Page 40 of Tide and Seek (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #8)
“Hold still,” Stiles panted, pressing the gun barrel against my temple. “Try that again and I’ll put a bullet in your head right here. I don’t give a fuck about the blood.”
They hauled me into the chair and my arms were yanked behind the chair back, the nylon rope biting into my skin as Ethan secured the knots with shaking fingers.
Once my arms were secured, Stiles wandered away, and Ethan tied my ankles to the chair legs.
He avoided my eyes the entire time, his breathing shallow and quick.
Once he had me secured to the chair, he whispered so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it, “I’m sorry.”
“Then why are you doing this?” I hissed back.
“My wife.”
“Ethan, get your ass over here,” Stiles growled from the hallway.
He hurried away, and after a few moments of muffled conversation they went upstairs. I heard the attic ladder come down with a metallic clatter. Next, I heard the thud of footsteps as someone, most probably Ethan, climbed up into the space above.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of activity as they climbed up and down that ladder, carrying cardboard boxes down the stairs and into the room where I was.
The boxes were of various sizes, some small enough to tuck under one arm, and others required both hands.
There were twenty boxes in total, each one presumably packed with drugs.
Stiles mostly supervised, occasionally making trips to load certain boxes into Ethan’s pest control van.
When the last box disappeared out the front door, Stiles came back alone. He pulled a small syringe from his pocket.
“What’s that?” I growled, eyeing the syringe with apprehension.
“Fentanyl.”
I clenched my jaw. “No one is going to believe I used fentanyl.”
He laughed. “People will believe anything if you set the scene just right.” He sounded like he was speaking from experience. “Besides, I doubt they’ll even do an autopsy.”
“I think you’re wrong about that,” I said coolly. “I’m a cop, that means higher scrutiny. I don’t use drugs. The toxicology report will show fentanyl in my blood.”
He shrugged. “Okay, so what? You used drugs. It happens. I know lots of cops who use drugs.”
“I don’t and Max knows that.”
“Well, he’ll probably try and raise a stink, but the dose isn’t enough to kill you.” Stiles smirked. “You’re going to drown when the tide comes in. Nobody will be able to prove it was anything other than a heartbreaking accident.”
“It’s not going to work.”
“You’re such a negative Nelly.” He sighed. “Look on the bright side. The spot I’ve picked for you to die in is actually pretty nice. It even has an oceanfront view and everything.”
“People will look for me. Max isn’t going to just accept that I disappeared into thin air.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but by the time you’re found, it’ll be too late. You’ll be just another tragic accident. A country hick tourist who didn’t understand the dangers of our rocky coastline.”
Ethan came back inside. “Okay, everything is loaded up.”
“Excellent.” Stiles approached with the syringe. “Time for your vitamin shot, Royce.”
I tried to jerk away, but there was nowhere to go. The needle pierced my upper arm through my T-shirt, and a sharp burn spread as the fentanyl entered my bloodstream.
The effect was almost immediate. The edges of my vision began to blur, and a strange heaviness crept through my limbs. My thoughts felt thick, like trying to think through molasses.
“You shouldn’t fight it,” Stiles said. “Try and enjoy the ride. People pay good money for this shit.”
“Fuck you,” I mumbled, my head lolling forward as the drug took hold. I could still see, still hear, but my body felt disconnected, like it belonged to someone else. When Stiles cut the ropes binding me to the chair, I slumped forward but couldn’t coordinate my muscles enough to run or fight.
They hauled me up between them, my feet dragging uselessly across the hardwood floor.
They made sure no one was around before they hauled me to the pest control van parked in the driveway.
The sunlight outside was too bright, making me squint.
Everything felt surreal, like watching a movie where I was somehow both viewer and unwilling participant.
They dumped me in the back of the van among the chemical tanks and equipment, my head bouncing against the metal floor. I tried to speak, to protest, but my tongue was thick and unresponsive.
The van roared to life, and I was tossed around in the back as Ethan drove out of the colony and onto the main road. It wasn’t a long drive to the rock formations, and the van slowed, turned, and then bounced over ruts and rocks, each jolt sending pain through my drugged body.
When the van stopped and they cut the engine, they pulled me out, leaning me against the back bumper.
My legs buckled immediately, the fentanyl turning my muscles to rubber.
They grabbed me under my arms and I couldn’t coordinate my movements enough to resist as they dragged me across the sandy ground toward the dark rock formations that jutted up from the coastline.
“It’s 2:50 p.m. now,” Stiles said, breathing hard. “High tide is at 7:00 p.m. tonight. That’s just about perfect. The odds of anyone finding him in time are basically zero.”
“He’s right, Max will look for him,” Ethan said. “He’s that type.”
“Yeah, he’ll do the usual shit. He’ll waste time calling people they know to see if they’ve heard from Royce.” Stiles sounded impatient. “He might even go to the cops, but they aren’t going to do shit until tomorrow probably. He’s a grown man, not some little kid who wandered off.”
