The Killing Edge (28 page)

Then he reached for Chloe. And he threw her over the side, too.

Luke’s phone rang. He snatched it up, praying that it would be someone from Coco-lime. It was Leo.

“Where the hell are you?” Leo demanded.

“Reaching Key Largo.”

“I can’t get anyone to answer at the resort.”

“Where are you?”

“Behind a fucking Suburban towing a boat.”

Luke would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so serious. “I’ve got cops heading to Coco-lime, but everyone’s probably just out by the pool, enjoying the sun.”

“What about Stuckey? Is he heading there, too?”

“I don’t know,” Luke admitted.

“And Ted Trenton…he’s there somewhere,” Leo said.

“Don’t forget Brad,” Luke said.

“Brad survived the Teen Massacre. He couldn’t… No, they’re friends,” Leo said weakly. “Why on earth would Brad hurt anyone?”

Luke had a sudden image of the picture Chloe had described, the one her patient had drawn. Brother Mario Sanz, with dollar signs in his eyes. But Sanz was dead. The only one left to control the church was Brother Michael. Did he have it in him to be a Rasputin type, a Svengali, and manipulate others?

Would he lust after the fame and power that could be his if the church came into a fortune?

“Money,” Luke said suddenly.

“Money? Brad has tons of money, and he stands to inherit more. If Victoria were dead, he’d be worth fifty million, at least.”

If Victoria were dead…

The phone rang again seconds after he and Leo hung up. It was Nikki. “Brent can’t find Chloe or Vickie or Brad, just Jared, who says he doesn’t know where the others are. Luke, I was on the phone with Mama Thornton when they finally found the right records. I know who bought the hamza hands.”

Chloe held her breath as she hit the water. It was warm, the sea calm. If she hadn’t been bound, making shore would have been a breeze.

But she was trussed and helpless, and she was sinking behind the boat.

Suddenly she stopped, snagged on something.

The necklace—the lovely necklace Luke had brought home for her from New Orleans—had snagged on the propeller.

The delicate chain broke, and she drifted downward, but it had given her an idea. She kicked her bound legs awkwardly, sending her slamming back against the boat, and began to work her wrists against one of the propeller blades, praying Brad wouldn’t suddenly turn the motor back on. The nylon cord was stronger than it looked. If she hadn’t been
dying, she might have smiled, because Colleen was there with her, helping her work at the cords.

She heard a splash.

Victoria.

You can do it. You have to do it. Don’t let him get away with this.

Vickie and Mark were both unconscious. The propeller was her only hope to save all of them, and she had to hurry. Not only was she running out of air, but any second Brad would be diving in to make sure their bodies were anchored somewhere at the bottom. There was a drop-off here; just beyond the twisting shoreline and the mangroves.

Yes!

Her wrists were bleeding and raw, but she’d snapped the cord.

She surfaced, desperate for a gasp of air.

She caught a glimpse of Brad. He was getting his diving gear on. She was down to seconds.

She plunged beneath the surface, knowing that somehow she had to drag the others up and find a way to stop Brad.

Luke barely stopped the car before he was leaping out, the door open behind him as he raced toward the pool.

No one was there.

As Luke stood, staring, he heard more cars crunching up the stone driveway, and he turned to see two officers from the sheriff’s department arriving, followed by Ted Trenton, whose arms were laden with grocery bags as he got out of his car.

Jeanne LaRue, in heeled sandals and a delicate lace cover-
up over a bikini, came out of the hotel, yawning. “Oh, thank God. Food at last.”

The two officers approached Luke, their expressions puzzled. He identified himself and spoke quickly. “I need you to secure the property—and keep your eyes open. We’re looking to arrest a man named Brad Angsley for murder.”

Nikki came running out then. “Brent and I have combed the place—they aren’t here. Jared said Mark Johnston arrived, but his boat is gone and so is he. Brent just called the Coast Guard.”

He grabbed Nikki by the shoulders. “Get Brent, and get out on the water. There’s no time to wait for the Coast Guard. Oh God, there’s no time!”

He took off toward the docks, his heart sinking.

Brad had taken them out on a boat, probably Mark’s boat.

Logic said they were already dead.

Screw logic.

Bill Trenton’s dive boat was ready and waiting. Luke vaulted aboard, thanked God that Ted kept the key in the ignition and gunned the motor.

“Hey!” Bill came running down toward the docks. “Hey, you may need my help!” he cried.

“Hop on,” Luke told him.

“What can I do?”

“Make her go as fast as she can.”

“Where?”

“Back side of Coco-belle Island.” It was the only place that made sense.

