"You look good," he howled as I pulled away from him.
"Jay, this is Missy. She owns the hotel."
"Ma'am," Jay extended his hand and deepened his Mississippi drawl. "Thanks for keeping this asshole off the street with work."
"I wish I could keep him here more," Missy said. "He has an aversion to staying put too long."
Jay gave her a congenial smile, and he looked at me warily. "What's the plan?"
"Don't worry. Missy knows what's going on."
He said with relief, "Good, what have you heard?"
"I got a text about an hour ago. He sent me a picture of Abbie to prove he had her."
"Did you call the police?" he asked.
My head drooped a little. "No, I didn't. The police don't know that I have the necklace he wants."
Jay nodded along. "Afraid that it will be taken out of commission?"
Missy perked up, having heard me say the same thing just before Jay arrived.
"Yeah, I figure it would be better to know I had the bargaining chip in case it was the only option."
Jay took the seat next to mine. "Has he set a meet?"
"Not yet," I told him. "I wanted your opinion on this."
"It's going to depend on him. How much control does he want to have? He needs to think he has all the power until we get the girl back. Does he know you?"
"Kinda," I said. "I think he's the guy that shot me."
Jay seemed to be thinking. "Then let's keep him watching you. Let's figure this out. Do you have any gear?"
I smiled. "Follow me."
The marina has a small section of storage units that the liveaboards can rent to keep items too large for a boat. Unit 4C was one of the smaller ones. It could store a small grill or maybe a power washer. Or, in my case, it held a small armory stored in a large airtight cooler.
"I'm so glad to know that if Cuba invades West Palm Beach then the Tilly Marina will be well protected," Missy said when she saw the stacks of guns as I opened the cache.
Jay reached in and removed a M45 and checked the action. The familiar clink echoed in the storage unit.
"Did you take all your service weapons?" he joked as he slid the handgun back into its holster.
"No, these were all aftermarket purchases," I assured him. "I bought these at an estate sale for an old colonel over in Sarasota. Barely scratched the surface of his collection. His widow was making a small fortune off his guns."
He grabbed a box of .45 ammunition and loaded the magazine. "Ooh, give me that M240," he said, pointing to the belt-fed machine gun on top.
"That might be overkill," I pointed out, handing him a M40 Sniper Rifle. "Why don't you take the rifle instead? If we need that many rounds, then we already failed this mission."
He sighed, "Fine." He took the M40 rifle from me. "But when this is done, we need to go to the range with that gorgeous lady."
"I've never heard a man talk about guns like that. Boats and cars, but not guns."
"You never met a real man, huh?" Jay said, cutting his eyes at me.
"Seems that was the complaint on all three of your divorce papers," I snipped.
"How far can you shoot with that?" Missy asked Jay as she watched him shoulder the M40 and peer down the sights.
Jay answered, "I can hit a stationary target every time from at least half a mile. If they're moving, I need to be about 300 yards out."
"Wow," she whistled.
"You should get him to take you shooting with us," Jay said. "Nothing like 600 rounds a minute pounding through that beast to get your blood flowing. Better than sex."
"Again, that was the complaint your ex-wives said. You shot out your ammo within a minute."
"Ahh," he pointed at me with a grin.
Missy twinkled and grinned at Jay. "I'll be sure to make him do that some time. I mean, take me shooting. I have to go do some work. Be careful, guys."
"Thanks, Missy," I said. She smiled at me as she walked away.
After pulling a canvas sea-bag from the box, Jay slipped the M40 Sniper Rifle into an Army green tote. He stuffed a box of cartridges into the bag.
"You and her got a thing, huh?" he asked casually as he pulled the strap around the sea-bag to close it.
"She's married."
"But..."
"It's a pretty low-key thing. She's not leaving him, and she's even more married to the hotel."
"Yeah, that doesn't fit your Viking lifestyle, does it?"
"Viking?" I retorted, "They stayed too far north for me."
