The Killing Edge (27 page)

Ted said, “Hey, Chloe. I’m just wondering if I should plan something special for your friends tonight?”

“I…wow, I’m sorry, Ted. I didn’t know they were all showing today. I guess a barbecue would be great, but don’t put yourselves out. What can they expect when they didn’t give you any warning?”

“I guess not,” Ted said, visibly relaxing. “I just…want to make people happy. That’s what running a resort is all about.” He frowned suddenly. “Maria, are you all right?”

“Of course,” Maria said quickly. Too quickly?

But if there was tension in her voice, Ted didn’t hear it. He was still thinking about the evening’s activities. “We can barbecue by the pool.” He was still for a minute, then looked at his wife. “Maria, I saw what happened on TV, and I know that you’re scared, that it brought back memories for you. But I have always protected you, and I always will. I love you.”

It was beautiful, Chloe thought, the way he looked at his wife.

And her smile in return was just as beautiful.

The moment was so intimate that Chloe felt as if she was intruding.

She cleared her throat. “Ted, I should warn you that Jack and I need Maria’s help to try to identify one of the church members, but we’ll keep her safe. I promise.”

“I’m ready to do whatever is needed,” Maria said, cutting Ted off when he would have spoken. She turned to Chloe and hugged her fiercely.

“Thank you,” Chloe said. “You’re…amazing.” She stood up and headed for the door. It might be her room, but she was leaving it to them. They deserved a moment alone.

She walked down the hall to number 7, where the Blackhawks were staying.

Brent opened the door for her. Nikki was at the computer, but she pushed her chair back and said, “Everything all right? Besides the bodies in the barrels,” she added dryly.

“So you know already,” Chloe said.

“The media air everything in minutes these days,” Nikki said.

“I’ll be out front,” Brent said, kissing his wife on the top of her head.

“Out front?” Chloe asked.

“I just got a call from Luke. He asked me to keep an eye out for Stuckey,” Brent explained. “Stick with Stuckey—those were his words.”

“Why is Stuckey coming here?” Chloe asked.

“Beats me. I only swore to watch for him, then stick to him like glue. Call me, if anything comes up,” he said to Nikki.

Nikki nodded, staring at her computer screen again. “I just called Mama Thornton and asked her to put a rush on things.” She looked at Chloe and explained, “Voodoo-shop owner in New Orleans. So, have you seen Colleen Rodriguez again?” she asked.

Chloe shook her head.

“I’m sure she’ll be back. Just be as open to her and any others as you can. Anyway, what’s up? Did you come by with a question?”

“Some of the others are out at the pool, and I just wondered if you wanted to join me.”

“I want to do some more research into the symbol—it’s called a hamza hand—they found at the original crime scene, and then I’ll be out.”

Chloe left Nikki to it and headed out. When she reached the pool, Jared, Brad and Victoria were still the only ones there, all three of them bent over Jared’s iPhone, watching the news.

They looked up at her, wide-eyed, as she arrived.

“You’ve got to see this!” Victoria said.

“I know all about it,” Chloe said, sinking onto a chaise.

Jared walked over to stare down at her. “Chloe, this is fantastic news. The police think someone from the church killed these two because
they
killed Myra and the others. Probably Colleen, too. That means we don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“What makes you think they were the killers?” Chloe demanded.

“I thought you said you knew all about it? It’s what the cops are saying,” Jared said.

“They’re dead,” Chloe said. “But they didn’t kill them
selves, then chop themselves up and stick the pieces in a barrel. Come on, think about this. There’s still a killer out there somewhere.”

The others stared at her.

“They were chopped up and stuffed in a barrel?” Victoria asked.

Chloe froze, wondering if that information had been withheld from the press. “I don’t know which channel I was watching, but I thought one of the reporters said something about the bodies being dismembered and hidden in barrels,” she lied. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It matters if you’re the one in the barrel!” Victoria said. “It’s horrible.”

“But maybe justice in a way,” Jared said. “They did something horrible, and they came to a horrible end. Besides, I’m sure they were dead before they were dismembered. I mean, you could only cut someone up so much and then they’d die from loss of blood.”