Chloe freed her feet, untying the cords as she pitched down into the deep water. She saw that Mark, who had been down the longest, was struggling to reach the surface. She shot toward him, catching his hands, breathing air from her lungs into his mouth. She worked at the bonds around his wrists as she propelled them upward. They broke the surface, and she saw that the boat had drifted and Brad was no longer on board. She kicked, treading water, and told Mark, “Free your feet and get out of here. I’m going back down for Victoria.”

The salt water slapped against her as she tried for a deep breath, her head was still ringing, and she had inhaled what felt like a gallon of seawater already, but she had no choice.

She pitched downward. Time was everything now.

She could see Victoria, but she couldn’t tell if she was alive or not.

Chloe caught Victoria around the chest in a lifeguard’s hold, then shot back to the surface.

Mark was still there, and he reached out to help. “Let’s get to shore,” Chloe said, choking on sea water as she spoke.

She kicked.

And went nowhere.

She felt the vise of a gloved hand around her ankle, and then she was jerked below.

“How do you know where we’re going?” Bill demanded.

“I don’t. Not for sure. But it’s where Colleen disappeared, so it makes sense.” Luke broke off then, shielding his eyes.
There was something on the water. Something shimmering and white.

“That way!” he told Bill. “See?”

“See what?”

The shining white figure on the water. The woman beckoning to them. But he realized that Bill didn’t see what he saw. Couldn’t see it.

It didn’t matter. Bill revved the motor and aimed in the direction Luke was pointing, and in a minute, they could see it.

Mark’s boat.

With no one aboard.

In seconds they had reached the boat and Luke donned a tank and slipped a regulator into his mouth, adjusted and held his mask, then toppled into the water below.

At first, he saw nothing, but then his eyes adjusted and he saw broken bits of dock and pilings, rusting iron rods reaching toward the surface.

And there was…something else. A shimmer of white…ahead of him in the water.

He realized that he had found Colleen Rodriguez at last. Not her ghost.

Her mortal remains.

There was nothing that he could do for Colleen. She was hardly recognizable as human anymore. She had been hog-tied and the rope looped to one of the twisted metal rods. In a little while, her body would have begun to disarticulate. Parts of her would have risen and she would have been found, but…by then any evidence would have been virtually destroyed.

Luke felt his heart thundering. At least Brad hadn’t brought the others to this watery tomb. Or not yet, anyway.

But that didn’t mean they were still alive.

No. They
had
to be alive.

Something touched him, and he jerked around. She was there, like white mist in the water, but somehow very human, very sad…

And very desperate. She pulled at him, and he followed.

And then he saw them, a hundred feet ahead.

He was big and strong, and he had a knife.

And she knew he had learned to kill like a pro.

Brad jerked Chloe downward and took aim. She saw that he had on huge flippers, wonderful for surging powerfully through the water, but big, inhibiting certain movements.

She was free, and she twisted hard, then kicked with all her strength.

The maneuver bought her a few seconds, but she knew that in a race, he would win.

For a moment, sheer despair filled her, as she realized she didn’t have a prayer of winning this fight.

But she couldn’t just give up. She stroked hard for the surface and caught a deep breath of air, sure that he was close behind.

He was.

He grabbed her leg again and jerked her back down, and this time he was ready for her to fight back.

To her amazement, he paused, just for a second. She saw him blink as something floated between them. Something white and shimmering… Colleen, taking form.

Rage filled his eyes, and denial. He bent the arm that held the knife.

But when he drew his arm back, ready to strike blindly, wanting only to draw blood and weaken her, it didn’t come forward again.

She blinked and realized there was another diver in the water, carrying a knife of his own. And he and Brad were entangled in battle, muscles taut, twisting and jerking in the water, like sharks thrashing in a feeding frenzy.

She shot up to the surface again, caught a gulp of air and pitched downward.

She wanted to help, but she couldn’t tell what limb went to which body, or which knife was catching the bits of sunlight that penetrated the water.

Then one of the knives fell, pitching in a silver streak toward the bottom.

Chloe kicked hard, surging down to catch the knife. She turned, and Brad was there, ready to wrench the knife from her grasp.

She saw his eyes. Eyes she had seen virtually all her life.

And never really known.

There was something in them as they looked out at her, framed by the dive mask.

Rage, righteousness, insanity.

Then her attention was caught by his hand on her wrist, his grasp so tight that she was afraid she would feel her bones snap any second.

His eyes widened suddenly and he looked past her. She turned, and there was that shimmering white vision again.

Brad had denied it before, but she knew that he could see Colleen, and she was filling his soul with a terror unlike anything he had ever known before.

Brad’s grip tensed, and Chloe realized that ghost or no ghost, he was going to kill her.

