Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2)
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to Renée.
For her love, encouragement,
Forgiveness, kindness,
Faithfulness, patience, and
Friendship,
Fuel my hope that I can be a better
Father than those that have
Fucked over their children.
Even psychopaths have emotions. Then again, maybe not.
~ Richard Ramirez
The FBI estimates that there are between 25 to 50 active serial killers at any one time in America. Over 10 percent of the population of America lives in California, so I’d imagine that we have 3 to 5 serial killers stalking victims at any given point in time. It’s also fair to assume that they are living in the Bay Area, the Los Angeles Area, or here in San Diego. But serial killing is rare and reacting with panic isn’t helpful.
~ Randy Hawkins
...................
The shirtless man was not cognizant of her human feelings.
Catalina was visible from the flybridge as he headed north. He glanced south occasionally to watch his lines; there were three tunas and a fifteen-pound mahi mahi already on ice, more than enough to call it a day. Sunburnt and hungry, he slowed the Chris Craft to an idle and checked the radar. He always verified his visual inspections with radar as it was easy to miss a small craft out in the open sea. All clear, they were alone.
He walked to the stern of the boat, reeled in three lines, and stored the rods. He checked the deck for any blood he may have missed the last time he’d hosed it down. The last tuna had made a mess; perhaps he’d gotten slightly carried away with the fish bat. Sport-fishing in the open ocean was not considered a safe one-man activity, but his wife had quit complaining about the danger years ago. Fishing was his time to be alone. She understood and simply wished him good luck. She enjoyed the praise of their friends whenever they hosted a dinner with fresh fish and he suspected that she enjoyed the respite from him, even though she’d never admit such a thing.
A blue shark swam near the boat: a remorseless predator which long ago evolved two perfect functions, swimming, and eating. The shark glided in a gentle S, searching for the scent of blood or any signs of distress in the water. He wondered if the image of the submerged hull was imprinted in its tiny brain as a potential food source. Was this particular shark species that intelligent? He didn’t know.
He baited a hook that was attached to a steel leader on a handline, which he threw into the water in front of the searching fish. The shark had no concern for the hook, and moments later it was embedded in its jaw. He fought against the shark as it swam in figure eights and circles trying to escape. Eventually, he became bored, he pulled the line in, gaffed the beast, and then beat it to death.
He contemplated saving the hook but realized that would be unnecessarily dangerous. He cut the line and discarded the dead fish, which sank towards the bottom in a slow spiral, like a stunt plane in an air show spewing red smoke. Scavengers would consume the carcass, except for bits of cartilage and the teeth, so he felt benevolent about his fun.
Had the man’s wife been aboard, he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the senseless killing of an animal, even a dangerous one, for mere pleasure. She had a tender disposition towards animals, even the predators.
He had another reason for fishing without his wife aboard. That reason was a barely conscious young woman imprisoned in the stateroom. He’d deal with her after he ate a sandwich and drank a beer.
He rolled up a water hose and stowed it, then he opened a cargo hold and pulled out a ten-foot length of wire mesh and a roll of galvanized 11-gauge wire. He had all the parts and tools necessary to fix crab and lobster pots. A ruse, mostly, but on occasion, in the proper season, he’d caught lobster. He placed the wire on the deck and unrolled it.
He then laid out a spare anchor and chain. He’d bought a pair of them on sale at Captain Dick’s Tackle and Bait Shop last week. Separate cash receipts. Extra paranoid, perhaps, but he liked to think ahead. It was impossible to calculate every weird and unfortunate thing that could happen if he wasn’t careful. The fool, Scott Peterson, was on death row in San Quentin for not being careful. Originally a San Diego native himself, Peterson had suffered the misfortune of having his wife’s body wash ashore. And the fetus of his unborn child.
What kind of sick fuck killed his pregnant wife?
After setting the anchor on the deck, he grabbed a pair of needle-nose pliers and set them next to the wire mesh. He considered for a moment going to check the depth finder to be doubly certain he was floating where the ocean floor was deepest, but on second thought, he realized that this was being overly paranoid. He was miles out at sea. The water was deep enough. Besides, the female had no connection to him.
What kind of monster kills one of their own family?
Even if her body floated weeks from now, there would be no reason for any scrutiny to fall on him. None. He’d been careful.
The world was a sick place, he thought, as he considered putting on gloves. No, he realized, gloves wouldn’t be necessary. No prints would remain. Besides, her skin was so lovely and soft. He walked towards the cabin and entered the inside of the boat. He removed his sunglasses and allowed his eyes to adjust. He opened the door to the stateroom and gazed at his prize catch of the weekend. She didn’t move when he approached her.