"When we get the girl back..." he started. His eyes turned wistful, and he commented, "Seems like this guy might have taken out Tristan."
I nodded. "Maybe, but it would mean he got the drop on Tristan."
"He got the drop on you," Jay said, pointing at my side. "The fact is that we have to assume that Tristan is dead and that he had a part in it."
"Unless Tristan is behind the whole thing."
"You think he'd kidnap his own kid and knock his wife around?"
I considered the question. That side of Tristan was one that I wasn't willing to see.
"I loved that kid, but he never listened," I muttered. "He should have come to us before this happened."
"That doesn't matter," Jay said, "He probably killed him. And now, kidnapping his daughter. There needs to be some justice dolloped out, don't you think?"
I remained silent.
"Can we grab some grub at your bar?" he asked after a moment.
I slammed the storage locker shut and motioned my head for him to follow me.
Michael was seated at the bar when we came back through. An empty martini glass sat in front of him, three olive spears were collected on the napkin beside him. He glared at me and examined Jay, trying to surmise him.
"That one of your SEAL friends?" he asked, and I felt Jay bristle.
"Shut the hell up, Michael," I admonished him.
He sneered at me as we grabbed two seats on the other side of the bar.
Hunter came over and dropped off two bev naps. "He just downed three martinis since you guys left."
Jay looked a bit confused. "What? Is he an angry drunk or something?"
Hunter chuckled quietly. "More like 'an angry all the time' type. The man hate-drinks as if the martini told him he had a small prick."
"Maybe he does," Jay suggested, and Hunter howled in laughter.
"That's usually something Chase would say," Hunter joked.
"That's Missy's husband," I leaned over and said.
"Ahh," Jay spoke with sudden comprehension. "So, it is a small penis thing."
"Give us two tuna sandwiches," I told Hunter in an attempt to steer the topic away from Missy's husband.
When he left to order our food, Jay asked, "I'm guessing the husband knows all about you."
"The whole sordid thing is a shit storm. I should know better."
"Shouldn't we all," he muttered.
Jay was in the midst of his third divorce. He married his first wife when they were both 18. It was one month before Jay shipped off for Parris Island. She filed for divorce before he got out of basic. The second, Lara, he married while we were stationed in Mobile, Alabama. She lasted two years. I only met the third at the wedding. At this point, I think Jay had given up on marriage. Jay told me that there were some things he was extremely good at doing; being married wasn't one of them.
Hunter placed two bottles of Coors Light in front of us.
"Where's this necklace?" Jay asked.
"Locked in a safe in Missy's office."
"I don't like that we are forced to sit here waiting to hear from him," Jay commented. "He should want to get this over with. What are the chances that he's watching you?"
"It's possible, but I spotted him pretty quickly the other day. Unless his surveillance skills have greatly improved, I think he would be noticeable."
I looked up as Wilson Peterson strolled past Michael, who was now joined with Missy in a heated but under-the-breath discussion
. Peterson gave me a wave and flagged his phone at me in an unspoken response to my message.
"Give me a sec," I said to Jay as I stood up.
Approaching Peterson, I asked vaguely, "Have you heard anything new?"
Peterson smiled amiably and replied, "Not a word."
"Good," I exhaled. "I need to talk to you about something, and it needs to be a discrete conversation."
He furrowed his brow.
"I'm tied up at the moment, but I'll call you later."
With a confused look, the mayor nodded. "Okay, Chase. Is everything okay?"
"No, it's all good," I said when I saw his concern. "I'm not planning to shake you down if that's what you think."
He grinned sheepishly as if my suggestion never crossed his mind.
"You sleeping with his wife too," Jay asked when I sat back down to find our sandwiches had arrived.
"That's the mayor of West Palm."
"Don't you get around," Jay joked. "So, are you sleeping with his wife too?"
"How's the divorce going?" I jabbed at him.
"That's a little cold."
