.

“Shoot her,” Scott commanded. “She’s stalling for time.”

“Wait!” Sam took another step toward Robert, holding out both hands like a school crossing guard. “Answer the question. I have a right to know everything before I die.” The air in the room crackled with electricity. She inched closer.

“His own brother paid,” Scott snapped. “Now kill the bitch, Robert!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Zack standing frozen in shock.
Damn
.

Her heart flipped erratically. “Robert, why are you doing this? Why kill all these people for your uncle?
You’re
the one who’ll pay if you’re caught.”

“Revenge, okay?” Robert wiped his brow. “Now, shut up!”

“Jesus.” Scott’s voice thundered through the room. “Fucking
kill
her. She’s playing with you, fool.”

George wheezed as Scott’s hold tightened around his throat.

A
click
sounded from Robert’s gun. The hair on her arms stood.

“Revenge against whom, Robert?” she said desperately.

“Move another millimeter, asshole, and I will happily shoot both of you.” Zack’s voice was calm but chilling.

Robert’s frantic gaze darted to Zack.

Just the break she needed
. She lunged forward, diving toward Robert’s short, stocky body.

Bang!

Oh, shit
. Body in motion, she tensed, waiting to feel the searing fire of a bullet penetrating her flesh.

Instead, Robert’s hand jerked. He screamed and the gun clattered to the deck just as she crashed into him shoulder first, bounced, and then tumbled to the floor.

White-hot pain shot through her body. She started scrambling to her knees.
Where was the gun?

“Get down!” Zack shouted, and she instantly obeyed.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

George let out a bellow that sounded like it came from hell itself.

Oh, God! He’d been hit!

“Take cover!” Zack called.

She glanced around and rolled toward the solid wood wet bar near the door. A hand grabbed her ankle.

Robert
. He was dragging her back into the open. The heat of carpet burn ignited her skin. She dug her fingernails into the rug but couldn’t get a grip. Fear tore at her heart.

She kicked, then kicked harder. Her right foot found flesh and bone. Robert squealed. She drew in a deep breath and kicked with all her might, letting out a mighty yell as she flipped over.

His hand on her ankle relaxed just enough for her to break free.

She scampered behind the cover of the bar.

Where was Zack? And George?
Oh, Jesus.

More explosive gunfire erupted. She scrunched into a ball, her spine hitting the bulkhead behind the bar.

“Fuck,” came a deep growl. “I’m hit!”

Ohmigod!
“Zack!”