Alive at 5 (Entangled Ignite) (20 page)

She bit back a smile. That explained it all. The voices she’d heard. They were the voices of Robert and Scott Fitzpatrick playing on the video.

Zack raised his eyebrows then patted the bed next to him.

She smiled. “I need to put on my—”

“I want you to sleep naked.”

She tilted her head to one side. “So, you don’t want me to sleep at all?”

He shook his head slowly, his smile wicked. “Not really.”

An uneasy thought still nagged at her. She put her hands to her hips and her towel slid down over her breasts. Quickly she grabbed it and covered herself. He watched her with definite interest.

“Why did you ask George to set up the video so you could watch it if you had more sex on the mind?”

He shook his head again, but this time his energy had changed. “I just needed to see his face.”

“Whose face? Robert’s or his uncle’s?”

“I needed to see a close up of the man who orchestrated my uncle’s murder.”

She examined the screen. The two men were talking, but she couldn’t read lips, and since they hadn’t had microphones near the men at the time, it was impossible to hear the conversation. So, it couldn’t have been them she’d heard from the bathroom.

“What do you hope to see? It’s not like he has his motive typed across his forehead.” She regretted the comment as soon as the words left her mouth. She hoped the contrite look on her face would work as an apology.

“That was rather nasty.” Zack stretched his arms above his head.

His abs rippled like sand dunes in the Sahara. What a distraction.

“I intend to find out the motive, but not tonight. Come to bed.” He winked at her, thankfully not upset at her insensitive comment.

Wanting to make it up to him, she walked over and slowly spun around, dropping the towel.

He didn’t have to say a word. His body did the talking for him.

She smiled.

The room emptied of all sound except the drone of the air conditioner. She took in the sweet smell of sex and approached the bed with her best Victoria’s Secret runway walk. “Sorry, but this is not my idea of a romantic movie.” She closed his laptop and placed it on the dresser.

He rolled over to one side and shut off the table lamp. She settled into the bed behind him. His body was already familiar, her knees fit into the curve of him like perfect pieces of a puzzle connecting.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, inhaling his male scent, and whispered sexy words in his ear until he turned toward her and answered her back. His fingers spoke another language between her legs. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought off the urge to drift away into a blissful, orgasm-fueled sleep.

The low buzz of his phone vibrated against the countertop.

“George calling?”

“Ignore it.”

Oh, God, his fingers moved like magic
.

“You’re much more important.”

She arched her back as the waves of a powerful release swept her away for the third time that night.

…

The chill woke her. She shivered under the little blasts of arctic air delivered by the air conditioner. Shivering, she reached for her human heating pad.

One long sweep with her arm turned up nothing.

She sat up. No light filtered through the window. What time was it?

Zack had piled the sheets high on his side. Frowning, she wrapped a blanket around her body for warmth. “Zack?” The light in the bathroom wasn’t on. “Are you in there?”

The whiny air conditioner rattled her, as did the fact the room felt so empty.

The clock on the nightstand read five a.m.

Her heart picked up speed and she reached over to turn on the lamp. Glancing at the nightstand, she saw his cell phone was gone.

“Zack?” This time she said it louder, with just a hint of irritation. And fear.

He was coming back, she told herself firmly. Trying hard to believe it.

Hell, she didn’t even know his cell phone number. She’d forgotten to ask. Maybe George had his number.

Maybe he went to get coffee…

No, Zack probably took off to meet up with his cop friends and bust Fitzpatrick on the yacht. And he’d left her behind

So she wouldn’t video it? Or maybe so she’d stay safe.

Either way, so much for them working as a team. “Damn it!”

She rolled off the bed and took the blanket with her. Checking the dresser for a note, her gaze landed on the empty spot where she’d left Zack’s laptop.

No, he didn’t
. But he had.

Her heart fell ten stories.

He’d taken his laptop and George’s video card, too.

The evidence. Zack had taken all the evidence George had shot.

And abandoned her.

No note, no nothing.

Just like her dad had abandoned her mother.

She shook off the thought, knowing it wasn’t nearly the same thing. But she couldn’t stop the anger and disbelief that coursed through her.

Digging through her purse, she pulled out her cell phone. “George, wake up. Zack left with the video card. We’ve got to get back to that yacht.”

“Huh?”

“Right now. Before both the snake and the cop get away with our story.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

At 6:20 a.m., Sam and George arrived at the Adventure Yacht Harbor just as the red glow of dawn barely peeked out above the horizon.

