Alive at 5 (Entangled Ignite) (15 page)

So, Monica had been sleeping with a man who was investigating the X-Force Adventure Vacation Company. If criminal activity was going on and she was also involved, if she’d found out the man she was sleeping with was on to her, maybe Michael Flint’s death wasn’t an accident, either.

But how could Monica—or anyone—ensure that a shark in the wild would bite a particular diver? That was how Michael reportedly died— from a shark bite. Whoever was pulling the strings here was good. But
that
good?

“Must have been a horrifying way to die.” Sam threw out the bait to see if Monica would take it.

“He bled to death right here on this deck.” She shivered and looked down at her feet.

So, that was how they had done it. “Michael Flint bled to death while you watched?” Maybe they didn’t initiate the bite, but once it happened, maybe they’d chosen not to call for help right away. Michael could have bled out while they’d turned their backs on him. That would mean more than one person was involved. And Sam was stuck on a boat with them.

She hoped her theory was wrong.

Monica pulled her gaze away from the water. “Help got here too late.” Her eyes clouded over. Sam scooted down the bench, away from her. The look in Monica’s eyes made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. A sick realization washed over her. Monica had re-directed her romantic attentions from Michael to Zack. Zack had blown her off more than once. Was Zack her next target? Was
Monica
the crazy killer? Or their ringleader?

Sam’s gaze shot back to the water. The warm liquid gently lapped at the back of the boat where the swimming deck reached out into the sea. What the hell was going on down there?

She shook her head because she had no control over the situation now, no matter what happened below the surface. And Monica knew it. Whatever plan she may have set in motion must already be unfolding.

And there wasn’t a damn thing Sam could do to warn George or Zack.

Chapter Seventeen

The divers knelt, shoulder-to-shoulder, in an eerie semi-circle on the ocean floor. Zack looked up. A dozen predators circled overhead, not like vultures, but like objects dangling from a mobile high above an infant’s crib.

A handful of smaller sharks swam belly to the sea bottom, flirting with the group of six men, but so far, the beasts made no move to swim through them.

A sea turtle lumbered by, and a school of silver baitfish danced above Zack’s head in a symphony of light and movement, but he couldn’t actually enjoy the beauty of the moment.

His breathing, which should have been rhythmic, was ragged and too fast. And he couldn’t push Samantha’s warning into the back of his mind. Even though he’d double-checked his gear. Including the mix in his tanks—which he hadn’t let out of his sight after filling them himself. Whatever had happened to his uncle’s air supply was not going to happen to him.

He inhaled deeply of the oxygen mixture. He had to be alert and prepared for whatever came their way, be it finned or not. Thank God Samantha was safe on deck. One less thing to worry about.

The dive master had armed him and the other men with pieces of metal pipe, each about three feet long. If a shark got too close, he’d simply hit the animal’s snout with the pipe and force it back, far enough away that damage or injury would be improbable.

A snort escaped him, sending a slew of bubbles toward the surface.
Right.
Tell that to Michael Flint. Zack’s blood pulsated through his veins. He glanced around, hoping to spot Robert among the nearly identical divers. If the photographer was here, he was hidden behind a standard mask and X-Force wet suit, like all the others.

A tiger shark, at least eight feet long, brushed past George, who was shooting video from a spot directly across from Zack. The shark circled around and nudged George from behind. The kid jumped, and almost lost his grip on his underwater camera.

Zack’s gut clenched. How fast could he get to George?

The kid stumbled backward over a patch of coral on the sea floor. By the time he had steadied himself and flipped around, the powerful shark had passed by.

The tiger had its eye set on the lollipop of fish guts floating about fifteen feet off the bottom, to the right of George’s head.

The cameraman’s chest rose and fell in fast, furious motion. He had no problem imagining the cuss words flying through George’s head.

He’d warned George to control his breathing. If he got too excited and sucked in air, he could end up quickly depleting his air supply. Made for a short dive, and a disappointing day. Of course, he should talk… He gestured for George to take it down a notch, determined to heed his own advice.

