The Perfect Victim

The water terrified her. It was ice cold and ankle deep in the galley. Staving off panic, she waded toward the salon, clinging to the thought that Randall had come for her. That the Coast Guard had somehow stopped the boat.

 

Her gaze paused on the table where Tate had left the tumbler of cognac. The tumbler-lay on the floor in pieces. She ran to it and dropped to her knees. Frigid water bit into her legs, but she ignored the discomfort, knowing she had only a few minutes to free herself. She turned her back to the broken glass and grappled for the largest piece. Using her right hand, she gripped the shard between two fingers and began sawing at the nylon handcuffs.

 

The sound of footsteps snapped her head up. The stairway door opened. Tate stepped into the room. He looked like an evil hologram, standing there with his black heart and malicious eyes. Though unable to tear her gaze away from his, she continued the back-and-forth motion with the glass.

 

"Put it down." He approached her. Without warning, he reached down, grasped a handful of her hair, and yanked her to her feet. "That son of a bitch killed Kyle."

 

The glass slipped from her hand. She strained against the binds to no avail. Despair tore through her. The water was now nearly a foot deep in the galley, ankle deep where they stood.

 

"We're sinking, for God's sake!" she said.

 

A strange light entered his eyes. A bizarre combination of disbelief and rage. Addison watched as he strode across the room and lifted the cover of a rosewood hatch recessed into the wall.

 

He extracted a small pistol that gleamed like an evil diamond in the palm of his hand. He turned to her, his eyes flat and dangerous. "Let's go."

 

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

 

Grasping her arm, he shoved her toward the staircase that led to the upper deck. "You'll do as you're told."

 

Reckless anger swirled dangerously inside her. She wanted to fight back. But with her hands bound there was little she could do.

 

The gun pressed between her shoulder blades. "Move."

 

She took a first tentative step, wondering if he was going to shoot her or use her as a shield.

 

"Your lover just made a fatal error," he said.

 

Her heart bumped hard against her ribs. Something akin to relief washed over her. Randall was alive. He'd come for her. She turned and looked at Tate. "Let me go," she said. "Please. You can still get away."

 

His smile frightened her even more than the pistol poised at her spine. It was a dead smile, devoid of emotion. Inhuman. Insane. "Walk up the steps," he commanded.

 

Numbly, Addison started up the staircase. She wondered if Randall knew Tate was armed. Not thinking of the repercussions or her own safety, she bolted, taking the steps two at a time. "Randall! He's got a gun!"

 

She heard Tate moving behind her. The sound of his wingtips against wet carpet. Ragged breathing. Her own sobs wrenching from somewhere deep inside her. She felt his hand on her hair. Pain flashed across her scalp when, he jerked her back. She heard herself cry out. The sound of hair being tom from its roots.

 

Savagely, he twisted her hair. "You stupid bitch! Do as I say!"

 

"Let go of me!"

 

He spun her around to face him. The blow caught her left temple. Pain. An explosion of light. A scream of outrage tore from her throat. She cursed him through tears of rage.

 

"Don't try that again." He shoved her forward. "Now, get up those fucking stairs!"

 

Dizzy from the blow, shocked by the pain billowing through her, she stumbled up the stairs. When she reached the door, Tate stepped past her and swung it open.

 

Cold ocean air crashed over her as she stepped out onto the deck. Light rain fell from a black sky.

 

"Let's go find lover boy."

 

"I'm right here, Tate."

 

Addison choked back a cry at the sound of Randall's voice.

 

Boldly, he stepped into the open. Stance wide. Hands gripping an ominous-looking pistol. Even in the darkness she saw the glint of rage in his eyes.

 

The sight of him stopped her heart. "Randall." She heard his name, though she barely felt herself utter it. "He's armed."

 

"Are you all right?"

 

In spite of the gun poised at the base of her skull, it took every bit of self-control for her not to throw herself into his arms. "I'm okay."

 

He shifted his stance, aiming the pistol more squarely at Tate. "Let her go, Tate." Then his voice changed. Lowered to the sound of rapidly approaching thunder, the kind that struck unexpectedly and with deadly force. "Get your hands off her or I'll fucking blow you in half."

 

Tate touched the side of her face with the gun. "And risk my putting a bullet in this pretty face? I don't think so."

 

"Release her, and I'll let you walk away," Randall said. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you."

 

Tate made a sound of irritation. "Drop the gun, Talbot. Or I'll put a bullet in her head. Just above the hairline. Here, in the back. The medulla, I believe it's called."

 

Addison's nerves jumped as he ran the muzzle of the gun over her scalp. "Don't do it, Randall." Her voice barely carried over the sound of the wind. "He's insane. He'll kill us both."

 

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