All they had to do was get across the passerelle. If they made it on the boat, they’d be fine. All of this would be over.
Melv’s soliloquy continued. “But Dyer always was too soft, down underneath it all. Wouldn’t agree to the trip if we didn’t invite you. He wanted me to make sure you inherited this scrap of useless land for some sentimental reason, but I didn’t mind. Luring you out here only meant it was that much easier to get rid of you.”
With aclick, the pistol chamber snapped shut. Two bullets remained.
“So, this is where I leave you. On beautiful Lydell. Don’t worry, I’ll take the liberty of letting the rescue crew know their services will no longer be needed.” A gleam shone in Melv’s ink-dark eyes, like the drip of a fountain pen, already dry. He slid the gun across the dock, far out of reach. “A bullet for each of you. You can decide who gets killed and who has to kill themself. Fun, don’t you think?” His other hand waved the key. Victorious. “And when you look up from hell, I’ll be sitting in Dyer’s penthouse office, staring longingly at all the zeros in my bank account.”
Fletcher bristled with the knowledge of how many zeros werealreadyin his bank account, given the kind of paychecks he receivedas general counsel. Melv could inherit the world, and it would never be enough.
Propelled by greed, Melv shoved past Waylon, nearly toppling him into the churning sea. Hooking his fingers around the dock post, Waylon barely stayed upright. Fletcher caught him by the front of his shirt.
“Are you okay?” she gasped.
“Don’t let him leave us here,” Waylon said as he took off running. “I’ll grab the gun!”
Racing down the slip, Fletcher leaped onto theTiffany’s extended gangway. Obviously, she’d never seen the captain’s quarters of a gazillion-dollar megayacht with her own eyes, but she imagined a giant spoked wheel, some levers, maybe a big red button or two. Couldn’t bethathard to miss.
Unfortunately, this boat was big enough to be a sovereign city-state. She didn’t have time to waste getting lost.
Up ahead, Melv zipped across a deck splattered with cushioned chaises and striped umbrellas. Perfect. He’d lead her right where she needed to go.
With a glance behind, Melv’s lip curled in a snarl when he spotted her. The lawyer broke into a run, all that marathon stamina making it look easy. Curse his runner’s endurance. She lost sight of him as he veered through the glass doors of the saloon toward a spiral staircase to the upper decks.
Fletcher slowed, nursing the stitch in her side, when a very familiar canvas bag slumped against the saloon doors caught her eye. Jackie must have loaded it. Digging inside, she found the camera she’d stashed. Not that she really craved to remember this moment for the rest of her life, but at the very least, the flash might blind Melv momentarily.
Waylon found her as she looped the camera strap over her neck. Pistol in hand, he asked, “Where’d he go?”
“Up,” Fletcher answered. “But Waylon, forget the key. We just need to find the bridge room.”
“This way.”
The endless spiraling steps and the threat of getting marooned on Lydell dueled to see which one could make Fletcher dizzier. Thankfully, they found Melv on the second-level deck, darting toward a narrow staircase labeledPersonnel Only.
Before Fletcher could stop him, Waylon sprang into action. He closed the gap between them and Melv, tearing a white-and-red lifesaver off the wall on his way. As he thrust the float around Melv’s shoulders, the lawyer rocked back against the deck railing, arms pinched by his side.
Waylon easily pried the key out of Melv’s fingers. “It’s not polite to take what isn’t yours.”
In response, Melv headbutted Waylon’s sternum.
A sympathywhooshof air rocketed out of Fletcher’s lungs.
Gasping, Waylon staggered into the wall while the lawyer shimmied out of his nautical trap and tossed the lifesaver overboard with a growl, still determined to stage a mutiny. “This ends now, Waylon.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
Waylon lowered his shoulder like a linebacker and plowed into Melv.
Melv bobbed, sinking against the rail, and his hand caught the banister at just the wrong angle. In slow motion, his wrist snapped, fingers prying open from the force. Sunlight caught the teeth of a bronze key as it arced over—and then into—the water.
The splash was too small for something so consequential.
Melv recoiled, first in shock, then in anger. “How could you?”
Sizzling with unbridled wrath, he muscled past Waylon and knocked Fletcher out of his way. Instead of heading up, Melv speared down the staircase that must have led him toward the aft deck.
“Stay here. I’m going to finish this,” Waylon ordered.
“Don’t.” Fletcher stopped him with a firm hand against his forearm.
