Maggie K. Black - Deadline

“What if you’re right, though?” Her lips quivered. “What if we just left a serial killer on a ferry full of people? What if someone else was killed because you saved my life?”

He took her hands. “Listen. Don’t do this. I’ve met way too many victims who drive themselves crazy thinking that somehow their survival came at the expense of someone else’s. I was praying pretty hard when that monster threw you overboard—”

“Me too.”

He smiled. “Then trust God that this was how our prayers got answered, and don’t try to do the guesswork yourself.” That’s what he had to believe. Otherwise the lack of justice in the world would have destroyed him long ago.

They swam in silence for a few moments. He glanced at her face. Okay, he had to tell her something. Just enough to let her sleep at night. “If this even is the work of a serial killer, you should know that most serial killers have a type. In this case, he only goes after young, very beautiful, female targets and only when they are completely alone and isolated. He’s been very smart when it comes to avoiding any potential witnesses.”

Considering how close he himself had come to not venturing out on deck, the killer had almost pulled off the perfect crime yet again. Jack was stunned by the strength and determination it must have taken Meg to fight for her life long enough for him to reach her.

“Now,” he said, “there are over six hundred people on that ferry right now. All of whom are probably crammed into the interior cabins like sardines waiting for the ferry to dock any minute now. So, even if I am right, the chance of him finding another attractive, solitary, female victim in that crowd, and then killing her without anyone seeing anything, is so close to unlikely that it’s borderline impossible. And why would he be looking for anyone else? If he came on the ferry to commit a murder, then he probably thinks he succeeded. For all he knows, we’re both dead.”

It was likely the killer had slipped his disguise back into his bag and was now mingling with an unsuspecting public. Was the killer now standing, sullen in a corner, watching the crowd? Lurking in a hallway? Blending in with the crew? Or was he still on deck, staring back toward where he’d just thrown Meg’s bound and helpless body?

It didn’t matter what the chief of police, Jack’s boss or the naysayers believed. Everything in his gut told him the gentle fingers now brushing against his had just fought back against a ruthless, relentless serial killer.

If only he’d been wrong.

THREE

Meg’s bare feet brushed against a sheet of rock. Slippery but comforting nonetheless. She stumbled up shore, half walking and half climbing, until rock gave way to dirt. Thank You, God. When her body had first hit the water, she thought she’d never feel solid ground again. Nausea swept over her at the memory of the attacker’s hand around her throat. Her head swung down between her knees. Jack’s fingers brushed against the inside of her arm, pressing lightly against her skin. “You okay?”

She stared down at long legs, ending in sturdy brown boots with double-knotted laces. No wonder he hadn’t kicked them off. She didn’t even know when in the struggle she’d lost her shoes. His hand reached for hers. A strong hand, without any sign of a wedding band. She let him help her up onto the shore. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

She turned toward him, coming face-to-face with the wet black T-shirt stretched tightly across his chest. His dark, unflinching eyes seemed to stare right into hers as if she were a mystery he was intent on solving. There was something about him that made her feel both small and protected at the same time. It was unnerving.

And for some reason she was still holding his hand. “Thank you. Again. For everything.” She let go and started walking quickly up the bank toward the harbor, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush that had risen to her cheeks.

The rain had stopped and the fog had cleared, but a general damp still hung in the air. They’d drifted into the woods not far from where the ferry docked. Yet another reason to be thankful.

Her keys were still in her pocket and thankfully she’d left her purse locked safely in her car. “We have to contact the police. But I think I lost my phone in the lake.”

“Your phone’s in my bag on the boat. Sorry, I forgot to mention it. You’d dropped it so I picked it up. But I left all my stuff on the deck when I jumped in after you.”

“You didn’t bring your car on the ferry?”

“I don’t have a car and I left my motorcycle back in Toronto because I heard you were expecting storms up here all weekend.”

Motorcycle? It was all she could do not to imagine his dark eyes peering through a helmet visor. “Then how were you planning on getting around the island?”

“Taxis. Transit.” He shrugged. “It was a very spontaneous trip. But I’m good at finding my way around, and I don’t tend to plan things too tightly. Spontaneous works pretty well for me.”

Well, that made one of them. Typical city dweller. With a permanent population of just a few thousand, Manitoulin Island was actually one of the few places left where hitchhiking was still many people’s transit of choice. But good luck thumbing a ride if you were a stranger from Toronto. A very tall, very attractive stranger at that.

Stop right there, Meg. Before you get all swoony over him, keep in mind that he’s also the kind of reckless man who rides a motorcycle and leaps off moving ferries. Not to mention his life’s work is writing about criminals. He’s absolutely perfect for that one moment when your life’s in mind-numbing danger. But not the kind of man you’d count on to be there the morning after. Let alone the kind that a sensible woman could consider building a life with.

No, a man like that might get her pulse racing. But she already had one man in her life whose risk-taking and adventurous spirit left her pacing the floors at night wondering if he was going to come home safely—her brother, Benji. The last thing she needed was another one.

“So, I’m guessing you’re heading back to the mainland tomorrow? The island is hardly a hotbed of criminal activity.”

He shrugged. “My boss doesn’t expect me back until Monday. So I’ll probably try to find a hotel room somewhere, then chase a few hunches before I head back home. Maybe spend some time boating or fishing too.”

Well, if he’d come all this way to find a connection between the island and a serial killer, he could expect to go home empty-handed. The island rumor mill was so well oiled it was impossible to so much as ding a mailbox without the whole island knowing. It was hard to believe someone could be hiding a big, dark secret on Manitoulin Island. And she still wasn’t about to let him interview her for the newspaper, not even about her ferry attack, even if he had just saved her life. If what had happened to her family after her brother’s accident had taught her anything, it was that small-town gossip could be insidious, unfair and so packed full of lies that even the most innocent person didn’t have a shovel big enough to dig his way out from under it.

She didn’t even want to guess what would happen if prospective brides searched her name online and discovered she was linked with something as gruesome as an investigation into a potential serial killer. Obviously she’d cooperate with the police and do whatever she could to help make sure her attacker was brought to justice. But she could also count on the police—especially the island cops—not to release her name to the public. She could hardly say the same for the press.

Her attacker might not have taken her life, but the resulting story could still kill her business.