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CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Tyson checked the island’s small airport.

No one was there, and it didn’t appear anyone had been there in the past hour.

Then he headed to the marina, making more phone calls on the way.

He couldn’t know for sure Olivia was in danger right now.

But everything inside him said she was.

He screeched to a halt at the harbor and hopped from his car. He scanned everything around him—the boats, the slips, the vehicles parked nearby.

He didn’t see Olivia anywhere.

However, he did see a dark-colored SUV that looked very similar to the one that Ernest had mentioned pulling up outside of Tyson’s home. Maybe even identical.

He sprinted toward it and checked the doors.

The back driver’s side door was unlocked.

Quickly, he searched through it, trying to get a kind of idea as to who might have picked Olivia up.

That was when he saw it.

A rose petal halfway under the seat. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

That was all the evidence he needed.

Tyson grabbed his phone and called the local police, explaining the situation to them. Then he called Scarborough. As he spoke, he sprinted toward the docks, searching for anyone—or any signs of life.

There were none.

Until he heard someone say, “Where’s the fire?”

A man rose from the stern of a fishing vessel. If Tyson had to guess, the guy had been sleeping back there and enjoying the breeze. He must have heard Tyson’s frantic footsteps.

As his face came into the moonlight, Tyson quickly noted that man was probably in his thirties with a shaggy brown beard and a well-worn T-shirt and cutoff jeans.

No doubt a fisherman.

“I’m looking for a man and woman who might have been here within the past hour,” Tyson rushed. “Did you see anyone?”

The man nodded. “Sure did. They just left about fifteen minutes ago in a Sea Ray Cabin Cruiser.”

Tyson pulled out his wallet. “How much would you charge to take me out there?”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

He shrugged. “A hundred bucks to start with. A hundred bucks an hour afterward.”

“It’s a deal.” Tyson pressed some cash into his hands. “But I need to go now.”

He couldn’t wait for the Coast Guard or the marine police.

Every second that passed was another second that Olivia might slip away.

* * *

Olivia trembled. “Wes . . . did you kill those other women?”

He continued to gaze at her as if transfixed. “When I realized I couldn’t have you I tried to find someone who was as good as you. But there’s no one.”

“But . . . how did you get away with it?”

“No one ever thought to track where I worked my assignments. This job actually gives me quite a bit of flexibility when it comes to travel. I thought those other women would satisfy me. But they didn’t. Only you.”

She shuddered again but tried to hide it.

“Wes . . . if you love me, you can’t just decide to keep me.” Her voice cracked with every word. But maybe she could get through to him. She had to at least try.

He tilted his head, almost looking . . . innocent. “Will you stay with me on your own?”

Her mind raced. She hadn’t expected him to ask that. Nor was she sure how to answer exactly.

Saying no could be a death wish.

But saying yes . . .

“Of course, I’ll stay.” Maybe if Olivia told him that, it would keep her alive longer so she could escape.

Maybe her plan of action should be to act as if she was on his side. It was risky but . . . what other choice did she have? They were adrift, the boat rocking back and forth, and no one else knew where she was or who she was with.

“Why roses?” She wasn’t sure where the question came from, but this side of Wes didn’t match the one she knew.

Her Wes liked burping and football and jokes.

But psycho Wes liked roses and gardening and make-believe romance.

“Did you know I was married before?” Wes’ cheek twitched as he asked the question.

“You were? You never told me that.”

“Her name was Leesa. She loved gardening. Taught me so much about how to take care of plants.”

Everything around her went still. She didn’t like where this might be going. “What happened?”

“She left me.” His gaze hardened. “On Valentine’s Day. Can you believe it? I came home and found a note she left for me—along with a single rose. Then she laughed to her friends about how pathetic I was. One of them told me about it.”

“That’s terrible, Wes.” That was where his own emotional trauma came into play.

And this whole twisted plan had been born.

“When Leesa died, I made sure to plant roses on her grave. It was my way of keeping her memory alive.”

Her breath caught as his words settled in her mind.

“Leesa died? Did you . . . ?” She couldn’t finish the question.

His eyes gleamed, but he didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

This man was even more twisted than she thought.