Sara Thacker's Blog: Red Skhye In Morning, page 12
June 6, 2011
Chapter 9:Part 2
Two more sprays with sunscreen on her back had her wondering if she was doing any good. Delanie had positioned herself between two mirrors but she couldn't be sure. Either her back was protected or not. It was tricky using the spray stuff. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, just like life.
She thought she had a great boyfriend in Rhye, but he hadn't protected her. He'd cheated on her, lied to her and didn't come close to having her back. He'd been a jerk and she'd been a fool to believe in him.
She slipped on her jogging shoes and took off for a run. She liked the definition she saw after only a few days of intense training. This hadn't been part of her plan, but the island afforded her the perfect place to run and exercise.
The waves were a little choppy. She wouldn't go swimming at the beach today. She felt a little guilty because she had taken a dip in the ocean even though she had promised Mimi she wouldn't. But she had only swum when the surface had been calm as glass. Being an idiot wasn't something she took pride in so she tried to not do too many stupid things. Of course any stupid thing she did at home the paparazzi parade would emphasize. If she died out here on this island, she'd be talked about for years. Eventually she would only be known as the idiot who had swam alone.
After an hour of running, Delanie drug herself up to the house and grabbed a bottle of water. She plopped down on a lounge chair, pouring a little of the cool liquid over her head. If she had more energy, she would take a dunk into the pool.
The refreshing water slid down her throat, cooling her body. Spending time with Sam had revitalized her. She groaned, why had she thought about that guy. He wasn't her future, and she shouldn't spend time focusing on him, but she couldn't help but think of his chiseled features and his ripped body. He was more than just in shape. Sam was totally hot. He was the type of guy who inspired the traditional alpha hero. Girls would fall all over him. They'd be fools not to want to jump the guy's bones.
She'd wanted to jump Sam. They'd spent the night playing cards in her room. Of all the ways her bed could have been used she couldn't believe that she'd wasted the night playing cards instead of kissing his chest, rubbing against his pecks and loving his perfect mouth.
Delanie screwed the lid back onto the water bottle and dove into the pool. The only way to get rid of thoughts of Sam was to torture her body into exhaustion. Sam was way too sexy and way too nice to be near.
She swam for what must have been an hour when the wind tossed a few palm leaves into the pool. She turned onto her back and looked up to find an inky black sky. She hopped out of the pool, surprised in the change of weather. After hugging a towel to her chest, she spun around, fearful of the massive storm approaching.
Behind the house she'd be able to see the horizon more clearly. She sprinted around the corner, not at all liking what she saw.
The sky was darker than she'd earlier believed. She hadn't known about any major storms. The weather station she'd listened to this morning hadn't spoke of thunderstorms. This was way worse than the other little rain cloud that had blown in a few days ago.
Damn, she thought hurricanes came later in the season. She'd been assured that nothing like this would come up while she was here. The owner couldn't make any guaranties, but they had said that storms usually came later in the year.
As she approached the clearing where the land rose slightly and gave her a three hundred and sixty degree view of the ocean, dread filled her. The clouds looked like something from Armageddon.
A palm leaf was ripped from a tree nearby and flew at her. She screamed in surprise then laughed once she realized it was just a leaf and wouldn't hurt her.
She thought about Sam and his instructions about the shutters. He'd told her how important locking them down would be in a dangerous storm. She ran back to the house rushing to secure the wood over the windows.
The first shutter proved to be more difficult than she had assumed it would be. The window was too high for her to reach. She had to go find a stepstool, and then once she could reach the window she realized that she'd placed the stool in the wrong spot.
The wind ripped the wood out of her hand, and the shutter crashed against the house, then it swung at her, catching her on the shoulder. She cried out as pain raced down her arm.
The stool wobbled as she tried to change her balance, it tilted forward then back. Delanie hopped down and slammed into a tree. Her neck stung. She reached up and came away with blood.
Damn, she had to get the shutter closed otherwise she would be dealing with more than a scratch on her neck.
She worked through the pain, encouraged that she didn't have any more trouble. She thought about Sam out here doing the shutters when the rain had been pelting his back. He really was too nice. Back in LA no one would have pitched in and helped like he did.
On the last window she had to drag the stool around again. This time she carefully placed the stool so she wouldn't be knocked over. A glance over her shoulder told her that the storm was growing in intensity.
Tonight would suck. She could imagine the wind and the rain. Did tornadoes form over the ocean? Damn, she wished she knew more about hurricanes and weather. Was this huge cloud just another storm or worse? She finished fastening the last shutter and went inside.
The owner of the house had installed a sliding wood door over the French doors too protect them. Delanie kept the doors open, hoping to watch the weather until it started raining.
What would she do if the storm hit and wrecked the house? She had no clue how to survive a hurricane.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
She thought she had a great boyfriend in Rhye, but he hadn't protected her. He'd cheated on her, lied to her and didn't come close to having her back. He'd been a jerk and she'd been a fool to believe in him.
She slipped on her jogging shoes and took off for a run. She liked the definition she saw after only a few days of intense training. This hadn't been part of her plan, but the island afforded her the perfect place to run and exercise.
The waves were a little choppy. She wouldn't go swimming at the beach today. She felt a little guilty because she had taken a dip in the ocean even though she had promised Mimi she wouldn't. But she had only swum when the surface had been calm as glass. Being an idiot wasn't something she took pride in so she tried to not do too many stupid things. Of course any stupid thing she did at home the paparazzi parade would emphasize. If she died out here on this island, she'd be talked about for years. Eventually she would only be known as the idiot who had swam alone.
After an hour of running, Delanie drug herself up to the house and grabbed a bottle of water. She plopped down on a lounge chair, pouring a little of the cool liquid over her head. If she had more energy, she would take a dunk into the pool.
The refreshing water slid down her throat, cooling her body. Spending time with Sam had revitalized her. She groaned, why had she thought about that guy. He wasn't her future, and she shouldn't spend time focusing on him, but she couldn't help but think of his chiseled features and his ripped body. He was more than just in shape. Sam was totally hot. He was the type of guy who inspired the traditional alpha hero. Girls would fall all over him. They'd be fools not to want to jump the guy's bones.
She'd wanted to jump Sam. They'd spent the night playing cards in her room. Of all the ways her bed could have been used she couldn't believe that she'd wasted the night playing cards instead of kissing his chest, rubbing against his pecks and loving his perfect mouth.
Delanie screwed the lid back onto the water bottle and dove into the pool. The only way to get rid of thoughts of Sam was to torture her body into exhaustion. Sam was way too sexy and way too nice to be near.
She swam for what must have been an hour when the wind tossed a few palm leaves into the pool. She turned onto her back and looked up to find an inky black sky. She hopped out of the pool, surprised in the change of weather. After hugging a towel to her chest, she spun around, fearful of the massive storm approaching.
Behind the house she'd be able to see the horizon more clearly. She sprinted around the corner, not at all liking what she saw.
The sky was darker than she'd earlier believed. She hadn't known about any major storms. The weather station she'd listened to this morning hadn't spoke of thunderstorms. This was way worse than the other little rain cloud that had blown in a few days ago.
Damn, she thought hurricanes came later in the season. She'd been assured that nothing like this would come up while she was here. The owner couldn't make any guaranties, but they had said that storms usually came later in the year.
As she approached the clearing where the land rose slightly and gave her a three hundred and sixty degree view of the ocean, dread filled her. The clouds looked like something from Armageddon.
A palm leaf was ripped from a tree nearby and flew at her. She screamed in surprise then laughed once she realized it was just a leaf and wouldn't hurt her.
She thought about Sam and his instructions about the shutters. He'd told her how important locking them down would be in a dangerous storm. She ran back to the house rushing to secure the wood over the windows.
The first shutter proved to be more difficult than she had assumed it would be. The window was too high for her to reach. She had to go find a stepstool, and then once she could reach the window she realized that she'd placed the stool in the wrong spot.
The wind ripped the wood out of her hand, and the shutter crashed against the house, then it swung at her, catching her on the shoulder. She cried out as pain raced down her arm.
The stool wobbled as she tried to change her balance, it tilted forward then back. Delanie hopped down and slammed into a tree. Her neck stung. She reached up and came away with blood.
Damn, she had to get the shutter closed otherwise she would be dealing with more than a scratch on her neck.
She worked through the pain, encouraged that she didn't have any more trouble. She thought about Sam out here doing the shutters when the rain had been pelting his back. He really was too nice. Back in LA no one would have pitched in and helped like he did.
On the last window she had to drag the stool around again. This time she carefully placed the stool so she wouldn't be knocked over. A glance over her shoulder told her that the storm was growing in intensity.
Tonight would suck. She could imagine the wind and the rain. Did tornadoes form over the ocean? Damn, she wished she knew more about hurricanes and weather. Was this huge cloud just another storm or worse? She finished fastening the last shutter and went inside.
The owner of the house had installed a sliding wood door over the French doors too protect them. Delanie kept the doors open, hoping to watch the weather until it started raining.
What would she do if the storm hit and wrecked the house? She had no clue how to survive a hurricane.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
June 5, 2011
Chapter 9:Part 1
Bill walked two laps around the resort hopping to burn off his rage. He hopped in his car, anger still burning through the acid in his stomach. He pulled out behind a slow driving cab. Impatiens made him want to slam into the rear of the poky driver but he didn't.
Shana had angered him. She was acting like a baby. The woman knew how to push his buttons. The marriage was over. For some reason he still cared about her well being and just wanted to see how she'd managed after her drunken exhibit last night.
He should have stayed away. If he had any amount of a brain he would have steered clear of the bitch.
Bill saw a break in traffic and zoomed around the cab. He drove over the speed limit on his way to the hospital. Maybe Amanda would be awake and speaking.
The doctor believed her voice would return soon. He wheeled into the parking lot and slammed his car into park. After some deep breathing exercises Bill made his way up to the hospital entrance.
He wove his way through the halls and back to Amanda's room. The door was closed, but he pushed in without knocking. She was awake and her eyes lit up when she saw him. She waved him over and grasped his hand when he got close enough. With all of her strength she pulled him down close to her face. Bill felt a queasy rush spread throughout his body. The desire to kiss this amazing woman made him falter. He pulled back, but she tugged him down again.
With delight in her eyes she opened her mouth and he heard a slight whisper, "I can talk."
Bill stood tall. Excitement filled him. Amanda could answer questions now. There were conditions though. He could see the strain on her face and in her eyes. If he pushed her too quickly she could relapse.
"Do you know the name of the man who attacked you?"
Pain filled her features, "No."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
She closed her eyes and swallowed. With a shaky hand she reached out for her cup of water. He allowed her the time she needed to compose. In reality there wasn't enough time. He needed the information from her yesterday.
"I met him in a bar. He ignored me, gave me the brush off. Then I saw him a few day's later in a park."
Amanda's gaze met his. The air whooshed out of his lungs. She was in pain. He could see the nightmare in her gaze. He didn't want to humiliate her. If he could, he would take the burden from her and let her rest instead of relieving the nightmare.
