Cynthia Eden - After The Dark

She looked straight ahead, trying to see through the growing fog. The perp had told her to get on the boat. She figured there would be a phone waiting there for her. He would call her, give her more directions. More orders to follow. He was a very, very organized killer. Meticulous.

The organized killers were the most dangerous ones.

A piece of wood cracked beneath her foot and gave way, bobbing into the water as she staggered. She was a good swimmer, so she wasn’t afraid about taking a tumble into the water. If she had to do it, she could swim out into the bay and find that perp herself.

But...

Something is off. Every instinct had screamed that truth at Samantha as she inched along the old pier. The middle section was completely underwater, the old boards sagging as she sloshed across them.

The perp wanted her. He’d killed one woman to find Samantha’s location. He’d abducted a second in order to draw her out. She reached the end of the pier. The boat bobbed beside her, a motorboat that waited for her. She started to ease down into the boat, but then she stilled. Something isn’t right. That had been the thought she had when she confronted Allan March. A sense that the whole setup was wrong. She’d been correct that terrible day and now...

She retreated back onto the pier. Her head turned, and she gazed through the fog, trying to see if there was another boat out there, one that held the perp as he watched her.

But...

I don’t see any lights. It could just be due to the fact that the perp had killed his lights and anchored his boat just beyond her sight. He could be watching her from the water right then, using night vision binoculars. Or...

She looked back toward land. Houses were up there, easily several dozen old cabins that dotted the bluff. A few of those places were condemned—they’d been too damaged in the last storm. Abandoned houses. An abandoned house would be the perfect place to hide with a victim.

Maybe he wasn’t in the water at all. At least, not any longer. Maybe he’d been in the water when he brought that motorboat to shore. Maybe he’d taken refuge in one of the houses on the bluff and then called her with his little plan.

The better to watch me.

But if that were the case, then why would he want her to get into the boat?

Why...

A phone rang. Its cry was loud, jarring her and making her jump. Her gaze shot back to the boat. She didn’t see the phone, but the sound was coming from the small vessel. The perp had left a phone for her to find, just as she’d suspected he would.

Had he placed the phone there, giving her exactly fifteen minutes to reach the boat before he called? Or... Is he watching me even now? And he realizes that I didn’t get into the boat? He’s trying to draw me closer. If she wanted to save Tammy White, she was supposed to get in that boat. She was supposed to climb in and answer the phone. But...

Something is off.

The phone stopped ringing.

Think like the killer. There were some habits that she couldn’t break.

And a door seemed to open in her mind. He’s organized. Smart. It’s like a game of chess to him. He’s connected to Cameron. Wants to emulate him...that was what he did with Kristy Wales. He tried to duplicate Cameron’s crimes as a way to get to me.

He wants me.

He...blames me?

Her gaze darted to the boat once more. Oh, hell.

He wants to eliminate me. Everyone else is just collateral damage. Everyone else—

The phone rang again.

She spun away from the boat, trying to lunge down the pier as she fled.

* * *

SAMANTHA WAS RUNNING away from the boat. As soon as he saw her spin around, Blake took off.

Something spooked Samantha. His gaze shot around him, searching the darkness for any sign of the perp. Maybe Samantha had seen something to make her think the perp wasn’t out in the water. Maybe he was up there with Blake, maybe—

That was when he heard the explosion. Deep, rumbling, quaking like thunder, the explosion seemed to rock everything around him. His gaze flew back to the pier, and he saw the fire, shooting high up—red-and-gold flames. The boat was gone. The end of the pier was gone, and Samantha—she was gone.

* * *

HE RUSHED DOWN the stairs. The fire was blazing, crackling. “Samantha!” He jumped over the last seven steps and hit the small beach at a run. The pier had broken loose in big, thick chunks and those chunks were on fire. He hurried forward—

Another explosion erupted, this one near the middle of the pier, sending chunks of wood flying into the air, making the smoke and fire billow and sending him flying back through the air. He landed hard, but he had the sand to cushion his fall. Blake shoved back up to his feet, his heart racing in his chest.

The son of a bitch set a trap for Samantha. He planted bombs out here, in this secluded spot, and he lured Samantha into his web. He watched, and he waited, and when the time was right, he detonated.

Because he wanted Samantha dead.

Blake didn’t head for the remains of the pier. Another bomb could be there, ready to go off at any moment. He rushed toward the water, immediately sinking to his knees in the waves. “Samantha!” he bellowed her name as he lunged forward. “Samantha!” The water hit his waist, and he kept going, desperate to find her. He wasn’t about to leave that water without her.

Not Samantha. Not—

He saw a hand flash up through the water, about twenty yards in front of him. Then Samantha’s head broke the surface.

Time seemed to stop for him. Alive. She’s alive.

He dived into the water, swimming fast and hard for her as the fire raged on the remnants of the pier. His arms moved in a blur, his feet kicked and soon Samantha reached out to him, curling her arms around his shoulders.

“I’m okay.” She was out of breath, treading water. “I had to...stay under until it was clear...”

He yanked her against his body, held her close. A shudder shook him.

“I’m okay,” she said again. Her breath still panted out. “I jumped into the water...right before the explosion... Something was off... Knew it...”

He held her tighter. “He wanted you dead.” His hands flew over her, frantic, because he had to be sure she was all right. Whole—safe in his arms.

Her arm curled around his neck. “We can’t go directly back to...the beach. He might be waiting.”

“Damn straight,” Blake said grimly as they began to swim parallel to the shore. That blast and the fire lighting the sky would bring help their way. When Lewis and the others saw those flames, they’d come running. But if he and Samantha went straight back to the beach and the old steps that led up to the bluff, the killer could pick them off when they came ashore...and long before the help ever arrived.

“But what about Tammy?” She glanced back at the flames. “Is she—”

“I don’t know.” The sooner they got to a safe shore spot and circled back to the SUV, the better. We can’t be the hunted. We have to turn him into prey. “But we’ll get her, Samantha. We’ll get her back.”

She didn’t speak again. They swam in the dark water, and the fire raged behind them.

* * *

THE FIRE WAS PRETTY.

He took a moment to admire the way it lit up the sky. Big and bold, rather like the fireworks he’d seen when he spent his summers in Martha’s Vineyards.

It had been easy to set the bombs—two of them. One on the motorboat. One just beneath the pier. Almost anyone could make bombs these days, with just a handy internet search, but he’d actually spent time researching bomb-making for quite a while.

One of his “phases” as his father called them. When he liked to explore destruction and death.

Bombs had interested him, once upon a time, but he’d decided they weren’t intimate enough. Sure, they could do a lot of damage, very fast, but...