Lori L. Harris - Someone Safe

With no traffic to watch for, he found himself thinking about the meeting with Kelly. She had changed, but her hatred hadn’t. He hadn’t expected it to. Just as he hadn’t really expected Kelly to provide him with any answers tonight. He just wanted to make her nervous, give her something to worry about.

And, if he wanted to be truthful, he’d been curious enough to want an up-close-and-personal look at the girl-woman he’d investigated seven years ago. From what he’d seen, there was little of the girl left.

He recalled the way her shorts had exposed unbelievably long and tanned athletic legs. Where her blouse had been unbuttoned, smooth skin glistened. And above that were the pale green eyes filled with loathing.

Not that he gave a damn how she looked at him. The only thing Nick wanted from Kelly was information that would take him even one step closer to finding Ake’s killer. That was it.

Not that he held out a lot of hope. She was his weakest lead at this point. Come morning, he’d start making inquiries on a more promising one. He had a line on a guy who had worked on Binelli’s yacht up until several weeks ago. Disgruntled employees were usually willing to talk. And of course, Binelli wasn’t the most understanding of ex-employers.

He needed to work fast, though. After all, he was functioning in some very gray areas.

Even showing up in Kelly’s hangar tonight was likely to have repercussions. Officially, he was staying in the Abacos for a much-needed vacation. But, after tonight, he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t appear very prominently in several surveillance photos.

And once those photos landed on Myron’s desk, Nick would be ordered back stateside.

He’d had to pull half a dozen favors to get what information he had on the FBI’s current investigation. Which wasn’t nearly enough.

What he did know was that they’d been documenting Binelli’s business dealings, both legal and illegal, for over a year. The possibility of a connection between Binelli and Kelly had surfaced only recently, though, when Binelli’s attorney, Jeff Myers, had used Bird of Paradise for repeated trips to the islands.

Early on, there had been no substantiating evidence. No cash had been uncovered during inspections, even when dogs were used, and all transactions within Kelly’s bank accounts had remained consistent with those of a struggling company. At least, they had until the end of June, when a single large deposit of cash had been made. There had been no paper trail. Not conclusive, but when added to the previous history, it was highly suspicious.

Nick shifted the weight of the duffel higher on his shoulder. He still hadn’t been able to figure out the “similarities” Ake had mentioned on the phone.

The rumble of a car motor broke the night’s stillness. Nick glanced back at the approaching vehicle, only the second he’d seen since leaving the hangar. Edging over, he made room on the narrow road for the car. He looked over his shoulder again as the vehicle drew closer, but kept walking.

The car’s engine roared suddenly. Tires squealed.

Nick dove sideways. But not fast enough.

The chrome bumper slammed into his thigh, the impact catapulting him across the hood.

He tried to roll with the impact, lessen its pounding effect, but pain exploded in his head as he crashed into the windshield.

An hour later, Kelly took the winding road to the marina where she kept her boat. She had planned to stay at Aunt Sarah’s tonight, as she had for the past two nights, because her aunt was out of town, but now wanted the comfort of her own bed.

Having parked at the far edge of the lot, she walked toward the rented slip behind the building. A breeze off the water cooled the night, brought the temperatures, which hovered close to a hundred in the daytime, down to the low nineties, almost bearable if you added a cold drink to the equation.

The squat, frame structure housing the water taxi lay dark. She glanced absently in the front window as she passed. Lights from the back filtered through, creating a shadowed army out of several dozen plastic waiting room chairs.

During the drive, she had managed to keep her thoughts away from Nick and focused on Ben.

She wondered if he was worried about Bird of Paradise going under. Sixty-year-old mechanics weren’t exactly in demand. Especially considering the industry’s recent problems. Within the past month, one of the big carriers had announced it was closing its doors for good. That meant huge layoffs and a glut of aviation workers scrambling for jobs. Not that Ben would be the only one faced with the prospect. It wasn’t just ticket agents and flight attendants and mechanics losing jobs. There would be plenty of pilots walking the streets, too. Many of them would be far more experienced than she was.

Kelly turned the corner of the building. A bulb had burned out in the light fixture, leaving the sidewalk in deeper darkness. She shifted the weight of the satchel to her other shoulder. In all likelihood, to find work, she’d have to leave the islands and her aunt.

The sudden pain in her upper arm nearly drove her to her knees. She screamed. Someone—a man—a large man—grabbed her and hauled her back into the dark alcove of the side entrance.

He shoved her face-first against the building. Splinters from the rough wood siding scraped her palms as she tried to protect her face.

“Shut up.” A knife blade flashed next to her cheek.

When she tried to look at him, he drove her farther into the corner.

“Do that again, you’re dead.”

Blood pounded in her ears. She gulped air, tried to stay reasonably calm by concentrating on fragments of information. He was dressed well. Not a T-shirt. A sports jacket. Hard-soled shoes. She could hear them against the concrete. His voice. Not rough, like his words. Maybe from the Midwest.

“There’s some money in my bag. Take it. Whatever you—”

Not waiting for her to finish. He jerked the satchel off her arm, tossing it away, then forced a dirty burlap bag over her head.

She gagged violently. The scratchy cloth smelled as if it had been used to haul fish or conch. Or worse.

Blinded, she could still feel the blade resting against the side of her neck. He pulled her around, ripped open her blouse.

Air spilled from her lungs. “No!” She tried to pull away. He forced her flat to the wall again.

“Please. No,” she begged in a harsh whisper, unable to find the breath to speak louder. “Please!”

The sound of his heavy breathing told her he was looking at her. As his fingers brushed the material covering her breasts, then explored more boldly, she attempted to emotionally disconnect. She needed to stay calm, to think. He didn’t want her able to identify him. Maybe he intended to let her live.

Or was the blindfold meant to terrify her further?

He chuckled softly as a tremor went through her. “I said take it easy. Kelly.”

She went rigid at the sound of her name, was thankful for the wall at her back when her knees gave out. She wasn’t a random victim. He knew her. How? From where?

The knife scraping the side of her neck cut short any further attempt to think.

He dragged the blade upward almost as if it were a razor, heat, the warm trickle of her blood, following the cool sting of steel.

She swallowed reflexively, felt the edge bite again. Instinct ordered her to jerk away. She fought the urge this time. “Please,” she begged again through gritted teeth. “Please…”

Ignoring her pleas, or perhaps because he enjoyed hearing them, he used the tip of the knife, this time slicing the skin over her collarbone. She bit back the sharp gasp of pain. Living was all that mattered.