She didn't look away as she continued her story. "I knew I had to have him. I can't emphasize enough how beautiful he w– was." Amanda's voice broke. She took a long pull on the straw, closing her eyes as the water slid down her throat. "This guy, he had dark hair, perfect body." A tear slid down her cheek. "I'd been so good too."
Bill wanted to ask questions, he could feel the information he needed close to the tip of her tongue. But he didn't want to interrupt her flow. Instead, he made notes in the margin of his notebook about questions he would ask later.
"I went up to him. Talked to him. He seemed so nice."
She reached for her cup again, the anguish in her eyes palpable. There was no easy way back through the story. He grasped her hand and squeezed tight.
"I should have known. He seemed too good to be true." She sat still for a moment, her eyes welling up with tears. "After a few minutes I asked him to meet me at the bar in the Atlantis at five. He said he couldn't. The tide and all. I wanted to see him so bad. Do you understand?"
Bill said nothing but nodded, hoping to keep her flowing with the story.
"He asked me back to his sailboat for a quick drink. Said we could exchange information there."
Amanda stopped talking and laid her head back onto the bed, closing her eyes. Bill thought she was done but she began speaking ever so softly.
"He must have drugged the wine. It was expensive too. I don't remember the name, but I remember him saying how great it was. I woke up tied to his bed. I fought of course, but in the end..."
"Do you remember what he looked like?"
"No, yes, kind of. I may be wrong. He wore a disguise on land. Mustache and different looking clothes. He drugged me." She coughed and swallowed twice without drinking. "I'm just not sure."
Bill studied Amanda, her features were strained, wrinkles evident on her forehead. He thought she had slipped into sleep when her features softened. The desire to touch her grew. All he wanted to do was stroke her hair, but he knew that would be wrong. Amanda had been through hell and deserved respect. If he had his way, he would lean over and kiss her forehead.
Her eyes popped open and he jumped back. She couldn't have known his thoughts, but for a few seconds he wondered.
He smiled down at her, hoping to hide his desire. "I'm going to ask the police to send over a sketch artist."
"I don't know."
"Trust me, it won't hurt and it might help."
"Bill, I'm afraid. What if he..."
"I'll have the hospital put a security guard on just outside your room. If we feel that the danger is upped, we'll get a police officer in here. I promise that you'll be safe. I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you."
"Can I call someone? Family? Your agent?"
"No, I don't want anyone to know I'm here."
"The press will probably find out unless we give another name to the doctor."
"You didn't tell the doctor my name?"
"No, I didn't want your privacy to be invaded."
She ducked her head as pink brightened her cheeks. "Thank you. You've been very nice."
"I'm going to let you rest now. You can talk to me later. Right now I need to arrange for the artist. Rest, and then we can go over your time with the man and how you escaped."
Bill thought he saw Amanda shrink away. She'd suffered horribly, and he didn't want to make her relive the experience over and over again. He would spare her most of the retailing if he could. But he needed answers if they hopped to catch the killer, because as sure as he lived, Bill was certain the man had intended for Amanda to die.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
Shana had angered him. She was acting like a baby. The woman knew how to push his buttons. The marriage was over. For some reason he still cared about her well being and just wanted to see how she'd managed after her drunken exhibit last night.
He should have stayed away. If he had any amount of a brain he would have steered clear of the bitch.
Bill saw a break in traffic and zoomed around the cab. He drove over the speed limit on his way to the hospital. Maybe Amanda would be awake and speaking.
The doctor believed her voice would return soon. He wheeled into the parking lot and slammed his car into park. After some deep breathing exercises Bill made his way up to the hospital entrance.
He wove his way through the halls and back to Amanda's room. The door was closed, but he pushed in without knocking. She was awake and her eyes lit up when she saw him. She waved him over and grasped his hand when he got close enough. With all of her strength she pulled him down close to her face. Bill felt a queasy rush spread throughout his body. The desire to kiss this amazing woman made him falter. He pulled back, but she tugged him down again.
With delight in her eyes she opened her mouth and he heard a slight whisper, "I can talk."
Bill stood tall. Excitement filled him. Amanda could answer questions now. There were conditions though. He could see the strain on her face and in her eyes. If he pushed her too quickly she could relapse.
"Do you know the name of the man who attacked you?"
Pain filled her features, "No."
"Can you tell me what happened?"
She closed her eyes and swallowed. With a shaky hand she reached out for her cup of water. He allowed her the time she needed to compose. In reality there wasn't enough time. He needed the information from her yesterday.
"I met him in a bar. He ignored me, gave me the brush off. Then I saw him a few day's later in a park."
Amanda's gaze met his. The air whooshed out of his lungs. She was in pain. He could see the nightmare in her gaze. He didn't want to humiliate her. If he could, he would take the burden from her and let her rest instead of relieving the nightmare.
She didn't look away as she continued her story. "I knew I had to have him. I can't emphasize enough how beautiful he w– was." Amanda's voice broke. She took a long pull on the straw, closing her eyes as the water slid down her throat. "This guy, he had dark hair, perfect body." A tear slid down her cheek. "I'd been so good too."
Bill wanted to ask questions, he could feel the information he needed close to the tip of her tongue. But he didn't want to interrupt her flow. Instead, he made notes in the margin of his notebook about questions he would ask later.
"I went up to him. Talked to him. He seemed so nice."
She reached for her cup again, the anguish in her eyes palpable. There was no easy way back through the story. He grasped her hand and squeezed tight.
"I should have known. He seemed too good to be true." She sat still for a moment, her eyes welling up with tears. "After a few minutes I asked him to meet me at the bar in the Atlantis at five. He said he couldn't. The tide and all. I wanted to see him so bad. Do you understand?"
Bill said nothing but nodded, hoping to keep her flowing with the story.
"He asked me back to his sailboat for a quick drink. Said we could exchange information there."
Amanda stopped talking and laid her head back onto the bed, closing her eyes. Bill thought she was done but she began speaking ever so softly.
"He must have drugged the wine. It was expensive too. I don't remember the name, but I remember him saying how great it was. I woke up tied to his bed. I fought of course, but in the end..."
"Do you remember what he looked like?"
"No, yes, kind of. I may be wrong. He wore a disguise on land. Mustache and different looking clothes. He drugged me." She coughed and swallowed twice without drinking. "I'm just not sure."
Bill studied Amanda, her features were strained, wrinkles evident on her forehead. He thought she had slipped into sleep when her features softened. The desire to touch her grew. All he wanted to do was stroke her hair, but he knew that would be wrong. Amanda had been through hell and deserved respect. If he had his way, he would lean over and kiss her forehead.
Her eyes popped open and he jumped back. She couldn't have known his thoughts, but for a few seconds he wondered.
He smiled down at her, hoping to hide his desire. "I'm going to ask the police to send over a sketch artist."
"I don't know."
"Trust me, it won't hurt and it might help."
"Bill, I'm afraid. What if he..."
"I'll have the hospital put a security guard on just outside your room. If we feel that the danger is upped, we'll get a police officer in here. I promise that you'll be safe. I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you."
"Can I call someone? Family? Your agent?"
"No, I don't want anyone to know I'm here."
"The press will probably find out unless we give another name to the doctor."
"You didn't tell the doctor my name?"
"No, I didn't want your privacy to be invaded."
She ducked her head as pink brightened her cheeks. "Thank you. You've been very nice."
"I'm going to let you rest now. You can talk to me later. Right now I need to arrange for the artist. Rest, and then we can go over your time with the man and how you escaped."
Bill thought he saw Amanda shrink away. She'd suffered horribly, and he didn't want to make her relive the experience over and over again. He would spare her most of the retailing if he could. But he needed answers if they hopped to catch the killer, because as sure as he lived, Bill was certain the man had intended for Amanda to die.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
June 4, 2011
Chapter 8: Part 5
Richard wanted to go back to Bleu Fish but feared he would be recognized. Too bad the bitch had died. How he picked such a useless woman was beyond him. He needed another to take her place before he took the trip through the canal.
With tourist plentiful, Richard had almost an unlimited number of places to search for the right girl, but he really wanted a certain class of person. Not any blonde would do. He needed someone who was amazing, beautiful, refined, and sophisticated. Someone who already thought lowly of themselves would be too easy to break.
His last one, well his last real one, had been perfect. Eventually she'd submitted to anything he'd asked. He wanted that again.
Richard chose the Library bar at the One and Only Club. The women were the type he liked, very rich and very blonde.
He sat on the far side of the room, not in too obvious of a spot, but a great place to people watch.
A waiter approached. "What will you have sir?"
Part of blending in and going unnoticed was being exactly what the person expected. "Macallan Scotch, neat."
The waiter raised his eyebrow, obviously impressed with the order. "Yes sir."
He watched the women sip their drinks and eat their cucumber sandwiches. No one caught his eye.
The waiter stopped by once more but Richard was done with the place. Disgust filled him. Nothing inspired his artistic side. He should go back to Bleu Fish where he would find more variety. The women at the One and Only Club were too stuffy.
After paying cash for his thousand-dollar dram of scotch, he decided to stroll through the grounds. He saw rich women who were way too snooty without the animation he required. It was almost like they were already dead.
Dressed in expensive clothes he'd nicked somewhere along the way he looked like he belonged so no one questioned his wanderings. The grounds were nice. He would love to do his work here. Just imagining a supple blonde tied up between the columns gave him a heady lift. He almost skipped down the colonnade but held back.
He slipped off the path and into a copse of trees. The cool damp earth smelt rich. If only he could rent out the place for the week, send everyone away. He could have so much fun on these grounds.
With cat like grace he moved through the trees, thinking about doing his work here. He'd gone a few hundred yards when he heard a couple arguing.
"Don't care."
"Listen, Shana, I'm not going to fight you on this. If you want to stay here and make a fool of yourself, fine. But I think you are making a huge mistake."
"You would."
"I'm going to leave now."
"Fine, go back to her."
"It's work, nothing more."
Richard wished he could see the couple. If the woman were blonde he would take her. He would find a way to get close to the bimbo and have her for his own.
"Damn it, William, I'm sick of being second."
"Shana, you are not second and you never have been. But work is work."
"You don't even need to work. You're selfish. You fucking bastard."
Richard heard steps receding. It was the heavy footfalls of a man. The woman remained behind. Just perfect.
He inched forward, searching for the lady. Every cell in his body ached for her to be blonde. With every step his heart beat faster. The unknown of the hunt excited him.
The soft hiccups of a woman crying could be heard through the trees. Inch by inch he moved nearer. He could taste her pain, smell her anguish.
The exhilaration of the moment drove him forward. Through the foliage he spied her ankle atop a slick red stiletto. Her toes were painted black. Enticing.
He let his eyes travel up her shapely legs. Her deep red skirt was short, and rumpled. She must have slept in her clothes, or maybe she and the man had gone a round in the bushes.
His gaze traveled up her body, pleased with the roundness of her breasts. He closed his eyes, not wanting to ruin the moment and find that her hair wasn't blonde. The tension in that instant made him hard.
