Page 6 of Murder Island

My eyes blinked open again somewhere in Ohio. It was about four in the morning. The train was rolling through fields and past small towns. For long stretches, the only light came from barns and farmhouses.

My ears had finally recovered. I could hear the creak of the bunk above me every time Kira flipped over. I went to scratch my forehead and felt deep furrows above my eyebrows. I remembered that I was now a very senior citizen, with wrinkles to match. Even my hands were crinkled and spotty. Very thorough, Denise.

What the hell were we doing here, I asked myself. I knew what we were escaping from, but what were we heading into? And why New York? Did Kira have more contacts there? More secrets? Another damn loft?

I stared out into the dark and thought back…

It had been eighteen months since Kira Sunlight walked into my life. Like a wrecking ball. Up to then, I’d been Brandt Savage, PhD, professor of anthropology at the University of Chicago. Tenured and content. Teaching, writing, research, academic conferences—that was my whole life. A little boring and predictable, maybe, but safe and secure.

Then Kira found me.

Against my will, she turned me into a new man. Thanks to her, I’m two inches taller and four times stronger. I’m down to 9 percent body fat, and my hair is as thick as a teenager’s. My skin is tough enough to deflect a small-caliber bullet. Also, I now know lots of ways to kill people.

I didn’t ask for any of it. I wasn’t given a choice in the matter. The whole training process was torture for me. Then, a year ago, Kira dragged me on a mission that nearly got us both killed. After that, I was done. I just walked away—back to my old life. I never expected to see Kira Sunlight again.

And I didn’t.

Until yesterday afternoon.

That’s when I realized I was in love with her.

CHAPTER 6

“IS THIS STILL necessary?” I asked.

I was scratching at my cheeks. The makeup was driving me crazy.

“Not much longer,” said Kira.

I slumped in my wheelchair as she rolled me through the gate of a tiny marina, about fifty miles east of Manhattan. The cab that brought us from the station was just pulling away.

After our twenty-one-hour Amtrak journey, we’d spent another three hours on the Long Island Rail Road, still looking and acting like two doddering seniors.

“Bump,” said Kira. My wheels jolted over a curb as she pushed me toward a long wooden pier. It was almost 10 p.m. The marina was deserted. The only light came from a yellowed bulb on a wooden pole. There were a few boats resting in their slips, mostly run-down cabincruisers. I could see the flashing beam from a lighthouse across a stretch of dark water.

“Why are we here?” I asked. I was low on patience, and hungry. All I’d eaten for the past twenty-four hours were Amtrak snacks. Kira had slept most of the time, or pretended to. Probably to avoid my questions.

She pointed out over the water. “That’swhy.”

I looked in the direction of her finger. I saw a boat moored about fifty yards out, close to the mouth of the small harbor. I didn’t know much about boats, but I’d been on a few. This one looked like a two-masted schooner, about forty feet long.

“It’s a little late in the day for sailing lessons,” I said. My hunger pangs were making me snarky.

Kira made a quick gimme motion with her hand. “Your ID.”

I reached into my pocket and dug out my wallet, with a driver’s license in the name of Daniel Thunden, born eighty years ago this week. Kira pulled out her own ID. Patricia Thunden, five years younger. Excellent fakes. Denise did fine work.

Kira put the IDs in a plastic bag and picked up a fist-sized stone from the side of the pier. She put the stone in the bag, tied the bag shut, then dropped it into the water. The bag disappeared.

Then she pulled out her phone. She reached into my pocket and took mine. We’d turned them off before wegot to the salon. Now Kira put both phones in one hand and heaved them into the harbor. A few seconds later, I heard two splashes, one right after the other.

“Up you go,” she said, tugging at my arm.

I looked up at her. “I can walk again?”

“Salt air works wonders.”

As soon as I stood up, Kira folded the wheelchair and dropped it off the end of the pier. I watched it sink into the murk.