Once George was back on solid ground, knees to the sandy ocean floor, looking at the monitor of his camera, Zack once again began scanning the other divers, looking for anything to set Robert apart. Hard to tell.

After a few minutes, his focus was drawn back to the sharks. One with dark spots and stripes covering its body had a rusty hook stuck in the right side of his snout like some rebellious teenager. A lone hammerhead whipped its end fin back and forth aggressively, as if taunting the divers into a fight. Who would have the balls to do that? None of these guys appeared to have the desire to do anything risky.

Zack, however, was a different story. A nagging need for danger tugged at him. Like his uncle, he had a hard time resisting life-threatening, endorphin-producing experiences. Unfortunately, he’d promised Samantha he would be careful.

But when a smaller lemon shark slid past him, he couldn’t resist. He put one hand on the sensitive snout of the seven-foot long beauty. The sensation caused a dizzy lightness in his chest. He was so close he could see the pores on the animal’s pointed nose.

Be careful. Don’t cross the line.

Almost of its own volition, his other hand gently grasped its dorsal fin, effectively hypnotizing the creature. His heart pounded, and he relished the power of the moment. He was controlling a man-eater. He rubbed the shark’s snout. Its silver-dollar size eyes rolled back, and the creature became docile, as if in a trance.

A surge of chemicals lit up his brain. He’d read about this phenomenon in sharks, but had never thought to experience it. Biologists believed the tiny metallic chain links in the dive gloves, placed over the electromagnetic sensors in the shark’s snout, hypnotized the animals into compliancy. Every nerve fired as he ran his gloved hand over the hard, leathery skin.

Damn. His uncle would really have gotten off on this.

He glanced up to make sure George was catching this on video because he had to admit, he wanted Samantha to see it.

He let the animal go. An uneasy feeling swept through him as the current of water from the lemon shark’s tail signaled his exit. He’d been so lost in the ecstasy of the dive that he’d forgotten to pick Robert out from the group. He dragged his gaze over the divers. Most of the men were photographing him.

A few of them moved like little kids on a playground, sliding in and out of the gray wall of sharks. Zack’s gaze swung from one man to the next. He knew the importance of keeping an eye on the enemy. But today, like a giddy schoolboy, he’d lost his concentration and begun to play.

How in the hell had he let himself get so caught up in the dive he’d forgotten the mission? Lapses like that could get a man killed.

Where the hell was his suspect?

He swung around.

No one behind him.

The X-Force photographer was supposed to be down here. Zack never did see the bastard jump in, but documenting this adventure was part of his job.

Of course a killer wouldn’t really care about that. He’d have more important things on his mind than keeping his job.

Like murder.

Damn!

What if Fitzpatrick
wasn’t
along on the dive? Zack had no way to warn Samantha if their suspect may still be on the boat.

He heard a gurgling sound. He flung his body around.

George was dangling dangerously close to a fifteen-foot tiger shark that must have weighed a good twelve hundred pounds. He had his back to it, still looking through his camera.

The shark opened its huge mouth.

Shit
.

Zack feared even a ship’s hull would be no match for this slayer’s serrated teeth, each bigger than a dinner plate. He grabbed his tank banger, a rubber band with a metal ball attached to it. He pulled it back and let go. The ball hit his air tank, sending out an unmistakable warning sound.

George turned around, searching for the source of the sound. Instead, he found the shark. He froze.

Zack kicked his way to George’s side, holding his metal pipe in front of him, and pushed the shark away. His chest hurt from the exertion.

The shark reared its head, appeared to growl, and snapped its razor-sharp teeth down onto his pipe, jerking on his only weapon. The pipe was whipped through his dive gloves, despite his best attempt to hang onto it.
Damn it.
The friction burned like liquid fire.

The tiger eyed him for a split second before dropping the pipe and swimming away.

Wow!
Now who was sucking air?

George still hadn’t moved a muscle. But his insides must have been quivering. That was too damn close. A former dive master had once told Zack that one had a higher chance of surviving an attack by a great white than a tiger shark. Tiger sharks weren’t picky. They’d eat anything, and would just as happily chow down on your calf as a sea turtle’s head.