It was litmus test time. Blond or no blond.
He popped open his eyes to see her walking away. Dark hair covered her head. Damn and double damn. He went limp as a deflated tire. No way he could take the bitch and use her for anything worthwhile. If she weren't already moving away he would probably kill her just because. Just thinking about how all these rich assholes would react to a murder on the Club's property lifted his spirits.
Richard marched to the reception area, hailed a cab and took it to Bay Street. He'd find a woman in one of the bars and take her.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
With tourist plentiful, Richard had almost an unlimited number of places to search for the right girl, but he really wanted a certain class of person. Not any blonde would do. He needed someone who was amazing, beautiful, refined, and sophisticated. Someone who already thought lowly of themselves would be too easy to break.
His last one, well his last real one, had been perfect. Eventually she'd submitted to anything he'd asked. He wanted that again.
Richard chose the Library bar at the One and Only Club. The women were the type he liked, very rich and very blonde.
He sat on the far side of the room, not in too obvious of a spot, but a great place to people watch.
A waiter approached. "What will you have sir?"
Part of blending in and going unnoticed was being exactly what the person expected. "Macallan Scotch, neat."
The waiter raised his eyebrow, obviously impressed with the order. "Yes sir."
He watched the women sip their drinks and eat their cucumber sandwiches. No one caught his eye.
The waiter stopped by once more but Richard was done with the place. Disgust filled him. Nothing inspired his artistic side. He should go back to Bleu Fish where he would find more variety. The women at the One and Only Club were too stuffy.
After paying cash for his thousand-dollar dram of scotch, he decided to stroll through the grounds. He saw rich women who were way too snooty without the animation he required. It was almost like they were already dead.
Dressed in expensive clothes he'd nicked somewhere along the way he looked like he belonged so no one questioned his wanderings. The grounds were nice. He would love to do his work here. Just imagining a supple blonde tied up between the columns gave him a heady lift. He almost skipped down the colonnade but held back.
He slipped off the path and into a copse of trees. The cool damp earth smelt rich. If only he could rent out the place for the week, send everyone away. He could have so much fun on these grounds.
With cat like grace he moved through the trees, thinking about doing his work here. He'd gone a few hundred yards when he heard a couple arguing.
"Don't care."
"Listen, Shana, I'm not going to fight you on this. If you want to stay here and make a fool of yourself, fine. But I think you are making a huge mistake."
"You would."
"I'm going to leave now."
"Fine, go back to her."
"It's work, nothing more."
Richard wished he could see the couple. If the woman were blonde he would take her. He would find a way to get close to the bimbo and have her for his own.
"Damn it, William, I'm sick of being second."
"Shana, you are not second and you never have been. But work is work."
"You don't even need to work. You're selfish. You fucking bastard."
Richard heard steps receding. It was the heavy footfalls of a man. The woman remained behind. Just perfect.
He inched forward, searching for the lady. Every cell in his body ached for her to be blonde. With every step his heart beat faster. The unknown of the hunt excited him.
The soft hiccups of a woman crying could be heard through the trees. Inch by inch he moved nearer. He could taste her pain, smell her anguish.
The exhilaration of the moment drove him forward. Through the foliage he spied her ankle atop a slick red stiletto. Her toes were painted black. Enticing.
He let his eyes travel up her shapely legs. Her deep red skirt was short, and rumpled. She must have slept in her clothes, or maybe she and the man had gone a round in the bushes.
His gaze traveled up her body, pleased with the roundness of her breasts. He closed his eyes, not wanting to ruin the moment and find that her hair wasn't blonde. The tension in that instant made him hard.
It was litmus test time. Blond or no blond.
He popped open his eyes to see her walking away. Dark hair covered her head. Damn and double damn. He went limp as a deflated tire. No way he could take the bitch and use her for anything worthwhile. If she weren't already moving away he would probably kill her just because. Just thinking about how all these rich assholes would react to a murder on the Club's property lifted his spirits.
Richard marched to the reception area, hailed a cab and took it to Bay Street. He'd find a woman in one of the bars and take her.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
June 3, 2011
Chapter 8: Part 4
Sam woke and noticed first off that his knee hurt. In college he'd been injured during an intense soccer tournament. Dirk Plastin, the jerk, had targeted him. The ball sailed over the other players heads and Sam and gone in for the score. He zeroed in on the ball, and feigned left then right. The goalie was totally overwhelmed. He scored what would later be known as the game-winning goal, but Dirk hadn't been happy. The jerk came at him, hitting hard.
In the end his knee was blown. Ligaments were torn, pain raced across his body. Dirk had been suspended for the season and Sam received a weather monitor. Every huge pressure change made his joint ache.
He jumped up from the deck and went immediately to the weather radio. He flicked it on. Really he should keep it on all the time, but he hated the extra noise. Static flicked through the speakers. Noise and more noise.
He hated the damn thing, but it saved him from ruin on more than one occasion. With the station tuned to someone actually speaking, he listened to the forecast. Nothing. No rain predicted, no storms on the radar.
He rubbed his knee. His kneecap felt full, heavy. He kicked his foot out trying to break up the stiffness. No matter what the weatherman said it was going to rain. Not just a sweet little sprinkle but a huge storm that would wreak havoc on his boat. This felt like hurricane weather, not sunny skies.
He was close to Delanie's island. He could boat back to Nassau or Grand Bahamas but what if he didn't make it. Something was off about the weather, he didn't want to be caught in a storm and tossed around like a toy boat.
Most hurricanes developed off of the coast of Africa. According to the weather reports nothing had developed yet, but there was that storm off the coast of Texas a few years back that went from nothing to level two in six hours. He didn't want to be stuck in something like that.
Anything could happen. The weather patterns were different this year. El Niño was active.
He would circle around the island, staying close. If a storm popped up the little protective inlet on Delanie's island would be perfect.
Copyright Sara Thacker
Murder Stalks
In the end his knee was blown. Ligaments were torn, pain raced across his body. Dirk had been suspended for the season and Sam received a weather monitor. Every huge pressure change made his joint ache.
He jumped up from the deck and went immediately to the weather radio. He flicked it on. Really he should keep it on all the time, but he hated the extra noise. Static flicked through the speakers. Noise and more noise.
He hated the damn thing, but it saved him from ruin on more than one occasion. With the station tuned to someone actually speaking, he listened to the forecast. Nothing. No rain predicted, no storms on the radar.
He rubbed his knee. His kneecap felt full, heavy. He kicked his foot out trying to break up the stiffness. No matter what the weatherman said it was going to rain. Not just a sweet little sprinkle but a huge storm that would wreak havoc on his boat. This felt like hurricane weather, not sunny skies.
He was close to Delanie's island. He could boat back to Nassau or Grand Bahamas but what if he didn't make it. Something was off about the weather, he didn't want to be caught in a storm and tossed around like a toy boat.
Most hurricanes developed off of the coast of Africa. According to the weather reports nothing had developed yet, but there was that storm off the coast of Texas a few years back that went from nothing to level two in six hours. He didn't want to be stuck in something like that.
Anything could happen. The weather patterns were different this year. El Niño was active.
He would circle around the island, staying close. If a storm popped up the little protective inlet on Delanie's island would be perfect.
Copyright Sara Thacker
Murder Stalks
June 2, 2011
Chapter 8: Part 3
Delanie picked up the phone on the fourth ring. "Hello," she knew it was probably her agent, but reports were bulldogs, never resting. She learned early on never to answer and state her name.
"Delanie, it's Mimi. I was wondering how you're holding up?"
"I'm fine."
"You should come home."
"Mimi, I am not coming home. I'm happy here. I need this rest."
"It's dangerous."
"No. I'm in no more danger here than anywhere else."
"But Amanda."
"I'm not Amanda. Besides, my hair is still brown."
"Really?"
"It's fading, but not too fast. No one would target me because of my blonde hair." She toyed with her hair. It looked blond but she didn't want to go back to civilization. This time away was too important.
"I'm just worried about you."
Delanie walked out to the pool and dipped her toes into the cool water. She should go for another swim. Without any hesitation she dropped her shorts and her panties. "Hold on just a second." She put down the phone and pulled her top off. Her body had tanned up nicely in the few days she'd been here.
"Mimi, I'm not coming home early."
"Fine, but you need to be careful."
Delanie looked down at her naked body. She could never do this at home. Everyone wanted to see naked pictures of her. If she even thought about skinny-dipping back home the press would be on her. Out here she had freedom. "I'll be super careful, don't worry. By the way, I'm ready to start thinking about a new project."
"A new project? That's great. I'll start talking you up. What do you want, a Tom Hanks, or maybe a Ron Howard?"
"Something good, something classic. I want to do something different, difficult and inspiring."
"That's one tall order."
"I feel good, Mimi. I think this year will be my best. I really want to do something amazing."
"Okay, I'll get to work on finding you the right project."
"Mimi, thanks. You're one in a million."
Delanie hung up, placed the phone on the table and jumped into the pool. The water cooled her body and soothed the ache in her calves. She'd run on the beach earlier in the day just like she'd done every day this week.
This week had been a week of other first too. Not only was she skinny dipping, she also hadn't showered today, and she ate ice cream two days in a row. Dangerous wouldn't even come close to how she was living.
A new project would be exciting. Maybe she could do something that would take her to the next level of acting. Something that would inspire people. Delanie hopped out of the pool and lay down on a chase lounge. The sun and ocean breeze dried her body. The gentle touch of the wind made her think about Sam. He hadn't touched her, but next time she would welcome him to explore her body.
She closed her eyes and imagined him touching her, kissing her. If only she could contact him she would do a booty call.
Delanie jumped up and dove into the pool. She was disgusted with herself. A fucking booty call was at the top of her mind. She didn't want to fall back into a crappy relationship like that. She wanted true love and romance. No one-night stands, and no meaningless sex.
She'd broken herself of that habit with Rhye, and she wouldn't fall back into that type of behavior. Not with Sam, and not with anyone else. She swam until her body ached with exhaustion.
With shaky arms, she pulled herself out of the water and got dressed, not even bothering to dry off. Life after the island would be different than life before. No meaningless relationships. This time she was going to get it right. Thank God, she didn't know how to contact Sam, because if she did, she feared all of her resolutions about turning over a new leaf would be dashed on the rocks of heated passion.
Copyright Sara Thacker
"Delanie, it's Mimi. I was wondering how you're holding up?"
"I'm fine."
"You should come home."
"Mimi, I am not coming home. I'm happy here. I need this rest."
"It's dangerous."
"No. I'm in no more danger here than anywhere else."
"But Amanda."
"I'm not Amanda. Besides, my hair is still brown."
"Really?"
"It's fading, but not too fast. No one would target me because of my blonde hair." She toyed with her hair. It looked blond but she didn't want to go back to civilization. This time away was too important.
"I'm just worried about you."
Delanie walked out to the pool and dipped her toes into the cool water. She should go for another swim. Without any hesitation she dropped her shorts and her panties. "Hold on just a second." She put down the phone and pulled her top off. Her body had tanned up nicely in the few days she'd been here.
