Severed Threads (18 page)

Rachel’s mouth sagged.
Stop a heart?
Like in her father’s case? “And you don’t’ think this is something I should be concerned about?”

“
Oh, no, dear. That’s a silly old superstition. Nothing to trouble yourself over.”

“
Okay…if you say so.”

Rachel paused a moment before standing. She opened the door and waited as Eleanor made her way down the sidewalk. With the wave of a hand, the well-meaning woman climbed into her car. After she drove away, Rachel fell back against the door jam.

By providing Chase with the means to find Mai Le’s treasure was she putting his life at risk? Was she being foolish in giving credence to Eleanor’s haphazard warning and her father’s strange accounts? No matter, it was time to take control of her life. To push aside residual doubts, protect her brother and honor her father’s promise.

She walked over to the end table, picked up the receiver and dialed the last number on her phone. If she timed it right, she could catch the dive shop owner before he headed home for the night.

A man’s gravely voice came on the line. “Hello.”

"Walt, it’s me…Rachel Lyons. I know it's late but I need you to do me a favor. Can you throw together some dive gear for me? Looks like I’ll be joining Cohen’s crew after all."

Hours later, she curled up on her bed, troubled by her impulsive decision. She drifted off to sleep and once again she found herself under the ocean – holding her breath, struggling, about to burst at any moment. But this time, her lungs gave out. Beaten and exhausted, she resigned herself to her fate. Opening her mouth, she allowed the water to rush in, knowing full well she would drown. Miraculously, when she inhaled, she discovered she could breathe! The oxygen flowed into her lungs right out of the water, leaving her with the extraordinary feeling of weightlessness. A tap on her shoulder turned her around and left her staring at an inconceivable sight.

Dad?

Sam Lyons drifted before her, framed in a white saintly glow. She should have been panic-stricken or at least stunned with disbelief. But seeing him again, so handsome and happy, warmed her heart. She wanted to touch him – to know for sure he was real and not a figment of her imagination. But Sam withdrew, just out of reach. He swam a short distance away and motioned for her to follow. She eagerly complied, swimming beside a colorful school of fish. He came to an abrupt stop before a dark, vast cavern and pointed inside.

She peered into the blackness and asked, “What is this?”

He shook his head and sliced his hand across his throat. But she aligned herself with temptation and discarded his warning. She crossed into the cave, kicking a stone loose along the way. Immediately, enormous rocks began falling, blocking her only means of escape. She reached down and tried to move them, but the weight was insurmountable. She was trapped, buried alive, with no one…not even her father able to help her.

Why didn’t she heed his caution? Listen when she had the chance?

She awoke suddenly, damp with perspiration…exhausted from her battle to survive. Whether a warning from the grave or the result of her built-up anxieties, the message was clear: death was waiting for her at the bottom of the ocean.

Sixteen

Devon awoke strapped to a chair in the empty hotel room, dizzy and sick to his stomach. The pounding ache in the back of his head he attributed to a minor concussion. He struggled frantically, pulling at his bound wrists. But sweat caused the ropes to stick to his body, rubbing his skin raw. Using most of his will power, he stretched out his muscles, igniting the pain in his arms. About a half hour later, he resigned himself to his predicament, hoping he wouldn't suffer the same fate as his partner.

A woman's voice came through the wall, reconnecting the circuits in his brain. "It's Selena," she called out. "Are you in there?"

Devon couldn't believe his ears.
How’d she find me?
His dull mind searched for answers but they were lost in his senseless situation. Once again she stood outside, but this time he couldn’t respond. Not with a sock jammed in his mouth and his body hogtied to a chair. He squirmed excitedly, rocking back and forth. Willing to try anything to draw her attention.

"Mmmphh!" he yelled under his gag. He tugged at the knot on his ankle, but the binding became tighter. The unbalanced chair rocked on two legs and toppled over, slamming him into the floor.

Fuck!
Pain skyrocketed into his shoulder. He lay on his side with his hands almost reaching the soles of his feet. But the rope became so tight Devon didn't dare move for fear it would tighten more. His hand touched something in the brown shag carpeting – a metal object. His fingers identified it as a key. Rolling it around until he could fix a strong grip, he applied pressure and began sawing back and forth on the coarse binding with blind determination, praying it would actually work.

Snap!
The hogtie broke. The rope fell away. He freed his whole body and tore the gag out of his mouth.

"Marcos!" Selena called out in the hallway. "What are you doing here?"

"Working. How bout you?"

"I’m looking for my brother. Have you seen him?"

"Not today. But he’s on his way. While we wait, we could go to my place,
Hermosa mujer
," Marcos purred. "Got a nice bed we could share."

"In your dreams."

Marcos exploded in laughter. "
Ah, que cosa dulce
. One day I'll show you what a
real
man can do."

"You haven't got a clue," she rebuffed.

Devon could hear Marcos snickering and imagined the ugly smile on his face.

"Tell him to call me when he shows up," Selena said.

Although Devon admired her tenacity, he was grateful when the hall grew quiet. When he could make a run for it without jeopardizing Selena’s safety. As soon as Marcos stepped inside, he launched into the man’s midsection, pitching him into an end table – shattering it to pieces on the floor. While the creep rolled around moaning and grabbing himself, Devon scrambled to his feet. He ran through the open doorway, spinning a drunken hooker around.

