Vacation Therapy (35 page)

"He never came down here."

Geoff's smile flattened. He cocked his head to the side and tried to look behind me. “I bet that isn't a real gun.” He took another step forward.

I swallowed hard, but stood firm, trying hard to think.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow in the utility room doorway. I forced my eyes back to Geoff and his gun.

Maybe he sensed it, or maybe he noticed that my gaze had flickered to the side, because Geoff suddenly turned to stare into the room.

Sergio burst out. As he flew through the air, he tossed the contents of the bucket he carried at Geoff. The wave washed over Geoff's gun arm, while the rest of the fluid hit him square in the chest. It soaked his shirt and ran into his pants, before splashing in a pool around his feet. The smell of something like paint thinner or gasoline hung in the air.

"Ha. Now, you can't shoot anyone, or you'll ignite yourself,” Sergio said, as he landed in front of me.

"Oh, you think so?” Geoff asked. He swung his gun away from me and pointed it at Sergio. A sneer crossed his mouth as he pulled the trigger.

A white flash exploded from the end of the gun. Sergio clutched his chest and crumpled to the ground.

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I fell to my knees. “Sergio!” croaked out of my mouth. I dropped the gun and landed hard on the concrete floor. My fingers searched Sergio's neck for a pulse, but as soon as they made contact, Geoff pressed the gun's hot barrel against my forehead. I flinched from the heat.

"Stand up,” he commanded, pressing the gun harder against my head.

The hot metal burned my skin. My hands went up as I slowly rose to my feet.

"Don't make any sudden moves. You know I'll use this.” He waved the gun in my face.

I looked down at Sergio. My mind screamed at me to run for help, now. Then my eyes darted to Sergio's discarded gun on the floor.

Geoff shook his head. “You're going to take a little swim, just like your buddy did.” He motioned behind me.

My eyes glanced down to Sergio.

"Not him, the other guy. The one you found on the beach, but this one will follow.” A cold smile crossed his lips.

I swallowed hard. “Duane wasn't my buddy. I didn't even know him."

"Liar!” Geoff spat. “I saw him slip you that note when you arrived."

"I just found that. He was pleading for his life with that note, but I thought he was hitting on me."

"What? You're not...” Geoff gasped and almost lowered his gun. Confusion played across his face. “Why did you come to this resort?” he demanded.

I took a step backward. “A friend of mine booked me here. I didn't know anything about this place before I got here."

"What? You're not a cop?” He took a step forward.

"No,” I said, and took another step back. My eyes fell on Sergio's still form at Geoff's feet. He hadn't moved, and from this angle, I couldn't tell if he was breathing.

"You're not working undercover?” Geoff cocked his head to the side. “And he's not either?” Geoff stepped over Sergio's body.

"No. I'm an occupational therapist, and he's a hair dresser."

"Like I believe that one.” Geoff tossed his head back and laughed. “He's got a real uniform. If you're not cops, why do you have all of those files in your room?"

"I found those files in Duane's room, when I searched it. They were in his briefcase. I wanted to find out something about him, but I found those files and saw one with my name on it, so I took it, and the other ones with familiar names."

"But your file was empty,” he stopped, and tapped the side of his head with the gun. “I thought you were working undercover with Duane, that's why it was empty."

"You're the cop, I'm not."

"Internal Affairs was investigating me. I ended up getting suspended before they found out...” he took another step forward.

"What?” I asked.

He smiled. “Our scheme."

"Yours and Gary's?"

"You got it. Gary was my informant while I worked for the Miami police force. When I was suspended, I took this security job, but he followed me here with an idea. He would sign onto different tour groups that brought their guests here. During their week, he would find out things about them. Who had a fat wallet, who liked a little slap and tickle on the side, who liked a little blow for their noses. We'd find them what they wanted...” A gleam shimmered in Geoff's eyes.

"That's why you were taking pictures all week!"

"Exactly."

"Embarrassing photos from a vacation would net some nice money.” I said.

