Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Instead of speaking, the man gives me a salute. He wordlessly takes one end of a blanket-rolled-Eddie-cigar and gives me a hand entering the boat as I grab the other. Water slaps against the side of the vessel and rocks it gently as we work. The man is tall and haggard-looking with pockmarked skin and a chewed cigar hanging from his mouth.
“How deep and how far?” the man asks as he starts the motor.
“Deep enough and far enough. Better if I don’t know coordinates.”
He nods again and picks up speed. The boat slices through the dark water until we’re swallowed by the blackness.
The ocean at night is a different beast from the ocean during the day. It’s not scenic or inviting, it’s a profound absence of light, a real and present danger, an easy way to die if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. Good think I finally learned how to swim after I left Long Island Sound. We drop the package overboard at an undisclosed location, which hits with a glug more than a splash. The white bedsheets and covers are momentarily visible against the dark water, like a ghost floating to its watery grave.
Eddie seems to sink more slowly than I’d imagined, but maybe it’s because I’m so eager to be rid of him. I instinctually brace myself in case Donovan’s henchman wants to send me in after him. But of course, he doesn’t.
When he’s good and sunk, we speed another ten minutes in the opposite direction, and I toss the Glock out into the dark sea, where it’s swallowed up like a single plankton in the mouth of a great whale. The waters of Wainscott Hollow have always been a graveyard of secrets.
I suddenly find myself anxious about returning to Kat and ask Donovan’s man to take me back as fast as he can. He obliges, and the rum-runner juts halfway out of the water as we tear through the darkness back to the small pier in the cove below the estate.
I find my phone where I left it on top of the fuse box on the dock. Phone data tracing from Wainscott Hollow is expected. Twenty miles out into the ocean, however, is not. It’s safe to always cover one’s bases.
I cut the lights back on and check my messages. Nothing seems amiss, but I bang out a quick text to Kat, knowing I won’t feel any relief until I have her in my arms again.
Did you do what I told you? I’m on my way.
Trudging back to Eddie’s house through the sand, I curse myself for walking, which seemed like the most discreet plan at the time. But my shoulder and back scream from having carried Eddie so far, and my pulse thrums unreasonably fast, worrying about whether Kat ran into any problems with her assignments. I was dumb to leave her alone but taking her on a dumping job didn’t seem prudent.
The lights are on in Eddie’s beachfront mansion, looking warm and inviting like a beacon from these dark beaches. Wainscot Hollow is as dark as a haunted house, with Henry likely passed out in a pool of his own vomit. Henry’s next, but I like to do a neat job and take one thing at a time. A hit cannot be namby-pamby, no matter how short you are on time.
I veer left and stride down the path back to the Lind residence, where I hope to be greeted by the love of my life.
I find the back door open, and music blares from inside the house.
“Kat!” I holler as I enter the open-plan living area surrounded by windows. There’s no way to move discreetly in this house when the lights are on.
“Kat!” I scream again and am answered by only some loud jazz. I search for the source so I can cut it off. “Kat, where the fuck are you?” I bellow as I tear through every single room. The bedroom is stripped and empty. Only a couple of curtain panels dance in the wind from the open windows. Spotting a smart remote, I push power and stop the maddening music.
“Fuck me, Katelyn Shaw,” I say to myself. “Now I’m gonna have to kill a hell of a lot more people.”
I check my phone again to see if anyone’s tried to contact me. If she chickened out and ditched me, I’ll have to end her. There’s no questioning the matter. Or lock her up in Wainscott Hollow forever, never letting her see the light of day.
On my phone, there’s an incoming message.
It’s Kat.
No words but a blurry picture that looks like it was snapped in haste.
Part boardwalk. Part black pavement. A sinister-looking clown and a red arrow nearly erased by years of foot traffic.
Luna Park this way!
Coney Island?
Only two people in this world are stupid enough to hurt Kat Shaw. One’s dead already, and the other one’s about to be.