“Sorry,” I say. “You’ve really got the wrong guy.”
A tight smile crosses her lips. “Have it your way.”
She leaves me next to my bike. The rain has stopped, and the setting sun is glowering over the gulf a few blocks away, throwing up sprays of pink into the dissipating clouds.
The Mercedes Robert was driving earlier is gone. He probably got dropped off here and then headed to the airport. I’m guessing Sydney did too. So I climb on my bike and start toward Tallahassee.
It’s dark when I pull into the private airport parking lot, parking near the terminal.
An employee waits at the entrance with a luggage cart. I smile at him, and he nods, offering a smile in return. I might be a local bartender who has no place at this high-end airport, or I could be a billionaire. He’s gonna play it safe.
“Can I help you?” he asks. Probably in his forties with thinning pale hair, he’s wearing fingerless gloves and a name tag that reads Nate.
“Maybe.” I pull out my wallet and extract one hundred dollars in twenties. “Did you see a woman come through here with a really big dog?”
He eyes the money and then looks up at my face. “Who wants to know?”
This does make me look like a stalker.
“I’m a private eye. My client just wants to make sure his wife is where she said she’d be.” I give him a knowing smile. Women, and the men they drive crazy.
Nate purses his lips. I pull out a few more twenties, doubling the amount I’m offering.
He takes it, counting it once before looking up at me and raising one brow. I lay two more twenties on the pile. “Saw a woman this morning with three big dogs.”
“Did they look like wolves?”
He nods. “One of them sure did.” Blue and his puppies. “Has she come back?” He shakes his head. “You’ve been on this whole time?”
“I work a double today.”
I smile. “That’s lucky for me. Did you see what kind of car she left in?”
“An SUV thing—with that many dogs she’d need it, right?” He grins.
“A rental, you figure?”
He nods, “Yup, used one of those services where they drop the car off for you.”
“Do you know which one?”
Nate puts the cash in his pocket and then holds up his empty hand. I take out a few more twenties, leaving my wallet empty. “Enterprise,” he says, pushing the new bills into his pocket to join their brethren.
“That office close by?” I ask. He gives me the address.
I’m heading back to my bike when Robert’s Mercedes turns into the lot. I stop next to my bike and he pulls up, rolling down his window. “Fancy seeing you here,” I say.
“We need to talk in private. Get in the car.”
“I already told you I have nothing to say to you.”
His jaw ticks with annoyance. “Someone gave our names to the police.”
“They gave my fake name to the cops.”
He raises one brow. “And isn’t that interesting? Get in. Don’t be an asshole.”
“Like you?”
He sighs, and I relent, going around to climb in the passenger seat. Robert pulls into a parking spot and turns off the ignition. “The helicopter came from an off-shore yacht. We need to figure out who owns it. I spoke with Dan and he is working on it, but that is an easy thing to hide.”
“I’m sure you know all about it.”
He doesn’t take the bait. “Whoever is trying to kill us—”
“You,” I point out. “They don’t even know my name.”
“Sydney and me.”
“How do you know they are after her?”
Robert turns to me, his eyes bright in the car’s dark interior. “What makes you think they’re not? You do not understand what’s going on. She is in danger. Don’t you want to protect her?” There is an edge to his voice—he’s angry and upset.
“You can’t figure out where she went, can you?”
Robert shakes his head. “If you love her, let her go. She’ll come back if it’s meant to be.”
“When did you start working for Hallmark?”
“Watch your back,” he responds.
“I’ll be watching Sydney’s too. Not that she needs either of us.”
Robert’s jaw ticks again. Ah, he thinks she needs him. He opens his door and gets out of the car, leaving me alone in the luxurious interior. That’s one way to end a conversation.
I join him in the misty evening. “I’m going to check on that yacht. In person,” Robert says as I join him on the sidewalk.
“Great. Good luck with that.”
He shakes his head in that you’re-an-idiot way he’s got down pat and walks away from me. The car beeps and flashes that it’s locked. “Asshole,” I mutter to myself as I head back to my bike.
The Enterprise office is in a strip mall sandwiched between a pizza parlor and a nail salon. A bell jingles as I enter the space. It’s small, with a few waiting chairs, gray indoor–outdoor carpeting and a white Formica counter, behind which sits a young woman with giant glasses that make her look like an innocent owl.
She smiles and pushes the glasses up her nose. “Welcome,” she says with what sounds like genuine warmth.
I’ve restocked my wallet with cash, but I get the sense greed will not motivate her. Let’s see if I can make her feel bad for me. I play up my limp as I approach the desk.
“Good evening,” I say with a weak smile. “I’m hoping you can help me. I’ve lost my phone.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice high and distressed, the way only a millennial can be at the loss of a phone.
“I appreciate that,” I smile, putting a twinkle into my eyes. She blushes just a little. “I’m hoping you can help me, because my wife rented a car here, and it’s our anniversary. I wanted to surprise her.” I shake my head. “But of course, all the information is in my phone.” She nods, totally understanding how one might lose all knowledge when their phone goes missing. “I’m hoping you have some information that might help.”