"Mimi, I'm not coming home early."
"Fine, but you need to be careful."
Delanie looked down at her naked body. She could never do this at home. Everyone wanted to see naked pictures of her. If she even thought about skinny-dipping back home the press would be on her. Out here she had freedom. "I'll be super careful, don't worry. By the way, I'm ready to start thinking about a new project."
"A new project? That's great. I'll start talking you up. What do you want, a Tom Hanks, or maybe a Ron Howard?"
"Something good, something classic. I want to do something different, difficult and inspiring."
"That's one tall order."
"I feel good, Mimi. I think this year will be my best. I really want to do something amazing."
"Okay, I'll get to work on finding you the right project."
"Mimi, thanks. You're one in a million."
Delanie hung up, placed the phone on the table and jumped into the pool. The water cooled her body and soothed the ache in her calves. She'd run on the beach earlier in the day just like she'd done every day this week.
This week had been a week of other first too. Not only was she skinny dipping, she also hadn't showered today, and she ate ice cream two days in a row. Dangerous wouldn't even come close to how she was living.
A new project would be exciting. Maybe she could do something that would take her to the next level of acting. Something that would inspire people. Delanie hopped out of the pool and lay down on a chase lounge. The sun and ocean breeze dried her body. The gentle touch of the wind made her think about Sam. He hadn't touched her, but next time she would welcome him to explore her body.
She closed her eyes and imagined him touching her, kissing her. If only she could contact him she would do a booty call.
Delanie jumped up and dove into the pool. She was disgusted with herself. A fucking booty call was at the top of her mind. She didn't want to fall back into a crappy relationship like that. She wanted true love and romance. No one-night stands, and no meaningless sex.
She'd broken herself of that habit with Rhye, and she wouldn't fall back into that type of behavior. Not with Sam, and not with anyone else. She swam until her body ached with exhaustion.
With shaky arms, she pulled herself out of the water and got dressed, not even bothering to dry off. Life after the island would be different than life before. No meaningless relationships. This time she was going to get it right. Thank God, she didn't know how to contact Sam, because if she did, she feared all of her resolutions about turning over a new leaf would be dashed on the rocks of heated passion.
Copyright Sara Thacker
June 1, 2011
Chapter 8: Part 2
After six hours of sitting with Amanda, Bill decided it was time to check into a hotel. He needed a base of operation. There were no field offices operating in the Bahamas, the closest was in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic, but they didn't need to be alerted to his operation. He would contact the office to see if they had any missing blonds, but it was the Dominican Republic.
The cheep motel where he decided to store his stuff had no ocean view and would probably get a two star rating, and that was being generous.
When he came to the islands, he usually stayed in one of the more expensive resorts or in a private home, but this was close to the hospital and that mattered more than his personal comfort.
His wife was probably spending money like it grew on trees. She didn't have an allowance, but she also didn't have access to most of his money. Only his FBI paycheck was at her disposal. He had insisted on credit cards with limits, that left him feeling a bit more secure that he wouldn't have to sell a chunk of stock to pay off her anger fueled tirade.
He dumped his suitcases on the bed, ready for the next part of his plan. Amanda, and the three other girls who disappeared, did something. Someone had to know about their movements. Supposedly, Amanda had been at home in a very secluded area of Paradise Island in the Bahamas. She had been seen at a club on the island, and then she'd disappeared.
How could so many women just up and disappear. No one saw any foul play. The lady who disappeared yesterday hadn't been seen talking to anyone in particular. No one could remember anyone hitting on her. They hadn't seen a stranger lurking around. Basically their friends saw nothing, their neighbors didn't know, and all four of the women just up and went poof.
The FBI hated it when people disappeared. Everyone left a trail, but every so often the trail died quickly, leaving the agents in the dark. Hopefully Amanda would wake tomorrow with her voice. Such a shame, the amazing singer couldn't even speak.
Bill took a moment to shower and change. He pulled his shirt on, dressing more casual than he ever would in the states. A black suit wouldn't fit in on the island, and he wanted to blend.
The sun would set quickly. He'd heard that the last missing girl, Maggie Shay, had been at a restaurant around the corner for breakfast yesterday.
The place was near the water and looked to be ramping up for a wild night of fun. He wondered what type of crowd would be hanging around at six in the morning. Bill checked the hours. The Bleu Fish operated around the clock.
"Table for two?" The maitre d' asked.
"Just one." Bill followed the man through the swanky place to the back left corner. The maitre d' sat him at a table on the riser level in the back. The exact place he would have chosen if given the opportunity.
"Enjoy."
Bill took the menu and pretended to look over the offerings. The restaurant was set up so he could see every table. It would be easy to study others in a place like this. Maybe the guy had been checking her out. Biding his time. Then he snatched her off the streets once she left the building. But that would have had to happen in the morning, broad daylight no doubt. Cloak and dagger didn't work so well in the morning light.
Bill turned to stare at the entrance. He stiffened when he saw his wife on the arm of some beach jock. The rush of anger ripped through him. His fists clenched and his stomach churned.
It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, and yet she's already went hunting for a replacement. Nothing had prepared him for this.
They hadn't been close in months so he shouldn't be surprised, but hell, he hadn't expected her to skip into bed with another so quickly. If they hadn't been having so many problems, he would hop up and insist she go home. Then they could talk rationally over their issues, but their life hadn't been even close to decent in months.
The guy reached around and kissed Bill's wife. She looked pleased, overly giddy. Bill knew that after seeing this they could never get back what they had before. Pretending she hadn't just broken his heart would make anyone crazy, and he was no exception.
He wanted to lash out at her, but he wasn't here on his own personal business, and her cheating on him was more personal than anything else he'd ever experienced. He needed to find the killer, learn what happened, and prevent it from happening again.
Shana would have to wait. He would call his lawyers. They deserved to know about this new development since they did such a great job keeping his life straight.
The waitress came to take his order. Bill pushed Shana from his mind.
"Hi, my name is Jess, I'll be serving you tonight. What can I get for you?"
"Jess, you could tell me about the specials, and then I have a few questions for you."
"Okay, today's specials include a eight inch lobster tail with butter sauce and asparagus. We also have steak you could pair with the lobster tail. Our chef has created a wonderful shrimp ravioli with cream sauce served over grilled vegetables."
"I'll have the lobster tail and an appetizer of calamari."
"Would you like some wine with your meal."
"No thanks, I'll stick with tea. Jess, do you ever work in the mornings?"
"No sir, I'm only evenings. Different type of clientele in the mornings. Low pay, almost no tips."
"Could you tell me what time the morning staff comes in? Also, how many people are here when you leave."
"I usually stay until one or one thirty. Then the place dies down. The boss keeps it open to serve coffee to the late partiers. A few boaters will come in late and want food. There's also a thriving group of older gentlemen who spend a few hours here in the middle of the night. I've heard that at around five or so in the morning it's totally dead. A few fishermen trying to get out before the sun comes up that's all."
"You know any of the waiters?"
"No, but Mario would."
"Mario?"
"Big guy at the bar in red. He owns the place."
"Fantastic."
"I'll send him over after your dinner."
"That would be great. And Jess, thanks for the time."
"I'm here to please."
Jess turned to walk away, but Bill called him back. "Jess, I would like to send over a bottle of wine to a couple on the other side of the bar. She's got a white tube top on, hair is jet black. She's with a guy that's pumped up beyond what is normal."
"Sure, what would you like to send?"
"Give them any bottle that's about five hundred dollars."
Jess gave a little bow and smiled. "Yes sir, I'll ask our sommelier to pick something."
"Good, that would be wonderful."
After about thirty seconds Bill wanted to stop Jess from passing on the information to the sommelier. It had been a childish prank, something he'd thought of in anger.
His heart raced as he watched the sommelier approach Shana's table. The man she was with had her in a lip lock that bordered on embarrassing. The waiter hesitated until they were done. His wife looked over, confusion, shock, and then finally anger marred her features. With his luck she would think he was here just for the fun of it, which was far from the truth.
Bill lifted his glass of tea to her as his heart clenched. Her involvement with another man would make the divorce easier. Damn, he hated impossible situations and this was impossible. He couldn't stay with her now. Bill liked to think of himself as a forgiving person, but Shana's cheating hurt. Getting over her infidelity wasn't an option.
Bill's food came, and had he not been famished he wouldn't have been able to eat a bite, but he refused to become run down because of Shana's antics. Truthfully, she didn't love him anymore. He'd know it for months but didn't want to admit the failure. A relationship couldn't last that was built on hatred, and with the way Shana was treating him, he knew she sure as hell didn't love him.
The owner, Mario, stopped by. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Mario, and I would like to thank you for your business tonight. How may I be of service?"
Bill pulled his credentials and flipped them open. "Special agent Rowland, I need to ask you some questions about the morning shift."
"I had no idea the FBI provided so well for their agents."
"I may be here on agency business, but tonight I wanted a real meal so I decided to spend my own money. I would have to say it was worth every penny."
"Thank you. Now what would you like to know?"
"One of your patrons two mornings ago is missing. We were wondering if anything happened funny that day?"
Mario scratched his chin. "By funny, I guess you mean out of the ordinary?"
"Yes."
"What time?"
"Her credit card company puts the time around six in the morning."
"Let me think." The owner took the seat across from Bill, he closed his eyes and looked like he was in deep thought. "No, no funny business."
Bill wanted to ask the guy if he was for real, but he didn't want to anger the man. Either the guy was telling the truth or he wasn't, Bill would eventually find out. "So can I get a copy of your receipts for yesterday morning? Check to see who was here."
"Mr. Rowland, while I am happy to answer questions, I can not give out personal information. Our clients expect a certain amount of privacy. As you can see your wife is here entertaining another man. How would it look if it got out that I told the FBI who dined here? Privacy is very important on the island."
"How do you know she is my wife?"
"Our waiters are very good, and your wife is less than discrete. She told the sommelier when he opened the wine you were so gracious to purchase."
"Hmm, so who was working that morning and will he be working tomorrow?"
"Greg and me. Let me go check the schedule to see if Greg was here."
Bill cursed his luck. There was no way he could get a subpoena to force the owner to give him the receipts. The local police may be able to, but not him.
"Will Greg speak truthfully to me?"
"Yes, just as I have. It was a quiet morning. A few customers. Man wanting to go fishing. Our regulars who are here every morning."
"Regulars."
"Many of them will not speak with you. They might not be as legal as others."
Bill raised his eyebrows but didn't want to press his luck. Great, the mob was operating in the Bahamas and he knew where they were meeting. His mission was to find a killer, not bust some drug cartel. Ignoring the indiscretions of a few regulars of this restaurant might score him the target he sought.
"Fine, I don't care who your regulars are or what they've done. As long as they aren't the killer I'm after."
"I'll relay the message. They will talk."
