Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller) (27 page)

“What?” Dani felt such a rush of relief that he’d go with her she could hardly follow what he said. “What boat?”

“Let’s steal that one.” He pointed over her shoulder, out to the open water of the channel. “We’ll take a kayak out, climb on board, and steal the son of a bitch before anyone is the wiser.”

Dani squinted out over the water into the glare of the lowering afternoon sun. She knew nothing about boats but she could tell this was little more than a tub. It rose and fell in the gentle tide, shifting until she could read the peeling paint.

“We can’t steal that boat. That’s the
Pied Piper
. That’s the Wheelers’ boat.”

2:43pm, 106° F

Caldwell poured his friend another drink, which Oren ignored. Vodka wouldn’t cut the bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t know which would be worse—finding out for sure that Dani was playing him or finding out that he’d shut her out when she was really in trouble. He knew one thing for sure. For the first time in more than a decade, Oren Randolph yearned for something harder than vodka.

“I’m going to get out of here,” Caldwell said softly. Oren figured he wore his misery all over his face and the agent must be able to
see it. “Let me head back to Miami, see what I can find out. Maybe I’m a paranoid old man who’s manufacturing drama where there is none. Maybe my SSA has a team coming down to bust the Wheelers as we speak. Hell, they may be doing me a solid and protecting you as my CI.”

“Yeah,” Oren said, giving in and grabbing the vodka, “because I know how high a priority they place on burned-out ex-cokehead bar owners. Shit, Caldwell, what if Dani was telling the truth? What if she’s in trouble?”

Caldwell clapped his hand on Oren’s shoulder. “Man, we are all in trouble. When the Wheelers are moving something this big and we’ve got a gun like Bermingham on site, we are all in trouble. My advice to you is to lay low. Keep your door closed. Let them do whatever the hell they’re going to do out there. If Dani is telling the truth, if there really is some psycho out there looking for her, odds are he’s going to get caught in the crossfire. Sometimes you get lucky and situations like this take care of themselves.”

“I don’t feel very lucky.”

“Then let’s make our own luck. Let’s up our odds and get out of here. Just for the night. I’m parked across the road on the other side of the hedge. Nobody saw me come in, nobody will see me go out. Give me five minutes, then you go around front. If they ask, tell them you’re taking your evening constitutional. Tell them they have the run of the place until you get back. Tell them you’ve got a date. Tell them anything, just get the hell out of there.”

“Bermingham’s not going to let that happen. He’s jumpy. He’s watching. And—oh no, is that a boat?” Oren cocked his head, years of experience letting him pick up the sound of a small motorboat approaching the dock.

“Bermingham isn’t going anywhere. You said he told you the deal can’t go down until dawn. He’s probably going to be spinning Dani around on his lap like a top—”

“Aw man, don’t say tha—”

Caldwell gripped Oren’s arm tight. “You don’t owe that little girl anything. Like you told her, she’s an employee, not your daughter. You gave her a job and a place to live; she does what you tell her. If she’s fucking you, leave her ass hanging. If she’s not, she’s a smart girl. Something tells me she knows how to get out of the way.” He loosened his grip and patted Oren’s arm. “And surely by now she knows how to collect fifteen bucks for the public dock, okay? I’m going. Five minutes, then you make your excuses. Then we get our asses up to Miami until the dust settles.”

Oren nodded, hating every inch of the plan and not just because he hated Miami. Caldwell downed the last of his drink and moved to the sliding glass door. He peered through the glass before sliding the door open slowly. He had one foot out the door when he turned back to Oren to give him an encouraging nod. He got half a nod out before the muzzle of a gun pressed against his temple.

2:59pm, 106° F

They heard Bermingham swearing before they saw him clear the hedge of bougainvillea at the corner of the walkway. Dani put her hand on Choo-Choo’s arm to still him as the Canadian charged past them without looking. He was shouting into his phone and then shouting at Juan Wheeler, who pulled up to the outside slip in a dinghy.

“The fuck is this, Wheeler? You’re early.” Bermingham didn’t wait for Juan to tie off the boat. He leaned down, shouting at the smaller man, who ignored him. “Vincente hasn’t said anything about moving this up. Is my cargo on board? Get Vincente on the phone now.”

Choo-Choo laid his bike down silently in the gravel and he and Dani crept toward the units, putting distance between themselves and the scene at the dock. Dani could tell by the light it had to be close to three o’clock. The sun wouldn’t be setting for a while. That meant hours of hot, direct sunlight on whatever the Wheelers were selling to Bermingham. She didn’t have to hear all the words to pick up Bermingham’s opinion of the situation.

Choo-Choo whispered in her ear. “This might be an ideal time to put that ‘running for our lives’ plan into motion.”

2:30pm, 106° F

The first thing Booker did after Dani left was turn off the air-conditioning. The heat didn’t bother him but the inability to hear sounds outside his room did. He slid the old metal window open and surveyed the empty dock slips. He’d seen Dani follow the planked walkway back toward the main building and around the thick greenery that hung over the water. Was that where Dani lived? The thought of slipping into her private living space again sent a shimmer of anticipation along his skin.

First things first, however. Booker changed into something a little less conspicuous—the khaki shorts and a faded T-shirt he’d bought in Atlanta. The clothes made him feel silly. He liked long pants and button-down shirts. Anywhere else they helped him remain invisible, but blending in at a fishing camp in Florida required him to stretch his comfort zone a little. It would be worth it if it made Dani feel more at ease around him. He drew the line at sandals, however. He felt off balance enough as it was. He hadn’t gone without socks in over thirty years; he wasn’t going to start now. Again, while he preferred hard black shoes, canvas sneakers and white socks would have to do.

He didn’t look at himself in the mirror as he stepped into the bathroom. Memories of being a young boy in sneakers and a ball cap tried to distract him but Booker had more than enough experience to hold them back. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t technically a job. It was a mission, however undefined, and he had procedures to follow. Clipping the sheath of his new serrated knife onto the waistband of his shorts helped him relax so he went ahead and strapped his smaller blade to his right ankle, pulling his sock up to hide it. He probably wouldn’t need them but their presence helped soothe his nerves.

With a little effort, he finished the last step of his settling-in process. The screen in the small window over the toilet resisted him but a two-handed punch finally knocked it free of the frame. He’d pay the damage deposit if necessary. Stepping lightly onto the toilet seat, Booker slid through the small window, lowering himself to the gravel below. He always felt better with an exit plan.

He stayed close to the laundry bins and recycling dumpsters behind the units, moving into the shadows of the low palm trees that ringed the gravel lot, not to avoid the sun but to keep from casting too long a shadow of his own. He could hear voices across the narrow inlet and the faint chug of a motor out on the water but nothing really shattered the heat silence of Jinky’s. Still, Booker felt better in the shadows.

His breath caught when he saw Dani in that little dress leaning over the handlebars of some man’s bike. The guy was lanky, his face hidden under a straw hat, but something in his build triggered recognition. It wasn’t the big guy from the bar, but he’d seen him somewhere before. Booker made himself comfortable between a thick clump of bougainvillea and the sign listing the docking rules. With the sun heading toward the horizon over the open water, he knew the shadows would shift and lengthen, keeping him hidden for a while. He hoped Dani would stay right where she was.

Of course someone had to ruin it. Someone big. Booker stayed still as a tall man in a golf shirt stormed past him, swearing into a cell phone. That was the guy from the bar. He watched Dani’s reaction, seeing how she stilled herself and her companion, like a deer caught in the open. Booker couldn’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t notice her tan arms and black hair, how her skin shone in the sun, but the guy on the phone only had eyes for the dinghy motoring up to the last docking slip.