Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller) (19 page)

Oren tried not to sigh when he saw Joaquin ticking off his fingers. He knew Bermingham saw it too.

“You think this is some kind of fucking joke, you grease bag?” Bermingham said this calmly, conversationally. Joaquin looked up from his counting to Bermingham’s black stare, and blinked. “You and your brother think Vincente can protect you from me?” He was
almost whispering now. “If this shipment goes bad, all three of you will be praying to die.”

10:33am, 98° F

Dani had to look at her fingertips to be sure she had the glass in hand. It didn’t surprise her. She couldn’t feel her fingertips because her brain was busy. Her thoughts weren’t just lining up into little boxes; they were throwing themselves into cages like frightened gorillas.

She had no idea what was going on.

Experience had taught her that until she did, she had to stay calm, stay small, and stay quiet. And to think.

Somehow this made sense. There was some way she was supposed to assemble the facts before her that would erase the confusion. Cute, clumsy Tucker, who had disarmed her enough to make her chase him onto the deck in hopes of a kiss, was really Bermingham, a bad guy so bad that the insane Wheeler boys feared him. He was making a deal so dangerous that Mr. Randolph was terrified. And Mr. Randolph was looking at her like she somehow played a part in all of this because Mr. Randolph’s best friend was a federal agent who had obviously said something.

Lining the facts up wasn’t helping.

She knew she was breathing because she could smell Juan’s fear sweat when she scooped up the spilled ice near his feet. She never thought she’d long for the days when Juan’s regular sour-feet-and-onion funk overpowered everything else. Bermingham kept talking, those broad northern vowels sounding so out of place in the heat.

“So yeah, I’ll be spending a good bit of time around here until we’re done. That’s not going to be a problem, is it Oren?” Dani didn’t bother to look up to see Mr. Randolph’s nod. What else was he going
to do? “Great. I want make myself available while the deal is going down just in case anyone gets nervous. I want to make it really clear that I’ve got everything covered. We’re not having any more changes in plan. You tell Vincente.”

“That’s Mr. Vincente to you,” Juan said.

“I’ll call him my fucking prom date if I want to, okay? Great. Now you two boys catch a ride back to Miami, load my nice, cool cargo carefully into the
Pied Piper
and sail that baby gently to the inlet here. You bring her to shore no earlier than dawn, no later than nine in the morning. You don’t take my boat or my cargo out in this fucking heat, or it will be the last mistake you ever make. If one goes bad, they all go bad, remember? I inspect the cargo and, if it’s all sound, I transfer the money to Vincente’s account before the banks close in Zürich. Everyone gets what they want before the weekend.”

He turned to smile at Dani. “And we all want to have a good weekend, don’t we?”

Chairs moved, people moved, Dani put bottles and empty glasses into the bucket. The Wheelers left first; without even looking, she could feel the heat of the glare Juan gave Mr. Randolph. When she did look, Mr. Randolph didn’t look at her. She hauled the bucket toward the door, past Bermingham’s long legs still stretched out in front of his chair, and stopped where her boss had no choice but to see her.

“Is it okay if I go for a run before my shift?”

“Sure.” His voice sounded odd. “You can take the day off if you want. I’d say you’ve put in a full day.” He looked into her eyes, really looked into them for the first time since Caldwell’s visit. He looked at her like he wanted her to say something very specific, but before she could figure out what that was, Bermingham spoke up.

“Hey, Dani, hang on a minute, will you?”

She didn’t.

He caught up with her before she made it to the steps up to Jinky’s deck. If she hadn’t just seen him shoving a gun into Juan’s
liver, she might have been more moved by the puppy-dog eyes he gave her.

“You’re pissed, aren’t you?”

She watched Mr. Randolph pass behind him along the path to the front of the bait shop. Bermingham didn’t stand too close to her but since he stood more than a foot taller than she did, she understood the power structure at play.

“I’m a little surprised. Tucker.”

“What? That’s my first name. You didn’t think to ask about my name.” She nodded. “I didn’t tell you my last name because I didn’t know how much you were going to be involved in your boss’s business. I wanted to know what you were like before you knew who I was. And I like to know everyone I’m doing business with.”

He leaned in closer as he spoke and Dani stared into the placket of his golf shirt. The nearness of him, the size of him, convinced the secretary in her brain to line her thoughts up in a particular order.

Most people don’t know what it’s like to be small, especially men. To live your life at shoulder height to the majority of the population gives a person a keen sense of physical dynamics. Bermingham’s suitcase probably weighed more than she did, and even with all the working out she had done, Dani knew she had few physical advantages.

