P.J. Alderman - Ghost Ship

She palmed it so that he couldn’t see the lit screen and dropped it into the plastic basket. “The least you could do is have a nice hardwood wastebasket,” she prattled. “Plastic is so, well, low class—”

“Oh, that’s excellent,” Seavey said, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. “Increase the ire of the person holding the gun. I’m amazed you’ve managed to remain alive this long, given your lack of survival instinct.”

He had a point.

“I’m not stupid enough to spend money on a goddamn wastebasket, when that money would otherwise go straight into my bank account,” Bob said impatiently. Setting down the wastebasket, he said in a more pleasant tone, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do: You’ll come around behind the desk, and then we’ll quietly leave by the back door. If you make any noise, I’ll drop you right here with a bullet through your spine. If you try to get anyone’s attention, I’ll kill you, then shoot them. Got it?”

“Oh, dear. This indeed might be more serious than I first believed,” Seavey murmured.

“You think?” Jordan asked.

“I think what?” Bob knit his brow.

“Never mind. Where are you taking me?” She was afraid she already knew the answer.

“You and I are going on a little boat ride. Bodies are much harder to find if they’re dumped out in the Inlet.”

“He’s quite correct in that regard,” Seavey said.

“No shit,” Jordan snapped. “Are you going to do something, or not?”

“What would you have me do? Try to knock the gun out of his hand? These are very close quarters—you might inadvertently be shot. I believe our best opportunity will occur once we are outside.”

“Jesus,” Bob snapped. “I just told you what I’m going to do. You’re fucking crazy! I have a fucking gun , and I’m calling the shots. Now, move .”

She rubbed trembling hands against her jeans, then walked around the desk. If she let him put her on the boat, she knew she was a goner.

Taking her upper arm in a painful grip, Bob snugged the gun barrel against her back. “Okay, let’s go. Look like we’re having a pleasant walk and chat, or you’ll be responsible for the deaths of others as well as your own.”

He pushed her toward the back door, told her to open it, and then they were outside on the docks. Seavey floated along next to them. Turning her toward a long line of boat slips, Bob said, “Keep going, but not too fast.”

“Believe me,” she retorted, her mind racing to come up with some sort of strategy, “I’m in no hurry.”

“A sense of humor,” he replied with a chuckle. “I like that. In fact, I like you , Jordan. It’s a damn shame I can’t keep you around.”

He actually sounded as if he regretted what he was about to do. “So why don’t you give it some thought?” she bargained. “I’m willing to keep everything quiet. We can make a deal.”

“No, you aren’t,” he replied, sounding amused. “This whole goddamn town listens to you now. They all think you talk to ghosts, which I know is a bunch of crap. You’re just making this stuff up as you go.”

Seavey puffed up threateningly. “He believes you are lying about us?”

“Call the others,” Jordan murmured. “The more chaos, the better.”

Seavey shook his head. “I don’t want to put Hattie at risk. Or Charlotte, for that matter.”

“How would they be at risk? He can’t see you.” Jordan added for incentive, “He murdered your nephew, you know.”

Seavey’s expression darkened.

“Oh, that’s cute, Jordan.” Bob chuckled again, this time digging the gun hard into her side and making her yelp. “Do you really think pretending to talk to ghosts is going to convince me they exist? I’m not that gullible. You must really need a lot of attention to feel good, babe, that’s all I can say.”

“But what about all that stuff you said about me seeing ghost ships?” she asked.

“I needed to keep tabs on you, that’s all.”

Unbelievable . She glanced over her shoulder in sheer astonishment. The man was way deep into transference, thinking she was vying for the limelight when he was the one going to such great lengths to do exactly that. The freaking bane of every psychologist’s existence: the client’s emotional drive to accuse his therapist of the psychological problems he suffered from. And she wasn’t even getting paid to deal with this drivel.

But she’d be damned if she’d stand for him accusing her of making this crap up . She dug in her heels, slowing them down. “Okay, first of all, I really do see ghosts and ghost ships, you asshole. And second, why would I have the need to make any of it up?”

He shoved her to keep her moving forward. “How the hell do I know? Maybe you’re new in town and feeling lonely. Maybe you think if you’re quirky, Jase will take you to bed sooner. The bottom line? I don’t really give a damn. The end result is that your lies and stories convinced enough idiots in this town that you really do talk to ghosts and can solve old murders. So Holt was going to ask you to look into Seavey’s murder. And that meant you’d figure out the family connection to Garrett.”

“You know,” she said crankily, “if you’d just chosen denial over transference, none of this would have happened. You could’ve ignored the fallout from Holt’s press conference, because it was just too horrible to contemplate actually having to murder someone. And really, denial is wonderfully effective. You could have claimed the historical data were wrong—that you weren’t actually related to Garrett. People might never have even cared.”

“You really are a pain in the ass, you know that? I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about. Maybe killing you will be a pleasure.”

“Fits with your family heritage,” she snapped.

“I can confirm that ,” Seavey agreed. “Garrett took far too much pleasure from the violence he engaged in.”

“You can jump in anytime now,” Jordan told him, feeling more than a little desperate to get Bob’s gun pointed in a different direction.

“Shut up,” Bob growled.

“And I was right,” she persisted. “Holt really did care more about family than he let on, if he was going to ask me to solve Seavey’s murder.”

“Yeah, he cared about the extra money he would make if he had a really good story to tell about those old opium tins,” Bob scoffed. “Otherwise, they were just rusted crap he’d brought up from some old wreck. I tossed him and the tins back into the water.” He jammed the gun into her ribs a second time. “Now move it . I’ve had enough of your stalling.”

“Drop the gun, Bob.” Darcy moved out from behind the bow on a large sailboat, her gun leveled at him.

Relief rushed through Jordan, and her knees buckled.

But as she crumpled, Bob wrapped an arm around her neck, yanking her against him and pressing the gun barrel against the side of her head. “Stand up, bitch!”

She gasped for air and locked her knees to ease the pressure against her throat.

“Keep your distance, Chief, or she gets it right here.”

In her peripheral vision, Jordan saw Charlotte and Hattie materialize.

“He’s got a gun !” Charlotte screamed, zipping in and out of the moored boats. “Do something, Michael!”

“If I make the wrong move, she could get shot,” Michael explained. “We must wait for the right opportunity—”

“And if you don’t take action soon,” Frank said from behind Jordan and Bob, “she’ll die regardless.”

“Then I suggest you come up with a plan,” Seavey retorted mildly. “I don’t want Jordan’s death or serious injury on my conscience.”