“He’s got to stay there because of the blood,” he said, more to himself than to her. “So you have to stand over there. Go.” He pointed with the gun to a desk Parrish had set up to look like a newsroom for his stupid little movie. “Go!” he barked at her.
She took two steps toward the desk. “What about Denise?”
“You’re going to kill her first, because she walked in on you.”
Jessica’s jaw dropped. “No, I’m not.”
“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll kill her.” He turned the gun away and heard Jessica’s gasp. “But not until she’s in the right position.” He paused to look around the little living area again. “This has to pass the forensic tests.”
“It never will.”
Her certainty pissed him off. “Yes, it will, because I’ve thought this through. Now, stand over there—because I have no problem killing you first and dragging you there if I have to.”
“It won’t work. Forensics will expose your scheme in five minutes.”
A little white light of anger began flashing in his head. “Why is that, Jessica?”
“Because I’m not Jessica.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded.
She gave him a tight smile and lifted her chin, pointing to a spot along her jawline. “See? No beauty mark. I’m Jazz. Jessica is long gone, Miles. And she still has the story.” She crossed her arms slowly and looked at Parrish’s body. “Which just got even juicier.”
He frowned. Was she telling the truth? She looked identical to Jessica. Which one was she?
“If you’re Jazz, then where’s the bodyguard?”
“He took Jessica away.”
Fury spurted through him as his mind spun through the options. If she really was Jazz, would the double murder-suicide still work? Even if he escaped, Jessica would make the connection to him.
So this little bitch thought she held the trump card. But after all the heart-to-heart discussions he’d had with her sister over the past few weeks, he knew there was one thing that could stop Jessica Adams’s ambition: her love for her twin sister.
Without taking aim, he turned the gun toward Denise and shot. She doubled over and slumped to the ground. Jessica—Jazz—charged at him, but he turned the Beretta back at her, recocking it as she dug into the front of her dress.
“Don’t move,” he warned. “Move your hand another inch and you’ll be as dead as they are.”
She held her arms out.
“What do you have in there…Jazz?” Reaching for her collar, he ripped the dress open from top to bottom, his gaze dropping to a little Glock stuck in her underpants. He laughed softly as he dragged the gun over her flat stomach. “Perfect.”
He aimed the Glock at her as he stepped backward to where Denise lay. He wiped his prints from the Beretta, thanked God it wasn’t registered, and placed it close to Denise’s hand. “A murder-suicide. She’d had enough of this life.” He snuck a glance at Parrish. “Of this hypocrite.”
Jazz’s eyes turned to silver slits. “Jessica will figure this out in five minutes, Miles. You’ll never get away with it.”
“We’re going for a boat ride, Jazz.” He indicated the door with his head, still pointing the gun she’d so conveniently provided. “If Jessica thinks your life depends on it, she’ll kill her story fast enough.”
Or else he’d kill Jazz.
Alex convinced the owner of the Island Outpost to let him borrow a golf cart, then he floored the cart down the road, getting it to the house in under five minutes. Standing in the shadow of a thick pygmy palm, he watched and listened. All was eerily quiet, almost deserted. No sound or sight of life.
His heart flipped as he moved closer and a soft moan reached his ear. The distinctive low-pitched rumble of a high-end speedboat drowned it out, but as the boat became more distant, Alex heard the moan again. Like an injured animal…or woman.
Jazz.
Drawing his gun and holding it with both hands, he made no noise approaching the downstairs apartment. He heard the groan of agony again, and with one solid kick, he busted the door open.
He smelled blood, turning his veins to ice. Kimball Parrish lay covered in the stuff, his eyes staring straight ahead. Across the room, Denise was curled in a fetal position. In two strides, he was close enough to see she was still alive.
He kneeled next to her, his gaze darting around, and he saw a Beretta next to Denise.
Jazz hadn’t shot anyone here.
He touched Denise’s shoulder, and saw that a bullet had ripped into her stomach. Her eyes glazed, she faded in and out of her misery.