"
Que passé
?"

She swayed back and forth in her thigh-high boots, blocking Devon’s one chance for escape. Marcos' fist came from out of nowhere, slamming into his back, throwing him full force into the wall.

"Shit!" the woman screamed. A neighbor cracked her door open and peeked into the hallway, only to be pushed aside by the hooker. The door slammed shut, hiding them both inside.

Devon managed to get back on his feet. He braced himself against another impact just as a second punch landed. He bounced off the wall and doubled over. As soon as he raised his head, Marcos swung a right hook, but Devon ducked just in time. He bent backward when Marcos’s knuckles swished past his nose, throwing the guy completely off balance. Seeing an opening, Devon darted forward and delivered a jaw-crunching blow. Then, filled with the rush of adrenalin, he wove left, anticipating Marcos' next move.

"Not so easy to hit a moving target, is it?" Devon taunted.

Marcos swept his right foot, but Devon jumped back out of reach. He kept his gaze leveled on his staggering opponent, preparing for his line of attack. Marcos charged like a raging bull and Devon responded, jamming an uppercut into his middle. He felt his fist connect with muscled flesh, leaving his assailant buckling over in pain.

"Mother fucker!" Marcos yelled, as he dropped to the floor, clutching his gut.

Devon wanted to beat the shit out of him, leave a permanent impression. But as Marcos had said, Pollero would be back any minute now. Finding the hotel room empty, there was every reason to believe his vent would turn to Rachel.

Devon had to get to his sister before word of his escape got out.

"Adios, amigo,” he tossed at Marcos. He raced down the hallway toward the elevator. Just as he reached it, the doors parted and a new threat came into view.

"Going somewhere?" Viktor snarled from inside the elevator. He drew his knife from its sheathe and shoved aside the elderly lady standing between him and the opening. She flew into a rage, preventing him from leaving, and a shoving match ensued. They were still wrestling for the doors as they closed, sealing them both inside.

Devon bolted in the opposite direction, searching for an alternative route out of the building. He found an exit at the end of the winding corridor and slammed the metal door open. With his heart racing, he clambered down the stairwell, clearing two flights in a matter of seconds. When he reached the seventh floor, he heard the sound of pounding footsteps descending from above.

“
I got ‘im!” a man’s voice shouted.

Pollero?

Devon noted the exit sign directing guests to the parking garage. He quickened his pace. Only five more floors to go. He rounded another corner. He spotted an exit door and twisted the handle. Locked.
Damn it!

Fut!
Something zipped past his ear. It ricocheted off the door and left a dented impression. Devon glimpsed his hand, still hovering above the knob.
Oh, my God!
The chilling image left him stunned and amazed at the same time. The slug had passed clean through his hand. A fine red line grew into a thick stream, dripping down the length of his arm. He gripped his wrist, stemming the flow, and hurled himself around another corner.

Pollero's shoes pounded the concrete steps above him, growing closer by the second. Devon willed himself downward.
Just a little further, just a few more steps.
As he neared the next landing, he stumbled and fell to his knee. A hand snatched his shoulder, bringing him back to his feet. Pollero's fist smacked his jaw, hurling him into the wall. Devon shoved him away, but the guy charged right back, slamming him harder this time. Devon latched onto the bastard's middle.

"Ahhh!" Pollero cried out. He reeled, sending them careening into the opposite wall.

Devon gritted his teeth and slipped his blood-soaked arm around his assailant's neck. But Pollero retaliated, jabbing his elbow repeatedly into Devon's ribs. His heel slipped over the edge, sending them crashing down the concrete steps. Devon heard the sound of a crack when they hit the wall on the landing below. He released his hold and Pollero's head flopped sickeningly to the side.

For a timeless moment, Devon just looked at his face. Pollero's black eyes stared into space. Blood collected in the corner of his slacked mouth. Without checking his pulse, Devon knew he was dead. The horrific sight ratcheted his stomach. He forced himself upright, grasping the handrail to steady himself. He slid along the wall, hugging his throbbing side. Pinning his wrist against his chest. He reached the basement and held
onto the stairwell door. Gasping, he pulled himself around the frame and threw himself into the room. The concrete walls around him tilted. He closed his eyes to still the spinning motion. To control his uneven breathing.

Ding!
Devon looked up just as the service elevator door open. Inside, three snarling faces stared out at him, blurring into one monstrous mask. Devon felt his knees buckle. His head hit the floor. His nightmare dimmed into the darkest shade of black.

Seventeen

Naomi met Rachel on the dock with a mug of hot coffee. Her randy curls were hidden beneath the green triangular scarf tied at the back of her neck. “Figured you use a jolt before losing your land legs.” She held her jacket close to her body, fending off the morning chill.

Rachel remained puzzled, as she sipped the hot brew. “How’d you know I was coming?”

“
Chase told me you called this morning. Had a change of heart or something. Personally, I’m kinda surprised he didn’t show up to greet you. But then Ian’s comment about women not belonging on ships might have slowed him up.”

“
He actually said that?”

“
Yeah, but don’t take it personally. That old fart says a lot things he shouldn’t.”