Killing Ruby Rose (25 page)

CHAPTER 28

When I was a kid, my third-grade class took a field trip to Grissom Island. I remembered learning three things that day:

1. Grissom Island was one of four man-made islands on the Long Beach coast named after fallen astronauts.

2. The islands were built to hide some of the nation’s largest and most productive oil-drilling rigs.

3. From shore, they all looked like something you might see at Disneyland. Grissom Island was definitely eye candy—encased in an elaborate facade decked with swaying palm trees, huge waterfalls, and castle-like towers
…
all built to mask the dirty rigs.

I’d once asked my dad if princesses lived on the islands, and he said, smiling, “Only when they’re on vacation.”

I doubted he was smiling the day he went there and got blown to pieces.

Shaking off the image, I pulled into the harbor parking lot nearest the island. The sleek digital clock on the Ducati’s dash read 4:46 a.m. It had only taken me twenty minutes at 100+ miles per hour to get here—even against the wicked wind trying to blow me back. The sun wouldn’t show up for another ninety minutes or so, but the harbor security likely would. I had to move if I didn’t want to be seen.

In thirty seconds flat, I parked the bike, removed the helmet, and took cover behind a building marked “Shoreline Yacht Club.” I reached into The Cleave for my phone and pulled up the waiting messages.

One from Mathews read:

Don’t do this. Call me immediately.

The next from Sammy read:

On my way.

I shook my head, not believing what I’d done. Halfway to Long Beach, I’d stopped and sent him a text.

I’m coming thru on our agreement. If u want the story of ur life, u and ur cameras better get to Grissom Island asap. Tell Sgt Mathews I told u to come. I need this on film.

Even seeing his name on the screen made me want to jump into the harbor and wash myself off. But he was my insurance. Like Liam pointed out all those weeks ago, the police would never believe me if I didn’t have any proof. This time I planned to give them footage they couldn’t ignore. It was a long shot—not just because Mathews might not let Sammy and his camera tag along, but because I could bet my life that Silver wouldn’t strike a pose for me. But I had to try if it gave me a way to exonerate Liam.

I skipped to the last text, from the unknown number:

Find Boat Slip K-11—Gate K is wedged open. Take the orange kayak to southern rim. Meet us in the large white building at the heart of the island.

Great. I took a long hard look at the obstacle course before me.

The coastline was in darkness. But not Grissom Island. The decorative pink, yellow, and blue lighting lit up the sea. The sound of the crashing waterfalls consumed the area. If I hadn’t known better, I could’ve mistaken this place for Fantasy Island. Too bad I knew exactly what it was—a veneer. A good place to hide secrets. Or even better, a great place to dig them up and bury them again.

A sliver of lightning cut through the sky, momentarily highlighting the entire scene and pointing out how isolated this place really was. It was basically in the middle of the ocean. Not only was getting on the island undetected going to be difficult, but the place was an underground maze. Even if Silver had taken out the island’s private security team and I could make it ashore, I was essentially walking into a dark and potentially explosive trap.

Getting off the island would be another mess. That was assuming any of us would be getting off alive.

Worst of all, a thunderstorm was coming. The shape of the encroaching fog looked like a monster about to swallow this place whole. The thought of traveling over those turbulent waters on a kayak—in the dark—required courage enough.

Someone was going to die on Grissom, I was sure of it.

Maybe my mom.

Maybe Violet—the last man standing on my list.

Maybe me.

Silver had outsmarted me at every turn. The chances of this time being any different were low. I accepted my odds. But I still had a brain. Only half a soul, perhaps, but definitely a fully functioning mind.

And hope. I still had shreds of that, too.

I spotted Gate K—about fifty feet away.

All of a sudden I felt like praying. I didn’t even know how—I’d never done it before. But I figured it certainly couldn’t hurt.

I muttered some “please helps” into the phone I clutched, like maybe the cell had God’s number on speed dial and like maybe I deserved the help (which I wasn’t sure I did). I may not have been raised religious, but I’d heard of the Ten Commandments, and I was pretty sure the whole
Thou shalt not kill
thing was still high on that list. My mom’s cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and stared at the angrily blinking red light, wondering if Silver had found out I called Sergeant Mathews and was now sending me a picture of my mom’s corpse.

I tasted the bile rising inside me.

Pulling myself together, I turned on Mom’s phone to see who the message was from. Mathews. It read:

DON’T GO IN. My team is eight min out.

My phone vibrated again. Another message from Mathews:

WE will take him out. I promise Ruby. I want justice for your dad just as much as you do. PLEASE don’t go in. Respond.

Maybe he thought bombarding me on both phones would delay me.

But it wouldn’t. I had to get inside, and now. I didn’t doubt Silver’s ability to kill and disappear. Just like with that girl on Ninth Street, if I didn’t do something, my mom would die. How could I live with myself if I stayed out here and did nothing?

I typed:

I’m already in. DO NOT move in until I contact you. I have a plan.

Who did I think I was? Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d be ordering the SWAT Sergeant around. If I just waited a few minutes, they could escort me in. Or we could come up with a plan together. After all, they’d have the schematics of the island. And ten guns had to be better than one.

Except ten guns hadn’t been enough to save my dad. I couldn’t put my mom’s life in their hands when I knew with certainty what the result would be.

I wouldn’t kill her by disobeying Silver’s instructions.

I pulled my gun out of the holster inside my black hoodie and tried the gate. Just like he’d said, the heavy door was wedged open by what looked like a shoe. And not just any shoe. One of the $900 Christian Louboutin “Love Me” 100 mm heels my mom was wearing last night before she took them off to run away from me. This sicko was taunting me again. There was absolutely no need to bring such a perfectly beautiful pair of shoes into this!

