Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
I already grabbed all my cameras from their hidden spots outside and disabled the motion detectors on the dock. Checking my watch, I’m right on schedule.
“We both know you didn’t intend to alert your husband you were leaving him.” I pull her closer to my chest, constricting her relentless struggle to escape. “I turned off the motion detectors for you. He won’t know you’re taking your boat out. No risk in him rushing home to stop you. I’m just following your plan.”
If looks could kill, I’d be reduced to ashes. Christ, she’s glorious, her eyes alight with fire, her nostrils pulsing with murderous wrath.
A trickle of blood escapes the gag. Did she chew a hole in her tongue? Or her cheek?
I can’t help myself. Already leaning in, I lick the crimson drip from her chin before the rain steals it away.
That sets her off again.
She explodes into a convulsion of whirling elbows and heaving gasps, her entire body bucking frantically, making it impossible to maintain a steady grip.
My feet hit the dock, and with my attention on restricting her movements, I lose my balance. I don’t know if it’s a protruding nail or a loose board, but my toe catches on something, sending us both into a precarious teeter.
She takes advantage, throwing her weight into the stumble and out of my arms.
Straight into the frigid sea below.
Well, shit. She’s done it now.
Her head sinks under and pops back up, bobbing as her screams bubble through the gag.
“What’s the plan, Frankie?” I scratch my cheek, watching her flounder in the shivery dark water. “What are you going to do?”
The puffy coat billows around her, bogging her down rather than keeping her upright. She splashes with her whole body, trying to keep her face up, but the rope cinching her arms and legs prevents swimming.
Seconds trip by. Her cries grow wetter, louder, more urgent. After another valiant effort to stay afloat, she sinks below the black surface in a fizz of defeat.
That’s on her.
I’m not angry. I knew she would put up a fight, and now, it’s my responsibility to save her.
She’s lucky to have me.
I leave everything on the dock—boots, bag, boat key, everything I’m wearing—and dive in.
The jarring cold penetrates my naked skin and seizes my joints. Powering through the discomfort, I angle deeper, faster, and capture her quickly.
Fatigue and the looming threat of hypothermia already slow her down, messing with her coordination. When we finally reach the surface, ingested seawater sends her into a fit of coughing and choking. I remove the gag to clear her airway.
She hacks harder, clearing her lungs.
Good girl. There you go. I pound the heel of my hand against her back, speeding this along.
By the time I haul her onto the shore and back to the dock, she’s lolling listlessly in my arms.
On the boat, I don’t waste time removing her restraints and stripping her out of wet clothes. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, but she’s still conscious, still fighting me with feeble slaps and kicks.
In the gloom of the cruiser’s cabin, I fumble around until I locate dry blankets. Once she’s swaddled, gagged, and secured with the rope, I head back to the dock to collect everything I left behind.
I may be accustomed to extreme drops in temperature, but I’m still human. Violent trembling sets in as I make the short trip there and back, untying the boat’s tethers along the way.
Moments later, I’m dressed and steering my cargo into the open sea.
Eyes sharp. Thoughts clear. Instincts on high alert. The next several days will follow a meticulously formulated plan.
Beyond the reach and notice of boat traffic, I eventually pull up beside an unmanned yacht. Anchored in the Sitka Sound, my vessel awaits precisely where I left her earlier today.
Killing the engine on Frankie’s cruiser, I wait. Listen. My senses reach out, scanning the surrounding sea.
No boats. No lights. No buzzing drones or seaplanes. No signs of human life.
We’re alone.
On the floor behind me, she breathes rapidly, her chin still chattering as she twists in the blankets and gnaws on the gag.
“I’d tell you the worst part is over.” I crouch beside her and brush soggy red strands of hair off her forehead. “But that would be a lie.”
She jerks her face from my touch, growling.
Without time to delay, I let her saltiness slide and move into action. Transferring gear from her boat to mine, I take everything she packed and the few things I brought. That done, I tighten her restraints and relocate her to my yacht.
A large crate the size of a coffin waits in the cabin. Her eyes, huge and panicked, don’t spot it at first. Too busy wasting her energy fighting me, she thrashes and kicks until I jab a hypodermic syringe in her thigh.
She feels the sting and releases a muffled roar. I wait, expecting her to hyperventilate or do something equally useless, but she surprises me.