He shook her and spoke in a calm voice as if she was a patient in a coma.
“Are you awake?”
She didn’t answer.
He took a small pair of all-purpose pliers out of his rear pocket and unfastened the master link to the chain that was attached to the nylon cable tie around her ankle. He wondered whether the cable tie was evidence
he should remove from her body. Should he cut it off? It was the only thing left on her body. He’d ditched her clothes and jewelry the night before.
No. Cable ties were a very common item available at a hundred hardware stores. Nobody would ever find her body.
He picked her up.
She moaned like a lost puppy, but she didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t struggle.
“You are so beautiful,” he said. He stroked her hair.
She was small and light. Child-like in features, but fully mature in all the ways that mattered.
“I really enjoyed being with you. Last night was insane. I wish I could stay another night. You are so soft. So perfect. I hate to leave you. But I have to go.”
He took her to the stern and set her down on the wire mesh. He looked at her in the sun. She was perfect. She opened her eyes and stirred, but the sun was bright, and she shut them again. She turned her face away from the light and spoke.
“I’m thirsty.” Her speaking took effort.
“I’ll get you some water, love.” He gently stroked her cheek, then left her. He returned with water, and after drinking the first sip, he lifted her head and put the bottle to her lips.
“Drink.”
She took a small sip and choked.
He set her head back down and caressed her right breast. Her nipple didn’t respond. She must be exhausted he thought. We had such a good time last night. He looked down between her legs. So clean, so smooth, so amazing to look at. It seemed crazy to him how much pleasure he got merely staring at her pussy.
He touched it.
I’m too spent.
But he tested himself to be sure. No. Nothing. A shame.
“Good-bye,” he said.
He placed the anchor and chain next to her and then rolled her up into the wire as if he was making a mutilated crab pot with too much bait. He threaded and twisted the 11-gauge wire to form the mesh into a bag that he shackled to the length of chain. He didn’t want her to become a floater.
“Help me?” she managed to whisper.
“Sleep, love,” he said.
He lifted the bundle up and tossed it over the stern. It hit the water with a small splash and sank.
CHAPTER ONE
In a sense, biology has become too important to be left to the biologists.
~ Robert Nerem
To blame biology for my attraction to Drew would be evolutionarily justified. To explain why I instantly liked her would be superfluous to anyone that’s met her.
~ Kyle Fisher
...................
Drew Stirling knew right away why the University of California at San Diego is praised for its programs and loved for its beautiful location on the warm Pacific Ocean. No snow days. Drew loved her new life. She donated all her winter clothes to charity and spent entirely too much money on bikinis. On her first day of college, however, she didn’t think about the beach, surfing, hanging out with her best friend Ben Davis, or splurging on Mexican food and margaritas. She felt like a conqueror surveying newly acquired lands.
The UC campus sat in the town of La Jolla, which was part of the greater San Diego metropolis, and only about thirty miles from the border between the United States and Mexico. This part of Southern California was known for beautiful beaches and famous attractions like the zoo and the wild animal park. Drew considered these wonderful luxuries, but she was there because the biotech department was one of the best in the nation. She wanted to be part of the cutting edge technology that would lead to breakthroughs in research. She felt she could find a way to contribute, perhaps bringing something meaningful to the world. Because of Ben’s influence, she had not considered going to another university.
She entered a classroom and the noise level dropped. People noticed her, of course, especially the guys. She sat, and the other students restarted their conversations, but it was still awkward. She had no desire to be anything except a regular student. Okay, not entirely true, she wanted to be among the best students, but she had no desire to be a celebrity here.
Taking out a fresh notebook, she wrote on the first page: Chem. 6A: Prof. Kyle Fisher. When the professor entered the room, there was silence once again. He was tall and good looking. Drew noticed how several of the coeds around her responded to him. She realized she’d been caught in the same ether herself.
“Good morning, freshmen. I’m professor Kyle Fisher. I’ve been a part of this program for ten years now, and I’m also an alumni of UCSD. I believe you have chosen one of the best schools in the country. I know you’ve chosen the best place to live. You’ll notice my email address,” he pointed to a whiteboard. “Please write it down and use it for questions or problems.”
He lectured about the importance of chemistry in the bioengineering field and reviewed the syllabus with the specifics of his class for first-year students. Drew was fascinated and thrilled. She was finally doing something significant with her life, modeling was behind her, and she hoped to contribute to the knowledge base that could change lives through science.
The lecture ended after the professor issued a warning to be wary of the seducing nature of social life in San Diego. “Have fun, but remember why you’re here.”