But she had one.

Looking up from beneath her lashes, Dani let the corners of her mouth twist up into an almost smile. “You were afraid I’d like you for your reputation and not your boyish charms.”

She saw him relax as he put his hand on the railing beside her. She wanted to duck under it and run as fast as she could. Instead she brought her fingers up and wrapped them loosely around his wrist, tracing patterns on the soft skin of his pulse point.

“And what makes you think,” she whispered in a sing-song, “that I would prefer boyish charms to a bad reputation?”

“Gee,” Bermingham leaned in closer, his breath warm on her face, “maybe I wanted to stand out. Your boss has a lot of bad men doing business in his bar. I plan on being a part of that in the future. Maybe I’d like to find out if I have an ally in this place. Maybe I just wanted to get the lay of the land.”

Dani made herself giggle. “So to speak.” Bermingham brushed his lips against hers and she shoved him playfully. “Well, you may be a big shot but I’m still a housekeeper and a bartender and I’ve got to hustle for my money, so spin-the-bottle is going to have to wait until my shift is done.”

“I thought he just gave you the day off.”

Shit. She stuck to the truth. “He did, but I’ve got to get my run in.” She dropped the bucket on the steps and slipped under Bermingham’s arm. He made no move to stop her, just smiled as she passed. “I’ve got to keep my ass this size. I can’t afford new clothes.”

“Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of it so far.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder, gave her hips a little swing. As soon as she turned the corner toward the front of the bait shop, she stepped out of her flip-flops. The gravel on the path cut into her feet but she didn’t flinch. She followed the path past the office, scooped up her sneakers where they sat beside her running clothes she’d left there to dry. She almost stopped to change but just pressed her feet into the shoes as she walked. As soon as her feet hit the paved road out of the fishing camp, Dani started to run.

10:51am, 99° F

Pound pound pound.

The heat made the asphalt feel mushy and Dani was distantly aware that in some spots her heels actually stuck to the melting
ground. In the steady rhythm of the stride she heard two words over and over again.

Set. Up.

She didn’t want to hear them. She didn’t want to believe them and she wouldn’t let them take root in her mind, but every step, every breath, sounded the same.

Set-up.

Tucker singling her out from all the women in the Florida Keys, all the tan girls partying at Jinky’s. He smiled at her. Flirted with her. Because he had business with her boss.

Her boss had business with the FBI.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

Set-up. Set-up. Set-up.

Was she being set up? Maybe someone was using her to set someone else up. It didn’t matter who and it didn’t matter why. She wanted no part of it.

She saw Caldwell’s smirking face and remembered her urge to run. Not down the beach, not another mile in the sand, but out of the state, out of the south. She could go to Oregon. She could go to Arizona. She could go anywhere.

And they’d find her.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

Would she have thought this a year ago? Before Rasmund, would she have felt the same panic being lied to by Tucker, being played against any of her previous bosses?

She threw herself off the center of the bridge, seeing a school of silver minnows feeding as she fell. There was only one place to swim. Mr. Randolph’s dock. Her home.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe.

Six years ago she’d been working in a dive bar in Oklahoma. She’d slept with a Fed then. She’d slept with cops and rangers too.
She didn’t give it another thought. Nobody used her any more than she used them and for nothing more important than a little sweaty fun and a break in the monotony of the everyday.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

The government had used her and thrown her away.

Breathe.

She’d seen people thrown away before. She’d seen them in the bars and in truck stops. She’d seen them as a little girl on the road with her father—desperate people selling themselves, selling anything, stealing what they needed because they believed they didn’t deserve anything better. Because they were garbage. They’d been used and thrown away.

Dani sensed the inlet ahead and sped up. She took a deep breath, dropped below the surface and kicked hard.

They’d thrown her mother away.

Her body cut through the water, the current at her feet, and Dani let momentum carry her before she drew her arms back to propel her.

She stopped thinking.

Her lungs ached for oxygen and her pulse pounded in her ears. Two more strong kicks, two more long sweeps of her arm, and the seaweed around Mr. Randolph’s dock brushed past her shoulder, her fingers brushed the end of the rope strung from the top of the bar’s deck.

No thinking. Just climbing.

Hand over hand Dani pulled herself up out of the water, the still painful ache in her shoulder feeling almost like pleasure in its familiarity. Up and up she pulled and twisted, her hands sure and rough against the slick rope.