Authors: Fern Michaels

Plain Jane (41 page)

BOOK: Plain Jane

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“I write books these days. Do you believe that? And, they made movies out of them. Who knew I could do that? Certainly not me.”

Pete waved his arms about. “So, this is it? The end of the road for you? There's a lot to be said for peace and quiet and tranquillity but to withdraw so totally, I can't believe that's a good thing. Don't you miss Atlanta and all the action? You had a lot of friends back there on the force. Everyone just said you fell off the face of the earth.”

“I'm content. For now. Things might have turned out differently if they hadn't caught the punk who killed my family. They gunned him down right outside my house. I would have hunted him down and killed him myself. There's nothing back there for me now.” His voice was defiant when he said, “I like it here.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Kind of small, though. How about I stay around long enough to help you build another room on to this . . . stilt house? Remember when we helped Pop build a sunroom for Mom? I'm free as the breeze for the next six months. Let me help, Tick. I
need
to do something for you. If you're writing another book and need to concentrate on that, I can do it on my own. I was always better at the hammer-and-nails thing than you were. Even Pop said so. A nice big room with wall-to-wall windows so you can see the ocean. Maybe a big fancy bathroom. By the way, do you own this place?”

“Yeah. I bought it a few years ago from the village. It's kind of complicated. Everyone in the village is related. Indian heritage. This Key is the result of some kind of land grant. One of the elders came out here one day, and he had this big stick. He asked me to follow him, and he kept dragging the stick; and then he said everything within the lines was mine. He held out his hand, we shook, and I paid him two thousand dollars. That's all he wanted. He signed his name on a piece of paper, and I signed mine. End of story.”

All Pete could think of to say was, “Uh-huh.”

Tick remembered that he was a host. “Want a beer?”

Pete's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You drink?”

“A beer now and then. I learned my lesson, I know my limitations. I don't crave it if that's your next question. It's nice to see you, Pete. I mean that. I guess I wasn't very hospitable when you showed up. I didn't quite know what to do. I've been running from the past, then, suddenly, there you were, front and center.”

Pete nodded. “No social life, eh?”

Tick laughed. “I guess what you're asking me is do I miss sex?” He laughed again. “I go into Miami every so often. I bought a cigarette boat. I see a lady there at times. She's one of those people who knows everything there is to know about computers. It's what it is. So, do you want that beer or not?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Tick, I do. Having a beer with my brother . . . it doesn't get any better than that.”

Tick looked at his twin for a long minute. “You're right, Pete. And yeah, you can stay, and yeah, we can build the room. It will be like old times.”

Pete let his breath out in a loud
swoosh.
“I didn't bring anything with me. I'll have to go back to the Keys to get my stuff. You got some old shorts or old clothes. I'm sweating like a Trojan.”

“I'll run you down there tomorrow,” Tick said, tossing him a pair of khaki shorts and a threadbare T-shirt. “Bathroom is in there,” he added, pointing to his left. “I'll get the beer, and we can sit on the porch. It sits two.”

Pete guffawed. “I noticed.”

And then it was like old times, two brothers who actually liked one another, talking about world affairs, women, work, and the weather as they shared a beer.

Then they were on the little porch, Pete on the swing, Tick on the chair, his feet propped up on the banister. “Tell me about the lady you're going to marry.”

“She's great, Tick. You're going to like her. She's grounded. I know she works for the State Department, but that's all I know. She doesn't talk about what she does. I don't know if it's need to know or she just isn't comfortable talking about her job. She must be well paid because she has enough money to invest in our business. Her name is Sadie. Her real name is Serafina. She's Italian. Mom would have loved her. We call and e-mail. But there are times when she's off-line for weeks. She never gives me an explanation other than to say, âit's job-related.' I learned to accept it. I've known her for three years. She's thirty-seven.”

“I'm happy for you, Pete. I mean that.”

“Do you want to talk about
it
?”

