“Does that beat all or what?” he said quietly. “All this time, and I slip up on something really ridiculous. But that doesn’t matter. I didn’t come for coffee this morning. I came to get you. You barely gave yourself away, Ashley. If I hadn’t come specifically to take you for a nice long ride, I’d have had to wonder if you actually figured it all out or not. You see, I’m all set to fly away, Ashley. Far, far, away. I’ve taken things here as far as it’s safe for me to go. Made some good money, that’s for sure. But…it’s gotten way too hot. It started to unravel when that friend of yours didn’t die on the highway like he was supposed to. Then there was Bordon. I should have had him killed years ago. Counted on Marty, though.” He laughed. “He was a damned good partner. Got shot and went down without giving me away. Someone else is going to figure it out eventually, though, maybe soon. Dilessio, probably. Too bad I couldn’t have killed him. Ashley, no work for you this morning. You’re coming with me. Be real good and quiet, and I might let you live.”
“When I don’t show up for work, people will start looking for me. In fact, when they see that my car is still here—”
“It won’t be here. You’re doing the driving. We’re going, Ms. Montague. Now.”
She didn’t protest; she had just seen an entirely different side of a man she had thought she knew well. His voice was different, the way he talked was different, even his stance was different. It was as if the years had dropped away.
“Where am I driving you?”
“An airstrip.”
She took a deep breath, twisting slightly, trying to get a glimpse of the gun.
“Glock,” he said. “City of Miami has been known to issue them, but maybe you’ve never handled one, since Miami-Dade doesn’t much like them. No safety. Pretty powerful weapon. It gives a clean kill.”
“Want me to call in late to work?” she asked, trying to overcome her sense of shock and fight down a rising wave of desperate fear. She had thought Marty was cold-blooded, but the change in Sandy was more than chilling. Marty had done the killing. Peter Bordon had conspired with him. But this was the man who had given the execution orders.
“You’ve got a cell phone. We’ll call from the road. We should really go, before Jake or your uncle shows up. I need one hostage, not two. I won’t blink to shoot either of them, and I think you know that.”
She had no chance of living if she went with him, and she knew that, too. But the thought of him seeing Jake or Nick—or Sharon!—and shooting them like dogs was far too vivid in her mind.
“Hey!” came a sudden cry. She was startled to see Jake, wearing only bathing trunks, come walking around the far edge of the terrace.
The gun jabbed more deeply into her ribs. “You’ve got two seconds to get rid of him,” Sandy said. “Cry out and you’re both dead. Trust me, a Glock is a damned good weapon. I can kill two people in a matter of seconds.”
“Sandy, hey,” Jake said, smiling pleasantly. “The coffeepot on the Gwendolyn is broken. What the heck did you do to it, Ashley?”
“What did I do to it?” she repeated.
“Did you make coffee?” he asked. “Sandy, look at you. Spiffy. Hey, did you come by for coffee, too?”
“Coffee’s made,” Ashley said quickly.
“Great. I’ll just go pour myself a cup. Have a good day at work.”
Sandy had maneuvered her just outside the doorway, hiding the gun with his body. Jake was smiling as he started past them. “Sandy, why don’t you have a cup with me?” he asked.
“Can’t, I’m in a hurry.”
“Oh?”
“As a matter of fact, Ashley was going to drop me at the bank on her way to work.”
“Is that a fact?” Jake started into the house. Ashley felt the gun at her ribs edge away as Sandy shifted his hold so as not to be seen.
Jake paused in the doorway. Ashley gritted her teeth, desperate not to give herself away.
“Ashley,” he said suddenly, his eyes steady on hers. “I needed to ask you about something. I was talking to John Mast, and he was telling me about another talent you have. In fact, you mentioned it to me one day—suggesting that you could give me a demonstration.”
She frowned, then realized what he was saying.
She smiled. “I showed John.”
“Show Sandy.”
“Jake, I haven’t got time,” Sandy said impatiently.
“Now!” Jake said.
Ashley slammed her leg back, her heel catching Sandy hard between the legs. As he gasped for air, Jake made his move. Fast. So fast that she screamed, not a warning, but a startled cry of surprise. One minute Sandy was standing at her side and Jake was in front of her. The next second, Jake had thrown his full weight against Sandy, and the two of them were down in the sand and the gravel.
Sandy was trying to aim the gun. A shot went off, flying wild. Jake slammed Sandy’s wrist hard against the ground. Another shot went wild.
“Damn it, drop the weapon!” Jake warned.
“Fuck you!” Sandy spat back, struggling against the power of Jake’s hold, determined to fire until he could fire no more.
“Drop it! Ashley, get inside before—”
A bullet thudded into the door frame, far too close to her head. She didn’t go in; she flew around the two men, kicking the sand and gravel into Sandy’s face.
“Drop the weapon,” Jake repeated. He slammed Sandy’s wrist against the gravel once again. The Glock went skidding away at last.
“Get up,” Jake ordered roughly. He rose himself, catching Sandy’s jacket lapels and dragging him up.
“I’m up, I’m up….” And he was up—halfway. His face was red; he held out a protesting hand and started coughing violently. He gasped in a breath and started coughing again, his entire body shuddering.
“Shit,” Jake swore. “Ashley, call 9-1-1. This bastard is not going to die on my watch.”
Ashley reached into her bag, searching for her phone.