George carried little gear, just the camera, a microphone, and a fanny pack. Sam had her cell phone in her jeans pocket, a small purse over one shoulder, low heels, and a hidden secret weapon—their undercover camera worn under her shirt, barely poking out of a buttonhole.

Her heart thumped as they approached the marina. A few cars were parked in front of the restaurant. The lights were on inside, and a waitress moved around the dining room. Could anyone inside see them? Would they notice George’s video camera and run out to see what was going on?

She grabbed George’s wrist. “I’m nervous. You?”

He halted. “Ya think? This was your call, hotshot.”

Yes, it was. Just a few weeks ago she wouldn’t have made this kind of gutsy call. She slid her hand into George’s and pulled him along, away from the restaurant’s window. “Let’s just do what we came to do, and get the hell out of here. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t stop. Just follow me. We’re not messing this up.”

“Yes, general.”

She tiptoed down the sidewalk, praying her shoes weren’t making too much noise. Before she could count to ten, they stood next to
Catch Me if You Can.

Her heart was no longer fluttering. It was now galloping inside her chest. God, she should have left her boss a more detailed message. Maybe even talked to him about this first.

“Okay, the yacht is still dark,” she whispered, stopping behind a utility shed. “We’ll just camp out here and wait until they come out.” She took a seat on a rock and squirmed to get comfortable. It was no use.

George scrunched down in front of her, his tall body barely hidden by the shed. “Man, you are brave these days.” He was peering around the corner at the yacht as he spoke.

Brave and a bit reckless. Acting more and more like Zack? She wrinkled her nose at an odd smell, almost like smoke, curling into her nostrils.

She tried to clear her head of the odor. A sound right behind her left ear sent a chill rippling down her spine. It was a metal
click
, followed by two more. She recognized those sounds.
Holy crap!

George whipped around. His camera was still in his hand, but he didn’t lift it. In fact, he didn’t move a muscle. Nor did he take his eyes off what was behind her. “Sam, he’s got a gun.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Robert Fitzpatrick shoved her into the doorway, using the hard steel of the gun barrel at her spine to force her forward. She stumbled into the salon of
Catch Me if You Can
. Her gaze darted around in a hasty inspection, looking for doors, windows, stairs, or any avenue of escape.

Two couches with big throw pillows faced each other, and a long black lacquer coffee table stretched between them. No space to run between the furniture.

“Keep moving.” Fitzpatrick shoved her forward. She tripped, her breath rushing out of her. Barely keeping her balance, she stumbled ahead, wishing he wouldn’t keep shoving the gun into her spine.

It looked like the only other door was at the far end of the salon. It was closed. And locked? Probably.

“You should have gone home when you had the chance, Samantha Steele.” Her captor’s voice, so close behind her, made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “Bad move to follow me.”

She wanted to throw out some lame reply to sound brave, but thought better of it.

“Sit down. Both of you.” Robert moved to stand in front of her and George.

Her cameraman hadn’t spoken a word since warning her of Robert’s presence outside. That was highly unusual. But then, they’d never been in this kind of situation before—forced at gunpoint by a madman onto a yacht owned by another murderer.

They sat on one of the couches, their butts sliding back on the cool leather almost simultaneously. George set his video camera down on the floor, the lens facing forward.

Was it on? She didn’t see a red tally light. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t pressed the record button.

“So, what happens now?” she asked.

The killer’s eyes narrowed into scary slits. “What do you think?” He pointed the gun directly at her.

Stall him.
“I’d like to interview you.”

He snorted. “Like I’d tell you a damn thing, you nosy little bitch reporter.”

“I just want to know why.”
Keep talking. Keep him talking.
“Why did you start this whole adventure vacation thing? Why murder the people? Why Maxwell?” She was running out of breath. “What was the motivation? Why did you—”

“You ask too many questions for a woman about to die.” Robert’s disgust flew at her.

She rubbed the burning center of her chest. “If I’m about to die, why not answer me?”

Silence.

Was Robert growing nervous, too? Or maybe he was fighting with himself over the urge to spill the beans.
Appeal to his warped ego
. “Come on. Aren’t you dying to tell me how you masterminded this whole plan? It was brilliant.” She stroked him with a complimentary tone.

His eyebrows shot up, and the corners of his mouth rose. “I came upon the plan by accident, actually. And a nosy little bitch-ass reporter like you inspired me.”

The newspaper article
. “Go on.”

George reached down to pick up his camera.

“No. No camera,” Robert hissed.

The camera back on the ground, George flipped her a worried look.

She wished she could reassure him that she had his back. She adjusted a button on her shirt, trying to let him know the undercover camera had been switched on.