But suddenly he jerked back as something slammed into his back. He gasped, screamed, losing his air hose, then shuddered, and released her.

Luke! The second diver was Luke, and he was on Brad like an enraged octopus, drawing him away from her.

Her hand, released from the pressure of Brad’s grasp, slammed forward, plunging the knife into his stomach.

Blood.

Red against the turquoise of the water.

Red, like the color of the coming sunset.

She stared at the color, at the man, staring back at her with eyes that were filled with recrimination now. Sorrow. Hurt.

She felt someone behind her. Helping her. She turned and saw that it was Brent Blackhawk. He thrust a regulator into her mouth, and she desperately breathed in oxygen. She saw that Brad’s body was floating away. No, it was being dragged. Luke was still there, and finally she had a chance to wonder how he had found her, how he had made it back in time and somehow known to take a boat and where to look.

She broke the surface with Brent.

“There, Bill’s boat…go on,” he urged her gently.

It was over. Really over. A decade in the coming. She felt numb. Cold.

They reached the boat, where Bill was already hauling Brad’s body up as Luke pushed. Then Luke waited for her, taking off his mask before pulling her into his arms and staring into her eyes as the salt water rocked them gently.
She was vaguely aware of Coast Guard cutters pulling in to help, but she didn’t really care.

They were safe; it was over. And Luke was there.

She smiled slowly, seeing his face. She was alive, and she wanted him in her life. He didn’t know how to say certain words anymore, and it might be a long time until he did. But he’d been frantic. For her. And she knew what that meant.

He loved her.

He wove his fingers through her wet and tangled hair, and he kissed her, heedless of the fact that they had an audience.

Then Bill reached down to help her up, and Luke followed. She turned and saw Brad. She didn’t need to ask if he was dead. Blood was still seeping from him and mixing with salt water to pool on the deck beneath him.

But it wasn’t the blood that told her he was gone.

It was his eyes.

They were staring toward the heavens and the dying light.

And they were glazed, seeing nothing, betraying nothing.

“Hey!”

She turned.

Victoria, alive and well, was standing next to Mark on the deck of one of the Coast Guard cutters, both of them waving madly.

Chloe waved back.

And for a moment she saw the shimmer of Colleen Rodriguez, who, in the end, had helped save her life.

She was there, a shimmering beauty, and then…

The sun seemed to glow a little brighter, and she was gone.

S
ilver.

It was the color of the morning sky as Chloe stood by the drapes, looking out at the new day. Night was falling away, but not in pastels. The sun would rise fast today, and so, as the darkness broke, it was as if the whole world turned to crystal and silver. She felt the gentle rocking of Luke’s boat, in its little area of forgotten Florida. She could dimly hear shouts from the bait shop as fishermen stocked up for the day.

Silver. A beautiful silver.

The color didn’t stay long. The summer sun was powerful, and it quickly changed the world to gold.

Chloe fingered the delicate gold chain around her neck. She was amazed to think that the necklace, with its many symbols of faith, had saved her life. It had broken, of course. They had spent a day finding all the pieces, but it
meant a lot to her and she was glad they’d made the effort. She cherished it first because it had made her realize that she had the power to free herself. And then, when she had learned how Luke had known Brad was the killer, because of a trip to New Orleans and the purchase of hamza hands, she had known she wanted her necklace back, just as it had been.

With Brad dead, the story had been easy to piece together but not to prove. Brother Michael had thought at first that he would come out of everything untouched, but Maria had identified him, and pressed charges for kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment and rape. And since he had never gotten hold of the supreme riches he had expected Brad to inherit, he didn’t have the wherewithal to post the kind of bail that the judge had set or hire a pricey attorney.

Leo was a top-notch prosecutor; he knew what questions to throw out and what deals to offer. Eventually, they had gotten the truth.

Victoria had been Brad’s intended victim ten years ago. Or, rather, Brother Michael’s intended victim. Brad had stumbled onto the church, and once Brother Michael had discovered who Brad was and what he stood to inherit, he had made Brad his chosen one—teaching him everything he knew about killing from years spent as a “missionary” and then a mercenary in the Asian jungles. He had engineered the whole thing, down to the fact that Brad and the others would slip away—to the water, where dive tanks awaited them, so they could reach the boat moored offshore, once the massacre was complete. But Chloe had foiled him then, and Brad had
realized that his wisest course was to pose as a victim himself, letting his accomplices disappear with his gear.

Brad, Brother Michael assured them chillingly, had taken exceptionally well to the art of murder. He’d recognized in Brad the signs of a psychopath, and though he’d indoctrinated Brad into the church’s beliefs, he’d never allowed him to officially join, making the link between the killers and their crimes almost impossible to uncover. When they had failed the first time, they had engineered the murder-suicide in the Everglades. And then they had waited.