Chloe stared at him, appalled. “Jared, that’s awful.”

“Let’s face it—we’ve all seen worse,” he told her.

“Hey!” Brad said suddenly. “It’s that Brother Michael again. He says his church is filled with good people, that they cooperated fully with the police, and now they’ve been victimized, and that proves the church isn’t involved. Who knows? Maybe he’s right. Maybe his church is a perfectly nice place, and they just—”

“A perfectly nice place that just happens to attract every homicidal nut out there?” Victoria demanded. “I don’t think so. I think it should be shut down completely.”

“On what grounds?” Jared asked, shaking his head.

“The FBI has raided other compounds,” Victoria pointed out.

“Yeah, because they were stockpiling arms, sleeping with children, that kind of thing,” Jared said. “But…the Church of the Real People is just a building on a Miami street. Its members don’t live there. They don’t practice polygamy. They don’t promote drug use.”

“They just kill,” Victoria said.

“There’s something wrong with this whole picture. I mean, Lucy Garcia? I just can’t believe she killed anyone,” Chloe said.

“Why? Because she’s a woman?” Jared asked skeptically.

“I’m not saying that women can’t kill—just not Lucy Garcia, that’s all,” Chloe said.

“Oh? And you knew her how?” Brad asked.

Chloe looked out at the pool, realizing that only she and Victoria—and Luke—knew about their excursion to the potluck supper.

““I…I think I saw her on a newscast just after the…after Myra died. She was scared, and…like a little mouse,” Chloe said.

“Oh, just tell them,” Victoria said. “It’s just Brad and Jared. Chloe and I went to a potluck supper at the church.”

“You what?” Brad exploded.

“Vickie!” Jared stared at her in dismay. “That could have been dangerous.” He glared at Chloe. “What were you thinking! After everything that happened when we were kids, how could you drag Victoria to that awful church?”

“Hey!” Chloe protested.

She didn’t get a chance to say more—Victoria wasn’t going to let her take the blame.

“She didn’t drag me, I dragged her,” she said. “And it was perfectly safe. We met Lucy Garcia, and all she cared about was convincing us that her brother had been framed for the Teen Massacre.”

Chloe was dimly aware that she could hear a motor. She looked down toward the docks. There were only two slips left, and a boat was maneuvering its way into one of them.

Victoria raised a hand to shield her eyes. “Hey, it’s Mark. Mark Johnston.”

“Yeah?” Brad said. “Creep.”

“Why is he a creep?” Victoria demanded.

“He was dating Colleen and now she’s missing, so you tell me. He’s a creep,” Brad said.

“I’ll bet someone from the church got hold of her,” Victoria said.

“Oh, come on,” Jared said. “What the hell would people from the Church of the Real People be doing at a photo shoot on a private island? Get real. Brad’s right. That…creep did something to Colleen.”

“I don’t think so,” Chloe said.

“Of course he did,” Jared argued. “He claims he cared about her so much, but when she disappeared, he spent all his time defending himself.”

“He had to defend himself,” Victoria said. “People kept asking him questions.”

Jared stretched out a hand, caught her fingers and squeezed. “If you disappeared, I’d die before I stopped looking for you.”

Victoria smiled warmly in return.

So, the romance was heating up, Chloe thought.

Chloe looked across the pool, toward Mark’s boat. It was berthed, but she didn’t see Mark.

She saw someone else instead.

Colleen Rodriguez was standing on the dock in her white dress, hair dripping, arms outstretched, as if entreating Chloe to come to her.

Then she saw Mark. He was half-hidden by the branches of a huge mangrove next to the dock, and he was beckoning to her wildly.

She frowned, wondering if it would be crazy to join him, as close to the water as he was.

But the ghost was calling to her, too, and Colleen wouldn’t call her over if it would put her in danger. Mark couldn’t be evil—or Colleen wouldn’t be urging her closer.

She’d brought her gun, but it was in her purse, and her purse was in her room. So was her phone, and she chastised herself for not keeping both of them on her.

Why?

There were plenty of people here, and she was safe so long as she stuck with the crowd. Because this wasn’t over, no matter what Stuckey thought.