I went through the gate and re-wedged the shoe behind me. Slip K-11 was hard to miss. It was the only slip without a million-dollar yacht. Waiting for me was more like a hundred-dollar piece of crap—a plastic kayak. I bit my lip as I descended the ladder, climbed into the unsteady craft, and began paddling toward the island with quick strokes across my body like my dad taught me.

It took me only a few minutes to navigate out of the dock and enter the open sea toward the southern perimeter of the island where the waves swelled around me. Ignoring the thoughts of what lay beneath and beyond, I concentrated on getting to the shore. The icy water slapping me in the face, the choppy wakes making me sick, and the fear bullying me backward wouldn’t stop me.

Finally, I reached land. I shoved the stupid kayak onto the rocks and climbed the boulders to the top. Gun out, eyes up, arms wobbly from the paddling, I sprinted to the only big, white building I could see and hid behind a buzzing electrical box. I scanned the outside of the building until I found what I was looking for—a circular metal plate covering the ground. There was a chance in the darkness and fog that Silver might have lost sight of me (if he was watching) and wouldn’t catch me entering from below.

I strained to pull up the plate, then lowered myself into the dark, relying on the feel of each metal rung of the ladder and hoping my eyes would adjust. I couldn’t see how far it was to the bottom, but it felt never-ending. Like this tunnel led to China. Or straight to the fiery depths of hell—where Silver belonged.

For every inch I descended, my heart rate exponentially ascended. I couldn’t take much more of this.

Finally, my feet hit the ground and my eyes detected light. I raised my weapon and took careful, balanced steps through the darkness toward a barely lit tunnel. As I moved, all I could hear was the slight squeak of my own footsteps, a rhythmic drip-drop of water, and the buzz of electricity.

I moved through the cold, dank air, listening for any signs of movement above or below. I prepared myself for attack from any side, analyzing every space I encountered for potential threats and sabotage. A calm focus took over as I moved swiftly through the snaking underground chambers. Maybe my dad had taken these exact steps.

His strength and courage filled me as I stole through the darkness.

One foot in front of the other, Rue, don’t hesitate. Trust your instincts.

I clenched my jaw and moved forward. A faint sound came from above. I found a spiral staircase at the farthest west end of the bottom floor and began scaling it.
Arms up, shoulder cocked, weapon high and tight.

I peered up to the first floor just to make sure no one was there. Then I continued up, my heart beating faster with every step. The air temperature warmed and the dank smell dissipated the higher I climbed.

Breathe, concentrate, keep your focus on the target.

My arms were tired, and my legs burned from the stairs. I took a moment to compose myself and slow my heart rate before I made the final steps to the point where I could see the room above.

There was a stifled cry. I peered up through the railings to locate the noise, my head shielded by metal rails.

My mom was sitting in a chair at the center of the round room. Her hands were bound behind her, and there was gray tape across her mouth. Two men stood in front of her with their backs to me, speaking in whispers. I recognized the small man as Filthy number five—Stanley Violet. Which meant the other one had to be Silver.

The dimly lit room appeared to be some kind of emergency antechamber with a cylindrical ceiling at least a hundred feet high. All the way up the walls I saw scaffolding and rungs of balconies for the different floors. Each floor was lit by small red lights. But on the main floor before me, there was vast empty space. No rigs, no machinery, no cover—except for the ring of shadows from the second floor scaffolding around the perimeter.

I bobbed my head back down and texted Sergeant Mathews:

She’s in the westernmost area of the white building, center of the island. At least 2 levels down. I’m about to move in. Wait for my call.

I put away the phone, eager to finally see the man who had destroyed everything and everyone I ever loved.

The urge for revenge boiled inside of me. Dark, rolling, and spilling over with hatred.

I was so close to saving my mom, getting justice for my dad, and perhaps even proving Liam’s innocence. It didn’t matter that Sammy wasn’t here yet.

If I shot Silver now, I could explain it all. Mathews would back me up, and when Sammy got here, his crime scene photos would, too.

How lucky was I to have found him just standing with his back to me, whispering tactics with Filthy Five
number five
and totally unaware of my location?

I slid the gun out onto the floor to steady myself. I only had one chance. I closed my left eye and focused down the barrel of the revolver toward the target. My finger itched to shoot. Just as I began to put pressure on the heavy trigger, he turned toward my mom and I finally saw Silver’s face.

It wasn’t him.

Or it didn’t look like him.

At least not the “him” in the surveillance picture Liam brought me. This guy was clean-shaven and much older than I expected. The picture Liam showed me of the guy at the art fair had that silver-fox beard thing going on. Sure, he could have shaved, but he couldn’t have aged twenty years. Now that I was looking, this guy also had weird posture, like he was seventy years old.

But if this wasn’t Silver, where was he? And who was this?

“Hello, Ruby,” said a voice from below. I almost pulled the trigger in surprise, but it was aimed in the wrong direction. “Put the weapon back in your holster.”

Really? Not hand it over or kick it twenty feet away?

The man was only a few steps below me on the spiral staircase, his face hidden. I recognized his voice from the phone call. Silver.

“You may need it in a few minutes,” he continued in that low, gravelly voice.

Of course, he still wanted me to kill. I thought about pretending to put my gun away and then turning it on him for a quick shot, but I wasn’t ready for my first bullet wound. He’d stop me—not kill me. I knew that by now he wanted me alive in order to kill Violet, but he’d defend himself if I forced him to. I couldn’t be impatient or hotheaded if I wanted to save my mom. I had to let it play out and take the chance when it presented itself.

“Listen, I know you think my mom’s a bad person.” I started to negotiate. “You don’t have to convince me of that fact, but—”

“Shhh,” he hushed me, using his gun to push me up the stairs. “There’s plenty to say, but not just yet.”