Bill watched the owner walk away, his eyes swept to the bar, searching for his wife. From across the room he could tell that Shana was drunk. The noble thing to do would be to collect her, take her back to his room and tuck her in for the night. He hated being noble.
Mario came back and confirmed that Greg would be on site tomorrow morning. Great, another chance to come back to the place where his heart had been ripped in two.
Bill stood stiffly and threw an extra twenty onto the table. He paid in cash, no way for his six hundred dollar meal to get back to the Bureau. Every fiber of his being told him to exit the building and let Shana screw herself, but he couldn't.
With heavy steps he marched over to her table and pulled her up. Her wasted state prevented her from protesting too much. He got her outside and pushed her into his car. She passed out before he could run around to the drivers seat.
He didn't want her in his room or in his bed. After rifling through her purse he found a key fob for her room. Great, she was staying at the One and Only Ocean Club.
She would pick that hotel. Probably loved the majestic setting with the marble columns and statues. The place was expensive, refined. If she rented a cottage he would force her to check out and move her into the rattrap he was staying at. Not that he wanted to be close to her, but he sure as hell wouldn't pay four thousand a night for her to stay in a four-bedroom place.
Copyright Sara Thacker
The cheep motel where he decided to store his stuff had no ocean view and would probably get a two star rating, and that was being generous.
When he came to the islands, he usually stayed in one of the more expensive resorts or in a private home, but this was close to the hospital and that mattered more than his personal comfort.
His wife was probably spending money like it grew on trees. She didn't have an allowance, but she also didn't have access to most of his money. Only his FBI paycheck was at her disposal. He had insisted on credit cards with limits, that left him feeling a bit more secure that he wouldn't have to sell a chunk of stock to pay off her anger fueled tirade.
He dumped his suitcases on the bed, ready for the next part of his plan. Amanda, and the three other girls who disappeared, did something. Someone had to know about their movements. Supposedly, Amanda had been at home in a very secluded area of Paradise Island in the Bahamas. She had been seen at a club on the island, and then she'd disappeared.
How could so many women just up and disappear. No one saw any foul play. The lady who disappeared yesterday hadn't been seen talking to anyone in particular. No one could remember anyone hitting on her. They hadn't seen a stranger lurking around. Basically their friends saw nothing, their neighbors didn't know, and all four of the women just up and went poof.
The FBI hated it when people disappeared. Everyone left a trail, but every so often the trail died quickly, leaving the agents in the dark. Hopefully Amanda would wake tomorrow with her voice. Such a shame, the amazing singer couldn't even speak.
Bill took a moment to shower and change. He pulled his shirt on, dressing more casual than he ever would in the states. A black suit wouldn't fit in on the island, and he wanted to blend.
The sun would set quickly. He'd heard that the last missing girl, Maggie Shay, had been at a restaurant around the corner for breakfast yesterday.
The place was near the water and looked to be ramping up for a wild night of fun. He wondered what type of crowd would be hanging around at six in the morning. Bill checked the hours. The Bleu Fish operated around the clock.
"Table for two?" The maitre d' asked.
"Just one." Bill followed the man through the swanky place to the back left corner. The maitre d' sat him at a table on the riser level in the back. The exact place he would have chosen if given the opportunity.
"Enjoy."
Bill took the menu and pretended to look over the offerings. The restaurant was set up so he could see every table. It would be easy to study others in a place like this. Maybe the guy had been checking her out. Biding his time. Then he snatched her off the streets once she left the building. But that would have had to happen in the morning, broad daylight no doubt. Cloak and dagger didn't work so well in the morning light.
Bill turned to stare at the entrance. He stiffened when he saw his wife on the arm of some beach jock. The rush of anger ripped through him. His fists clenched and his stomach churned.
It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, and yet she's already went hunting for a replacement. Nothing had prepared him for this.
They hadn't been close in months so he shouldn't be surprised, but hell, he hadn't expected her to skip into bed with another so quickly. If they hadn't been having so many problems, he would hop up and insist she go home. Then they could talk rationally over their issues, but their life hadn't been even close to decent in months.
The guy reached around and kissed Bill's wife. She looked pleased, overly giddy. Bill knew that after seeing this they could never get back what they had before. Pretending she hadn't just broken his heart would make anyone crazy, and he was no exception.
He wanted to lash out at her, but he wasn't here on his own personal business, and her cheating on him was more personal than anything else he'd ever experienced. He needed to find the killer, learn what happened, and prevent it from happening again.
Shana would have to wait. He would call his lawyers. They deserved to know about this new development since they did such a great job keeping his life straight.
The waitress came to take his order. Bill pushed Shana from his mind.
"Hi, my name is Jess, I'll be serving you tonight. What can I get for you?"
"Jess, you could tell me about the specials, and then I have a few questions for you."
"Okay, today's specials include a eight inch lobster tail with butter sauce and asparagus. We also have steak you could pair with the lobster tail. Our chef has created a wonderful shrimp ravioli with cream sauce served over grilled vegetables."
"I'll have the lobster tail and an appetizer of calamari."
"Would you like some wine with your meal."
"No thanks, I'll stick with tea. Jess, do you ever work in the mornings?"
"No sir, I'm only evenings. Different type of clientele in the mornings. Low pay, almost no tips."
"Could you tell me what time the morning staff comes in? Also, how many people are here when you leave."
"I usually stay until one or one thirty. Then the place dies down. The boss keeps it open to serve coffee to the late partiers. A few boaters will come in late and want food. There's also a thriving group of older gentlemen who spend a few hours here in the middle of the night. I've heard that at around five or so in the morning it's totally dead. A few fishermen trying to get out before the sun comes up that's all."
"You know any of the waiters?"
"No, but Mario would."
"Mario?"
"Big guy at the bar in red. He owns the place."
"Fantastic."
"I'll send him over after your dinner."
"That would be great. And Jess, thanks for the time."
"I'm here to please."
Jess turned to walk away, but Bill called him back. "Jess, I would like to send over a bottle of wine to a couple on the other side of the bar. She's got a white tube top on, hair is jet black. She's with a guy that's pumped up beyond what is normal."
"Sure, what would you like to send?"
"Give them any bottle that's about five hundred dollars."
Jess gave a little bow and smiled. "Yes sir, I'll ask our sommelier to pick something."
"Good, that would be wonderful."
After about thirty seconds Bill wanted to stop Jess from passing on the information to the sommelier. It had been a childish prank, something he'd thought of in anger.
His heart raced as he watched the sommelier approach Shana's table. The man she was with had her in a lip lock that bordered on embarrassing. The waiter hesitated until they were done. His wife looked over, confusion, shock, and then finally anger marred her features. With his luck she would think he was here just for the fun of it, which was far from the truth.
Bill lifted his glass of tea to her as his heart clenched. Her involvement with another man would make the divorce easier. Damn, he hated impossible situations and this was impossible. He couldn't stay with her now. Bill liked to think of himself as a forgiving person, but Shana's cheating hurt. Getting over her infidelity wasn't an option.
Bill's food came, and had he not been famished he wouldn't have been able to eat a bite, but he refused to become run down because of Shana's antics. Truthfully, she didn't love him anymore. He'd know it for months but didn't want to admit the failure. A relationship couldn't last that was built on hatred, and with the way Shana was treating him, he knew she sure as hell didn't love him.
The owner, Mario, stopped by. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Mario, and I would like to thank you for your business tonight. How may I be of service?"
Bill pulled his credentials and flipped them open. "Special agent Rowland, I need to ask you some questions about the morning shift."
"I had no idea the FBI provided so well for their agents."
"I may be here on agency business, but tonight I wanted a real meal so I decided to spend my own money. I would have to say it was worth every penny."
"Thank you. Now what would you like to know?"
"One of your patrons two mornings ago is missing. We were wondering if anything happened funny that day?"
Mario scratched his chin. "By funny, I guess you mean out of the ordinary?"
"Yes."
"What time?"
"Her credit card company puts the time around six in the morning."
"Let me think." The owner took the seat across from Bill, he closed his eyes and looked like he was in deep thought. "No, no funny business."
Bill wanted to ask the guy if he was for real, but he didn't want to anger the man. Either the guy was telling the truth or he wasn't, Bill would eventually find out. "So can I get a copy of your receipts for yesterday morning? Check to see who was here."
"Mr. Rowland, while I am happy to answer questions, I can not give out personal information. Our clients expect a certain amount of privacy. As you can see your wife is here entertaining another man. How would it look if it got out that I told the FBI who dined here? Privacy is very important on the island."
"How do you know she is my wife?"
"Our waiters are very good, and your wife is less than discrete. She told the sommelier when he opened the wine you were so gracious to purchase."
"Hmm, so who was working that morning and will he be working tomorrow?"
"Greg and me. Let me go check the schedule to see if Greg was here."
Bill cursed his luck. There was no way he could get a subpoena to force the owner to give him the receipts. The local police may be able to, but not him.
"Will Greg speak truthfully to me?"
"Yes, just as I have. It was a quiet morning. A few customers. Man wanting to go fishing. Our regulars who are here every morning."
"Regulars."
"Many of them will not speak with you. They might not be as legal as others."
Bill raised his eyebrows but didn't want to press his luck. Great, the mob was operating in the Bahamas and he knew where they were meeting. His mission was to find a killer, not bust some drug cartel. Ignoring the indiscretions of a few regulars of this restaurant might score him the target he sought.
"Fine, I don't care who your regulars are or what they've done. As long as they aren't the killer I'm after."
"I'll relay the message. They will talk."
Bill watched the owner walk away, his eyes swept to the bar, searching for his wife. From across the room he could tell that Shana was drunk. The noble thing to do would be to collect her, take her back to his room and tuck her in for the night. He hated being noble.
Mario came back and confirmed that Greg would be on site tomorrow morning. Great, another chance to come back to the place where his heart had been ripped in two.
Bill stood stiffly and threw an extra twenty onto the table. He paid in cash, no way for his six hundred dollar meal to get back to the Bureau. Every fiber of his being told him to exit the building and let Shana screw herself, but he couldn't.
With heavy steps he marched over to her table and pulled her up. Her wasted state prevented her from protesting too much. He got her outside and pushed her into his car. She passed out before he could run around to the drivers seat.
He didn't want her in his room or in his bed. After rifling through her purse he found a key fob for her room. Great, she was staying at the One and Only Ocean Club.
She would pick that hotel. Probably loved the majestic setting with the marble columns and statues. The place was expensive, refined. If she rented a cottage he would force her to check out and move her into the rattrap he was staying at. Not that he wanted to be close to her, but he sure as hell wouldn't pay four thousand a night for her to stay in a four-bedroom place.
Copyright Sara Thacker
May 31, 2011
Chapter 8: Part 1
The sun raked over his body, heating his skin. He looked for shark signs, making sure no predators lurked near. Sam threw a rope into the water and hopped in. Ultra aware that his sailboat could float away, he grabbed onto the line and wrapped it around his wrist. If he were anchored he wouldn't worry, but he was trying to stay far enough from Delanie's island yet close enough to keep a mental connection to the woman who inspired him.
