Heather Graham Bundle: The Island / Ghost Walk / Killing Kelly / The Vision

As he stood by, Keith looked out toward the parking lot. He saw a man in a tuxedo looking around furtively. “Shit,” he swore, and he began to run.

The man turned, saw him and began to run himself.

But this time there was nowhere to disappear, no crowd in which to hide, no mass of tropical flowers to veer around. Keith was down the drive, shouting to the security guard. The “waiter” saw the guard and hesitated a split second too long before veering into the bushes bordering the park.

Too late. Keith tackled him. They both went down hard. The man stared at Keith, who was ready to rip at the man’s mustache. Then he realized it wasn’t a fake—the man wasn’t Brad.

He stared up at Keith, wide-eyed. Caught, he lifted his hands.

By then the security guard had come running. “What’s in your pocket?” Keith demanded. He was losing his own mustache. He ripped it off, leaving only his beard. The man’s eyes widened.

“Your pocket!” Keith said again, rising, grasping the man’s arm, dragging him to his feet. He felt in the man’s jacket. There was nothing there. It didn’t matter. With panicked eyes, the man pointed at Eduardo Shea.

“That man should be arrested for assault and battery,” Shea protested, staring at Keith.

“You’re going in for questioning,” Jake said firmly. “Feel free to call your lawyer.”

One of the plainclothes officers was standing nearby. “I have a car, Detective,” he told Dilessio. Jake nodded. “I think this silent gentleman needs to come in, too,” he said.

“The man has nothing on him,” Shea protested. “By all means bring him in. Let him file charges, too.”

Keith suddenly felt an urgent need to get back inside.

“I can take them both in for questioning,” Jake told Keith. “But I’m going to need solid evidence.”

“You have Maria’s testimony—”

“An overheard conversation. I’m going to need more. Unless you can get the feds in on this,” he said. He followed the officer escorting Shea.

Keith turned to head back in.

THE BAND WAS PLAYING ON UNTIL the bitter end, and there were a few straggling members who intended to stay until that bitter end. Beth had a splitting headache by then. She stood beside the commodore in the main dining room, feeling as if the salsa beat was now smashing into her head.

She was startled when Ashley came up to her, alone.

“Where’s Amber?”

“With her dad. Beth, a man will follow you to my place. You have your key, right?”

“What’s happened? Did—did they catch Eduardo…doing something? Sandy…Brad?”

“Not really, but…Eduardo Shea is going to be questioned at the station. I think Keith is calling his boss so they can come up with something to hold him on. Anyway, I need to get down to the station, as well. You have one of our friends, the big waiter, on guard duty. I’ll be home as soon as I can get there.”

“Ashley—”

“Beth, that’s all I know right now. When I find out anything else, I’ll call you, I promise.”

Ashley murmured good-night to Commodore Berry and started out. Beth looked at him, ready to explain that she needed to be with her niece, then decided not to bother. He would know about the entire events of the evening soon enough, she was certain.

She walked outside. Her brother was nowhere to be seen. The party out here had broken up. A waiter was wandering around, picking up fallen glasses. “Ben?” she called.

Her brother didn’t answer.

Panic seized her. “Ben!” she called again, louder.

Still no answer. She tried to calm herself. Amber was Ben’s child. He might have insisted that they head home. She called her brother’s cell phone. No answer. She tried Amber’s, then remembered that Ashley had said it was dead.

She cursed, and tried her brother’s phone number again. Still no answer.

Then she saw Amber. The girl was striding along the dock. Idly, it seemed at first. She looked up, seemed to see something and started to walk faster. And where the hell was Ben?

“Amber!” Beth called.

Amber apparently didn’t hear her. She kept moving along the dock, her long-legged stride taking her quickly down to the farthest pier. Beth followed. Amber didn’t stop at the dock that hugged the shore; she had seen something that had drawn her attention. In a minute she was almost running down the length of the dock that jutted out to the sea.

“Amber!” Beth called again, following as quickly as she could. It was hard to run in her ridiculous heels, and she wondered how on earth her niece was moving so fast. But then, Amber had mile-long legs.

Down the length of the pier, past sailboats, motorboats, big boats and small, Amber at last came to a halt. Beth had been running so desperately in her wake that she couldn’t stop when Amber did. She nearly plowed into her niece. “Look,” Amber said, pointing. “It’s their boat.”

Beth stared at the boat. It didn’t look familiar at all. It had a fresh coat of paint and was of moderate size, about twenty-six feet. She frowned, looking at her niece. “What are you talking about?”

“That couple who were on Calliope Key—they’ve decided to clean her up. She looks good, huh?”

Chills raced up and down Beth’s spine. Amber was right, she thought, though she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. It looked like the same boat…but different. Fresher. It was the size and make of the beaten-up vessel they’d seen off Calliope Key.

“Amber, we’ve got to get out of here,” she said urgently. As she spoke, she started to turn. Then she screamed as something wet and cold slapped against her ankle. She looked down just as a man sprang up.

It was Brad—or the man she had known as Brad. Bald now, clad in a drenched tux. He had managed to shed his shoes, and the dark toupee he had worn to blend in with the other waiters was askew. He must have seen Amber coming and slipped into the water. Maybe he’d intended to hide. Maybe he’d hidden intending to accost her the second he had seen her look down the dock and start toward his boat. She opened her mouth, ready to scream, determined to protect Amber no matter what.

“Don’t do it,” Brad said, producing a knife. He lunged toward Beth; in a second, he had pulled her tightly against him, the knife to her throat. She met his eyes. He smiled. They both knew it didn’t really matter if she screamed or not—the band would drown out any sound from the docks.

Despite the blade against her throat, Beth ordered, “Amber, run.”

“Amber, don’t even think about it,” Brad said harshly. “Move and she’s dead.”

“Amber, run!”

“Amber, step aboard the boat,” Brad said. “Or she’s dead.”

“Amber, I could be dead one way or the other.” Beth started to protest further, but her words ended in a little gasp when the knife bit into her flesh.

“No, don’t hurt her!” Amber sobbed.

Brad just smiled into Beth’s eyes as Amber hopped immediately onto the deck.

18

KEITH HURRIED INTO THE FOYER and then the dining room. He was certain he looked ridiculous without his fake mustache and beard, but he didn’t really give a damn. He saw Commodore Berry, still smiling, still wishing his members a good-night and a safe trip home.