“I’m so sorry, sir.” She looks it, too. “But I can’t share any information about our clients.” She bites her lip.
“Nothing?” I raise my brows in distress. “We’ve been married for ten years tomorrow. And she had to work, and I pretended I couldn’t join her.” I bow my head. “She’s actually kind of pissed at me. God, she will think I don’t care.” Looking up at Owl Eyes from under my lashes, I give her my most pathetic look.
She sighs but doesn’t relent. Policy is policy. I nod, understanding. I’m a reasonable man. Totally normal. “Can I use your bathroom before I go?”
She jumps off her stool, excited that she can help in any way, and points to the rest room. It’s past the desk, down a narrow, poorly lit hall, the end of which is a back exit with a push bar door. On the wall by the bathroom is the familiar square pull of a fire alarm.
In the bathroom, I wad up paper towels. Before heading to the front, I ease open the back door and then put it back into place but with the paper between the lock and the catch.
Owl Eyes apologizes again, and I leave with my head hanging, noting the hours on the door as I go. They close in forty-five minutes.
Back on my bike, I pull out into the street and circle around to the back of the mall. Cutting the engine before I reach the rear entrance, I park it just out of sight behind the nail salon, the scent of which burns my nose.
I still have twenty minutes before they close. There are two options—wait for Owl Eyes to leave and then sneak in or go in now and pull the fire alarm to get her away from her computer… hopefully leaving it unlocked. My gut tells me there is an alarm system which will alert Owl Eyes that the back entrance is unsecured when she goes to set it at closing. And I’d bet money that she follows protocol to a T.
Taking a deep breath I slowly push open the door. Stepping into the familiar hall, I let the door slip back into place, being sure that the wadded paper towel prevents
any clicking sounds.
The phone rings once before Owl Eye picks it up, her voice high and eager. The clacking of the keyboard starts up as I reach the alarm. I bring down the T-shaped handle, and the alarm screeches, accompanied by flashing white strobes.
Owl Eyes screams. The handset clatters to the floor, and I dip into the bathroom, waiting a full sixty seconds before slipping back out into the hall.
Through the tinted front windows, I can see Owl Eyes standing on the sidewalk, her purse clutched against her chest, a man in a white apron smeared with red sauce next to her. Must be one of the pizza chefs from next door.
Staying low, I sneak in behind the counter—I can’t see them anymore, but neither can they see me, unless they come back in. Owl Eyes is too much of a stickler to return to a building where the alarm is still sounding.
As I’d hoped, she’s left the computer unlocked. The system is simple, and I only have to go through three of Sydney’s aliases before landing on Grace Smith. Her license pops up—red curly hair, dark eye makeup, and brown contacts.
I write down the license plate number and click through until I find the LoJack key, writing that down too. Return location: Washington D.C.
The wail of sirens rises over the blaring alarm, and I peek over the desk to see a fire engine pulling up.
Time to go.
I’m out the back door before firefighters enter the building and merge onto the highway minutes later. Weaving through traffic, I head north for twenty minutes before I pull into a rest stop and call Dan.
“She left her phone behind,” he says.
“I know, but I’ve got her LoJack number. And she’s returning her car to D.C.”
“Well that’s useful,” Dan says, a smile in his voice. I give him the LoJack as an SUV pulls into the parking spot next to me. A woman leaps out of the passenger side and rips open the back door where an infant is wailing. “It’s okay, baby,” she coos, struggling to free the flailing baby from its car seat.
“Yup,” Dan says. “She’s headed north.”
“Any idea why she’s going to D.C.?”
“I do, but that’s Joyful Justice business.”
“Okay.” The woman has the infant free and sits back into the passenger seat, bringing the red faced baby to her breast. I turn away, giving her privacy—though I doubt she’s noticed me. That baby is her entire world. “You can’t tell me why Sydney is in D.C. But can you tell me where?”
“She may be going to see Declan Doyle,” Dan says. He sounds sympathetic…like I’m pathetic.
“Thanks,” I say, and we hang up.
A man gets out of the driver’s seat, his eyes shadowed by dark circles, his stare miles long. “I’m going to go get a coffee,” he says. The woman either ignores him or doesn’t hear.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I watch him walk away.
Could that be Sydney and me in nine months? Exhausted, confused…struggling at the hands of a helpless, demanding baby?
Only if I’m very lucky.
Chapter Ten
Robert
Sunrise is just a slight brightening of the clouds. No sprays of pink, blushes of peach, or twinkling blue. The clouds are too heavy for the sun to play any games this morning.
Our research in the night didn't turn up any information about the ship that the helicopter left. But Dan tracked it over satellite, and we know it's off the coast of Naples now. Though the clouds are hiding it, Dan has a projected path based on its course over the last twelve hours.
He’s helping me, because he still thinks they may be after Sydney. But I believe they gave my name to the police because this is a game they are playing with me. And me alone.
"That’s a storm ahead, and it looks pretty rough, buddy," the pilot, who introduced himself as Willy, says.
What about me suggests that I’m anyone’s buddy?
"I don't care."