Sad, skinny little Lucy Garcia hadn’t killed anyone. Chloe would bet on it. She and Sanz hadn’t been killed for their crimes; they had been killed for what they knew, for what they might say. She was absolutely certain of that.

Someone had butchered two people.

And there was Mark Johnston, waving madly at her.

Only a fool would walk away from a crowd, given the situation.

She needed her phone and her gun.

Armed, she would go see what Mark wanted.

Even as she thought it, she felt foolish, because the truth was, for some odd reason, she just believed in him.

And in Colleen.

“I need my phone,” she murmured as she rose and stretched casually, then tried to motion to Mark that she’d be there in a minute. Was she crazy to trust him? No, there was just something about him. She couldn’t forget how he had known who Luke was and sworn to keep silent.

When she got to her door, she found it locked. She knocked softly, but no one answered. Apparently Ted and Maria had left—and locked the door behind them. She was going to have to get another key.

She turned back to the pool. Victoria and Brad were gone, and Jared had gone back to watching the news as it unfolded on his iPhone.

“Jared, where’s Victoria?” she called, suddenly panicked.

Jared looked around. “Here. Somewhere.”

“Where’s Brad?”

“Probably with Victoria.” He looked at her, frowning. “Hey, Chloe, lighten up. You’re too tense. It’s us. The Fighting Pelicans.”

She nodded. “Right.”

She walked down to the end of the pool and looked toward the docks, still anxious about Victoria. Had she seen Mark and gone to find out what he wanted? Her friend was
nowhere in sight, but Colleen was still there, nearer the mangoves now, and looking distressed.

The ghost hadn’t evaporated, hadn’t disappeared into the air. She was still there, and now she was waving madly at Chloe.

Chloe started running toward the docks. She raced along the wood planks, past one of the Coco-lime dive boats and on to the place where she had seen Mark.

She reached the ghost of Colleen Rodriguez, who had now fallen down on one knee and appeared to be sobbing.

“It’s all right,” Chloe said. “I’m here.” She tried to touch the ghost, but she felt chill air and nothing more.

She stared at Mark’s boat, which appeared to be empty. She saw eight air tanks in their slots in the rear of the boat, the ice chest clamped down, towels neatly folded…but no sign of anyone.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, light as air, cool, and somehow urgent.

She jumped and turned. No one was there. But before she had time to be afraid, she heard a groan and spun around again. The sound had come from the mangroves. “Mark?” she called tentatively.

She felt like an idiot. Even her fear for Victoria should not have driven her to come down here like this, alone and unarmed.

But Mark could be hurt, and Colleen had loved Mark. She had gotten Chloe to come to her, and she had remained visible because she was desperate. Mark needed help.

“Help.” The call was faint, but it was real.

She followed Colleen into the mangroves. There were
roots rising from the water, and occasional patches of dry land. She carefully wound her way through the roots, her heart pounding as she saw a body.

“Mark!”

She rushed over to him and hunkered down. He had fallen like a rag doll between the gnarled roots, boneless on the sand, lying half in a seawater puddle. She was afraid to touch him and afraid not to. She gingerly reached for his arm and felt for the pulse in his wrist, then slid a hand under his neck, trying to cradle his head.

That was when she felt the blood.

His eyes opened, huge and blue against the copper of his skin. “Chloe. Get away. I tried to warn you, tried to tell you…went through her things…”

“Mark, stop talking. I’m going to get help, all right?” she said.

His grip around her wrist when she tried to move was surprisingly strong. “No, had to talk, you wouldn’t believe… I found it…here, in Myra’s office…I found…”

He wasn’t making any sense, and he was losing strength.

“Mark, let go. I’m going to go find Ted and Bill. We have to get you to a hospital. You have a head wound.”

A voice sounded in her head. Not aloud, but undeniably there.

Chloe, run! Get out of here now!

Colleen’s voice.

Then Mark stared at her, his eyes widening in sudden alarm.

Had he seen Colleen’s ghost, too? Had he heard her?

Chloe started to turn.

But the old piece of dock planking caught her right in the temple.