Drew stood and gathered her belongings. Starting college felt as promising and exciting as it must have been for an explorer of the New World or an engineer at NASA working on an off-planet mission. An unknown world waited to be discovered; not a new continent, planet, or comet, but things incredibly small. In her joyous mood, which left her feeling a bit ungrounded, she bumped her notebook. A mechanical pencil went flying onto the floor, and she bent over to pick it up.
“I’ll be in my bunk.” The voice was from the center of the room and because of the lecture hall’s acoustics, everyone heard him. Several guys standing next to the jokester laughed.
“You!” The professor shouted at the student. “Get your ass down here. Now.”
Drew was embarrassed; attention was the last thing she wanted. A masturbation reference from a complete stranger was rude, sure, but she’d heard them before. These were college freshmen, only a few months ago most of them were kids in high school. Barely adults. Overgrown children, for the most part.
The professor spoke to the student loudly enough for his message to be heard by others, he had a voice that conveyed authority, power, and determination, yet it was absent of cruelty or capriciousness.
“I will not tolerate rudeness, sexism, or any hint of harassment in my classroom, is that understood?”
“Yes,” the young man answered. His face turned red, and he looked to the ground. The remaining students were staring at him now.
“Okay, excellent. Now please apologize to Miss Stirling.”
Drew flushed. Now everyone was thinking about her nude pictorial; anyone that hadn’t known about her career before today would be Googling her on their smartphones as they exited the classroom. Shit.
The young man apologized. She felt he was sincere, and she shook his hand. She smiled at him, and he blushed again, before turning and walking away.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said to the professor after they were standing alone.
“I can’t have that kind of behavior in here. Zero tolerance. This classroom is not a circus. It’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way.”
He reached out his hand. Drew took it and looked at him. He was probably not yet forty, she guessed, but close. He had a friendly, soft face, and green eyes. He was taller than her by a good foot, but that was typical. She was on the short side. Meeting someone for the first time was awkward since her nudes, and her disappearance had been nationally publicized. She had to assume that whenever she met a male over twelve that he had, at the very least, looked at the online pictures. Millions had bought the magazine: the issue with her on the cover had set record sales. Drew wasn’t embarrassed for herself, but she was empathetic to the embarrassment of others.
“The pleasure’s mine,” she said. She realized she was still
gripping his hand, and she let go.
“I guess every young man’s a fan.”
“Yeah, I’m used to it. It’s not a big deal, really.”
“So, tell me, what interested you in bioengineering?”
“I’ve had an interest in the hard sciences since high school. Seems like ages ago. I guess it’s true that time flies. I always excelled in math and science, and, well, it’s a long story. I sort of rebelled against my dad a little when I was fifteen. One thing lead to another. Once I started making money and having my own life, it wasn’t easy to stop.”
“I saw your transcripts and records in admissions. I’ll admit that I was more than a little curious. What brought you out to California?”
“Well, that’s another long story,” she smiled at him. “I don’t want to keep you.”
“I have time. No other classes until later in the day. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
Drew smiled.
She said yes with her smile. She had a way with body language, perhaps a holdover in her DNA from a time when men hadn’t yet mastered vocal language. Maybe the Little Mermaid was an ancient relative. Maybe she understood men better than other women. He followed her out into the sun.
They walked and conversed casually about the weather, surfing, and the engineering program. He bought her a coffee. Drew felt at ease and started to share some of her past. He asked about her reasons for picking this University.
“I’m sure you read the papers or heard the news stories about me and Congressman Boyd. I wasn’t proud of that affair, but it’s not like we weren’t both consenting adults. The media generated a lot of mistrust about my story, but I swear I was telling the truth. I was nearly killed, and I lost a good friend. That was hard. It still is. It was very difficult realizing that his death would remain officially categorized as an accident. I’m absolutely positive he was killed.”
“Being attacked must have been a life changing experience?”
“Yes, it was the catalyst that started me on this path. I realized that as much as modeling had given me a fabulous lifestyle, I wasn’t satisfied with my life. Modeling and acting, they have a lot of perks, if you’re one of the talented and lucky ones. I made good money. The work was hard and challenging, too. People don’t always realize that I worked out like a professional athlete. I enjoyed the traveling. I got to see new places and had the opportunity to meet lots of interesting people. Being in Sports Illustrated opened a lot of doors for me. My agent has sent me at least a thousand endorsement offers over the years. It’s funny because I never wanted to pose naked originally. Not so much because I knew my parents would be appalled, but actually, it’s not really me to be so flamboyant. But, no regrets. That story exposed corruption even if it didn’t lead to any indictments.”