“No. It's not time yet. Maybe that time will never come. What color were the roses you took to the cemetery?”

“Yellow and some pink ones for Emma. Daisies for Ricky. The monument is nice. Andy took care of that. A mother angel and two little ones.” His voice broke, and tears flooded his eyes. He swiped at them with the back of his hand.

Tick cringed. Everyone was doing what he should have done.

“Hey, let's take a walk on the beach. Show me how much of this glorious paradise is yours.” Pete hopped off the swing and yanked at Tick's arm, jerking him to his feet. Then they were in each other's arms, hugging one another and pounding each other on the back.

“Sometimes life out and out sucks. It doesn't mean it won't ever get better, it just means you have to work harder at making it right. Hey, what about the bird? Do you have to put it in a cage?” Pete asked, hoping to drive the stricken look off his brother's face.

“When did you get so smart? The bird is a free spirit. He just moved in one day and decided to stay. I don't even remember what day or year it was. Suddenly, he was just there. We get along just fine, but he's a tad salty.”

“When I was lying in a hospital doped to the eyeballs for my pain, I had a lot of time to reflect. A lot of time. Hey, I can tell when it's going to rain within three hours. If my bar and grill goes belly-up, I can probably get a job as a weatherman. You always gotta look at the positive. You got a bed for me, or do I have to sleep on the floor?”

Tick doubled over laughing. “That is an accomplishment. Not to worry, I have one of those blowup beds that come in a sack, and the only reason I have it is Andy keeps saying he's coming down here. Since he hates to fly, I don't see that happening anytime soon.”

Tick looked up at the star-filled night in time to see a shooting star flash across the sky. He wondered if it was an omen of things to come. A light breeze ruffled his hair as he strode along. The ocean's warm water lapped at his feet and ankles. It was so soothing, he knew that if he ever left here, he would miss this nightly ritual.

A long time later, Pete said, “What the hell is
that
?” pointing to
that place
. “It looks like something you might see at the gates of hell.”

Tick frowned. He hadn't realized they'd walked so far. A full moon rode high in the sky, outlining the enormous building that stood like a dark avenging something or other. “I have no idea. The village people refer to it as
that place
at the end of the beach. As far as I know, it's uninhabited. I never come this far on my nightly walks and usually I go the other way. I've never seen anyone around the place or on the beach, at least I haven't during the day. Though I thought I heard someone crying once, I'm sure it was an animal. At night I think someone comes and goes, not sure why, never really cared to find out. It was being completed when I was just coming out of my drunken stupor. I never really cared enough to inquire, and, besides, who would I ask? I can tell you one thing, it cost a bundle to build. That's for sure.”

“Are you sure it's empty?”

“No, but I never see anyone. I hear voices late at night sometimes if I'm out walking. No boats coming in. I'd hear a motorboat. The Coast Guard rips by five or six times a day. Usually the same boat. I can tell by the sound of the engine. And, when they start to approach that thing, they throttle back, so it's my guess they're keeping their eyes on it. In order to get there on foot, you have to go past my place. I never see any lights, so I just assume it was built by some drug lord who got caught, and the place just sits there now because everyone is afraid to go near it. No one wants to get caught up in anything drug-related or whatever goes on there during the night.”

“What do
you
think, Tick?”

“You know what, Pete, I try not to think about it. I have enough of my own problems without worrying about an empty building and the Coast Guard keeping an eye on it.”

“Does anyone check on it?” Pete asked.

“You mean aside from the Coast Guard? Maybe the DEA, the DOJ, hell maybe ICE has an eye on that thing. Aside from all the drive-bys I've heard, no one else has been poking around, at least to my knowledge. Why are you so curious about an empty building?”

“You live just down the beach from it, Tick. Those drug people shoot first and ask questions later. I would think with your background, you'd be a bit more curious.”

“You trying to spook me, Pete?”

