Michael Prescott - Deadly Pursuit

“I’d rather rot than be anywhere-with you.”

“You don’t have to stay with me. Once we’ve established our new identities, we’ll split up. The Bahamas covers a lot of territory. We’ll never have to see each other.”

“And you’ll go on killing.”

“Maybe. But you won’t have to know about it.”

The words touched Steve like a spark. He gave a violent shake of the head. “No way, Jack. I won’t be a party to that. No goddamn way.”

“People die all the time, pal. It’s a hard world.”

“No way,” Steve said again, and Jack saw that he had come up against an apparently immovable obstacle to the closing of the deal.

Well, he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Okay.” Jack moved his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “It’s prison, then.”

“I can handle it.” Steve swallowed, trying hard to be brave. “It’s only… a couple of years.”

“More than that.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Oh, yes, Stevie. Much more. You’re looking at life imprisonment.”

“Come off it. I looked it up in the Penal Code, remember? I know the maximum sentence for being an accessory after the fact.”

“Sure. But what’s the sentence for homicide?”

“I’m not guilty of homicide.”

“I say you are.”

Jack watched Steve’s face as the meaning of his last words registered.

“You can’t get away with that,” Steve said finally.

“Can’t I? I say you were with me the night Meredith died. You helped me sneak into the pavilion. You distracted the bitch while I crept up behind her. And afterward you masturbated into her mouth.”

“No one will believe-”

“Everyone will believe it. Why else would you lie about my alibi? Out of friendship? Pretty lame, Steve. The real reason you covered for me was that if I went down, I was taking you with me.”

“It’ll be your word against mine. You’re a fucking multiple murderer, for Christ’s sake. I’m…” His voice trailed off.

Jack smiled. “Yes, Stevie? What are you, exactly? I’ll tell you what you are. You’re a frightened yuppie lawyer who’s concealed a homicide for seventeen years. And you know what else you are? You’re my best friend. We’ve stayed in touch-secretly-all this time, and after each murder I call you from a pay phone and describe it in detail, and you listen and beat yourself off. That’s our pattern, Stevie, our symbiotic relationship. I kill, and you’re my audience.”

“That’s crazy.” Strong words, but the panicky darting of his eyes betrayed how he really felt. “You can never prove any of it.”

“Prove? Maybe not. But consider this. Why did I come to Pelican Key to hide out at the very time you happened to be here? Coincidence? Hardly. I knew you were vacationing on the island, and I came to you for help. I figured you’d have to help me, because we’ve always been in this thing together.”

Steve was looking for a way out, looking hard. “Then… then why did I turn you in?”

“Attack of conscience. You couldn’t live with your guilt any longer. That much is true, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And there’s something else that’s true, Jack.” Steve grabbed at the bundle of gear with a jerky thrust of his hand. “I’ve still got the gun.”

“I’m very much aware of that.”

“What’s to prevent me from blowing a hole in you right now? Then you can’t tell any of these lies.”

Jack kept his voice calm. “No. But you’ll have to explain why you killed an unarmed man if you had nothing to hide.”

“You attacked me. It was self-defense-”

“You’re a bad liar, Steve-o. The FBI will break your story in twenty minutes. Then they’ll start to wonder what motive you had for shutting me up, and why I came to Pelican Key in the first place. Pretty soon they’ll draw the same conclusions I already sketched out for you.”

Steve clutched the bag as if grasping a last hope. “Why didn’t you say all this in the beginning?”

“I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to threaten you. I wanted us to be friends again. Friends and willing partners. Now I guess I’ll have to settle for our being reluctant allies.”

“I… I should kill you. Dammit, I really should.”

“Go ahead. But if you do-you kill yourself.”

Steve’s hand lingered a moment longer on the zipper of the vinyl bag, then slowly released it.

“All right,” he whispered in the voice of a beaten man. “All right, God damn you. I’ll do it your way. I’ll go along.”

As always upon the consummation of a sale, Jack took a deep, contented breath and found life good.

Ahead, Kirstie steered the dinghy south, piloting it toward the dock. Steve swung to port and followed. The eastern shore of Pelican Key passed by, palm trees and casuarinas and the white beach where Jack remembered encountering Kirstie early this morning.

Hell, he wished he’d killed her then. It would have been so good, having her on the coral sand, in the warm shallows, before the newly risen sun.

Steve seemed to read his thoughts.

“She can’t get hurt,” he said, not needing to identify whom he meant.

The words were spoken with firmness; that much, at least, was not negotiable.

“Of course not,” Jack answered easily.

“I mean it. I’m serious.”

“It’s not a problem. Don’t worry about it.”

“If you even touch her-”

“I won’t.”

“If you do”-Steve tightened his hold on the throttle stick, squeezing it in a rigid death grip that bled his knuckles white-“I’ll use that gun. I swear to Christ I will.”

“Look, chill out, as we used to say in the Big Orange. I’m not after your wife. Not anymore.” Jack managed an insouciant shrug. “Plenty more like her on the islands, anyway.”

Steve winced. “No. No more like her.” He looked away, toward the turquoise water blurring past, catching and reflecting the light in a shifting scintillant display. “It’ll be hard… giving her up. Never thought I’d… have to do that.”

“Sure it’ll be hard. But it would be harder still to face her from the wrong side of a visitor’s cubicle in a penitentiary for the next forty years.”

Steve didn’t answer. He appeared to be realizing that his life-his safe, comfortable, respectably ordinary life-had ended today.

“All right.” Jack spoke briskly, confidently; he was now in full and unquestioned command of the situation. “Here’s the plan. We’ll reveal nothing to your wife. Are there any sleeping pills in the house?”

Steve shook free of his thoughts. “Yes. I’ve had some rough nights since I started worrying about all this. Kirstie doesn’t know I take them.”

“Good. Very good. Tonight, after dinner, you’ll mix a few of those pills into her coffee. Once she’s asleep, she can be tied up. We’ll lock the dog in the guest bedroom. Then tomorrow we deal with Pice.”

“Deal with him how?”

“We won’t inflict any permanent injury. Just overpower the man and restrain him. By the time anyone arrives at the island looking for him, we’ll be in the Bahamas.”

Steve lowered his head. “When Kirstie wakes up… when she finds out what I’ve done…”

“She’ll cry. She’ll scream. But she’ll survive, buddy. People do. And so will we.”

Some residue of Steve’s earlier contempt surfaced briefly in his features. “That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Your own survival?”

“Sure. And the same is true for you. Otherwise, why haven’t you shot us both?” He showed Steve a knowing, benevolent smile. “Don’t feel bad, Stevie. Nobody’s a hero, except in the movies. You should have learned that lesson by now.”

Steve said nothing to that. He was staring past Jack, at the runabout now easing up to the dock, at Kirstie as she stopped the motor and reached for the ladder, her movements swift and unconsciously graceful, pleasing to watch.