“I needed to keep tabs on you, that’s all.”
Unbelievable. She glanced over her shoulder in sheer astonishment. The man was way deep into transference, thinking she was vying for the limelight when he was the one going to such great lengths to do exactly that. The freaking bane of every psychologist’s existence: the client’s emotional drive to accuse his therapist of the psychological problems he suffered from. And she wasn’t even getting paid to deal with this drivel.
But she’d be damned if she’d stand for him accusing her of making this crap up. She dug in her heels, slowing them down. “Okay, first of all, I really do see ghosts and ghost ships, you asshole. And second, why would I have the need to make any of it up?”
He shoved her to keep her moving forward. “How the hell do I know? Maybe you’re new in town and feeling lonely. Maybe you think if you’re quirky, Jase will take you to bed sooner. The bottom line? I don’t really give a damn. The end result is that your lies and stories convinced enough idiots in this town that you really do talk to ghosts and can solve old murders. So Holt was going to ask you to look into Seavey’s murder. And that meant you’d figure out the family connection to Garrett.”
“You know,” she said crankily, “if you’d just chosen denial over transference, none of this would have happened. You could’ve ignored the fallout from Holt’s press conference, because it was just too horrible to contemplate actually having to murder someone. And really, denial is wonderfully effective. You could have claimed the historical data were wrong—that you weren’t actually related to Garrett. People might never have even cared.”
“You really are a pain in the ass, you know that? I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about. Maybe killing you will be a pleasure.”
“Fits with your family heritage,” she snapped.
“I can confirm that,” Seavey agreed. “Garrett took far too much pleasure from the violence he engaged in.”
“You can jump in anytime now,” Jordan told him, feeling more than a little desperate to get Bob’s gun pointed in a different direction.
“Shut up,” Bob growled.
“And I was right,” she persisted. “Holt really did care more about family than he let on, if he was going to ask me to solve Seavey’s murder.”
“Yeah, he cared about the extra money he would make if he had a really good story to tell about those old opium tins,” Bob scoffed. “Otherwise, they were just rusted crap he’d brought up from some old wreck. I tossed him and the tins back into the water.” He jammed the gun into her ribs a second time. “Now move it. I’ve had enough of your stalling.”
“Drop the gun, Bob.” Darcy moved out from behind the bow on a large sailboat, her gun leveled at him.
Relief rushed through Jordan, and her knees buckled.
But as she crumpled, Bob wrapped an arm around her neck, yanking her against him and pressing the gun barrel against the side of her head. “Stand up, bitch!”
She gasped for air and locked her knees to ease the pressure against her throat.
“Keep your distance, Chief, or she gets it right here.”
In her peripheral vision, Jordan saw Charlotte and Hattie materialize.
“He’s got a gun!” Charlotte screamed, zipping in and out of the moored boats. “Do something, Michael!”
“If I make the wrong move, she could get shot,” Michael explained. “We must wait for the right opportunity—”
“And if you don’t take action soon,” Frank said from behind Jordan and Bob, “she’ll die regardless.”
“Then I suggest you come up with a plan,” Seavey retorted mildly. “I don’t want Jordan’s death or serious injury on my conscience.”
“On that we agree,” Frank replied. “The current living arrangements are adequate; I don’t want them disrupted.”
“This is not the time for an argument over the best strategy,” Hattie pointed out.
Charlotte hissed, her zipping motions becoming ever more erratic.
“Would someone please just do something?” Jordan pleaded.
Bob’s laugh sounded ugly. “No one can save you, not your imagined ghosts, not even your cop buddy here. We’re getting on that boat.”
“Imagined?” Hattie asked, her expression turning irritated. “He believes we don’t exist?”
“The nerve!” Charlotte hissed.
“Can we focus on what’s important here?” Jordan croaked as Bob’s arm tightened.
“Yes, why don’t we?” Darcy said calmly, her gun never wavering, her expression coldly professional. “This is a death-penalty state, Bob. It’s iffy whether the DA will ask for it in Holt’s case, but if you kill Jordan, that’s seriously premeditated murder and kidnapping. Virtually guarantees a lethal injection.”
“You’ve got three seconds to drop your gun, Chief.” Bob didn’t sound the least concerned, which really, really terrified Jordan. “If you don’t, your girlfriend dies. And I know how much you like her.”
“I can take her or leave her, to tell the truth,” Darcy replied mildly. “She’s a bit of a hassle.”
“Hey,” Jordan croaked.
“Well, you are,” Darcy replied. “Every time I turn around, I’m getting you out of trouble. Frankly, I’m tired of it.” She locked gazes with Jordan for a second and cocked her head slightly to her right, as if she were considering whether she really was worth saving.
Jordan slid her eyes to her left and spied Jase and Tom moving in silently from a dock that intersected theirs, keeping low to the ground. She pushed, trying to angle Bob more to her right, to keep them out of sight.
He tightened his arm, cutting off her air. Stars sparked in her peripheral vision. “Quit it.” He jammed the barrel harder against her temple, splitting the skin. She felt blood trickle down the side of her face.
“He’s hurting her!” Charlotte cried out and zipped around. “Do something, Michael!”
Jordan felt Bob stiffen and closed her eyes, realizing she’d just made the possibly fatal mistake of alerting him.
“Join the party, boys,” Bob called. “Come on over here, hands raised, unless you want to watch your girlfriend get it.”
Jase and Tom straightened, their expressions resigned. Jase sent her a look filled with chagrin, then settled his gaze on Bob with cold determination.
“Real smooth,” Darcy told her. “Remind me never to bring you to a shoot-out again.”
“Sorry,” Jordan croaked.
Bob motioned for the men to join Darcy. “Over there, where I can see you.”
“I always knew you were a prick, Bob,” Jase said mildly.
“And you’re a self-righteous asshole,” Bob told him.
“Boys, boys,” Darcy scolded, sounding bored, her eyes anything but. “No need to trade insults.”
“Really, Jordan,” Seavey reproved. “Are any of these humans of use to you at the moment?”
“They might be if you cause enough of a commotion,” Jordan retorted. “What good is it to have ghosts around if all you’re going to do is comment on the proceedings?”
Jase exchanged looks with Bob and Darcy, it dawning on them that they weren’t alone.
“So I’m going to count to three, Chief.” Bob sounded surprisingly genial. “And you’re going to drop your weapon. One … two—”
“Okay, okay, fine.” Darcy held her gun up, then lowered it slowly to the dock, never taking her eyes off him.