He sank to his knees, glad to feel the sandy bottom.

The fun was over. Time to surface. Time to check on Samantha.

He felt a ripple in the water.

He spun around.

The tiger had returned.

George faced the predator. The animal bumped the port of George’s underwater camera casing with its nose, as if challenging the cameraman to a duel. George didn’t have a pipe to defend himself. He was using both hands to hold the camera casing.

Zack had never seen a shark act this aggressively before on any dive.

George followed the shark’s movement, keeping the camera between them. Like that would do him any good. Zack’s stomach muscles clenched. George was doing the right thing. He just had to move slowly and not panic. He made three turns with the shark in a kind of death waltz. Zack kicked over to help him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two of the other men swimming for George, too.

Just as Zack got close, the tiger shark raised its blunt nose and opened its mouth in an obscene grimace of warped teeth. Then it closed the membrane over its eyes and thrust its jaw at George.

It happened in a second.

A single, horrific lunge.

A vicious, slashing bite.

Zack sucked in air and kicked harder.

An unexpected hissing sound forced him to spin around. Air was inflating his vest.

No fucking way!

He twisted to get vertical and flung his arms out as his body shot toward the surface. He had to stop his quick ascent. He flipped upside down and kicked his fins as hard as he could, reaching for the sea floor.

His ears popped as he continued to rise like a cork. His body picked up speed as the ocean floor receded. Shooting to the surface at this rate would give him the bends. Just what he needed—an air embolism in his brain that could explode.

Motherfucker!
He’d
checked
his gear.

His numb fingers found the BCD control device on the end of the inflator hose. He pressed the manual deflate button. It wouldn’t depress. What the hell! He struggled to breathe.
The asshole had tampered with his BCD valve
.

No time to get pissed now.

He reached behind his vest for the dump valve on the backside.

His last resort.

His fingers found the string attached to it. He pulled. The string broke. The valve didn’t budge.

He screamed inwardly, his vision beginning to blur. He looked up. Light filtered down, like God’s fingers reaching out to greet him.

What a perfectly good way to kill someone.

What a fucking shitty way to die.

Chapter Eighteen

Sam’s heart flip-flopped as she tiptoed down the narrow hallway leading to the cabins in the front of the boat.
The Great Escape
barely slept twelve people. It was a tight squeeze, with not many places to hang out or hide. That made sneaking around and investigating a bit of a problem.

She swallowed and glanced behind her. No one followed her. Good. After she’d extracted herself from that weird conversation with Monica, she’d gone down the companionway into the center of the boat. Jenny had been working in the kitchen, which smelled of freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

Sam hurried toward the bow. She had no idea when the men would resurface. She needed to move fast. Which bunk was Robert’s? Her hand shook slightly as she pulled aside the curtain shielding the top bunk.

A black athletic bag had been pushed into a corner of the bed. Stepping onto the lower bunk, she hauled herself up. Stomach against the rail of the top bunk, she reached across and for it. As she unzipped the bag, the smell of dirty feet hit her. Shaking off the foul odor, she plunged her hand inside. She was looking for a smartphone. But she was also hoping to stumble across more proof of Robert’s identity, or of his guilt. Anything that might help their investigation.

After some digging, she found nothing but toiletries and clothes.

Dammit. Wait.
She felt a wallet.

For one moment, guilt at digging through another person’s possessions assaulted her. Then
that
image of her and Zack popped into her head. She pulled the wallet out and flipped it open. The driver’s license read Stephen Souto. He was the software engineer from Austin, Texas. She dropped her shoulders.
Damn.

Quickly she hauled herself back up to the top bunk, threw the wallet into the duffel, and pushed it back into its original position.

Her heart raced as she pulled aside a second curtain. A flashlight would have helped, but even without one, she could make out camera equipment laid out across the bed.
Bingo!
Nerves on fire, she plowed through a camera bag.

Nothing unusual. And no phone.

She checked under the pillow. Nothing.