Willy glances over at me, his pale green eyes ringed in dark circles. His breath reeks of coffee, and his bulging stomach and stained shirt affirm his slovenly lifestyle.
Willy returns his attention to the sky in front of us. The clouds have thickened, and the helicopter bumps in the choppy air. I glance down at my phone, where I have the map Dan sent me with the projected course of the yacht.
We’re thirty miles off the coast. "Go lower,” I say. "The clouds are too thick, we can't see the surface.”
“This cover is low; it's dangerous to go closer to the surface.”
"Do it." I don't bother looking at him—just use the force of my will and the weight of my expectations to make him follow my commands. The sea appears beneath us. The surface is riled, white caps peaking on silver-gray waves—the color of Sydney Rye’s eyes.
"Is that what you're looking for?" Willy asks.
In the distance, I can just make out a ship. It's a large yacht, over 100 feet long, with a helicopter pad on the stern, and, from what we could see in the satellite images, a mounted machine gun on the bow.
Through binoculars I can see that the ship is bursting through the waves, white spray flying on either side of her—the wake wide and turbulent. I try to make out the name on the stern but can’t—we are still too far, and the helicopter is bumping too much.
"We need to get closer,” I say. The pilot nods, continuing on course. The yacht slows, its wake subsiding. They must've spotted us. Through the binoculars I see figures running to the stern. They are holding machine guns.
"They have guns!” Willy yells.
"Keep going,” I command. The ship begins to turn. "I need to see the name.” Willy doesn't respond. I glance over at him. His eyes widen as the ship comes fully about—he sees the mounted gun. "Move, you asshole!” I yell at him.
My voice jerks Willy from his stupor, and he starts to turn the helicopter fully around, returning the way we came.
"No! I need to see the name on the back of that ship. Circle around now!"
"I'm not going to die for you, Mister. All the money in the world can’t bring a dead man back."
"I'll kill you myself. Now go." He looks over at me, sees the truth in my eyes, and with shaking hands, lifts us into the clouds. The bird shakes and shudders as he moves through the rough air. We descend again, right above the ship.
The men below scramble to aim the weapon at our underside. Willy veers quickly to the stern. And I see it. I see the name of the yacht.
The Escape Plan.
I can't breathe. The past swamps me.
The fire lit up the dark night, throwing wild shadows around the jungle. The explosion from the storage area sent the camp into chaos—soldiers running through the thick mud, their boots making loud sucking noises with each step. Commanders yelled for “Agua”, their prisoners forgotten in the clutch of survival.
My hands shook as I fit the key into the metal cuff around Amy’s neck. It came off, leaving a red welt in its place. She’s lucky she didn’t die of infection. The cutters clipping through the fence made an audible ting. Amy, a rock clutched in her hands, smashed at the padlock holding her lover’s cage door shut.
Antonio Marguezes, a political prisoner, pressed against the back of the small crate until the lock finally gave way. He burst from the cage, the promise of freedom lending his weakened body strength. Antonio didn’t make it out of that jungle alive, though.
Josh held the cut fence piece down, and we climbed through, staying low, as though if we made ourselves small enough the soldiers running to extinguish the blaze wouldn’t see us. Natalia saw us, though.
She stood outside her tent, hair down, wearing just a T-shirt and underpants. She’d been asleep. Men ran between us, smoke—the wet jungle wood steaming—fogged the air, but still I could see her face. The hard set of her mouth, the narrowed eyes…you betrayed me, she accused.
The keys still gripped in my hand, the roaring flames all around us, told the truth. I used her. But I planned to take her with me.
When I started forward, Amy grabbed my arm. “What are y
ou doing?” she hissed. Antonio and Josh stood behind her, the dark, thick jungle just beyond them. If we wanted to escape, we had to do it now.
“I’m not leaving her,” I said.
Amy gave a small shake of her head. “There is no time.”
I broke free of her grip and started toward Natalia, whose commander appeared out of the night. He grabbed her arm, hauling her up against him—his mouth moving. Making threats.
I broke into a run, but my leg sucked into the deep mud, my knee twisted and I fell, pain vibrating through my body. Amy’s small hand grabbed at my arm again. Warm wetness seeped from my thigh. I’d been shot.
Another explosion shook the camp, and I blinked against the heat, sweat blinding me, the bright flash leaving an aura in my vision. Natalia’s tent was on fire—the flames licking at the night sky, sputtering at the moisture it met there.
Her body lay on the ground, the fire’s light dancing over her naked legs. “She’s gone!” Amy yelled, hauling me up. Josh got on the other side, and together they pulled me free of the mud. They dragged me into the jungle, into the night, toward freedom.
I’d told Natalia she needed to have an escape plan—hinted that we would not be captives for much longer. She didn’t listen. Why? The thoughts tore at me for all the days we fought our way out of that jungle.
My knee recovered, though my bullet-grazed thigh continued to weep through the makeshift dressing. I took my turn carrying Antonio. He died on my back, his cheeks hollow and skin yellow—as Amy wept, her face red, splattered in mud, the wound at her neck festering—all I could think was…why didn’t Natalia have an escape plan?
Savage Grace (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #12) Page 8