“Hell yes I'm trying to spook you. You need to keep your wits about you. Jesus, there's not a soul to be seen except for you and me. If no one checks on you, you could be shot dead, and no one would know but that damn parrot, and I doubt you've taught him how to call 911.”

Tick turned around and started back the way they'd come. “I think we're both tired, and it's time to go to bed. If you like, we can check it out tomorrow in daylight.”

“Yeah, let's do that. You're right, it's been a long day.”

Kate Rush stood in the middle of the filthy room as she strained to see outside through the louvered glass windows that were a quarter of the way open, the handles to close them long rusted. Outside, sheets of rain blasted the building in hard-driving whacks of sounds. The palm trees nearly bent in half from the ninety-mile-an-hour gale-force winds slapped at the building, adding to the deafening barrage of sound. Visibility was zero. And it was going to be dark soon.

There were few things in life that frightened Kate Rush and, while she wasn't exactly frightened at the moment, she was uneasy. She'd been through a hurricane before and hadn't liked it then. And she sure as hell didn't like it now. Uneasy because the moldy, smelly building was empty of furnishings, her contact was a no-show, and a hurricane was raging just inches from where she stood. There was no place to sit, no place to hide or take cover. She'd been leaning against one of the mildewed walls for over two hours as she waited for her contact to show up. Her hand crept inside her jacket on the left side. The comforting feel of the Sig Sauer
almost
wiped away the uneasy feeling.

Little storm,
my ass, she thought as she remembered Tyler's words when he had called to tell her to meet him. She'd mentioned the word,
hurricane,
which he'd pooh-poohed, saying, “We get these little storms all the time. This is Florida. Get used to it, Agent Rush.” As if she didn't know this. She'd spent her childhood and teen years living in Florida. Of course, schmuck that he was, he'd probably forgotten that small detail.

So, she'd packed her bags, driven to Phoenix, parked her car in the long-term lot at the airport, and flown to Miami, where she'd rented a car and driven here through a hurricane. The big question was, where in the hell was her handler, the macho Lawrence Tyler, who was to meet her two hours ago? Hopefully in a ditch somewhere, never to surface again. Or, maybe, washed away out to the Gulf, never to surface again. Or, stranded on someone's roof fighting for his life from the raging waters, only to be swept away, never to surface again.
Oh, be still my heart.

Kate hated Lawrence Tyler. All the agents who worked under Lawrence Tyler hated him. If he threw himself a going-away party, no one would attend. Tyler was a sneaky, slick, obnoxious glory hound who used his agents to make a name for himself. He was the show horse, and the rest of them were the workhorses. She knew in her gut this assignment was a payback for the last confrontation she'd had with the nattily dressed Special Agent. She'd won that round, and Tyler had been transferred from the Phoenix office to Florida. But Tyler had a long arm, he knew how to kiss ass, and he had an all-powerful protector in his father, who just happened to be Florida's governor.

Kate fished around in her go-bag until she found the powerful Maglite she was never without. The bright light didn't help her mood. She shifted from one foot to the other as she listened to the storm outside. She ran the phone call from Tyler over and over in her mind. Tyler had said everything was NTK. Obviously, while he wanted her here, he wasn't about to tell her why until they were face-to-face. “Need to know, my ass,” she muttered for the second time.

The long and short of it was that, for the snitch fee, one weasel had probably whispered something about some drug deal or something else equally rotten that was about to go down into another weasel's ear, who then whispered it into Tyler's ear, who then hit the ground running without checking the detailsâhis usual MO.

As Kate leaned against the wall and listened to the hurricane outside, she wondered why she'd agreed to return to Florida after she'd spent twenty years of her life living elsewhere. She'd been days away from resigning and going to work in the private sector. Her resignation was typed and printed and in her purse. She'd given the DEA twelve years of her life, and because of people like Lawrence Tyler, she wasn't where she wanted to be. That was the bottom line. That, and the money sucked. She could make twice as much as she earned now with less danger to her person in the private sector. She had no social life, and at thirty-eight, her biological clock was ticking faster than she'd like; it was time to make some hard and fast decisions and stick to them.