The world was there, and then the world was gone.

She crashed straight down on top of Mark and felt no more.

F
or the fifth time, Luke tried Chloe’s number.

For the fifth time, his call went straight to voice mail.

He cursed as he drove. Naturally there was a Suburban pulling a boat going ten miles below the speed limit, and the next passing zone was miles ahead.

He still didn’t know if Leo’s findings actually meant anything, but Leo was concerned enough that he was heading south, as well.

There had been no way to keep Leo away, and it didn’t really matter anymore, anyway. All the dice would be on the table from this point on.

Fact—the island could be dangerous.

Fact—they could take all the pictures they damn well wanted, but more than extra security would be on Coco-belle.

Fact—the shoot might not even happen.

Fact—three people involved in one way or another with the Church of the Real People and/or the Bryson Agency had been in or near New Orleans at the time when Jill Montague had been murdered and thrown into the Mississippi, with a hamza hand carved into her back.

Three.

And they were all down in the Keys right now.

He put through a call to Brent Blackhawk.

“Brent, is everything still all right?” he asked.

“Still waiting, but there’s no way Stuckey can come up the driveway without me seeing him. But, Luke, isn’t he your old friend? A decorated cop?” Brent asked, puzzled.

“All I know right now is that he’s one of the three people involved in this case who happened to take a trip to New Orleans at the time Jill Montague disappeared,” Luke said. “Don’t confront him, just hang with him—and don’t leave him alone with the girls. I’m almost there.”

“Are you certain he’s coming this way?”

“No, he left ahead of me, and I thought he was headed back to his office, and for all I know, he is. But after I heard from Leo, who’s had his contacts tracking people’s movements over the last decade, I got worried that maybe he was heading down to the Keys instead. But what I called to say was, don’t worry about Stuckey for now. I keep calling Chloe’s cell, and she’s not answering. I need you to attach yourself like glue to her, and Victoria, too, if you can,” Luke said.

“All right. They’re at the pool—maybe she forgot her cell phone,” Brent said. “And Nikki called Mama Thornton. I know they’ve been trying to find the receipts.”

“Okay, go.”

Luke hung up, gritting his teeth, knowing it would be senseless to beep at the Suburban towing the boat. Not even the cops could get by right now.

He thought about calling Stuckey, but decided against it.

Stuckey was one of the three who had been in New Orleans when Jill Montague went missing. Stuckey had been in Miami a decade ago, when the Teen Massacre had occurred. Stuckey had been at the mansion after the slayings there. Stuckey had access to the Church of the Real People. He could control reports and records.

No, he refused to believe it. Brent was right. Stuckey was a good cop. A friend.

He called the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department instead. Stuckey couldn’t do anything that he couldn’t do. He asked them to send a car to Coco-lime. He might not know exactly what, if anything, was going on there, but his gut told him that backup could be useful.

He couldn’t think of anything but Chloe. If he couldn’t reach her directly, maybe he could reach her through the hotel. He tried the main number and was relieved when Maria answered. “Maria! Thank God. It’s Jack.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“You’re all right? Everyone there is all right?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief that at long last he was coming to the passing zone. He pulled out and hit the gas.

“Everything is fine.”

“Chloe hasn’t been answering her phone.”

“She’s at the pool with Vickie and Brad and Jared.”

“Maria, where is Ted? Is he with you?”

“He went out to get supplies for a last-minute barbecue.”

Ted was the number-two name on the list.

“All right. Maria, do me a favor. Go down to the pool and make an excuse for Victoria and Chloe to go to your room with you. I want the three of you to lock yourselves in somewhere together.”

“I’ll call Ted. He’ll come back.”

“No, no, don’t call Ted. Just get Chloe and Victoria. In fact, I sent Brent Blackhawk out to the pool, too, so take him with you. The three of you should go to his room and wait for me to get back. And get Chloe to call me right away. All right? Is Bill around?”

“Bill was working on one of the dive boats. Do you need him? If you want to hold, I can get him for you first.”