Geoff smiled. “You got it, but Gary got greedy. He kept demanding more and more money, and when I refused, he threatened to expose me.” He sneered. “So I gave him a little extra to shut him up. The whole time I was plotting to get rid of him on this trip, but then you showed up. Everywhere I looked, you were hanging around and following him, so I figured you were trying to get him to turn evidence against me, to lighten his sentence."

"You were the one who followed me on the jungle cruise,” I accused.

He nodded. “I watched you get on that boat. I should've stayed just a little bit longer. I never figured you would've moved.” He shook his head, “I waited forever to throw that damn snake on you, but you had switched seats. I was hoping it would scare you out of here."

"But it landed on someone else.” I looked behind him and saw Sergio still hadn't moved.

Geoff nodded slowly.

"What about Duane?” I asked, wishing I could stop Sergio's bleeding and get him medical help.

"He was a private investigator, working undercover, but he was getting too close to discovering our scheme. I heard he had files on all of the guests, and that he was using bank records to identify who our new targets were going to be. When I found those files in your room I thought you were working with him. He had been following Gary for months, and he was trying to find out who was working with him."

"And you killed him?” I asked.

"No, Gary did that."

"But you killed Gary."

"He was getting sloppy. Besides, I didn't need him anymore,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Thanks for your help."

"What?"

"You and your friend knocked him out for me. You couldn't have made it any easier for me if you tried."

"What about John?” I asked, but didn't want to know.

"The model? That was my mistake,” he smiled. “I thought he was you. He looked just like you. He even had on the same clothes, but with that plastic bag over his head, I didn't recognize him until it was too late. I heard you calling to your friend to wait for you, and then I looked down and couldn't believe I had the wrong guy. So I got the hell out of there."

I took another step back. My foot hit the lip of the water pool, and my shoes slipped. My arms reached down to stabilize my legs. My hands brushed my hips and hit the tool belt that hung there. My fingers brushed against the hammer on the right and circled around the screwdriver on my left.

My right hand curled around the head of the hammer.

"Geoff? Are you down there?” Mike's voice echoed down the tunnel.

Geoff turned slightly to look over his shoulder.

That was all I needed. I pulled the hammer out of my belt and swung it at Geoff. My aim was off. The hammer struck the side of his arm, but the blow knocked him off balance.

In his attempt to remain upright, his gun arm swung to the side and his finger pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a blinding explosion, and the bullet ricocheted off the tunnel's wall. Suddenly, the lights went out and flashed back on. Sparks shot across the ceiling as the lights started to strobe on and off. The crackle of electricity filled the small space.

Geoff flinched away from the shower of sparks and threw himself even further off balance. His feet slipped on the wet floor, and he fell hard, landing on his hands and knees. As he hit the floor, the gun flew from his hand and skidded across the cement toward Sergio.

I ducked and veered away from the water and Geoff. As I moved to the right, I ripped the screwdriver from my belt and held it out in front of me. My right hand joined my left and clamped around it.

Mike shouted down the tunnel, “What's going on down there?"

Geoff crawled into the puddle of lighter fluid and paint thinner as he searched for his lost firearm.

In one of the strobing flashes, he spotted the gun lying in front of Sergio. Geoff turned to see where I was before scrambling after it.

As I stepped forward with the screwdriver poised in front of me, a spark ignited into a flame just behind where the gun lay. The spark came from Sergio's lighter, the one he had stolen from the dining room. He hunched forward, one arm pressed tightly against his chest while the other one held the flame.

"Hey, asshole,” he croaked, just as Geoff dove for his gun in the center of the puddle. Sergio brought the lighter down to the pool of flammable liquids. “Go to Hell,” he growled, and threw his body back as hard as he could.

The flame ignited the fumes with a whoosh, and fire shot across the puddle. The whoosh echoed down the tunnel like a shot from a cannon.

Stumbling back, I watched as the flames rolled along the floor, shot straight up to the ceiling, and surrounded Geoff. The fire licked and rolled across his clothing, which burst into flames. I watched in horror as Geoff lit up like a human torch.

Sergio hugged his chest with both arms and rolled away from the inferno, disappearing into the utility room.

In the center of the blazing puddle, Geoff screamed as his hand found the gun. Blindly, he pulled the trigger. Shots rang out in all directions against the roar of the fire.