He went under the water and shot back up, cooled off and ready to think about his future business prospects, and his future with Delanie. He climbed out of the water and drip dried on deck. After a few minutes he opened his laptop to the financial data up he'd received and poured over the information again. Nothing seemed amiss.
Sam pulled up his correspondence folder. Reading over the last two years of board reports and emails. His companies were doing great. He need not worry about their health and future.
After two hours of investigating he pulled up a file he hadn't seen before. He found two Xcel files and one Word document. He opened the Word document and read the first line. Reasons why Samuel Taylor should be barred from running the company.
The document went on from there, detailing his failings. Devastation couldn't even come close to how he felt. Sam closed the computer and stored it below deck. He had no idea how his board felt about him.
He couldn't believe he'd gone through life and been so oblivious. How could he have been so much of a jerk and never seen it? The bum incident had changed him, but still, even with that episode he had no clue so few liked him.
It was true that his companies were doing better without him. He had no personal commitments. Who the hell needed him?
The uselessness of his existence made him sick. Sure he made money, but he hadn't done any great things. Hell, even his closest employees hated him. He once thought of those people as friends, but now he knew they weren't.
A dolphin jumped, breaking the surface of the water then slid below again. Could he just slip away? Never in all his years had he felt so crappy. His heart hurt, his body ached. He wanted to throw a fit. Two years ago he would have chewed someone's ass.
After two minutes of deep breathing he dropped to the deck. Looking out into the dark blue waters of the ocean, he wondered how he could go on. He didn't want to be the jerk or the asshole. How long had the hatred of Samuel Taylor been going on?
There had to be something redeemable about his life. He'd built up an empire of companies, surely he could figure out how to change his life. It wouldn't be easy, but he didn't want to be the guy in that damned document.
The sailboat shifted, Delanie's island came into view. For Delanie he could be better. Even if she didn't want anything to do with him, he would try, but not in a push way. Because, apparently he was pushy and a jerk. He vowed to change that.
Copyright Sara Thacker
He went under the water and shot back up, cooled off and ready to think about his future business prospects, and his future with Delanie. He climbed out of the water and drip dried on deck. After a few minutes he opened his laptop to the financial data up he'd received and poured over the information again. Nothing seemed amiss.
Sam pulled up his correspondence folder. Reading over the last two years of board reports and emails. His companies were doing great. He need not worry about their health and future.
After two hours of investigating he pulled up a file he hadn't seen before. He found two Xcel files and one Word document. He opened the Word document and read the first line. Reasons why Samuel Taylor should be barred from running the company.
The document went on from there, detailing his failings. Devastation couldn't even come close to how he felt. Sam closed the computer and stored it below deck. He had no idea how his board felt about him.
He couldn't believe he'd gone through life and been so oblivious. How could he have been so much of a jerk and never seen it? The bum incident had changed him, but still, even with that episode he had no clue so few liked him.
It was true that his companies were doing better without him. He had no personal commitments. Who the hell needed him?
The uselessness of his existence made him sick. Sure he made money, but he hadn't done any great things. Hell, even his closest employees hated him. He once thought of those people as friends, but now he knew they weren't.
A dolphin jumped, breaking the surface of the water then slid below again. Could he just slip away? Never in all his years had he felt so crappy. His heart hurt, his body ached. He wanted to throw a fit. Two years ago he would have chewed someone's ass.
After two minutes of deep breathing he dropped to the deck. Looking out into the dark blue waters of the ocean, he wondered how he could go on. He didn't want to be the jerk or the asshole. How long had the hatred of Samuel Taylor been going on?
There had to be something redeemable about his life. He'd built up an empire of companies, surely he could figure out how to change his life. It wouldn't be easy, but he didn't want to be the guy in that damned document.
The sailboat shifted, Delanie's island came into view. For Delanie he could be better. Even if she didn't want anything to do with him, he would try, but not in a push way. Because, apparently he was pushy and a jerk. He vowed to change that.
Copyright Sara Thacker
May 30, 2011
Chapter 7: Part 5
Dr. Monsubie walked into the visitor room and didn't crack a smile, his face gruff and unforgiving.
"Agent Rowland, this lady, the one you want to speak to, she hasn't spoken a word. We don't know who she is. She could very well be just someone that survived a shipwreck, not at all your girl."
"But you don't think so. You think she's been abused and is one of the women I'm looking for."
"I don't know. The ship captain who brought her in said that the raft was huge, one that is used on large boats. Her skin has been burned by the sun over many days. I doubt if she will ever look like she once did. She will need to be checked for cancer every year for the rest of her life. The damage is astounding. But that's not what you asked. I think her body has suffered terrible damage. I've not checked her for sexual assault. I'm pumping her full of antibiotics. She'll recover physically from that type of assault, but she may never recover mentally."
"I understand. Unfortunately she isn't the first victim I've worked with. I will treat her with respect and kindness. I have a few days available for questioning. I won't make her upset. I just want to find her attacker."
"Are you sure about this? I mean, could this all be just an inexperienced sailor who had an accident."
"It could be, but there are other women missing. I find it amazing that someone found this lady. If she is one of the women identified as missing then we will have a tremendous break that may very well prevent other women from being put through a horrible ordeal."
Dr. Monsubie picked up his phone. "Nurse Lanta, could you please take our guest to the woman who was found at sea."
So they were calling him a guest. They must not resent his being here too much. If he could keep it that way then maybe he could use the doctors and nurses to his advantage. Not the he would manipulate anyone negatively, but he wanted to solve this case and would use every advantage he could.
Experience taught him that he would have to push the victim. Letting her go at her own pace wouldn't work long term. He didn't have days and days for her to feel better. He needed the woman to answer his questions. A sketch of the man who had taken her was a must. Getting the details of her attacker was imperative to working up a profile. Having people to interview would make all the difference in the world.
Before this woman showed up it was total conjecture that there had been a crime. Now he had proof.
The nurse pushed the door open, Bill walked through. Two feet into the room he came to a dead stop. The woman looked horrible. Ligature marks could be made out on her wrists and neck. She's been through hell.
Her eyes opened and a hint of recognition slithered down his spine. He blinked and the resemblance, whatever there was, disappeared. He moved close to her, keeping his face blank and his voice quite.
"I know you are having trouble speaking, I just have a few questions. Maybe you could shake your head. Do you think you could do that?"
Her head nodded twice and then her gaze locked with his. She was a fighter. Hope surged through him for her. If she kept up this good attitude then maybe she would recover mentally. The doctors could help her physically.
"Do you want the nurse to stay?"
Her head moved left and then right. She wanted privacy, good sign for him, bad for her. This had to be one of the girls he was looking for.
He turned to the nurse, "Could you give us a moment."
"Sure, but tell me when you leave so we can give her some more medicine."
"Will do. I'll probably want to speak to the doctor again."
The nurse left, closing the door behind her. Bill turned back around, caught by surprise by the woman in the hospital bed. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, accentuating her long neck. Her eyelids opened slowly, her gaze scorching him from between the small slits of her lids. The recognition hit him in the gut. This wasn't just any woman, he knew her. But it couldn't be.
Even with the leathery skin, the bad hair and the weight loss her identity couldn't be denied. Why hadn't he seen it before? Probably because he hadn't wanted to think of her damaged this way. The doctor's words echoed through his head - "She can't speak." The songbird of songbirds, the woman with a crystal clear voice that spilled out over the airways with soothing sounds couldn't speak.
He found himself beside her, holding her hand. His emotions were on his sleeve, not hidden away like a good little FBI agent.
Bill held his breath, trying to digest the news that his idol had been so abused. Fury ripped through him, but he calmed the anger, concentrating on helping her.
She stared up at him, her eyes wide and unsure. He'd frightened her. How could he be acting so stupid?
"Amanda." The whisper of her name brought a new look to her face. The confusion fled, her eyes softened. He saw tears form. Earlier he had planned on being ruthless and pushing for information, now he couldn't.
"It's really you, Amanda?"
She nodded, her face crumbling into a tumult of emotions. He gently placed his arms around her, holding her loosely. The stupidity of becoming emotionally involved in a case ranked up there with telling your boss to shove off, but he couldn't help it. This was Amanda.
Eventually she stopped sobbing. He let her lay back against the bed, his hand still smoothing out her hair. Like any music aficionado, he loved Amanda. Not that he even knew her, but the love was there.
The months at Quantico finally kicked in. The detachment worked itself slowly through his body, allowing him to step away from the bed and stop smoothing her hair.
"Are you able to speak at all?"
She tried, valiantly at first, and then frustration took hold.
"Shhh, it's okay. I'm going to ask some questions."
She nodded her head and smoothed out the sheets. Her skin had been abused. He could see faint rope burns on her wrists, and he bet if he looked at her ankles he'd see the same thing. Later, he would need to seek out her doctor and find out how much damage she sustained.
"Did someone hurt you?"
Her eyes grew glassy and moist. She nodded.
"I'm sorry." Damn, he couldn't let his emotions rule. "So, did you know this person?"
Her eyes narrowed, then she shrugged. Not much to go on. He wished like hell she could talk. Maybe she'd get her voice back tomorrow.
"So you didn't really know the guy, but you had seen him?"
She nodded, relief shown in her eyes.
"Okay, did he take you to an island?"
A quick shake of her head gave him the answer. Who knew where this guy was. It sounded like he operated in the ocean, away from the shore because no one had known about Amanda.
"Did he keep you below deck the entire time?"
Another negative shake of her head spoke volumes to him. This guy was brazen. He probably operated in open waters where no other boaters would find him. Who ever this guy was, he probably knew if he operated in international waters it would be harder to prosecute.
The sailors had found Amanda in the open ocean. He'd looked into tides and jet streams, trying to figure out water flow, but he didn't know where her time aboard the raft began. There were factors, like storms and wind to take into account.
Amanda had closed her eyes, reminding him that she needed rest. He quietly left the room, intent on asking her doctor some questions. His phone buzzed, his personal one. Damn, Shana had the worst timing.
"Shana, what's up?"
"I'm on the plane and we just landed. Tomorrow we are going to hop over to your island and we will spend one month there. I'm not taking no for an answer."
"I'm in the middle of a case."
"No you're not. You're boss gave you the week off, and I'm in the middle of a crisis."
"Crisis?" He doubted his wife knew what a crisis was. The last problem she had dealt with involved dresses and shoes.
"Our marriage is going to change. I'm finished being the third wheel. You have too much money to waste your life with the FBI. Just think of all the things we could do."
Shana had no idea how wrong she was. Not only was her timing off with the call, she had no idea where he was in his life. He made a difference all the time. This month he had brought down two killers. He'd changed the lives of those people who were going to die at the hands of those two men.
Not more than one hundred feet away a victim lay. Not only did she deserve his time, she meant a tremendous amount to him. Maybe that's why his first reaction was to tell Shana off. He held back though. "I can't leave now. I'm in the middle of a case."
"You and your damn cases. Fine, screw you. I'm done."