“No, no, listen, Maria. I’m worried. I think people might still be in danger. The sheriff’s department is sending people out. Ask them to wait until I get there, okay? And do exactly what I’ve asked you, please. It’s very important.”

“You’re scaring me,” Maria said.

“You don’t need to be scared. Just do as I asked you.”

He hung up and kept driving.

No one called him.

He wound up behind a delivery truck that poked along and looked as if it would incinerate if anything so much as tapped it.

He stared at his phone, willing it to ring. Seconds seemed to last forever. He wanted to call Stuckey. He didn’t dare.

Nikki Blackhawk was Mama Thornton’s friend, and she
had Mama doing her best, he was certain. But that wasn’t good enough. He dialed Joe.

“Hey, how’re you?” Joe asked cheerfully. “Nikki has been hounding us all to death, you know. And to think—I introduced you.”

“Joe, time is ticking.”

“I know. I saw the news.”

“So, any luck finding what we need at Mama’s place?”

“I’m there now, going through receipts with her staff. We’re doing our best, Luke. Honest to God.”

“Thank you, Joe.”

“You bet. Be patient.”

Patient? Fat chance.

He called Coco-lime again.

The phone rang.

And rang.

Someone was trying to wake her up. She felt someone tenderly stroking the side of her head. But when she looked, no one was there.

She became gradually aware of the slap of the water against the boat and the staggering pain in her head. But at least her instincts had been right about Mark. He was innocent. He had been trying to warn her, even though she still didn’t understand what he’d been trying to say.

Mark was lying just inches away from her. They’d been tossed on the bottom of the dive boat as if they were fish that had been reeled in.

Then she realized who’d been trying to wake her up.
Colleen Rodriguez was there, looking extremely agitated. She was so easy to see now, as if she were made of mist, her eyes…haunted and in agony. She looked at Chloe, and Chloe could hear her again.

I’m so sorry! I wanted you to help Mark. I didn’t know, I didn’t see…

Chloe’s heart sank as she realized that Victoria was just a few feet away, as well. Her alabaster forehead was marred by a streak of blood. Chloe’s heart began to thunder as she feared that her delicately built friend might already be dead.

And if she wasn’t? Maybe it would be more merciful if she was….

No. While there was life, there was hope.

She tried to twist around, to see who was manning the boat. It was Mark’s boat, she realized, but she couldn’t tell who was at the wheel.

She tried to shift position so she could see what was going on, but when she couldn’t move she realized that her wrists and ankles were tied by white nylon bands, the kind used to secure diving tanks. She blinked and tried to focus. Mark and Victoria were neatly bound as well, their wrists and ankles secured like hers.

Feet. She saw feet. And legs. But she had no idea whose feet she was seeing.

She got a glimpse of scenery and realized they were approaching Coco-belle, cruising around to the tangle of mangrove roots and vines just past the manicured patios of the hotel. She had spent dozens of hours there, laughing with friends, sharing drinks and secrets.

Suddenly she knew.

This was where Colleen Rodriguez had died. How easy. The hotel and the manicured lawns led straight to the mangroves. Maybe there were old pilings below the surface. Not that it really mattered what was down there. There was
something
below, hidden by seaweed…something that could hold a body down.

She would soon discover what.

The motor stopped, leaving only the slap of the water against the hull.

Then the killer turned.

Colleen tried to stop him, tried to keep him from touching Chloe, and he frowned, as if he felt something, but Colleen was only mist. She couldn’t stop him.

Then he hunkered down next to her and smoothed back her hair, as he had so many times before.

Brad. Brad Angsley. The friend she had turned to for safety, time and time again.

“Oh, Chloe. I wish there were more time,” he said. “I’d really like to explain it all to you. You would understand.”

Her mouth was like cotton, but she tried to speak. She needed to buy time.

There couldn’t possibly be enough time. No one knew where they were, and no one was close enough to help them even if they knew where to go. Still, she had to try.

“I would love to understand,” she managed to say, her voice thick.

What fools they’d been, spending so much time worrying about Rene Gonzalez because she’d been Colleen’s friend.
But Colleen, like so many others, had died only because she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, a convenient victim to satisfy his need to kill.

Colleen had never been the target.