Where was Jazz? There wasn’t a single sound but for the hum of that now distant boat motor.
He stopped and listened to it. Swearing, he ran back outside to look at the water. Would she run from him…or to him? Damn, she never stayed put.
He jogged up the steps for a better view of the water. He could see a Cigarette-style speedboat, with red and black racing stripes on the side, tearing across the channel, and his whole being turned to lead. She was in the boat, but she wasn’t alone. And they were going too damn fast for a pleasure cruise.
Running back downstairs, he dropped next to Denise and gently turned her over. Her eyes opened, then rolled into her head as she lost consciousness.
He had Dan Gallagher on the phone in less than fifteen seconds. “Send medical assistance to Parrish’s beach house. And the police. Fast.”
“Roger. Wait there.”
“No, I can’t.” But could he leave Denise? He pushed the material of Denise’s shirt aside to examine her. The injury was serious, but she was holding on. “Tell them to hurry. A woman’s been shot.”
“Jazz?”
“No. As soon as you get Jessica to the hospital, head back to the channel in that chopper. Southwest toward the Gulf. Look for a black and red go-fast.”
Alex pressed the fabric of Denise’s shirt against her wound and her eyes fluttered open. “Hold on,” he told her. “For your son.”
She managed a nod, then he left.
His fishing boat was no match for a race boat with twin engines that could chew up the water and fly like the wind. But, maybe, just maybe, whoever had Jazz Adams was no match for her.
Chapter
Eighteen
T he Donzi slammed over the whitecaps with such force it cracked Jazz’s teeth against each other. The duct tape Miles had used to bind her wrists cut into her flesh, and her hands tingled with the lack of circulation.
Still, she was alive, which might be more than she could say for Denise. And Jessica? Oh, God, she hoped Alex had found her.
Yoder hadn’t bothered to tie her down or keep her quiet. Her loudest scream would never be heard over the deafening engines, and if she stood, she’d fly out of the boat from the wind and speed. And with her hands tied, she’d drown…or he’d be sure the engine props sliced her to ribbons. Tucked low in the captain’s chair next to him, she turned to see how far they’d gone.
She guessed that they were a mile from land, headed southwest, probably into the Gulf of Mexico. The water was murky from the storm, but it was shallow and Yoder seemed to navigate skillfully around the reefs.
Who was this man?
A man who clearly relished control. A man Jessica had trusted with her dreams and ambition. A man so evil, he double-crossed and murdered the man who’d planned to blackmail Jessica.
The man who had “changed” her sister’s life, and who had a heart of gold.
So much for Jessica’s flawless character judgment.
Her heart squeezed so hard, she nearly cried. She could die in the next few minutes. She’d never see Jessica again, or her parents, or Alex.
She blinked back the tears. This was no time to cry; she needed a plan. She had to disarm him—literally and figuratively. She scanned the giant bowsprit, pointed halfway to the sky as the mighty engines dragged the back end of the boat deep into the water. Behind her there were two more seats. The door to a below-deck salon was ri
ght in front of her, closed.
Could she drive this thing? Possibly. She could certainly work the radio that occasionally crackled next to him.
Without warning, he slowed their speed to almost nothing. She turned to see the tiny dot that was Sunset Key, and Key West just beyond it. Two massive cruise ships blocked the storm-darkened channel between the two islands.
In the opposite direction, there wasn’t another boat from there to the horizon.
Alex would never look for her out here. The sickening finality of that thought spurred her. She had to save herself, but how?
“Where is your sister?” he demanded.
“I have no idea,” she said honestly. “She escaped from the house.”
He swore. Whatever his plan was, it was unraveling fast. Which didn’t make her feel at all safe.
“I’ll work with you,” she said in a tone she hoped sounded conspiratorial. “I’ll cover for you. Jessica can get the job she wants, and I’ll just go along with it.”
He gave her a skeptical look.
“I’d do anything for her success,” she added.
