Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller) (17 page)

9:00am, 93° F

Choo-Choo shook his head at Dani as Caldwell took his seat beside Mr. Randolph. She should have told him about Caldwell, but from the look of disgust on his face, it seemed he hadn’t had any trouble figuring it out. It hadn’t taken the agent long to swoop in. If Caldwell knew who Choo-Choo was, he had to know more about Dani than she’d originally suspected. Could he do something about it? Was he going to scamper back to his little hidey-hole and report to the powers-that-be about the insidious collusion occurring at Jinky’s? The thought punched a hole in her mood, every bit of her earlier optimism draining to the floor.

This was never going to change. She and Choo-Choo were never going to be out from under their thumb.

“Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Tucker looked up from his phone. “Although I think we’re talking about two different things.”

“I’m sorry. There’s just this thing.” Dani waved it off.

“Another thing? You’ve got a lot of things going on, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.” Dani wasn’t in the mood for any more playful banter. Maybe Mr. Randolph was right. If he needed constant
reassurance, maybe Tucker didn’t have the stones to date her. She wiped at the bar with rough strokes.

He downed the rest of his beer and stood, shifting from one foot to the other. “Look, I’ve got to go meet some people and actually make a living for a little while. I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Can I get your number?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

His eyes widened. “Really? Is that even allowed anymore?”

She shrugged, not looking up. “Everyone I know is right here.”

“Yeah, but now you know me, and I’m leaving, so . . .”

She looked past him to see Caldwell head out and off the deck, taking a chunk of her tension with him. Tucker stood waiting, looking unsure. None of this was his fault. Maybe she shouldn’t require everyone to have such big stones.

“So . . .” She leaned forward against the bar. “Come back. I’m always here.”

He started to speak, but a beep from his phone cut him off. He glared at it. “I’ve got to take this. Can you—I mean, just . . . hang on.” He put the phone to his ear and headed out to the deck. Dani wiped up the bar, tossing their bottles, postponing a look down the bar.

Choo-Choo sat with his chin in his palms, his fingertips pressed against his eyelids. His high spirits over his job offer long gone. If ever there was a posture that screamed, “Leave me alone,” that was it. Mr. Randolph pushed away from the bar and it seemed to her he made a point of not meeting her eye. That could mean Caldwell had told him something about her. Something that may or may not be true. Caldwell had certainly said something to Choo-Choo and, true or not, it hadn’t been friendly.

Everything was going to fall apart.

That familiar tumbling fear rushed over her. She had nothing to count on. Nothing ever stayed where it was. She had no place to hide and had no control over the forces against her.

This wasn’t a new fear. This wasn’t even just the result of the betrayal at Rasmund. This was a lesson she had been learning her entire life. From the time her mother’s mental illness took hold, forcing her to be shuttled from relative to relative waiting for her father to come off the road to take her away, Dani had learned to contain this fear, to put it in a little compartment in her mind so that the rest of her thoughts could function and behave and move her through her life. She could feel her mind shoving and stomping on the fear beast, wrestling it into its cage, but for some reason, today she wouldn’t let it be tamed.

Not for some reason.

She knew why.

She didn’t want to contain the beast. She didn’t care what she’d been forced to accept as a fact all her life. Dani didn’t want it to be true anymore.

She wanted to stay.

Dani winced as the bar rag she’d been twisting in her grip finally cut off the circulation to her fingers. Daring to admit those words to herself made her want to hide under the bar. She wanted to scream and throw glass after glass just to hear them shatter. A shadow passed across the floor of the bar and Dani looked up.

She wanted something else too.

Without giving herself a chance to talk herself out of it, Dani jumped up onto the bar, swung her legs over, and threw herself down on the other side. She didn’t stop to right the stool she kicked over on the way and thought she might have heard Mr. Randolph yell to her, but she ran from the bar.

There on the steps leading down from the deck stood Tucker, still on the phone. He didn’t see her until she stood on the top of the steps and when he noticed her, he smiled, those big dimples winking at her. He held up a finger, asking her to wait, and Dani really hoped he wouldn’t be long. She didn’t want to lose her nerve.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay.” Tucker made an impatient gesture, smiling at Dani as if he could read her mind. “Yeah, I got it. I’m there. We’re good. I gotta go. Okay. Okay, yeah. Sheesh.” He ended the call with a flourish. “Yakity-yak. Someone needs to learn to text.”

Now that he was off the phone and she had his full attention, Dani didn’t know what to do. Even standing two steps above him, she was barely level with his face. His smile changed from happy surprise to something a little more knowing as he leaned up the steps toward her.

“Hi.”

Oh she was so bad at this. “If I had a phone, I would give you my number.”

He laughed. “I’d like to have it, Dani. I’d like to know more about you, what you do here.” He stepped closer, bending to keep his face close to hers. “I’d like to know a lot more about you. What you’re good at. What you like.”