“Max can file a missing person’s report right away. They don’t make you wait forty-eight hours,” Ethan argued. “That’s ancient history.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles growled. “The cops aren’t going to launch some huge manhunt for him.”
“But they might because he’s a cop,” Ethan insisted. “They might take that more seriously than if you or I went missing.”
“Even if they do look for him,” Stiles said testily.
“There’s no reason for them to think he’s here in these caves.
Nobody saw us grab him. We just need to be sure we put him in one of the deeper caves.
It has to look like he was exploring, got disoriented, and then he got caught when the water came in. ”
“Okay,” Ethan said glumly.
While my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, even I could see the rocky stretch was a maze of crevices and sea caves carved by centuries of waves. If they picked the right cave, Stiles was right, no one would find me in time.
Ethan reluctantly headed toward the rocks to find the perfect cave. After about twenty minutes, he returned for Styles. When they both came back, Stiles looked pleased.
“I think you’ll enjoy the spot I’ve picked for you, Royce.” Stiles gave a mean spirited grin. “It’s very rustic. Just your style.”
Ethan muttered, “Boss, it’s not too late to change your mind about—”
“Shut up,” Stiles growled. “Help me move him to the cave.”
They grabbed me under my arms and dragged me over the rocks, and down into a narrow, long chamber hollowed into the stone where the crash of waves from outside echoed off the walls. The floor was uneven, slick with seaweed, and scattered with sharp-edged barnacles that scraped against my skin.
Cold seawater already pooled at the bottom of the cave, soaking through my shorts as they positioned me in the deepest section. The water was shockingly cold against my drugged body, making me shiver uncontrollably.
“You sure he can’t just crawl out?” Ethan asked.
“He’s too weak and disoriented. He’ll never find the opening. When the tide comes in, this whole area fills up,” Stiles explained to Ethan. “He’ll be unconscious by then, and even if he wakes up, he won’t find his way out. There’s no way.”
“Seems like a horrible way to die,” Ethan said softly.
“There are few good ways to die.” Stiles sounded disinterested.
The drug was pulling me deeper under its influence. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and the sound of the waves seemed to come from very far away. I wanted to fight them, but I was just too weak and my vision distorted.
“Hold up,” Stiles said, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Search his pockets. Make sure he doesn’t have a cell phone on him. We don’t need the cavalry coming in at the last second because they triangulate his fucking phone.”
Ethan knelt beside me one last time, his face twisted with guilt as he searched my pockets. “I really am sorry,” he whispered. “This is all wrong. I never wanted any of this to happen.”
Then they were gone, and I was alone.
The cave felt smaller now, the walls pressing closer in the dim light that filtered down from the opening above.
The water around me was ankle-deep and rising, carrying the sharp scent of brine and decay.
Pieces of kelp brushed against my legs like cold fingers, and I could hear the skittering of small crabs across the wet rocks.
I knew my only chance of survival was if I could get myself out of this cave.
But I just couldn’t move. My head kept dropping forward as the fentanyl dragged me toward unconsciousness.
Each time I forced my eyes open, the world seemed more distant, more unreal.
The sound of the ocean was hypnotic, a constant rush and retreat that seemed to match my slowing heartbeat.
I nodded off at one point, and had no idea how much time had passed when I came to.
It must have been a while, though, because my legs were cramping from being in the same position for too long.
Alarm shot through me when I realized that water was creeping into my stony grave site.
It swirled around my feet where I sat slumped against the rough stone wall.
It was so cold it made my teeth chatter, but I couldn’t seem to make my body move, couldn’t coordinate my muscles enough to stand or even shift position.
My hands felt like they belonged to someone else, heavy and unresponsive.
The smell of the tide pool was overwhelming in the enclosed space.
Salt and seaweed and something else, something organic and rotting.
The light overhead from before was dulled now, and the thought of that filled me with dread.
That had to mean evening was approaching, which meant high tide.
Somewhere in the space, I could hear the drip of water from the cave ceiling, each drop echoing like a countdown.
I tried to fight the drug, tried to force myself to stay alert, but my thoughts kept scattering like cigarette ashes next to a fan. I tried a few more times to get to my feet, but each time my legs failed me. The darkness at the edges of my vision was growing, and I felt chilled to the bone.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Max—about how broken he’d be if I died.
I wanted so desperately to crawl out of this cave and return to him, but my brain wasn’t working right and my sense of direction was a mess.
I would have given my last breath to see Max one last time, to touch him, hold him, tell him how much I loved him, and that even in death I wouldn’t forget him.
My last coherent thought before the fentanyl claimed me again was of Max slipping on the rose-gold band I now wore on my finger. I’d come so close to finding true happiness with him.
But in the end, evil had found me instead.