She lifted the front of the mattress so she could slide her hand between it and the bottom board. As her fingers grazed an object, her breath caught. She pulled it out, and in her excitement, forgot the mattress, which crashed back down. She froze. But heard nothing in reaction to her loud mistake.

She’d found the photographer’s smartphone. And since it was password protected, she pocketed it for now. Its disappearance would alert Robert, Ian, whoever he was, to someone being here, but she didn’t care. What else did the asshole have hidden under his mattress?

She forced the mattress up and brushed her hand over the entire length of the bunk board. In the back right corner, her fingers found leather again.

She smiled. It took all of her control to keep from whooping.

Wallet out and open, she stared down into the face of Ian the X-Force company photographer.

But the name on the driver’s license was Robert Fitzpatrick.

I’m right
.
Hell yes!

And now she had the bastard’s name and address. Not really evidence of any criminal activity, but proof he’d been lying.

She took the license from the wallet. As she removed it, a folded-up paper fell out. She shoved the license into the pocket of her shorts and knelt to pick up the paper. It was a newspaper clipping. She rubbed her thumb over the worn surface, wondering how many times Robert had folded and unfolded it. It was soft as tissue, so it must have been hundreds.

She was tempted to stop and read the article, but electricity shot through her like an omen. She forced the wallet, minus the license and newspaper story, back into the corner.

The mattress fell.

“What are you doing?” a male voice accosted her.

She froze.
Robert!
He was supposed to be diving.

“I asked you a question.” His angry tone grabbed her like rough fingers.

She pushed away from the bunk and faced him. Shoulders squared, eyes on fire, she barked back at the enemy. “Hello,
Ian.”

“Samantha.” He spit out her name.

Remain cool.
He didn’t know what she’d just found. “I thought you were diving.”

“Dying?” Robert’s eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth moved up into a creepy smile.

Her stomach lurched. “Diving.”
Asshole.

“I decided to stay on board. I thought I might catch something much more interesting up here.” He took a step toward her.

She scooted to her left, closer to the door, but he was blocking her exit. “Is this Zack’s bunk?”

“Wouldn’t you know?”

She swallowed. “Well, I’m looking for something he borrowed, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just—” She started to edge around him.

He held out a hand. “It’s
my
bunk.”

He still wouldn’t let her pass. “Really? Wow, I’m sorry.” She gestured toward the hallway. “Do you mind?”

His snaky gray eyes narrowed. “What were you looking for?”

“My Tylenol.” Her voice shook.
Get hold of yourself.
“I have a headache.”

Just like a serpent, he struck without warning, grabbing her head in a vise-like grip. “Want me to fix that?”

“Ha ha.” She forced her voice to sound light. “I wish you could.”
Smile, Sam. Or better yet, scream.
She reached up to pull away his hands, but couldn’t budge them.

He applied pressure, and then started to roughly massage her. “Do you?”

“Stop it, Robert.” The name slipped out in a nervous rush.

He dropped his hands. “What did you just call me?” He cocked his head to the side.

“I’m sorry? I—”

He moved closer, so close she could smell his hot breath. “You called me Robert. Again.”

“Right.” She stumbled backward. “Wow, my head is really pounding.” She had nowhere to run.

“You should have stuck to your original story.”

“What story is that?” She sensed a change in him, as if the animal instinct to kill had blinded him to any type of rational thinking
. Change tactics. Do something!
“I think the story
you
have to tell would be much more interesting.”

“Too bad you won’t ever get the chance to hear it.”

“Why not?”
Keep him talking
. “We could get George to—”

“What did you find in my bunk?” The hot demand battered her.

“Nothing.”
Deny. Deny. Deny.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Robert snorted. “My phone? Did you find it?” He placed his hand on her chest as if he were about to caress her left breast.

She sucked in air and batted his hand away. But it boomeranged back and stopped right on top of her bosom.

“Your heart is racing. You found the pictures, didn’t you?” He sneered at her. “The photos make my heart race, too.”

Sick bastard.
She smacked his hand away again, this time as hard as she could. “Why did you take those pictures?” She struggled to keep her voice calm.