For a heartbeat, she thought he fell for it. Then the sound of a distant motor made him turn and glance over his shoulder. She didn’t take a second to think. Diving out of her chair, she slammed her duct-taped wrists on the gun to send it flying.
“Shit!” He tried to lunge after the Glock, but she threw her body on the hard fiberglass bottom, her breasts slamming against the gun. He stomped on her back, shoving the air out of her lungs.
Jazz squeezed her eyes at the pain, and tried to slide her hands under her. If she could just get her fingers around that pistol—
He slammed his foot into the side of her head, sending fireworks from one ear to the other. Grabbing her shoulder, he tried to pull her up, which freed her hands enough to jerk them down to where the gun poked her breastbone.
Her fingers closed around the rough finish of the grip. With a grunt, Yoder managed to flip her over and grab her hair, yanking her head backward. She had no idea where the gun was aimed and couldn’t see. He’d have the gun out of her hand in a second. With one powerful thrust, she threw her arms up and let go.
She heard the splash as the Glock hit the water.
“You stupid bitch,” he growled, kicking her in the side.
She sucked in a painful breath as she curled up, tensing her legs to leap up and attack. She’d die trying to kill him. She’d die before she gave in.
He suddenly froze as the sound of the motor amplified. She couldn’t see anything but the man above her and the gray sky. But she could hear that motor, and it was getting closer.
Something whizzed overhead and Yoder fell on top of her. “Son of a bitch,” he cursed.
He crawled off her to the captain’s chair, rising to his knees, but keeping his head low. Something hit the side of the boat with a deafening thwack.
A gunshot. Jazz inched up to her elbows and tried to turn over on her stomach to see behind them. As she did, the engines of the Donzi thundered to life. Yoder pulled himself up to the driver’s seat and thrust the throttle forward. The massive bow rose out of the water like the mouth of a great white shark, throwing Jazz straight back, thumping her head against the bottom of the leather seat. She managed to grasp an armrest and heave herself up.
And then she saw Alex. Just fifty feet behind them, bouncing wildly in the curl of the Donzi’s wake, his hair snapped straight back in the wind, his face dark with determination. One hand was on the throttle, the other aimed his Glock at Miles Yoder’s head. Relief and euphoria replaced the terror that had gripped her.
He jerked the gun up and down, trying to tell her to get out of the line of fire. Falling to her knees, she obeyed. But how could he catch them in that little Whaler? This thing would be out of firing range in less than a minute.
Pivoting on her knees, she crawled to where Yoder stood, holding the throttle with one hand and the wheel with the other. He faced forward, but he’d turn to see how much distance he’d made any second.
Raising herself to her feet, she jumped behind him and slid her bound arms over his head in a lightning fast move, seizing his neck in a chokehold. As he jerked around, she moved with him and saw the fury on Alex’s face.
No wonder he was pissed. The throttle remained at the highest speed, and she was attached to Yoder’s back. She had to slow the boat down.
As Yoder spun around like a dog chasing its tail, she lifted her right leg, hooked her heel over the horizontal bar of the throttle, and pulled it toward her with every ounce of strength she had. The speed plummeted and their bodies flew forward, whacking the door to the cabin with so much force, she thought they broke it. The Whaler roared closer.
Yoder hollered and tried to duck out of her arms, but she smashed her duct-taped wrists into his nose, then sank her teeth into the cartilage of his ear. He howled and twisted again, crushing her against the windshield.
Alex pulled up next to them, his gun aimed at Yoder. “Get off him, Jazz,” he screamed over the engine noise.
Before she could move, Yoder reached up and encircled her head in his arm, yanking her neck until she heard a crack. Fiery pain shot down her spine.
“Drop the gun or I’ll break her neck.”
Oh God, he could paralyze or kill her with a single twist of his elbow. Her heart hammered wildly as he tightened his grip. Shoot him, Alex. Shoot him.
Alex’s face was distorted with rage and the agony of a difficult choice; her face and body were just centimeters from his target.
Take the risk, Alex.
