Dead Wrong (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 7) Jack Patterson (good beach reads .txt) 📖

pray for one of two things—that the Bratva gang would be gone from the docks when he reemerged or that he could come close to a world record. Neither seemed likely.

Finally!

The binding gave way—and the weights along with it. He started kicking, propelling him in the direction of the dock. He continued to work on the ropes binding his hands together.

When his lungs began to burn, all he could think about was Kelly and Maddie. Just a few feet above him was an endless supply of oxygen, the thing he craved at the moment. But as he rose closer to the surface, he could still see several shadowy figures—all with guns drawn—standing near the water.

Cal kept kicking. He needed a miracle.

CHAPTER 46

SCOTT PERRY SLIPPED the latch into the buckle and pulled it snug across his lap, just like he was told. It was the first time he’d listened to anyone—and complied—in the past few days. He pulled out the inflight magazine and flipped through the pages as he waited for everyone else to board the plane.

Head down, he resisted the urge to check out his surroundings. He’d normally sit in first class, but he didn’t want to risk seeing someone he knew. He needed to get out of the country as soon as possible without any trace of where he was headed. Now that Cal Murphy was gone, his chances of succeeding skyrocketed.

Perry remained lost in thought as he gazed blankly at the pages in front of him—until one of the flight attendants startled him.

“Sir? Sir?” she said.

He looked up, mouth agape. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” She smiled. “Do you realize you’re on an emergency row?”

He nodded.

“Good. So, are you familiar with the requirements for sitting on this row? And if so, are you willing to perform those duties?”

He smiled back at her. “Very familiar—and very willing.”

“Thank you. We’ll be taking off shortly.”

She wiggled her shapely figure down the aisle toward the first class cabin. Perry gawked, and didn’t bother trying to hide it.

Maybe I’ll find me a flight attendant like her in Cape Verde.

With access to more than a $500,000 in an offshore account once he reached his final destination, perhaps it’d be a cinch. Maybe he could tend the greens of a golf course—something mindless, meaningless. He didn’t care if the course was a sandy one with hardly any grass, something he’d read about in an issue of Golf Digest. It’d make his job easier, if he could get it. Or maybe he’d just tend bar somewhere along the beach. It’s not like he’d want for anything, especially not with that kind of money in Cape Verde.

He’d already realized his lifestyle wouldn’t be the same. No watching his girls play basketball. No hobnobbing with D.C.’s elite. No incredible restaurants. No vibrant sports scene or millions of dollars to be made. No, he was headed for a lifestyle of survival—and escape. He gave it all up the minute he let his poor judgment and rage get the best of him. But he wasn’t about to let it steal everything from him. Not now anyway.

The intercom system dinged as the cabin issued an announcement: “Cabin crew, please prepare for departure and cross check.”

Perry stared out the window as the plane wheeled around and headed toward the front of the runway. The engines revved up, roaring louder with easy passing second.

The sound of freedom.

Perry smiled as he nestled into his seat.

The plane lurched forward and started to speed down the runway. Outside, lights flickered past Perry’s window.

He’d done it, muscled his way out of an impossible jam with Metropolitan police, FBI and relentless reporters sniffing around. By the time they figured out what happened, it’d be too late.

Perry closed his eyes and imagined sipping drinks on the beaches of Cape Verde.

CHAPTER 47

CAL EMERGED FROM THE WATER with a gasp and a splash. It’s not how he wanted to re-enter the oxygen-rich surface, but he didn’t have such luxuries: survival trumped everything. He looked in the direction of where he entered the water. The shadowy figures had disappeared inside, leaving the waterfront stretch unattended.

Once Cal’s count reached one hundred and twenty-five, he thought he was gone. But somehow, he’d managed to keep swimming—long enough and far enough away that he could scamper up the dock to safety.

The biting February breeze combined with the chill that blanketed his body forced Cal’s next move. He would’ve preferred to immediately let Tom Corliss know what was going on, but survival again dictated his actions. Warm and dry clothes. That was what was next.

He hustled around the back of the warehouse and found several cars left by the Bratva, including one that was unlocked. He rummaged through it and found a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.

Looks like I’m going commando.

Cal squirmed into the back seat and changed clothes; the borrowed duds hung loosely off his body. He jumped into the driver’s seat and paused. After his run in with the Bratva, the last thing he wanted was another wild ride with them chasing him—guns blazing—through the streets of D.C. This needed to be a discreet escape.

He glanced around and saw no one. Cautious not to make any noise, he put the car in neutral and pushed it for about a hundred yards until it reached the street. Once confident that he was out of earshot of the gang, he cranked the ignition as the engine roared to life. He eased onto Water Street again and grabbed the phone in the console to call Tom Corliss.

“Tom. It’s me, Cal.”

“What in the—” he paused. “Where are you? What’s going on?”

“Look, I don’t have time to explain everything right now, but you’ve got to stop Scott Perry. He just tried to have me killed and he’s trying to escape the country tonight.”

“Oh, my God! Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, Tom. It’s Perry who you need to be worried about. He had a redeye flight to