She couldn’t really make any sense of his words, distracted as she was by the nearness of his face and the gold and green flecks she could see in his brown eyes, so she just let her gaze move to his dimples and let him get closer as he spoke.

“So far I know you drink shitty beer and good gin. I know you look really cute in your little dresses and shorts and that you’re allowed to sit on the bar.” His nose brushed against hers and she could smell the beer on his breath as he whispered, “What else do you do around here?”

She closed her eyes, letting her cheek brush against his. “Um, catch rats?”

“What?” He pulled back a little, squinting to focus on her.

Dani felt her face redden. God, how bad had she gotten at flirting? She used to be good at it. “In the units. That’s part of my job.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the rental units. “And I clean. I’m the housekeeper. Not very cool.”

Tucker tilted his head, considering her. “I think you’re pretty cool. And I think you probably do a lot of things that are cooler than cleaning house and catching rats.”

Before she could protest, he kissed her. It was a soft kiss that lasted just long enough to make her sigh. Before she could think enough to wonder how she should react, he kissed her again, this one not so soft. He followed it with a third kiss that drove every thought out of her head except riding the kiss out to the end. When he pulled away, they were both grinning.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked.

She nodded and watched him back down the steps. He flashed those dimples at her before he disappeared toward the parking lot. Dani stood there a moment, staring at the place he’d been standing, letting the sea breeze blow her hair off of her face. Her thoughts made no move to lock themselves into compartments.

Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport

9:00am, 73° F

Booker retrieved his yarn bag from the security belt, thankful the guard hadn’t seen the need to check its contents. There was nothing in the bag of interest to airport security, nothing but yarn, a crochet hook, and a tiny pair of yarn clippers. And the yellow afghan, of course. Booker would have kept his cool had the agents decided they needed to fondle his gift for Dani but it wouldn’t have been easy. He could feel the tension sitting hard and hot at the base of his neck.

His employers didn’t know where he was. They thought he was lying low because of his vague reference to heat after the hit on Agent Davis. That idiot had made the job absurdly easy, buying without question his convoluted lie about explosives and trackers and amphetamine shots. He couldn’t resent the stupid man, although it had taken
the entire drive with the windows down to get the smell of that filthy food out of Dani’s afghan. Davis had come across for him with an address. Redemption Key, Florida.

Booker knew he could have searched for Dani himself. He still had resources. As the agent had said, any private investigator could have found her. She didn’t seem to be hiding, working aboveboard and all. He squeezed the handle of the yarn bag more tightly at that thought. She still wasn’t scared of them. Dani Britton, still showing up for work, still paying her taxes. He could imagine what she’d have to say about that, her hard-earned money going to pay Uncle Sam. He wished he could hear her say it.

Booker checked the screen at the gate. They’d be boarding in a little while, but he had time to pick up a few things for Florida. Florida, what was she doing in Florida?

He could have tracked her before this. Any private investigator could have found her; he could have found her with enough time. But while Booker knew the FBI had their fair share of morons like Agent Gregory Davis, he didn’t imagine for one minute that the power behind the power employed many. They might not have seemed interested in his relationship with Dani—and really, it was a relationship, wasn’t it?—but Booker wouldn’t risk setting off any alarms.

Except for a few money transactions and retrieving a dormant ID he’d kept set aside for emergencies, Booker hadn’t contacted any of his usual business associates. Fences, forgers, arms dealers—he wouldn’t risk opening any of them up to federal investigation. No, Booker knew that if he bided his time and watched for an opportunity, someone would find Dani for him. And that Agent Davis had been planning on blackmailing his superior? That made him the perfect someone. Booker would bet his favorite little knife that the agent’s laptop would arrive in the evidence locker mysteriously wiped of all memory and files.

Booker wheeled his nearly empty suitcase behind him toward
the clothing store. He’d ditched the laptop he’d had in Nashville so the bag weighed almost nothing with just his dress clothes in it. He’d had to ship his knives back home to a post office box. The damned airlines made carrying weapons so much more complicated. Still, he was headed to Florida, to a fishing camp, whatever that meant. Surely they sold knives for fishermen.

He could have driven. It wasn’t like he was in any hurry. But once he’d had an address, an unfamiliar sense of urgency had flooded his body. He’d searched for flights to the Keys, found one from Nashville that got in at five o’clock in the afternoon. Then he’d found a non-stop from Atlanta that got in before noon.

He’d driven the three or so hours from Nashville to Atlanta in the middle of the night, telling himself it was an effective plan to shake his employers should they decide to track him. He assured himself that the identity he used to buy the ticket wouldn’t set off any alarms. He told himself that by getting to Florida as quickly as possible, he lessened the chance of being missed.