P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

"Why kill Gary?" she protested.

"Plans have changed. Clint'll handle that little task for me, later this evening." Sykes looked amused. "Your brother was always unstable. His suicide will be just one more tragedy for your family." He stepped to the side and motioned her out onto the deck. "Let's go."

She needed to keep him talking while she came up with a plan. A quick glance around the wheelhouse told her there was nothing that could be used as a weapon. "Listen, Jim—"

Lightening fast, he backhanded her.

Pain exploded. She cried out, stars glittering in the periphery of her vision.

"That's for damn near breaking my nose last night in your living room, you bitch ," he said. "Now, move . No more games."

#

Michael stood on the bow of Bjorn's trawler, staring intently into the gathering darkness and gusting wind. When they were riding high on a crest, he could just make out the Kasmira B. His gut churned, his hands so slippery with sweat he could barely grip the binoculars.

Sykes had played him, using his newcomer status to control the investigation so he could frame Gary. And the mayor was no saint in all of this, either. Forbes had to have suspected Sykes, or he never would've visited Michael that morning on the docks. Michael had thought he was merely worried about old loyalties getting in the way of the investigation—he hadn't really given his talk with the mayor a second thought.

That had been Michael's first mistake. His second had been underestimating Sykes.

Sykes had chosen arson as his method on purpose, and he'd planned on having the power to block Michael's jurisdiction over the case. Well, he'd planned wrong. But he'd still managed to slip under Michael's radar long enough to put Kaz in grave danger.

Not again, not again. The refrain played over and over in Michael's mind. Kaz was paying the price for his stupidity. He'd been too slow to figure it out, too slow to put the details together. All along, Sykes had run the investigation from behind the scenes. He'd had access to the boat and to Gary's truck. He also had enough SWAT team training to handle shooting at Kaz that day from the Elk Preserve.

"If someone sneezes out on Youngs Bay, I know about it," he'd told Michael.

He probably knew all those old logging roads like the back of his hand. Michael swallowed bile-filled rage. And Sykes had been at Kaz's house last night, executing a search warrant. All the sonofabitch would've had to do was leave, wait a couple of minutes, then come back and attack her.

So where was he? He had to be out with Svensen. And Kaz was following them, trying to gather evidence. If either one of them saw her…

Michael walked back to the door of the wheelhouse. "Cut your running lights. I don't want anyone seeing us."

Bjorn complied without comment, and Michael held up the binoculars. He could make out Kaz in the wheelhouse of the Kasmira B, along with the shadow of someone else.

His heart simply stopped .

Fiddling with the focus, he brought the man into sharp relief. As he watched, Sykes pistol-whipped Kaz, putting the weight of his body behind the vicious blow. She hit the far wall and slid out of sight.

An icy calm settled over Michael. His heartbeat slowed to a strong, steady rhythm. He carefully set down the binoculars, turning to Bjorn. "Do you have an inflatable raft?"

"Yeah, but in these conditions—"

"Get it."

~~~~

Chapter 27

Kaz pulled herself up from the wheelhouse floor and walked past Sykes out onto the deck on shaky legs, her right hand pressing against her throbbing cheek. As the storm moved closer, the Kasmira B started to pitch in earnest. She stumbled once, then regained her balance.

Sykes motioned for her to stop just outside the door. Keeping the gun trained on her, he braced his feet and switched on the radio, then picked up the handset. "Karl."

"Yeah."

"Give me five minutes, and then come alongside."

"Make it ten—we've got storm surge."

Sykes switched off the radio and then yanked out the cord of the handset, tossing it on the floor. Then he came out and motioned Kaz toward the stern. She staggered, almost tripping over the can of gasoline that was sitting against the winch.

Keep him talking. "What did you do—stow away?"

Sykes' expression was smug. "I figured you wouldn't check the head. I was in there the whole time."

He motioned to her to sit on the stern bench, then took out a roll of duct tape, taping her hands and feet so tight that her circulation was cut off. He gave her a hard shove, and she fell onto the deck.

Pain shot through her shoulder. She swallowed a yelp. "So you were the one who broke into my house and attacked me. I knew there was something familiar about you."

He laughed. It was an ugly sound. "Yeah, I enjoyed that. It's a shame I was in such a hurry, or I could've had some real fun with you." He picked up the can of gasoline, opened it, and started pouring it on the deck. The acrid smell burned Kaz's nose as the liquid flowed across the planking toward her. She rolled as far away from it as she could.

He walked toward the bow, pouring the gasoline as he went, then put the can down and stepped inside the wheelhouse, pulling a small timer and some rags out of his pocket.

He was going to burn the boat, with her on it. If she didn't do something, and quickly, she would die. She thought of Michael. By now, he had to be frantic.

Trying not to alert Sykes, she felt along the edge of the stern compartment, but she found nothing she could use as a weapon. She kept her bait cleaver in a slot behind the winch. Could she get to it? She would have to scrabble across the deck, through the gasoline, which would soak into her clothes. And if the fire started before she freed herself, she'd burn to death in seconds.

She pushed herself along the deck toward the winch, using the rubber edges of her running shoes to fight the rolling of the trawler. Spray slapped her down, soaking through her clothing. She closed her eyes, now stinging from the salt, and kept going.

When she heard a slight thump on the decking, she jolted. Was someone else on board? Or had it just been the wind moving the gear around? Craning her neck, she glanced at Sykes. He was busy pouring gasoline and hadn't seemed to notice the sound.

Quickly, she used her feet against the stern bench to shove herself the last several feet. The pooled gasoline was slippery, making her progress easier. She maneuvered around so that her hands and back were to the winch, feeling frantically for the cleaver.

There. Her hands closed around the handle. She slid it under the edge of her sou'wester just as Sykes came back out of the wheelhouse.

He stared down at her in her new position, and his expression clouded with fury. He raised his gun.

"Drop it!" Michael appeared around the corner of the wheelhouse, his feet braced, his gun trained on Sykes.

Sykes kept his gun trained on Kaz and glanced over his shoulder. "I don't think so. You shoot me, and I shoot her."

Michael shook his head. "You don't want to die, Jim."

Sykes tightened his finger on the trigger. "Drop your gun, Chapman, or she dies. Now."

Michael's lips tightened, and he shot a tormented look at Kaz. Then he complied, leaning down and placing his gun on the deck.

"That's better," Sykes said, turning and aiming his gun at Michael. "Kick it away."

Michael did as he was told, and the gun slid across the deck and over the edge, disappearing into the waters below.

Kaz closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. They were going to die if she didn't do something. Sykes' finger tightened on the trigger, and he took careful aim at Michael.

"No!" Kaz raised her bound feet and kicked the back of Sykes' knee. The shot went wild as Sykes lost his balance. Michael launched himself through the air, taking Sykes down with him.