Yet here she was. One last shot? Her swan song? Maybe one last time to get into Tyler's face? More than likely agreeing to come here was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. Not that she'd had much of a choice. The only way she could have avoided this assignment was to have handed in her resignation. Then again, maybe it was the fact that Tyler had said he might lend her out to the Coast Guard. Why me? she'd asked herself a hundred times since leaving Phoenix. She smiled at the thought that maybe Tyler planned on drowning her in the Gulf. An evil smile twisted her lips. He could try. Kate shined the beam of the light onto her wrist. Tyler was five hours late. “Which just goes to prove,” she muttered, “if you want the job done and done right, send a woman to do it.”

Two hours later, Kate's legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor. Not knowing if there were any rats in the abandoned building, she opted to keep the high-powered flashlight on, knowing she had spare batteries in her go-bag. Eventually, her eyes closed, and she dozed. From time to time she'd jerk to wakefulness to listen to the storm, which gave no indication it was abating. With no sleep the night before and traveling cross-country, she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Hours later, Kate woke to an eerie quiet. Something had wakened her. Her hand immediately went to the gun in her shoulder holster. She looked around at the brilliant sunlight blasting through the louvered windows to see what it was that had pulled her out of her deep sleep. She crab-walked, one eye on the doorway and the other on what she could see through the windows. She blinked at the elegant palms that were uprooted and piled in a pyre as though a bonfire were imminent. Crumpled aluminum lawn chairs were scattered over the narrow stretch of beach. A child's skateboard stood upright in the sand. An ice chest, the lid hanging drunkenly from one of the still-standing palmettos, lay on its side. She craned her neck and saw a motorcycle farther down the beach, the front wheel in the water, the back wheel buried in the sand.

Kate wheeled around; the Sig Sauer in her hand was steady, the safety off, when the door opened. Disgust whipped across her face when she saw Lawrence Tyler standing in the doorway. “A little late, aren't you?” she snapped. “Fifteen hours to be exact.” Her hand dropped to her side, but she didn't holster her gun.

Lawrence Tyler was
GQ
handsome, with black hair that she'd happily noticed was thinning and clear blue eyes. Six-two, 170 pounds, and impeccably dressed, he was soft-spoken and as hateful as anyone she'd ever met. Classic nose, dimples, and a dentist's dream. Basically, Tyler was a wuss in every department except when it came to women. He was a deadly combination for the weak-willed women who were dumb enough to be taken in by his phony charm and good looks. She thanked God she wasn't one of them.

Tyler waved his hand toward the bank of louvered windows. “Hurricane. The roads were blocked.”

“Amazing that I got through, isn't it, Lawrence? I've been hanging out here for fifteen hours. You had me fly across the country and threatened me with my job if I didn't get here on time even though there was a hurricane warning. You told me Florida was about to get a
little storm,
but you obviously were unwilling to venture out into this particular
little storm.
” Kate saw the smirk on Tyler's face, and it stirred her to throw caution to the winds. “This is your revenge. This is all about your getting even with me for getting you transferred here. Admit it, and we can go on. Otherwise, I'm outta here.”

Tyler looked around, distaste written all over his face. “You're being ridiculous, Agent Rush. Obviously, you are PMSing, so I'll overlook your little outburst this time. The only thing I expect from you is professionalism and doing your duty to the country. Threaten me again, and you go on report.”

Kate bit down on her lower lip. She thought about the resignation letter in her purse, which she'd shoved into the bottom of her go-bag. Tyler had to pay for that PMSing comment. She debated pulling out the letter and ramming it down his throat. She could do it, too. Every one knew what a wuss he was. He even got manicures. She realized at that moment how much she really hated the man standing in front of her. Still, she'd come all this way. The least she could do was hear him out before shoving her resignation down his throat or up his ass, whichever target presented itself first.