Geoff continued to shoot his gun at every shadow as the flames engulfed him. The fire's roar was deafening, mixed with his screams. He frantically patted at his body, trying to extinguish the fire as he turned to face me. The skin on his face was starting to blister and peel from the heat, and his clothes melted to his body. Inhuman, guttural sounds emanated from his throat. He pointed the gun at me and pulled the trigger again.

The hammer clicked. This time the gun was empty. He looked down at the useless gun in his burning hand and hurtled it at me.

The small area was hot. The smell of burning gas and flesh hung in the air. Smoke filled the space, making it hard to breath. My eyes watered from the fumes and smoke, and I ducked to the side as the gun and a ball of fire sailed over my head. It splashed into the water behind.

Geoff screamed and rushed me, completely ablaze.

In my attempt to get out of his way, my foot slipped on the wet floor, and I landed on my butt.

Geoff's flaming body roared with the added oxygen as he ran at me.

My arms rose up, defensively, in an attempt to protect me from the heat, the fire, and his assault. Both hands wrapped around the screwdriver, and I braced for the fiery impact.

Geoff dove at me, blindly. Ignoring what I held.

My back flattened on the concrete floor, as my feet rose up for extra protection.

Geoff's flaming body hit me. A wall of heat engulfed me, taking away my breath. The fire scorched my hands and knuckles, and the hair on them ignited. I felt the screwdriver slide into his chest. A warm wet wave washed over my hands. My feet connected with his abdomen. As the heat and his weight pressed down against me, I pushed back against his momentum with all of my might. My feet kicked, my arms pushed, and Geoff's body was propelled over me into the garbage pit. My hands let go of the screwdriver and he hurtled overhead. The wave of fire disappeared as fast as it arrived. I rolled over onto my stomach trying to put out the fire. I gasped in a deep breath of black, smoky air and coughed.

Seconds later, the water hissed as the flames extinguished around Geoff's body. The force of his dive sent a wave of cool brine back, washing over me. I sprang to my feet, patting out the flames, and crouched low, ready for Geoff's return.

I waited, choking in the smoke. My burning eyes squinted in the haze and sudden darkness. Tears rolled down my cheeks. A fire still burned behind me, but the one that had flown overhead was gone. I fisted my scorched hands, ready for the next attack. None came.

Stepping forward, I saw Geoff's body floating face down in the water. His whole back smoldered. One small flame flickered out on his shirt. The water beneath him turned darker. The tide rocked him back and forth. His body slowly sank deeper, below the water's surface.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I yelled and spun around. Was Mike involved in all of this too?

My arm shot forward, but I stopped it in mid-air as Sergio's smudged face materialized from the black smoke.

"Whoa!” He held up one of his arms in protection, his face screwed up in pain.

"Are you all right?” I asked. My hands ran over his chest and searched for a bleeding wound. His policeman's shirt was dark and damp, but I didn't feel anything warm or sticky.

Sergio's legs crumpled beneath him, and he dropped to the floor.

I hovered over him and tried to assess how badly he was hurt.

"You look just like Jamie Lee Curtis in
Halloween
,” he said, motioning to my blood-splattered clothing. “Too bad we didn't find the machete. It would've completed your outfit.” He winced once, which made him cough hard. He grimaced and clutched his chest in pain.

"He shot you,” I said, and ripped his shirt open to see where to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. I looked down at his chest, and said, “I don't understand."

Sergio's chest was covered with a Kevlar bulletproof vest. A single bullet was nestled in a small depression in the center of the vest.

"What the hell are you wearing that thing for?” I demanded.

"Are you complaining?” he moaned.

"No. I just don't understand. Did you think someone was going to shoot at us in the talent show?” I resisted the urge to smack him. “And why didn't you warn me?"

He coughed once and then grabbed his chest and rolled over onto his side. As the pain subsided, he rolled onto his back, and his eyes met mine. “I wanted to look buff on stage, fill out my uniform, and my chest looked so...pathetic...” He paused. “I thought if I wore this,” he touched the vest, “it would make my chest look bigger."