My pocket buzzed, and I pulled the phone out.
"Tonight at 11 p.m. DuPuis Corbett Campsite."
Jay read the text when I flashed him the screen. "Where is that?" he asked.
Shaking my head, I admitted, "I don't know."
"Don't you live here?" he asked, dumbfounded as Hunter passed by to check on us.
"Chase?" Hunter laughed. "He only lives here. He doesn't go anywhere if it's more than walking distance from the Tilly."
I shrugged. "I'm a creature of habit, but this week has skewed my average."
"Do you know what the DuPuis Corbett Campsite is?" Jay asked Hunter.
"That's the DuPuis State Park. Lots of hiking trails between Okeechobee and the beach," Hunter said. "Chase wouldn't know because it doesn't involve boats."
"That's fair," I conceded.
"I bet there's a brochure or something at the concierge desk," Hunter pointed out.
A two-minute trip to the concierge earned me a brochure of the Dupuis Management Area, that offered hiking and equestrian trails with several primitive campsites.
"I'm betting it's this one," I said to Jay, pointing to the most remote campsite on the map. The little tent icon sat on the edge of the border of the DuPuis Management Area and the Corbett Wildlife Management Area.
"Smart," Jay commented. "It looks like the only way to get there is on foot. If we involve the police, then it might be obvious. He could disappear into those woods."
"What are you thinking?" I asked, watching the strategy working through his head.
"This is easily seven or eight miles of hiking from the road. You'll have to take the long way, but right here," he pointed to an intersection of roads on the map, "is only a mile or so as the crow flies."
"And a large canal," I pointed at the canal dredged from Lake Okeechobee. "Down here, if there's more than six inches of water, there's gonna be gators."
"Beats the sand," he said.
Hard to argue with that.
33
A constant low hum of nocturnal bugs communicating back and forth filled the dark around me. The only light among the tall pine trees was coming from half a moon shining in the southeast sky. It was enough that I was able to see the outline of the trail in front of me. I chose to park in an area five miles away from the trailhead that leads to the campsite. Taking the extra five miles on foot would, I hoped, prevent anyone from waiting to ambush me near the start of the trail.
A five-mile march was a piece of cake, and it would take me just short of an hour at most to cover it. Keeping 50 feet off the road at night made my approach invisible. When I reached the trailhead, I held my position for half an hour. No one came or went. Most hikers wouldn't be out after dark. They were all crowded around a campfire, letting the smoke drive the mosquitoes away.
Not me, I thought, as I lost count of the bites I was feeling. I was making my way with only a partial moon along the trail that would eventually lead to the Atlantic.
My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and while I couldn't make out details, the sandy trail was almost illuminated by the lunar light. My pace was fast, but careful. The odds there could be a trap waiting to be sprung on me was still high enough to keep me wary. My steps were quiet, and very few would even see me pass in the dark.
The diamond necklace felt increasingly heavier in my pocket with each step. My hands felt for it every few seconds to comfort the paranoia it would somehow work its way loose from my pocket and become lost in these woods. The M45 in my waistband added a level of relief, knowing if someone decided to attempt to take the jewels, I would not hesitate to stop such an attempt in a second.
Jay had a two-hour head start on me. He spent a few minutes studying the map before he decided to have me drop him off on a dirt road only a mile or so from the campsite. By the time I made it to the entrance of the DuPuis Management Area, Jay had time to make his way to the campsite and burrow into a blind.
Unfortunately, we were going in under radio silence. Mainly because I didn't have any radios. There was no way to confirm Jay was in position. I just had to trust him and know Jay was there.
All of that was a given. There were only two or three other people on this earth who I warranted that kind of faith. All of them were Marines.
The luminescent arrows on the hands of my watch showed it was ten minutes to ten. Judging from the steps I was mentally tracking, the campsite should have been within a mile from my location. Give or take. It's a hard science judging distance in the dark.