George’s eyes lit up with understanding.

“Go on, Robert,” she continued.

He lowered the gun to his side. “Scott was having an affair with some female investigative reporter. Prissy, like you. She’d strut around my place in high heels and a tight black skirt as if
she
owned the place. I couldn’t stomach it. Most of the time, I just left her there waiting for my uncle. They’d fuck each other silly, and then they’d both leave. For six months my apartment reeked of sex.”

Sam cringed at the way Robert’s eyes filled with hate.

“Scott always screwed around. When he got tired of that bitch, he dumped her. But this cunt was smart. While she was waiting for Scott at my place, she’d been digging into my files. Financial files. Scott had put me in charge of hiding his money. He’d been bilking the company profits for years. I had a record of it all. But I’d locked all those records up. I have no idea how that fucking reporter got to them.”

Wow.
Scott Fitzpatrick had been betrayed by a reporter. No wonder Robert had it out for her.

“There’s nothing more dangerous than a bitch scorned,” Robert continued.

She crossed her legs, hoping to provoke more out of him. “And your uncle Scott blamed you,” she said.

Robert nodded, his cheeks flaming red. “But he gave me a chance to make it up to him,” he said angrily. “We’d been ostracized by all of our friends, even by the assholes who once benefited from Scott’s financial tips and inside information. The government froze Scott’s assets, including the money I’d been hiding. He was going to prison. That fucking reporter had ruined our lives.”

“So you killed her,” she whispered, her hand resting on her throat.

“Oh, it wasn’t easy.”

Robert went on to explain in detail how he’d followed the reporter and her crew around for weeks, until the opportunity presented itself. He’d been able to convince a shop owner to direct the news team to park in a lot with low power lines, difficult to see at night. When the mast had been raised into those lines, the reporter, who’d been sitting on the steps of the truck, and the photographer, who been raising the mast, were both electrocuted. And killed. Instantly. “You could smell their charred flesh. Think of burnt meat on a greasy grill.”

“Jesus Christ,” George spat. “You are a sick fuck.”

She gagged and leaned down to bury her face in her hands.

“You think you’re a genius, when actually, you were just damn lucky to have pulled that off.” George scoffed.

The snake’s gaze slid off her and moved over to George. The mad man chuckled. “I admit fate was on my side, but the fact that it all worked in my favor justifies my actions, don’t you think? It’s called karma. That bitch burned. She got what she deserved.”

“And their deaths were ruled accidental.”
Concentrate on getting him to confess.
“And that’s how you got the idea to fake Scott’s death and make it look like an accident?”

“Exactly. When I told him how I’d killed the bitch, we started to brainstorm other scenarios. Before all the mess with the reporter, and the indictment, he’d talked to me about bidding on and winning an adventure vacation at one of those charity events his wife always made him attend. The company was called the X-Force Adventure Vacation Company. We were both certified divers.”

“And you applied for a job as a photographer with the company to get on the inside?” Sam asked.

“Righto, reporter. Scott couldn’t buy the company. Couldn’t leave a paper trail. So, I had to infiltrate it. Once I was an employee, I could get down in those underwater caves before Scott arrived and map out a strategy. A man could easily get lost in those caverns and die, if he didn’t know exactly where he was going.”

“He sure could.” George must have been having a flashback to his own close encounter with the Grim Reaper.

“Or Fitzpatrick could escape through a different exit.” Sam was catching on now. “So who did you kill and leave in the sink for the police to find?”

“A man who was about the same size and build as Scott. Some pothead with no family and an insatiable thirst for drugs and money. I paid him to go diving with me, and then I tangled a guideline around a rock formation and left him down there to die when he ran out of oxygen. The tanks were empty when they found him, so it looked like an accident. Monica was called in to represent the X Force Vacation Company. I was the family member who responded. We both identified the body. Case closed. I had the body cremated the same day.”

So Monica was involved, just as she’d suspected. The plan was rather ingenious. And it had worked. “It was the least you could do after messing up your uncle’s life by letting the reporter read all those files.” Sam froze, realizing she’d said her thoughts out loud, and waited for Robert’s reaction.

“You little bitch!”

She’d pushed one final button, and it had been the wrong one.

Robert’s eyes flamed. His finger hovered over the trigger of his Glock 23.

Sam’s breath stalled halfway up her windpipe.

She heard George’s labored breath, but dared not take her eyes off Robert and the gun.

The killer took aim. “To bad you’ll never get to report that story live at five. Because now I’m going to kill you. Any last words, Samantha Steele?”