Shana hung up on him. He thought for a moment and found that he didn't care. His marriage had finally fell in on itself. The rotting foundation had crumbled to pieces. Hope blossomed in his chest.
Then he kicked himself for being such a louse. How could he be the reason for their breakup? He should call her back, apologies and make a deal. But he was tired of making deals.
"Excuse me," a man in a white doctor's frock interrupted his thoughts. "Are you the FBI agent?"
"Yes, Agent Rowland."
"Thank you for coming down. Our police is small, but don't ever tell them I said so."
He nodded once, what else could he say to something like that. The resources of the US far outweighed anything the Bahamian's could throw at the problem.
"I need a report about the injuries to the patient."
"Sure, no problem. By the way, for some reason the nurse thought you knew the patient."
Bill didn't know if Amanda wanted others to know who she was. Also, the killer could be watching the hospitals, waiting for news of her being rescued. "No, I don't know her."
"Oh, okay, well then, I'll get you those files."
Bill knew he was sensitive about Amanda. He wondered if it were any other person would he reveal her name? "Can I get those reports? Also the men who brought her in, are they available."
"They're stationed about ten miles away."
"I'll need those directions." Bill turned to go back to Amanda but swung back around. "Doctor, I think we might need to put a guard on the door. I don't want this guy to coming back."
"That might stretch us a bit much."
"I understand."
Bill's heart sunk, there's no way he could keep this quite for long. Someone else would recognize her and put two and two together.
Once back in Amanda's room, Bill sunk down into the chair. Amanda, he couldn't believe it. The biggest name in great music. Even Celine Dion hailed Amanda as a music genius. Her songs were amazing.
Damn, she looked awful. Not that he read the gossip rags, but he knew Amanda had problems with her personal life. Could this be a guy she dated. He doubted it. What the hell had happened to his beloved Amanda?
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
"Agent Rowland, this lady, the one you want to speak to, she hasn't spoken a word. We don't know who she is. She could very well be just someone that survived a shipwreck, not at all your girl."
"But you don't think so. You think she's been abused and is one of the women I'm looking for."
"I don't know. The ship captain who brought her in said that the raft was huge, one that is used on large boats. Her skin has been burned by the sun over many days. I doubt if she will ever look like she once did. She will need to be checked for cancer every year for the rest of her life. The damage is astounding. But that's not what you asked. I think her body has suffered terrible damage. I've not checked her for sexual assault. I'm pumping her full of antibiotics. She'll recover physically from that type of assault, but she may never recover mentally."
"I understand. Unfortunately she isn't the first victim I've worked with. I will treat her with respect and kindness. I have a few days available for questioning. I won't make her upset. I just want to find her attacker."
"Are you sure about this? I mean, could this all be just an inexperienced sailor who had an accident."
"It could be, but there are other women missing. I find it amazing that someone found this lady. If she is one of the women identified as missing then we will have a tremendous break that may very well prevent other women from being put through a horrible ordeal."
Dr. Monsubie picked up his phone. "Nurse Lanta, could you please take our guest to the woman who was found at sea."
So they were calling him a guest. They must not resent his being here too much. If he could keep it that way then maybe he could use the doctors and nurses to his advantage. Not the he would manipulate anyone negatively, but he wanted to solve this case and would use every advantage he could.
Experience taught him that he would have to push the victim. Letting her go at her own pace wouldn't work long term. He didn't have days and days for her to feel better. He needed the woman to answer his questions. A sketch of the man who had taken her was a must. Getting the details of her attacker was imperative to working up a profile. Having people to interview would make all the difference in the world.
Before this woman showed up it was total conjecture that there had been a crime. Now he had proof.
The nurse pushed the door open, Bill walked through. Two feet into the room he came to a dead stop. The woman looked horrible. Ligature marks could be made out on her wrists and neck. She's been through hell.
Her eyes opened and a hint of recognition slithered down his spine. He blinked and the resemblance, whatever there was, disappeared. He moved close to her, keeping his face blank and his voice quite.
"I know you are having trouble speaking, I just have a few questions. Maybe you could shake your head. Do you think you could do that?"
Her head nodded twice and then her gaze locked with his. She was a fighter. Hope surged through him for her. If she kept up this good attitude then maybe she would recover mentally. The doctors could help her physically.
"Do you want the nurse to stay?"
Her head moved left and then right. She wanted privacy, good sign for him, bad for her. This had to be one of the girls he was looking for.
He turned to the nurse, "Could you give us a moment."
"Sure, but tell me when you leave so we can give her some more medicine."
"Will do. I'll probably want to speak to the doctor again."
The nurse left, closing the door behind her. Bill turned back around, caught by surprise by the woman in the hospital bed. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, accentuating her long neck. Her eyelids opened slowly, her gaze scorching him from between the small slits of her lids. The recognition hit him in the gut. This wasn't just any woman, he knew her. But it couldn't be.
Even with the leathery skin, the bad hair and the weight loss her identity couldn't be denied. Why hadn't he seen it before? Probably because he hadn't wanted to think of her damaged this way. The doctor's words echoed through his head - "She can't speak." The songbird of songbirds, the woman with a crystal clear voice that spilled out over the airways with soothing sounds couldn't speak.
He found himself beside her, holding her hand. His emotions were on his sleeve, not hidden away like a good little FBI agent.
Bill held his breath, trying to digest the news that his idol had been so abused. Fury ripped through him, but he calmed the anger, concentrating on helping her.
She stared up at him, her eyes wide and unsure. He'd frightened her. How could he be acting so stupid?
"Amanda." The whisper of her name brought a new look to her face. The confusion fled, her eyes softened. He saw tears form. Earlier he had planned on being ruthless and pushing for information, now he couldn't.
"It's really you, Amanda?"
She nodded, her face crumbling into a tumult of emotions. He gently placed his arms around her, holding her loosely. The stupidity of becoming emotionally involved in a case ranked up there with telling your boss to shove off, but he couldn't help it. This was Amanda.
Eventually she stopped sobbing. He let her lay back against the bed, his hand still smoothing out her hair. Like any music aficionado, he loved Amanda. Not that he even knew her, but the love was there.
The months at Quantico finally kicked in. The detachment worked itself slowly through his body, allowing him to step away from the bed and stop smoothing her hair.
"Are you able to speak at all?"
She tried, valiantly at first, and then frustration took hold.
"Shhh, it's okay. I'm going to ask some questions."
She nodded her head and smoothed out the sheets. Her skin had been abused. He could see faint rope burns on her wrists, and he bet if he looked at her ankles he'd see the same thing. Later, he would need to seek out her doctor and find out how much damage she sustained.
"Did someone hurt you?"
Her eyes grew glassy and moist. She nodded.
"I'm sorry." Damn, he couldn't let his emotions rule. "So, did you know this person?"
Her eyes narrowed, then she shrugged. Not much to go on. He wished like hell she could talk. Maybe she'd get her voice back tomorrow.
"So you didn't really know the guy, but you had seen him?"
She nodded, relief shown in her eyes.
"Okay, did he take you to an island?"
A quick shake of her head gave him the answer. Who knew where this guy was. It sounded like he operated in the ocean, away from the shore because no one had known about Amanda.
"Did he keep you below deck the entire time?"
Another negative shake of her head spoke volumes to him. This guy was brazen. He probably operated in open waters where no other boaters would find him. Who ever this guy was, he probably knew if he operated in international waters it would be harder to prosecute.
The sailors had found Amanda in the open ocean. He'd looked into tides and jet streams, trying to figure out water flow, but he didn't know where her time aboard the raft began. There were factors, like storms and wind to take into account.
Amanda had closed her eyes, reminding him that she needed rest. He quietly left the room, intent on asking her doctor some questions. His phone buzzed, his personal one. Damn, Shana had the worst timing.
"Shana, what's up?"
"I'm on the plane and we just landed. Tomorrow we are going to hop over to your island and we will spend one month there. I'm not taking no for an answer."
"I'm in the middle of a case."
"No you're not. You're boss gave you the week off, and I'm in the middle of a crisis."
"Crisis?" He doubted his wife knew what a crisis was. The last problem she had dealt with involved dresses and shoes.
"Our marriage is going to change. I'm finished being the third wheel. You have too much money to waste your life with the FBI. Just think of all the things we could do."
Shana had no idea how wrong she was. Not only was her timing off with the call, she had no idea where he was in his life. He made a difference all the time. This month he had brought down two killers. He'd changed the lives of those people who were going to die at the hands of those two men.
Not more than one hundred feet away a victim lay. Not only did she deserve his time, she meant a tremendous amount to him. Maybe that's why his first reaction was to tell Shana off. He held back though. "I can't leave now. I'm in the middle of a case."
"You and your damn cases. Fine, screw you. I'm done."
Shana hung up on him. He thought for a moment and found that he didn't care. His marriage had finally fell in on itself. The rotting foundation had crumbled to pieces. Hope blossomed in his chest.
Then he kicked himself for being such a louse. How could he be the reason for their breakup? He should call her back, apologies and make a deal. But he was tired of making deals.
"Excuse me," a man in a white doctor's frock interrupted his thoughts. "Are you the FBI agent?"
"Yes, Agent Rowland."
"Thank you for coming down. Our police is small, but don't ever tell them I said so."
He nodded once, what else could he say to something like that. The resources of the US far outweighed anything the Bahamian's could throw at the problem.
"I need a report about the injuries to the patient."
"Sure, no problem. By the way, for some reason the nurse thought you knew the patient."
Bill didn't know if Amanda wanted others to know who she was. Also, the killer could be watching the hospitals, waiting for news of her being rescued. "No, I don't know her."
"Oh, okay, well then, I'll get you those files."
Bill knew he was sensitive about Amanda. He wondered if it were any other person would he reveal her name? "Can I get those reports? Also the men who brought her in, are they available."
"They're stationed about ten miles away."
"I'll need those directions." Bill turned to go back to Amanda but swung back around. "Doctor, I think we might need to put a guard on the door. I don't want this guy to coming back."
"That might stretch us a bit much."
"I understand."
Bill's heart sunk, there's no way he could keep this quite for long. Someone else would recognize her and put two and two together.
Once back in Amanda's room, Bill sunk down into the chair. Amanda, he couldn't believe it. The biggest name in great music. Even Celine Dion hailed Amanda as a music genius. Her songs were amazing.
Damn, she looked awful. Not that he read the gossip rags, but he knew Amanda had problems with her personal life. Could this be a guy she dated. He doubted it. What the hell had happened to his beloved Amanda?
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 29, 2011
Chapter 7: Part 4
The doctors were nice. The nurses were wonderful. She hadn't eaten real food but finally she felt better. They had given her a sponge bath very gently, steering clear of her more painful sunburn spots. She'd been given blood, medicines, and thankfully painkillers.
A dermatologist had prescribed lotion for her. Who know there was prescription lotion. Everything felt better. She still had pain, but not like before. But words wouldn't come. They said her voice box was swollen. Eventually the swelling would go away. Amanda didn't know how long she'd been in the hospital. She had passed out so many times it could have been a day or weeks.