Chloe hadn’t understood why Brad hadn’t tried again to kill Victoria. But Brother Michael explained that there had been no reason for Victoria to die then, not until the church rose again, a sign from God that the time was right. Besides, if she had been killed too soon after the Teen Massacre, someone might have suspected that she had been the intended victim at the center of the murders, and suspicion might have fallen on Brad.

But Brother Michael had known that Brad would need to kill while they waited, so he’d taught him how to hunt his victims elsewhere. He’d been angry when Brad had murdered Colleen Rodriguez—that had been far too close to home—but Brad was what he was. A psychopath and a killer. A charming boy gone horribly wrong.

Together, Brother Michael and Brad had killed Lucy Garcia and Brother Sanz. Lucy had been about to go to the press or the police in her quest to vindicate her brother, and Brother Sanz had begun to think that he really was running the church. As to the second massacre, Brad had known that
Victoria was supposed to be there for a fitting. Instead, she’d been late, and Myra and the others had just gotten in the way.

Mark had been in Myra’s office on Coco-belle, looking for some documents Harry Lee had requested, and he’d found a file of old pictures Myra had kept from her time in the Church of the Real People. He’d recognized Brad in several of them, sitting in the background or talking to Brother Michael, and he’d realized there had to be a connection to the murders and it couldn’t be good. When he’d seen them with Brad by the pool, he’d tried to get their attention, so he could warn them.

Colleen had tried to get her attention, too. Meanwhile, Brad had seen Mark and been forced to act.

It was terrifying to think of all the time they had spent with him over the years. Terrifying to realize that he’d wanted Victoria dead the whole time, and yet he’d been able to smile and laugh with her while his plan was on hold.

Red.

It was the color of the rose that was suddenly placed before her. She turned. Luke had gotten up early, and gone out for coffee and pastries—and the rose he handed her now. She stepped into his arms, smoothed back his hair and looked into his eyes, smiling.

“How beautiful, thank you.”

“You’ll see a lot of them soon, England is famous for its roses.” He smiled at her, but then his smile faded for a moment as he studied her eyes. “I owe you so much.”

“You saved my life. I think I’m the one who owes you.”

“You were doing pretty well on your own.”

“Yes, I’m tough,” she agreed, and then her tone grew serious. “I know you’re not a believer, but Colleen was there. She scared Brad. Enough so that he paused for a split second. A split second—and then you were there. And you saved my life.”

“I’m selfish. Didn’t know what I’d do without you.”

He was silent for a moment.

“What?” she asked.

He turned away from her. “I still don’t know what I believe, exactly. But…I saw her, too.”

“Colleen?” she asked.

“I knew more or less where we had to go, near the mangroves, but finding the exact spot could have taken a while. Then I saw her, a shimmer on the water, telling me where to go. And then I found her—her body—and she led me to you.”

Chloe gasped. “You never said anything!”

“I wasn’t sure it would be good for my image.”

“Your image will survive,” she said, laughing.

“I’m going to see them again—Brent and Nikki. And I’m going to take you to meet Adam Harrison when we get back. I want to know more. I
need
to know more.”

“I’m glad.” She kissed him again. “But in the end,
you
saved my life.”

“What can I say? I need you. Of course, you don’t listen and you can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but…” He paused, touching her hair. “But you always face everything head-on, while I…I left. Now it’s time for me to go back, and then I can move forward again.”

“That’s lovely,” she told him. “Thank you. What time do we leave?”

“The plane isn’t until two this afternoon.”

“Then we have lots of time left here. What shall we do with it all?”

He drew her closer, and his hands slipped beneath the silk of her wrap, warm against the cool naked flesh of her hips. She moved against him until they were flush, and his mouth was hot and vibrant, wet and arousing, against hers.

Soon they were a tangle of limbs, their mouths and hands roaming everywhere.

Crimson.

It was the explosive color of the world when they climaxed together, then turned to make love again.

Never before had life seemed so precious, she thought then, and she thought the same thing again hours later, as their 777 lifted off.

Luke murmured something as he looked out the window.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.”

He was holding her hand, and she squeezed his fingers. “That wasn’t nothing. I think you said, ‘I love you.’”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Maybe I did. Look, I mean…well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m just not good with words.”

“So that is what you said?”

“Yeah. Are you all right with that?”

She smiled and met his eyes. “Oh, I think I can manage to live with it.”

Then she settled back comfortably. It was going to be a long flight.

And, with…any luck, a long and very happy life.