Page 71 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Logan

Logan raised his right foot off the rail, crossed his arms in front of his chest . . .

And jumped.

In mid-air, as he fell, he locked his feet together.

Felt the wind rushing over his body.

Right before he hit the water, he raised his knees toward his belly, then, both feet together, he kicked down, punching through the waves as he disappeared into the water.

Daily cold plunges meant he didn’t feel the shock of cold water any more.

But this water wasn’t cold.

It was the warm, azure blue of the Indian ocean.

Logan swam to the surface, the blazing sunlight hitting his eyes as he gazed back at the yacht he’d just leapt from. There, standing on the deck, was Grace.

She wore a silk sundress over her bikini, and she smiled down at Logan.

He swam back to the boat, grabbed the ladder and climbed back on board. He grabbed his swim shorts and squeezed most of the water from them, then found a chair on the deck and sat down to dry in the hot sun.

They were a mile out from the coast of South Africa.

Far away from New York City.

That final day in Manhattan, Logan had known his odds of taking out Joe Novak were very slim. That night, once he’d left the apartment he’d shared with Grace, Logan had made a phone call.

To a company that chartered private jets.

Logan knew that if things went south, he had to end it.

Only way to be sure that Flynn and his crew wouldn’t come looking for him, was to make them believe he was already dead.

That leap from the bridge was never going to be fatal, not for someone who knew how to dive, not for someone who had conditioned his body, for years, to survive in cold water without going into shock.

He’d come home to the apartment in the early hours of that morning, told Grace he had cut his arm in a fall, and that things had gone badly in his meeting with that difficult and dangerous client. They had to get out of the city.

Grace had already packed a bag, like he’d told her to.

They flew first to Barbados and spent a few weeks there. Now, in their second week in South Africa, Logan had hired this small yacht so they could be alone.

He enjoyed the solitude of the ocean.

He heard Grace padding toward him. He turned round and looked up from his seat, shielding his eyes from the sun.

‘Here you go,’ she said, and handed him a glass of whiskey with ice.

‘Nikka Yoichi,’ she said, ‘your favorite.’

‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, taking a drink.

‘I ordered it from the hotel. I paid a little more than you normally would. They had to order it from Cape Town. I figured you’d enjoy it out here. It might help you relax.’

‘Thank you,’ said Logan, and took another sip.

He relaxed his shoulders, closed his eyes and breathed in and out, feeling the gentle rocking of the ocean against the boat.

He was the luckiest man alive, he thought.

He had the woman he loved. He had money. And no one was ever going to find him. He had faked his own death. No one comes looking for a dead man.

This would be the start of a new life. A peaceful one.

A life where he would never feel alone.

He thought back to that day when they’d met on the subway.

She had looked so beautiful wearing that floral print dress, and her bright green cardigan.

The soles worn thin on her Converse. He wondered what would have happened if he had not spoken to her that day, if she had not tried to save that passenger’s noodles from falling onto the subway car floor. How different his life would have been.

‘What are you smiling about, handsome?’ asked Grace.

‘I was just thinking about the day I first laid eyes on you in the subway car. You looked so cute in that dress, and that cardigan.’

He drained the last of the Nikka Yoichi. The salt in the air had altered the taste, somehow enriching the flavors.

‘Oh, I wasn’t wearing that, was I?’

He opened his eyes and saw her walking past him. As she did, her fingers traced the scar on his arm from the shrapnel kicked up by Bloch’s magnum. He saw her touching the scar, but he couldn’t feel it. He guessed there was some nerve damage there.

Grace sat down in the seat opposite him. Damn, she was beautiful.

‘Oh, you definitely were. I’ll never forget it.’

‘I think you’re not remembering correctly, darling. When we first saw each other, I was wearing blue jeans and a tight little white tee. It was summer and it was hot.’

Logan’s smile faded.

‘What are you talking about? I saw you on the train in November. You saved that woman’s noodles, remember?’

‘That was much later, darling. You’d been following me for months by then.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t mind. I saw you that first day. You were so good-looking. And that watch, the Patek Philippe. And the hand-made Italian shoes. I knew you were a catch.’

‘You saw me?’

‘Oh yeah. I knew then you were someone special. I knew you would make a move on me sooner or later. Like I said, I knew you were a good catch. And you confirmed that right after our first date. You saw the bills pinned on my fridge, in my apartment, and you paid them the very next day. All of them. Over a hundred thousand dollars. Normally, it’s like half a dozen dates before my gentlemen do the gentlemanly thing and pay off some of my debts.

Then I move apartments and find another wealthy gentleman. ’

Logan’s head swam. He felt dizzy. What the hell was she talking about?

‘I own all the companies that issued those debts. Never had a guy pay them all , and never on the first date. That’s why I gave you the money back.

It was a convincer , as we call it in the trade.

Something to make you trust me. I knew then you were a big fish, Logan.

But I didn’t know you were a killer . . . ’

The whiskey glass slipped from his hand, shattered on the deck. His heart was thumping so hard it was deafening.

‘You had something to do with those TikTok murders. I saw you outside of the court. I followed you.’

Logan remembered standing in the crowd of Elly’s supporters, and the sensation of being watched.

‘That gunshot wound on your arm confirmed it. I read the news. I know you tried to kill a witness in that case and the police chased you to the bridge. You’re a dangerous man, Logan.’

‘Grace, wait, you have this all . . . ’

He tried to finish his sentence, but his throat dried up. He tried to lean forward, to get to his feet, but . . .

He couldn’t move.

Fear took him.

‘The nerve toxin in the whiskey is fast-acting,’ said Grace.

‘You’re not going to suffer for long. I’ve got your account numbers and passwords.

I thought about taking your money in New York.

But I knew you’d come after me. And you’d probably find me and kill me.

I needed it to be clean. If I’m going to have my biggest take ever, your millions , I had to make sure I did it right. ’

Logan’s mouth opened, but no words came.

And no air came in either.

His eyes bulged. He couldn’t move his arms, his legs.

It was as if he was encased in cement.

‘It took me a while to figure out you were a killer. I sensed you were dangerous before we’d even met.

What you didn’t know is that I’m dangerous too.

You remember that story I told you about the melon farmer who went missing, and the whole town went out looking for him?

I told you we searched for him and then found out he’d moved to Atlanta and met a stripper.

Well, he didn’t move. I buried him deep in his land, Logan.

So deep, no one was ever gonna find him.

I was blackmailing him, and he decided he didn’t want to pay.

So he had to die. Now it’s your turn. You’ll die in the next minute, and then you’ll go for another swim.

A long one this time. Right to the bottom of the ocean,’ said Grace.

She stood and, as she walked away, she said, ‘Never trust a stranger, Logan. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?’

Logan wanted to scream. To fight. To kill.

He could do nothing. His chest would not move. His lungs would not expand.

There was no air. His eyes felt heavy. And there was no longer sight.

Only sound.

The sound of the seawater, dripping from his swim shorts onto the deck.

Drip . . .

Drip . . .

Drip . . .