XXVII
I turned the throttle way down and circled around so I could pull into the dock against the current. As I turned, I noticed my Boston Whaler downriver, lodged between a big Hatteras and the seawall. Neal hadn’t even bothered to tie it up. The bastard had just set it adrift.
“Sey!” Sunny appeared out of the bushes, running toward the empty dock. She was wearing a man’s T-shirt, and it looked like a billowing white dress on her. Her legs and feet were bare, and with her tousled blond hair, she looked like a little girl. Heck, she really was a little girl. “Come on! Quick!” she said, waving her arms, signaling me to hurry. Her voice was like a loud stage whisper, and it was difficult to hear her over the idling water bike. I cut the engine.
“You’ve got to help him!” she said.
I grabbed a spare dock line and tied up the Jet Ski. “Who? What are you talking about?”
“It’s B.J. He’s hurt!”
I brushed her aside and ran up the walkway leading to the back door of the Larsens’ house. Sunny ran behind me, panting and trying to spit out the story.
“When I woke up, I heard voices. I started to get up, but I could hear them fighting. I hid. I was too scared to come out.”
I ran into the living room and saw B.J. on the floor. There was blood in his hair just above his temple, blood staining the rug under him.
“Oh, man ...” I dropped to my knees and slid one hand beneath his head while the other caressed his cheek. His skin felt warm.
Sunny was still talking. “The other man, the one with the gun, ran away. He got a bunch of stuff from upstairs and left on that boat that was out there. I tried to call nine-one-one, but the phones don’t work. I wanted to help your friend, really, but I went to the front door and those men were out there in their car parked right in front of the house, and I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do. Is he dead?”
My fingers probed his neck under the jawbone and felt an even, rhythmic pulse. Thank God. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his forehead. He moaned softly. “B.J. Are you okay?”
His eyes flicked open, then shut, then open again, swimming in their sockets. He reached up to touch his head and winced in pain.
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Sunny said ...”
“Neal,” he said.
“Yeah, I know. He did this?”
“I’m gonna ...” He went to heave himself into a sitting position, but collapsed back onto the floor. “Oh, man. What the ...”
“He shot you. I think it’s just a flesh wound, but you’ve lost a fair amount of blood. Here, let’s get you onto the couch.”
With Sunny’s help I got him onto the same deep sofa we’d used for lovemaking only a few short hours ago. I told Sunny where to find the key to my cottage and what to tell the police dispatcher.
“Be careful. Those guys are still cruising this neighborhood. I doubt they’ve come into the yard or Abaco would have alerted us. All the same, go slow, stay hidden, and try not to make any noise.”
“I’ll be okay.” She smiled at me and took off to go call 911.
“How’re you feeling?” I asked B.J.
“Gonna have one hell of a headache.”
“He took Gorda.”
“What?” He tried again to get up, but I eased him back.
“I’ll deal with it, B.J. I know where he’s going, but I don’t have time to explain. I’ve got to get my boat back.”
“I can help....”
“Forget it. Look, I know what Neal’s up to. He took my dive gear.” I kissed him on the forehead again. “I’ll be right back.”
The “bunch of stuff” Sunny was talking about must have been my tank and the regulator that he had stolen out of the cottage. Judging from the FedEx boxes upstairs, he had also been buying gear with my money and having it delivered to the house when he knew nobody would be around. I wondered how he got from the beach to my place on the day I’d towed in the Top Ten. He swam ashore, but then he made it across town in swim trunks with a bullet in him. He certainly was resourceful, but then again, this was South Florida. I figured that once here, he broke into my cottage and took my money and scuba gear. He’d spent the last few days up there healing and planning how to get at Crystal’s money without the use of the Top Ten.
I trotted outside to the large shed where the Larsens stored some more gear. There was a small padlock on a thin metal hasp, and I picked up a geranium-filled urn
and bashed the lock. It let go on the third bash. In amongst the bikes and water skis and windsurfers, sure enough, I found tanks, regulators, masks, and fins. The fins were huge, even for me, but they’d work. I took what I needed and walked down to the dock. I was surprised Abaco didn’t join me, but I decided she must be nosing around with Sunny. With the boat hook, I retrieved the Whaler and tied it up to the dock. After dropping the dive gear in the dinghy, I jogged back up to the house.
“How’re you doing?”
B.J. shrugged.
“Where’s Sunny?” I asked.
“She hasn’t come back.”
B.J. didn’t look so great. He needed to see a doctor soon. “I’m going to go see what’s taking her so long.”
As I slipped out the back door of the Larsens’ place, I stepped into the bushes that ran along the base of the house and surveyed the yard. Sunny should have been back by now. How long could it take to call 911 at four in the morning? Something was wrong. Keeping my body low to the ground, I trotted across the grass to my cottage and peeked around the corner of the door.
“Sunny?” I whispered. “You there?”
Nothing.
It took no more than fifteen seconds to glance into the bedroom, into the bathroom, and behind the bar in the kitchen. I picked up the phone on the bar to dial the police myself. It was dead.
Maybe she had gone next door to the neighbors’. Maybe the phones were out all over the neighborhood. Or maybe the crew out in front of the house had cut the phones to this property. I was still standing there staring at the dead receiver when I heard a soft whine.
“Abaco?” I said aloud, and the whine grew louder.
I followed the sound to the walk-in closet in my bedroom. Even without the lights, I could see the outline of a girl, her hands and feet tied with rope, her mouth gagged with a scarf of my mother’s I’d saved for years but never worn. Next to her, a huge pile of my clothing had been dumped off the hangers and then covered with my spare anchor chain. It was from inside the pile I heard the weak whine. I shoved the clothing aside until Abaco’s head came clear. She licked my hand, then squirmed out, groggy from lack of oxygen but alive. Sunny’s eyes held that too-familiar terror.
The girl’s arms and legs were bound with some light polypropylene line I’d had stored in my closet, and the knots were so tight I couldn’t budge them. “Just a minute. I’m going to get you out of here.” I went to the kitchen and was about to open a drawer to grab a knife when Abaco started barking like mad.
“Shh.” I grabbed the dog in the middle of the living room just as James Long poked his head around the open front door.
“Hello? Seychelle?”
I held the squirming dog tight as James walked in, cool and immaculate in his violet silk shirt, open at the neck, and his long, crisply pleated wheat-colored slacks. Abaco wouldn’t stop barking.
“Abaco, no! Shh!” I stroked her head and grabbed her muzzle while keeping her in a headlock.
“Seychelle, are you okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
“What are you doing here?”
“I got this call from Sunny on my cell. She told me to come over here fast, that you were in trouble.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, offering it as though it proved his story was true.