“Let's cut to the chase, Tyler. Why am I here? Why is this meeting taking place in this . . . this hellhole? There are hundreds of hotels in Miami. I know you set this up to spite me no matter what you say.”

“Your problem, Agent Rush, is that you're a drama queen. And you will address me as Special Agent Tyler and not by my last name. Is that understood?”

“It's understood,” Kate said coldly.

“The reason, the only reason I picked you for this job is because you grew up in Miami. You lived here for eighteen years.”

So the little shit remembered after all.

“You know the area, the people, you have friends here. You were the logical choice.”

“The logical choice for
what
?”

“We have it on good authority that something big is going to go down on one of the Keys.”

“When? What?” Kate asked.

“We don't know. It could be money laundering, it could be drugs, or it could be human trafficking. It could take as long as two years. Don't look at me like that, Agent Rush. You know how it works. We get in place, set up our surveillance, then wait it out. You'll also be working with the Coast Guard on a limited basis. There's a man we want you to watch. You'll be set up with accommodations that will give you access to the man in question.”

“How did you come by this information, Special Agent Tyler? Which one of the Keys?”

“That doesn't matter. The source is reliable, that's all you need to know. The old maps call it Thunder Key, but these days it's known as Mango Key.”

Was it all she needed to know? Nah.

Kate took a deep breath. This was where the rubber met the road. She turned around, picked up her go-bag, yanked out her purse, then reached in and grabbed her resignation letter. She whirled around, and said, “Let me make sure I have this right. You have a tip from someone who is more or less reliable who tells you something might or might not happen in approximately two years, and you need someone to babysit some man who lives on Mango Key. Do I have that all correct? Ah, yes. I can see by your expression that I got it right. Nah, I don't think so. Based on all of the above, I think I will pass on this gig,
Lawrence.
” In the blink of an eye, she thrust the resignation letter into his hand, turned, grabbed her bag, and was out the door and headed to where she'd parked her rental car. But it was gone, thanks, no doubt, to the hurricane, which just meant she'd have to hike to the hotel she'd checked into on arrival.

“Agent Rush! Stop right this minute!” Kate thought he sounded like a squealing wild pig caught in a rainstorm. She kept on going but did call over her shoulder, “Don't call me that again. I just quit. What part of that don't you understand ?”

“You can't quit! I need you! The DEA needs you! You're an ace in this type of case. Look, I understand you're ticked off about yesterday, but these things happen. I said I'm willing to overlook the PMSing you're going through. Now stop, and let's talk this through.”

Kate's eyes narrowed. She stopped in her tracks, dropped her go-bag, and got in Tyler's face. “Listen to me, you bastard. I despise you. For ten long years you've made my life miserable just so you could make yourself look good. I'm sick and tired of watching you take credit for other dedicated agents' work, my own included. I'd also like to know where you get all your money. That's a Hugo Boss suit you're wearing. I know how much a suit like that costs. You drive a Porsche. You have fancy digs. Where does the money come from, Lawrence?
Daddy?
The only reason you're still at the DEA is that your
daddy
is the governor of this state.” She'd worked herself into such a rage, she drew back her balled fist and coldcocked him square on the nose with all the force she could muster. “That's to remember Sandra Martin by, you son of a bitch!” Then her foot snaked out and found his groin. “That's for stealing Levinson's hard work and taking credit for it.” She whirled around and kicked again, this time the blow landing deep in his side. He'd be peeing green for a week after a hit like that. “That was for Jacobson and how you put the screws to him.” Then her fist shot out and landed in the middle of his throat. “That's for me and every other agent you screwed over. No witnesses, Lawrence. Now, if you'd been smart and had this meeting in some hotel or public place, you could sue me for assault and battery or have me brought up on charges.”

“You bitch!” Tyler croaked, as he tried to staunch the flow of blood spewing all over his expensive suit.

“Goddamned bastard!” Kate said as she slogged through the sand to the road. She didn't look back.

BOOK: Plain Jane

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