Wrong Place, Wrong Man

Chapter 9

For one absurd moment, their confusion was almost comical.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Improvising.”
I ran.
Straight toward the end of the dock.
“Bonnie!”
Three steps.
Two.
One.
I jumped.
The water swallowed me.
Cold closed over my head so violently that every muscle in my body contracted at once.
For a second, there was nothing but darkness and bubbles.
Then instinct returned.
I kicked downward.
Not up.
Down.
Deeper.
My blouse billowed around my body. My skirt dragged heavily against my legs, and I immediately regretted every decision that had led to me entering the water fully dressed.
But I could swim.
God, could I swim.
I opened my eyes.
Almost nothing.
Only fractured light from the marina above.
I turned beneath the surface and swam under the dock.
One stroke.
Two.
Three.
My lungs were still recovering from the run, which made holding my breath infinitely harder.
I surfaced beneath the wooden structure.
Air.
Quietly.
I pressed myself against one of the pilings, keeping everything but my nose and mouth beneath the water.
Footsteps thundered overhead.
“She jumped!”
“No shit.”
“Where is she?”
A beam of light cut across the water.
I sank lower.
My heart was trying to punch its way out of my chest.
The light moved past.
“Check underneath.”
Fuck.
I inhaled and went under again.
This time I swam sideways, using the dock above me as cover.
The cold became less shocking after the first minute, although my clothes grew heavier with every movement. My lungs burned from the combination of running and repeated dives.
I reached the neighbouring dock.
Surfaced.
Listened.
Voices behind me.
I moved again.
Boat.
Dock.
Boat.
I knew how sound travelled across water. I knew where the lights were weakest. I knew which docks connected and which ones ended.
They didn’t.
That was my advantage.
I slipped between two moored boats and held on to the side of one while I caught my breath.
A searchlight moved across the marina.
Not a flashlight.
A f*****g searchlight.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I whispered.
Lorenzo apparently took losing badly.
Men moved along the docks.
One shouted toward the beach.
Another answered from farther away.
They were spreading outward.
Exactly what I’d hoped.
I waited until the nearest footsteps faded before moving in the opposite direction.
Slowly now.
No splashing.
No panic.
I swam beneath the shadow of a large motor yacht, surfaced behind it and listened.
Nothing.
My breathing gradually slowed.
I could do this.
I could actually do this.
The beach was perhaps two hundred yards away.
If I could reach it, I could run toward the hotels and restaurants farther along the waterfront.
People.
Safety.
I began swimming toward shore.
Twenty yards.
Thirty.
The cold pulled at my muscles.
I kept going.
Then lights appeared on the beach.
One.
Two.
Three.
Men.
My stomach sank.
They’d anticipated it.
I stopped swimming.
Treading water in the darkness, I watched two figures move along the shoreline while another flashlight swept across the shallows.
They were pushing me toward land.
No.
Not pushing.
Herding.
I turned back toward the marina.
For the first time, I understood what Lorenzo had actually done.
This wasn’t a race.
It was a hunt.
And his men were closing the exits.
I looked toward the boats behind me.
Then toward the beach.
Farther out, beyond the marina, a large party boat glowed against the darkness. Music drifted faintly across the water, and silhouettes moved along the upper deck.
People.
I could reach it.
Maybe.
I had swum farther before.
But not after sprinting through half the waterfront.
Not fully dressed.
Not in the dark.
And if Lorenzo had men watching the shoreline, he might have someone watching the water too.
I stared at the boat.
Then back at the marina.
Think.
The obvious move was toward people.
Which meant they would expect it.
I smiled slowly.
“Fine.”
I turned around.
And swam back toward the docks.

I lost track of time.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Maybe more.
My body had begun to ache from the cold, and the adrenaline that had carried me through the run was slowly draining away.
But the voices were farther apart now.
They thought I was moving outward.
I wasn’t.
Every time they expanded their search, I moved behind them.
When they checked the eastern docks, I went west.
When they moved toward the beach, I slipped back toward the centre of the marina.
Twice, someone came close enough that I could hear his breathing.
Once, a flashlight passed directly over the water less than a foot from my face.
I stayed beneath the surface until my lungs screamed.
Then the marina became quiet.
Not completely.
But different.
The frantic movement had stopped.
I waited.
Five minutes.
Maybe six.
Nothing.
My teeth had begun to chatter.
I needed to get out of the water.
I swam toward a narrow service dock near the edge of the marina, one I remembered from years ago. It led behind an old storage building and from there to a narrow lane connecting with the main road.
If I could reach it, I could disappear.
I approached slowly.
No voices.
No footsteps.
No lights.
My fingers found the edge of the dock.
I listened.
Nothing.
Relief hit me so hard that I nearly laughed.
I had done it.
I pulled myself up.
Water poured from my clothes as I crawled onto the wooden boards. My arms shook with effort, and my wet hair hung over my face in heavy strands.
I rolled onto my back.
For several seconds, I simply breathed.
The night sky stretched above me.
Beautiful.
Open.
Free.
A laugh escaped me.
Quiet at first.
Then another.
“You arrogant bastard,” I whispered.
I’d beaten him.
I’d actually beaten Lorenzo Valenti.
I pushed myself upright.
My blouse clung transparently to my skin, and my skirt felt as though it weighed twenty pounds. One side had torn almost to my upper thigh during the chase.
My shoes were gone.
My dignity was questionable.
But I was free.
I squeezed water from my hair and stood.
My bare feet touched the wet wood.
I took one step.
Headlights exploded into life.
I froze.
Brilliant white light flooded the dock.
For a second, I couldn’t see anything.
My heart stopped.
No.
A dark car stood at the far end of the service lane.
The driver’s door was open.
A man leaned casually against it.
Black suit.
White shirt.
Hands in his pockets.
Even from this distance, I knew exactly who it was.
Lorenzo.
He hadn’t sent anyone.
He hadn’t needed to.
He’d worked it out.
Somehow, while every one of his men had been searching outward, Lorenzo had understood that I would turn back.
He straightened slowly.
My heart began hammering again.
His gaze travelled over me.
My soaked hair.
My ruined blouse.
My torn skirt.
My bare feet.
Then back to my face.
Even from thirty feet away, I could see the satisfaction in his eyes.
His voice travelled easily through the darkness.
“There you are.”
I stared at him.
He took one slow step toward me.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”
My teeth were chattering, but I lifted my chin anyway.
“I was hoping you’d eventually get bored.”
Something in his expression shifted.
“I don’t get bored when I’m hunting something I want.”
The words settled somewhere low in my stomach.
I hated that.
I hated him.
I hated the way he was looking at me.
And most of all, I hated the tiny, traitorous part of my body that remembered exactly how his thumb had felt against my mouth.
Lorenzo took another step.
“Come here, Bonnie.”
I backed toward the edge of the dock.
His eyes dropped briefly to my feet.
Then returned to mine.
“Don’t.”
I smiled.
“No, thank you.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I’m quite comfortable here.”
For several seconds, he simply stared at me.
Then he began removing his jacket.
My smile disappeared.
Oh, f**k.