They did keep the curtains shut and the lights low for her. They only knew to do that because she moaned each time they tried to make the room bright and airy. She didn't want bright or airy. She wanted dank and dark. A cool moist cave would be best.
A doctor entered the room, his smooth voice was pleasant and the smile on his face was infectious. Amanda tried to smile but she couldn't, the pain too much.
"Good morning. Can you talk yet?"
She tried but nothing came out. He pulled back the covers and looked at her hands.
"Your fingers are still swollen. That will go away in a few days. It's just a side effect from the IV and medicines. Once you are no longer dehydrated we'll adjust the amount of saline going in to your body and you'll stabilize.
"I wish we knew your name. I want to help you find your family."
She felt tears form in the corners of her eyes again. Funny that tears made her happy. On that little raft she thought she'd never cry again. Now she was making tears. Her body would never be the same, but she would survive.
"Don't cry darling. We'll take care of you."
Amanda closed her eyes, unable to deal with the intense emotions rolling through her. The doctor checked her vitals. He looked down her throat and in her ears. Somehow she'd gotten a sinus infection along with all the crusty sunburns that had turned her skin leathery.
"Your throat looks better. Are you having any pain?"
She shook her head then put a staying hand on the doctor.
"Let me guess, you are in pain, but you don't want the pain killers. How about something mild, something that won't knock you out."
She tried to say yes, but nothing came out.
"Don't worry sweetie, it will be okay."
The doctor put down his clipboard and pulled up a chair. His eyes were troubled then he schooled his features and his face went blank. "Listen, there's a guy outside who want to talk to you."
Amanda felt her body start to shake. What if her tormenter found out she survived? Would he come here to kill her?
"Hold on, don't get scared. The guy is from the FBI. He has no legal jurisdiction here, but we kind of think that you're American. You whispered a few words before you passed out, the ship captain thought you were from America."
She nodded, pleading with her eyes to let the man in. If anyone could help her it was the FBI.
"Are you up for it?"
Pain sliced through her memories and she shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the torture.
"Is that a no?"
Her eyes shot open and she pinned the doctor with what she hoped was a desperate gaze. She needed to talk to the FBI. She shook her head again.
"So, you want to talk to him?"
She nodded again, praying that this guy could make a difference.
"Okay, I'll make sure to get you some pain meds but nothing that will put you out, and then I'll let the guy come in here."
She did her best to smile, but the pain was too much. With the assurance that the FBI knew about her, she fell back against the pillows and let relief slip through her.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
A dermatologist had prescribed lotion for her. Who know there was prescription lotion. Everything felt better. She still had pain, but not like before. But words wouldn't come. They said her voice box was swollen. Eventually the swelling would go away. Amanda didn't know how long she'd been in the hospital. She had passed out so many times it could have been a day or weeks.
They did keep the curtains shut and the lights low for her. They only knew to do that because she moaned each time they tried to make the room bright and airy. She didn't want bright or airy. She wanted dank and dark. A cool moist cave would be best.
A doctor entered the room, his smooth voice was pleasant and the smile on his face was infectious. Amanda tried to smile but she couldn't, the pain too much.
"Good morning. Can you talk yet?"
She tried but nothing came out. He pulled back the covers and looked at her hands.
"Your fingers are still swollen. That will go away in a few days. It's just a side effect from the IV and medicines. Once you are no longer dehydrated we'll adjust the amount of saline going in to your body and you'll stabilize.
"I wish we knew your name. I want to help you find your family."
She felt tears form in the corners of her eyes again. Funny that tears made her happy. On that little raft she thought she'd never cry again. Now she was making tears. Her body would never be the same, but she would survive.
"Don't cry darling. We'll take care of you."
Amanda closed her eyes, unable to deal with the intense emotions rolling through her. The doctor checked her vitals. He looked down her throat and in her ears. Somehow she'd gotten a sinus infection along with all the crusty sunburns that had turned her skin leathery.
"Your throat looks better. Are you having any pain?"
She shook her head then put a staying hand on the doctor.
"Let me guess, you are in pain, but you don't want the pain killers. How about something mild, something that won't knock you out."
She tried to say yes, but nothing came out.
"Don't worry sweetie, it will be okay."
The doctor put down his clipboard and pulled up a chair. His eyes were troubled then he schooled his features and his face went blank. "Listen, there's a guy outside who want to talk to you."
Amanda felt her body start to shake. What if her tormenter found out she survived? Would he come here to kill her?
"Hold on, don't get scared. The guy is from the FBI. He has no legal jurisdiction here, but we kind of think that you're American. You whispered a few words before you passed out, the ship captain thought you were from America."
She nodded, pleading with her eyes to let the man in. If anyone could help her it was the FBI.
"Are you up for it?"
Pain sliced through her memories and she shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the torture.
"Is that a no?"
Her eyes shot open and she pinned the doctor with what she hoped was a desperate gaze. She needed to talk to the FBI. She shook her head again.
"So, you want to talk to him?"
She nodded again, praying that this guy could make a difference.
"Okay, I'll make sure to get you some pain meds but nothing that will put you out, and then I'll let the guy come in here."
She did her best to smile, but the pain was too much. With the assurance that the FBI knew about her, she fell back against the pillows and let relief slip through her.
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
May 28, 2011
Chapter 7: Part 3
Bill picked up the line on the first ring, not even checking the caller id. The cringe was automatic, "Agent Rowland, this is Roger Wainright over at the state department." Bill relaxed when he realized it wasn't his wife. "A girl was found in international waters. They just flew her to a hospital in Nassau."
"One of the missing?"
"Not sure yet. She's in bad shape."
"I'll get there as soon as I can. Email me the details."
Bill hung up the phone, his fingers taped on the desk for five seconds as he thought through his options. He stood up, making his decision. After pulling together the files on the case Baker had assigned him, he moved towards his boss's office.
Midway down the hall he stopped. Barging in on Baker wouldn't get him the cooperation he needed. No, first he needed to take care of the paperwork his boss expected him to do.
A few hours wouldn't make that big of a difference going into the Bahamas since it wasn't official. Realistically going down there was a stupid move, but he couldn't ignore the extreme likeness each victim held to his aunt. Really the woman had been more like his mother than his mother's sister. Aunt Rene had been his nanny and then his favorite playmate as he grew older. She'd transitioned easily into friend as he aged, never once disproving of him like his own mother had. No, he couldn't let another man kill off innocent women like the Riverside Killer had picked off his beautiful aunt Rene.
By the time Bill finished the legwork and background paper pushing on the case Baker had forced him to work, the office was quiet. Shana would be pissed, not that she would be happy if he behaved properly. It would take a miracle for her to change her attitude.
After searching for Baker on his floor he climbed the steps, sliding his card in the security slot to gain entrance to the sixth floor. The lights were dimmed, few people huddled at their desks, eking out the last of their energy to solve the unsolvable and help the weak. He understood why they toiled late into the night, burning the midnight oil.
Baker was nowhere to be found. Bill pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in his boss's number, wishing he wouldn't answer. Luck wasn't with him.
"Baker here."
"I've finished the legwork on that case you gave me. I've left it on your desk."
"What? That should take you three day, minimum."
"I work fast. I'm done. Call the forensic bean counters, they should be able to document the money trail. You should have this wrapped with the bad guy in the clink by the end of the week."
"Stop trying to be funny, it doesn't work on you," Baker said.
"I'm leaving for the islands as soon as I can catch a flight."
"I don't think you should go."
"They found someone."
"One of the missing girls."
"Don't know, but she's alive."
"Damn it, Bill. Seriously, you are a pain in the ass."
"Yes sir, I know. I'll call you when I get down there. I'll only stay a week. Even if I don't find the guy, I'll come back."
"I'm counting on it. Don't do anything stupid, well anything else stupid, I can't bail you out if their police don't like you."
"I'll turn on the charm."
"You'll need more than charm."
"We own property down there. They'll at least welcome me somewhat."
"Damn, I hate you Rowland."
"Heard it before, but I know what I want and how to get it. So hate me all you want. I'm going to get this guy and shut him down."
"You fuck up, it's Idaho for you."
"Thanks, and I won't mess this up."
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
"One of the missing?"
"Not sure yet. She's in bad shape."
"I'll get there as soon as I can. Email me the details."
Bill hung up the phone, his fingers taped on the desk for five seconds as he thought through his options. He stood up, making his decision. After pulling together the files on the case Baker had assigned him, he moved towards his boss's office.
Midway down the hall he stopped. Barging in on Baker wouldn't get him the cooperation he needed. No, first he needed to take care of the paperwork his boss expected him to do.
A few hours wouldn't make that big of a difference going into the Bahamas since it wasn't official. Realistically going down there was a stupid move, but he couldn't ignore the extreme likeness each victim held to his aunt. Really the woman had been more like his mother than his mother's sister. Aunt Rene had been his nanny and then his favorite playmate as he grew older. She'd transitioned easily into friend as he aged, never once disproving of him like his own mother had. No, he couldn't let another man kill off innocent women like the Riverside Killer had picked off his beautiful aunt Rene.
By the time Bill finished the legwork and background paper pushing on the case Baker had forced him to work, the office was quiet. Shana would be pissed, not that she would be happy if he behaved properly. It would take a miracle for her to change her attitude.
After searching for Baker on his floor he climbed the steps, sliding his card in the security slot to gain entrance to the sixth floor. The lights were dimmed, few people huddled at their desks, eking out the last of their energy to solve the unsolvable and help the weak. He understood why they toiled late into the night, burning the midnight oil.
Baker was nowhere to be found. Bill pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in his boss's number, wishing he wouldn't answer. Luck wasn't with him.
"Baker here."
"I've finished the legwork on that case you gave me. I've left it on your desk."
"What? That should take you three day, minimum."
"I work fast. I'm done. Call the forensic bean counters, they should be able to document the money trail. You should have this wrapped with the bad guy in the clink by the end of the week."
"Stop trying to be funny, it doesn't work on you," Baker said.
"I'm leaving for the islands as soon as I can catch a flight."
"I don't think you should go."
"They found someone."
"One of the missing girls."
"Don't know, but she's alive."
"Damn it, Bill. Seriously, you are a pain in the ass."
"Yes sir, I know. I'll call you when I get down there. I'll only stay a week. Even if I don't find the guy, I'll come back."
"I'm counting on it. Don't do anything stupid, well anything else stupid, I can't bail you out if their police don't like you."
"I'll turn on the charm."
"You'll need more than charm."
"We own property down there. They'll at least welcome me somewhat."
"Damn, I hate you Rowland."
"Heard it before, but I know what I want and how to get it. So hate me all you want. I'm going to get this guy and shut him down."
"You fuck up, it's Idaho for you."
"Thanks, and I won't mess this up."
Copyright Sara Thacker 2011
Red Skhye In Morning
Introducing Red Skhye in Morning. Delanie Skhye is desperate for paparazzi free time. Samuel Taylor is on break from work. He finds Delanie alone on a private island, but something is wrong. A killer
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