He laughed at her. “Besides the obvious? They were good.”

“Good for what? Jerking off?”

“Good for blackmail.”

“That won’t work.”
Screw this!
She tried to push past him.

With one sweep of his arms, he stopped her. “I know. And I’m sorry about that.” He shoved her up against the bunk.

“Stop!” She grunted as she hit the solid wood. Something sharp spiked her upper back, sending a searing heat through her flesh. She flinched and yelped.

“Be quiet,” he ordered, running one cool finger down her cheek.

She cringed, her back still burning.

“You still have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

Fury beat the words out of her. “Did you kill Maxwell Wentworth?”

He didn’t seem surprised by the accusation. “How badly do you want to know?”

He ran his finger down her chin to her throat and pressed against her carotid artery. “Your heart gives your fear away. Let me ask you something.”

She didn’t respond. She could barely breathe. Terror nearly suffocated her. Did he want to kill her? How was he going to pull off
this
murder and make it look like an accident?

“Don’t you hate these rich fuckers who have it so easy?” He let up a little on her artery.

She blew out a breath. “I don’t think about it.”
You piece of shit.

“Sure you do.” He backed off just enough to look into her eyes. “How’s your mother?”

A chill shimmied down Sam’s spine, paralyzing her. She couldn’t answer.

“When was the last time you checked on her?”

Her bottom lip quivered involuntarily.

Robert shook his head. “I know. Too emotional to speak.” He sneered. “Money would solve so many of your problems. Mine, as well. Yet we have none, and they”—he gestured above him—“they have vast wealth and waste it on foolish things, like diving with sharks.”

She struggled to find her voice. “So, you kill them?”

His hands shot around her neck.

She screamed, but his grip cut off the sound as he constricted her airway.

“Only doing what I’m told,” he said. “Trying to say something?” He lessened his grip.

“I…can’t…breathe,” she croaked as she struggled to loosen his hands.

His eyes narrowed, and he squeezed harder. “Where you’re going, you won’t need to breathe.”

“Hey, Samantha? Where are you?” Monica’s voice advancing from down the hall.

Thank God!
Who’d have thought she’d ever be grateful to hear that voice?

Robert released her and stepped back.

She fell forward, her hands on her knees as she braced herself, dragging in oxygen
.

“Whoa! What’s going on? Ian?” Monica asked suspiciously.

She stood in the doorway. Sam stood up and reached for the bunk bed to steady herself. Still short of breath, she struggled to speak. “Monica, this man just tried to—”

“Help her with her mother.” Robert stepped in front of Monica, blocking Sam from the manager’s view. “She’s ill, you know, and I was offering Samantha some sound advice on how to keep her mother healthy and alive.”

Her mouth dropped open. He had just tried to
kill
her, and now he was threatening to kill her mother. Was he bluffing? What did he know about her mom? Had he done anything to her already?

Automatically she reached for her cell phone.
Crap!
Not on her. And she couldn’t get a signal out here, anyway. Until she could call and check on her mom, she couldn’t risk exposing the son of a bitch.

Monica twisted a lock of her hair. “Look, there’s something you need to know. Zack just surfaced. He’s had an accident.”

Sam’s blood pressure plummeted. A light-headed feeling washed over her. “What? Is he okay?” She sat on the bunk to keep from swaying.

Monica shrugged. Her face white, she didn’t look Sam in the eye. “He looks okay, but I’m not sure. The doc is about to check him out. And George…”

“What about George?”

“A tiger shark attacked him.” The words flew out like arrows, piercing Sam in the heart.

“Oh, my God!” She addressed Robert, wanting to kick the shit out of him. “Did you know about this?”

“How could I?” he said. “I’ve been down here playing with you.”

Asshole
.

“Are you coming up?” Monica’s voice shook.

As Sam’s stomach somersaulted, she got to her feet and sprinted toward Monica. “Let’s go.” Sam tugged on the manager’s arm. “Is George alive?”

“I don’t know. The team is pulling him up right now.”