My final approach would be the most dangerous. It would be an amateurish mistake on the kidnapper's part, but lying in wait for me near the finish would seem to be an easy move. Especially if he thought I was going to act like most people traversing an unknown forest at night. Most would be walking by flashlight. It would be like waiting for a lighthouse to come past. Hard to miss.
Predictability would get you killed. This kid already surprised me, and I had no intention of letting him do it again.
My plan was to get off the path as I neared the campsite and flank the kidnapper. The site was close enough that I decided it was time. Having studied the map before I stepped foot in the woods, I could use the moon and tiny compass attached to my wristwatch. It was a handy addition I used when I was diving; one I never expected to use in the woods.
The pine needles on the forest floor kept my shallow footsteps from making a sound. I felt like my feet were treading on carpet.
The trees still seemed to sing with the cacophony of an entomological orchestra. While the mosquitoes were steadily harvesting my blood, they were of lesser concern to me than other things. I could smell water, which as I pointed out to Jay, meant there were alligators. I have seen my fair share, and they are far more fascinating than frightening. However, in the dark, even a four-foot one might startle me. I didn't want to have to explain why I gave away my position while shooting an alligator.
The trees ahead began to show glimmers of light. I turned north to skirt the campsite. There were voices. Male and inaudible from where I was.
Using the trunks of the tall pine trees, I cloaked my approach. Even if the two men at the campsite were looking directly my way, I didn't think they would see me in the shadows.
These guys were definitely amateurs. They had a couple of flashlights with enough lumens to light up a ball field, and they were focused on the trail as it entered the campsite. Even from where I was standing with the M45 I had, I could easily drop them both before they knew what happened. That wasn't going to happen. Abbie was still a variable, and her safety was paramount.
I recognized the greasy kid that shot me immediately. The other man was older than me, and he seemed to be the one in charge. He made a few motions that were obvious orders, and the kid complied.
They had a tent set up behind them. I prayed Abbie was in the tent. If not, then...well, I didn't want to think of t
hat.
Before I made a move, I wanted to set eyes on Abbie. Now, I was uncomfortable. If she was in the tent, I wouldn't be able to confirm she was safe when I made my approach.
I knew I had the advantage of Jay covering me. These guys didn't know that. Even with that, there was no point in leaving anything to chance. Once they knew the necklace was here, Abbie and I would become expendable. Better to ensure we didn't become that way.
Pulling the diamond necklace from my pocket, I took the Swiss Army knife I carried and stabbed the blade into the pine tree I was behind. The pendant hung gently on the knife. The diamonds catching the bits of lunar light and reflecting them like stars.
"Hope I remember which tree," I muttered to myself.
I walked slowly to the edge of the woods. The kidnappers still had their backs to me. My feet moved slowly as I came up behind them. I considered checking the tent, but I worried I was taking too many chances. Better to roll the dice and take my turn.
My hand gripped the M45 and slipped it from my waistband.
"Where's the girl?" I asked sharply.
The greasy kid jerked in surprise and turned.
"Dammit," the older one swore.
"That's him," the greaser said.
I repeated, "Where's the girl?"
"Where's the necklace?" the kid asked.
"It's in the woods," I replied, "and if you even think about going for it, I'll drop you both."
The older one stated, "No need to worry. The girl is in the tent."
"Get her," I ordered.
The older man gave the kid a nod, and the kid moved toward the tent. The man twitched a little, and I knew he was carrying too. He wasn't going to pull, I figured. He'd let the kid do it while he was holding Abbie. He would assume my attention was drawn away and my concern for Abbie would stop me from shooting.
The strategy might not be a bad move for most people. Except I had years of training hammered into me. I was a dead shot, and I knew Jay had the guy's head in his crosshairs.
"Where's the diamonds?" the man asked.
"They are stashed in the woods. No more than fifty feet from you right now. As soon as you let the girl go, I'll point them out to you."
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