The Perfect Victim

"You're going to be front-page news tomorrow, Tate. Starting with the Wall Street Journal. They know everything." Randall's voice calmed her, told her that somehow he was going to get them out of this.

 

"Weak lies, Talbot. All of it. You and I both know there's no proof. Just as we know that no newspaper in the country will print such a ludicrous story without substantiation."

 

''The cops know about Agnes Beckett. They know about Bernstein. About Patty and Larry Fox. A Coast Guard cutter will be here any minute, Tate. Give it up." Randall edged closer, his voice smoothing out. "It's over. Give it up."

 

The macabre sound of Tate's laughter drowned out the last of his words. "Once the both of you are dead, this nasty little business will be finished forever. Now, get the hell back, you two-bit drunk."

 

The pistol shifted, digging into the tender spot just below her left ear. Addison shuddered uncontrollably as she imagined a bullet leaving the chamber and slamming into her skull.

 

"Let her go, Tate. You don't have to die over this. I'll let you walk. Just let her go." Randall edged closer. "You're a powerful man. You can run anywhere in the world. If they catch you, you can afford the best attorneys our legal system has to offer. Release her, and I'll let you go."

 

The pistol trembled against her scalp. Slightly at first, and then violently until the muzzle of the gun shook against the side of her head.

 

Randall moved closer, his pistol steady. "Let her go. You don't want to hurt her."

 

"She means nothing to me," Tate said. "I have no compunction about—"

 

The gun blast deafened her. Next to her, Tate grunted, his body jerking. He looked down in disbelief at the blood coming through his jacket. In the back of her mind, Addison knew Randall had shot him. Hope jumped through her. She waited for Tate to crumple.

 

Instead, he raised the gun and fired point-blank at Randall.

 

"No!" she screamed, watching in horror as the man she loved reeled backward and landed on the cold, wet deck.

 

"Randall!"

 

Tate's arm snaked around her waist. "I warned him not to fuck with me!" he snarled.

 

Addison fought him with all her strength, but he was too strong and dragged her toward the rail. Twisting, she spotted Randall on the deck, crawling toward the gun he'd dropped.

 

Relief exploded in her chest. He wasn't dead. The vest had saved his life a second time.

 

Tate shoved her violently against the rail. Her hip slammed hard against the wood. Rivulets of pain speared through her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard Tate shouting, but she couldn't make out the words. All she could think was that Randall was alive. And somehow he was going to get them out of this.

 

Suddenly, Tate's arms tightened around her. In the next instant, her feet left the deck. She was halfway over the rail by the time she realized what he was going to do. Horror raged through her. Oh, God. Oh, God! He was throwing her overboard.

 

"No!" she screamed.

 

"See you in hell," he said and shoved her over the side.

 

Addison flailed, the cold, thin air rushing around her. The ocean laughed as her own wrenching scream pierced the air.

 

She was falling.

 

Then the water rushed up and received her with sharp, icy claws. It ripped into her, tore her open from end to end. Encompassed her like an arctic crypt. Her senses scattered as the shock incapacitated her, physically, mentally.

 

A rush of disbelief engulfed her. Her mind rebelled against the terror spiraling out of control inside her. This can't be happening, she thought with startling clarity. Not when Randall had been just a few feet away.

 

The water sucked her down. Her mind acknowledged the sensation of nothingness. A black void. An icy tomb. She struggled against her binds, not knowing up from down. A bolt of adrenaline surged through her muscles. She sucked in a mouthful of saltwater and choked. Panic swirled inside her like a tornado.

 

She opened her eyes to total blackness and felt the burn of saltwater against them. She kicked with all her might, cursing the boots that weighed her down.

 

An instant later she broke the surface. Sound and light and bitter cold assaulted her senses. She kicked, struggling to keep her mouth above the waves. The water tugged her down. Her face slipped below the waves.

 

And she was drowning.

 

 

 

Chapter 30

 

 

 

Randall reached the gunwale just as Tate crumbled. An animal sound ripped from his throat as he leaned over the rail. Ten feet below, the unforgiving water churned angrily. "Addison!"

 

Desperate, he turned, spotting the cabinets set into the transom at the stem. Sprinting across the deck, he dropped to his knees. One by one, he ripped open the cabinets, finally locating a cache of life vests.

 

Jerking the vests from their nest, he rose. Ten feet away, the sight of Tate lying face down in a pool of blood stunned him.

 

Randall shook himself and darted back to the rail. There, he secured one of the vests at his waist, lodging two more beneath his arms. Without a thought for his own safety, he climbed onto the rail. From atop the gunwale, he scanned the water and listened for cries that never came.

 

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