Yoder pulled again and sparks of agony almost blinded her. She couldn’t breath. Couldn’t think.
Shoot him, she mouthed, and gave Alex a pleading look. Then she closed her eyes and let his image fill her mind. Would that be the last thing she ever saw?
The bullet whizzed so close, she felt the air move just as she heard the slug crack Yoder’s skull. Warm blood splashed on her face. His grip relaxed. His arm dropped. He stumbled backward and fell on top of her, slamming her against the fiberglass.
In a matter of seconds, Alex was on board, releasing her from Yoder, biting away the duct tape, wiping her face with his shirt. He pushed Yoder’s body to the other side of the boat and scooped Jazz into a tight embrace.
His body was trembling as much as hers, his breathing ragged, his heart throbbing. “Querida,” he whispered. “Pensé que te perdí.”
“Did you get Jessica?” she asked.
He nodded, just as his lips came down on hers for a shaky, desperate kiss.
She pulled out away and looked at him. “What took so long?”
“I had to get her into a helicopter, out at sea—”
“To shoot,” she clarified with a half punch on his arm. “I thought you’d never pull the trigger.”
“I was aiming.” He tunneled his fingers into the nape of her neck and drew her face closer. “I generally catch bullets, not fire them at…” He kissed her hard.
“Your principal,” she spoke into the kiss.
He pulled away to look at her. “Yeah, that, too.” He kissed her again and and held her tighter. “Pensé que te perdí.”
She wiped the wet hair from his face, lingering over his cheeks and lips. “What does that mean?”
Inside his shirt pocket, his phone hummed, just as the first thumping hum of a helicopter forced both of them to look at the sky.
He pulled the phone out and flipped it open, holding her gaze with a sexy, smoky look of relief in his eyes. “You’re late, Roper.” Then he flipped the phone shut.
He kissed her forehead, her hair, and her eyes. “I thought I lost you.”
She searched his his strong, gorgeous, achingly handsome face. A mirror of the heart and soul inside. A protective, passionate lover who made her stronger, not weaker.
Never, she whispered in her head. You’ll never lose me.
And the realization that she loved him hit her with the force of a bullet to her heart.
The story that the two men told her began to take shape in bits and pieces in Jessica’s mind. Sort of like her memory, which felt like a jigsaw puzzle with completed borders, but gaping holes in the middle.
“Do you need a little more?” Dan, the one with mint-green eyes and a kissable mouth, gently touched the IV pouring saline into her dehydrated system. “Something for the pain?”
She managed to shake her head, but it hurt like hell. “No drugs of any kind.”
“Let her sleep,” Max ordered, his serious tone undermined by his inability to take his eyes off her, as if he couldn’t believe she was real or something.
“I don’t want to sleep,” she insisted, swallowing against the horrific pain in her throat where they had inserted a tube to pump her stomach. “I want to see Jazz.”
“She’s on her way,” Dan assured her, placing a strong hand on her shoulder to tuck the loose-fitting hospital gown into place. “Do you remember what Max told you?”
Yes, blessedly. Jazz, who could do things Jessica couldn’t even dream of, was alive and well and, following a debriefing with police, would be on her way here. Jessica’s lips lifted in a smile of pride. And Denise, the actress who had helped her, was alive. In surgery, but still alive.
They’d also told her a little bit about Kimball, and Miles, much of it conjecture on their part, she decided. She was unable to believe that kind, intelligent Miles would actually shoot someone. Kimball Parrish? Absolutely. But Miles…
The door burst open and the room was suddenly full of that distinctive energy that emanated from Jazz. Jessica nearly leaped off the bed with glee, but Jazz closed the space between them in a heartbeat, engulfing Jessica in a gentle, precious embrace.
Jessica just wanted to inhale her sister, to press her cheek against the one that matched her own, and hold the strongest body and bravest heart she’d ever known.
As Jazz finally released her, Jessica’s gaze dropped to the ugly scrape along the side of her sister’s face. “What happened?”