“This is all for the glory of God,” he said, his voice ringing with passion. “I am the instrument of God. I must…I must keep my talents honed, and so I release those who are laden with sin. That’s what it is, you know. Death. It’s a release. I am his machine, and I must keep myself fit, so…I practice my craft. But I’m careful, choosing only those who need to die before they’re eaten alive by sin. Please, Chloe. You have to understand.” He rose.

Colleen jumped up as well, panicked, looking from the killer to his three victims, but she could do nothing. She was a ghost. Vapor. Insubstantial.

Panic filled Chloe. The three of them were trussed like hogs for slaughter. He was going to kill them, then dispose of their bodies in the water, where they would decompose quickly, where evidence would be lost.

“Wait!” she cried. “I’m just beginning to grasp—”

“Very clever. But then, you always were the smart one. But I’m even smarter, because you didn’t know, not until this moment, did you? It’s because I’m God’s instrument, and he shields and guards me. Actually, I wanted to go after you so many times, but I had to wait until the time was right, until I received a sign. You’re the one who ruined the whole thing that very first night. You have the luck of the devil, Chloe. If I hadn’t seen that you were getting Victoria out, and that you were too far ahead of me, I could have stuck
with the plan. But I saw you, and then I hit my head, and I was dizzy…had to get rid of my knife and skin, but that idiot Abram—who never should have been there—was there to pick up the pieces. He knew I was God’s warrior, but he was a thin-blooded pansy, and he screwed it all up. And then Brother Michael said Garcia and Donlevy had to die, so no one would catch the two of us. But it wrecked the church. It was all for the church, but it
wrecked
the church. Brother Michael said that we had to save ourselves because we were God’s warriors, and that the church could be built again.”

He paused, thoughtful for a moment. “Come to think of it, other than the fact that it set us back, it was a glorious moment. I had killed those decadent fornicating sinners—and had done so like a true warrior of God, smoothly, quickly…and then I ditched my stuff, followed you, and the emergency crews doted on me. Everyone cried over me and tried to help. Pretty great, really.” He shook his head and stared at her, his laughter gone, anger in his eyes. “Now you think you’ve wrecked the church again. Well, think again. The idiot police may have their theories, but they’ll never figure out who butchered poor Brother Sanz and simpering Lucy, who was about to go to the press with ‘proof’ her brother was innocent. He wasn’t innocent, he was stupid. And they’ll think that Mark killed you and Vickie. He killed Colleen—I’ll make sure they discover her at last—and he’ll have killed you all, too. They’ll find his body, too, a suicide, too filled with guilt over what he’d done to live. And I’ll be in tears, desperately searching for
you and Vickie. I’ll also be rich, with no cousin to share my inheritance with. I’ll have enough money to make the church everything I’ve always dreamed it could be. Chloe, I really am sorry, but maybe we’ll meet again one day in heaven, and I’ll tell you more.” He paused to laugh for a moment, and his laugh was childish, and more chilling than any of the words he had spoken.

“Brad, you’re so full of it. You meant to hide those bodies in the Everglades, but the police found them anyway. You think you’re so smart, but you’re not. Everything’s unraveling all around you,” she said.

“Don’t worry about me. Brother Michael knows all the right things to do.”

“Colleen is going to tell everyone the truth,” Chloe said.

“Colleen? Haven’t you been listening to me? Colleen is dead and gone.”

“No, she’s not. She’s here, right here with us now. Maybe you can’t see her, but you felt her. You felt her when you came over to me, because she tried to stop you. I know you did.”

He stared at her, stunned. “
You’re
the one who’s full of it, Chloe.”

“You can believe whatever you want, but she’s come back, and she’s going to see that you get arrested, go to trial—and face the death penalty,” Chloe said. She wasn’t sure if angering him was the right thing to do, but at least she was buying time.

“You’re going to shut up. And do you want to know how I know that? I know it because I’m going to shut you up,”
he said. “And I need to hurry. You’ve wasted too much of my time. Now all that’s left is for the three of you to die.”

He picked up Mark Johnston’s body with ease and tossed it over the side of the boat.