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.
“Where’s Beth?” Keith asked the man.
“I don’t know. And quite frankly, this is all becoming a bit of a fiasco. Miss Anderson should be here, saying good-night with me. Whatever you people were so certain of tonight certainly didn’t happen—”
Keith ignored him. “Where are Ben and Amber?”
“Mr. Henson, I’m afraid I don’t know, and I’m still quite busy—and you look a mess.”
Keith walked past him, continuing to search the area. His blue-haired dance partner glanced at him and gasped.
Shaking his head, he hurried to the patio, since the closest door led out in that direction. There was no one there, but the door to the men’s locker room was ajar. Keith ran toward it and burst in.
He was stunned to see a figure on the floor. As he hurried over, he heard a groaning sound. He was stunned to discover Ben Anderson, struggling to sit up.
“Ben, what happened?”
Ben shook his head. “I was in here…I don’t know. My head. I came in because I’d left my watch in my locker…must have tripped. I was walking toward it…look, it’s open.” His eyes widened. “Amber…Amber was waiting for me, by the door. I told her to wait—not to wander off. Oh, God, she didn’t wait. She wandered. She didn’t listen. She didn’t realize…wouldn’t believe it could be dangerous here!” He stared at Keith. “My daughter! You have to find my daughter.”
Keith straightened. “Have you seen your sister?”
“No.”
“I’ll get you help,” Keith said.
Then he was out the door, shouting. He ran into a waiter in the patio and grabbed him by the lapels. “There’s a man hurt in there—get help. Get the police.”
The waiter paled and turned to do as he’d been told. Keith raced down onto the lawn. A few people were straggling out to spend the night on their boats. He searched through the crowds on each pier.
In the distance, he saw Amber Anderson getting on a boat. He frowned. There was someone else on the boat…and on the dock, but he couldn’t tell who.
Amber probably knew most of the people who had boats here, he reminded himself. But even so, why wasn’t she waiting for her father, the way she’d undoubtedly been told to do?
Amber’s father was lying on the floor of the men’s locker room, after being struck by someone, for some reason.
Keith started ripping off his dinner jacket as he raced down the pier.
“NO! DON’T LISTEN TO HIM. Get out of here,” Beth insisted. She was terrified but trying desperately not to sound it. Her mind was racing. She knew that if she didn’t somehow force Amber to escape, they would both be prisoners and probably end up murdered.
“She’s already listening to me, honey,” Brad said.
It was true. Amber was already on the boat.
At that moment Sandy came out of the cabin. She had stripped down to the white shirt worn by the caterers beneath their tux jackets. Tonight, she was wearing a disheveled red wig, and she’d designed a perfect smattering of freckles over her nose. She wore big, thick-rimmed glasses.
“Brad, what—oh!” she began.
“Get on the boat,” Brad told Beth.
“Amber, get off the boat!” she cried.
There were tears in her niece’s eyes then. “Aunt Beth, he’ll kill you.”
“Amber, he’ll kill us both!”
“No,” Sandy protested suddenly. “Get on the boat. Please, just get on the boat. We’ve got to get out of here.” She turned pleading eyes on Brad. “Brad, don’t hurt her. Get on the boat, just get on the boat. Please, nothing will happen to either of you if you’ll just get
