Dead Man's Bluff

by Debbie Burke

  At last, Churro crossed the boulevard toward the sidewalk beside the beach. That matched Tawny’s path as shown on the hotel security video.

  The dog wandered back and forth on the promenade, checking out a still-wet glob of spit, a discarded sandwich wrapper, bird droppings, and the place where another dog had marked the wall.

  Shit, Tillman thought, now the damn goofy dog was sightseeing. The brief hope he’d felt evaporated. After several minutes watching Churro’s aimless sniffing, Tillman growled, “Why is he messing around? How come he isn’t following her trail?”

  “He’s trying to filter out the distractions,” Jessica explained. “Just give him a minute.”

  Soon, the dog committed to moving south, toward the Sandspur Bar.

  Tillman and Raul trailed behind Jessica and the dog.

  Raul said, “Jessica, she study many books about search dogs. She feels very bad that she did not find Smoky alive. She’s determined to find Tawny. Very nice lady, very kind to my daughter.”

  Tillman ground his teeth, fear rising. Tawny had to be alive. The possibility that she wasn’t sent razors through his insides. If she died, he was responsible for dragging her into Smoky’s problems.

  Earlier that afternoon, foreboding had weighed on him when he returned from the appointment with the attorney in St. Pete. He suspected Tawny might tell him they were finished, that she’d had enough of his bullshit.

  Now, he knew his sense of dread stemmed from a much worse cause.

  Churro continued in a straight shot for the next three blocks then veered toward the Sandspur. When they entered the bar, the bartender looked up at Tillman, nodded in recognition, but said nothing about the dog.

  Churro snuffled the floor, moving back and forth, then tugged Jessica toward the outside deck.

  The swinging doors of the kitchen burst open. The chef came through. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t bring a dog in here.”

  Tillman blocked the man’s path. “Let’s make peace, buddy. Will twenty convince you to go back to work in the kitchen?”

  The chef grumbled but no longer showed signs of his earlier aggression. “If the health department shows up, I’m in deep shit.”

  Tillman took a twenty from his wallet. “With the contamination Irma left behind, you really think they have time to run restaurant inspections?”

  The man took the bill, glowered at the dog, then retreated behind the swinging doors.

  Outside on the deck, Tillman found Churro sniffing the seat of a rocking chair shaded by an umbrella table. The dog whined.

  Jessica looked up at Tillman. “Tawny was sitting here.”

  “OK, honey.” He squatted beside her. “This is where the search gets tricky. Nobody saw her leave. It’s important to find out where she went next.”

  “Search and rescue calls this the point last seen,” Jessica said.

  Tillman’s diaphragm contracted at the ominous sound of those words. “Do it.”

  Jessica patted Churro’s back. “Find Tawny.”

  The dog’s tail wagged. He headed across the deck toward a stairway, yanking the girl behind him. He trotted down the steps. At the bottom, he paused, head turning back and forth. He zigzagged around the parking lot, panting and snorting.

  His demeanor had changed. Before, except for a couple of distractions, he’d seemed mostly confident in the trail. Now, confusion flustered him. He sniffed the air and the ground, circling and whining. Finally, he sat and stared at Jessica.

  “What is it, Churro?” the girl asked. She frowned at Tillman, worry in her brown eyes. “Something’s wrong. He’s lost the scent.”

  He scanned the empty parking lot. “What if Tawny got in a car and it drove away? Could he still smell her?”

  Jessica shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Ice solidified through Tillman. Tawny had gotten into or been forced into a vehicle.

  The trail ended here.

  Chapter 21 – Tie-downs

  Tawny’s calves and feet cramped from the effort of inching the nylon straps down her legs. The strap finally went slack around her ankles. One foot at a time, she slipped free. She flexed and stretched her knees, trying to ease the pain from the arduous struggle.

  Perspiration poured down her face, burning her eyes, but with bound arms, she couldn’t wipe it away. She kicked aside a blanket that Wally had earlier covered her with. If he intended to kill her, why did he care if she was warm or cold? He’d given her water when she was thirsty. She hoped enough human instinct hid inside his hulking body to spare her life.

  The straps binding her arms proved a tougher problem than her legs. Tight loops squeezed her elbows to her torso and held her wrists and hands fast to her hips. No matter how she tried to rearrange the loops—inhaling deeply to make her waist smaller, wiggling her elbows—she couldn’t budge the stubborn strap.

  Dwight used to have similar tie-downs to secure his four-wheeler to a trailer. They were rated at five thousand pounds breaking strength. No way to snap them.

  The metal clamp that cinched down the straps worked like an airplane seatbelt. The buckle dug into her back. She tried to flip open the clamp but couldn’t reach it with her numb hands.

  She tugged hard on the strap looped through the wood grab rail, hoping to pull the rail out of the bulkhead. But the screws held fast.

  Her tongue felt thick and dry. She craved the rest of the bottle of water Wally had left on the table but she couldn’t reach it.

  Was Wally alone on the boat? She’d only heard one set of footsteps above her. Where was the second phony deliveryman who’d grabbed her in the parking lot? She prayed he wasn’t aboard, also. She might get lucky against one assailant but not two.

  Lucky, hell. She’d need way more than luck.

  Chapter 22 – Couldn’t Hurt, Might Help

  Tillman paced the suite. Ever since Churro lost Tawny’s trail, a surreal nightmare had taken over his brain. His heart thudded with sledgehammer blows. In past months, he’d unwittingly put Tawny at risk while working on his cases but he hadn’t learned about those dangers until after the fact, after she was safe. Guilt over the previous episodes already tormented him.

  But, now, she was in jeopardy real-time. Rage, frustration, and helplessness built inside him, ready to explode.

  Raul and Jessica sat at the dining table and ate the room service dinner Tillman had ordered. Churro lay under the table, hoping for dropped scraps.

  No ransom demand yet. Why not?

  Tillman tried Nyala’s number again but it didn’t answer.

  He debated whether to call Gabriel. The longer the delay, the more time Tawny was in danger. Yet, the longer the delay, the more time he had to form a strategy.

  So far, his strategy sucked.

  He didn’t have three million in cash. He could borrow against real estate and stocks but loans took time.

  He always advised clients: never pay a blackmailer or a ransom. Yet, here he was, panicked enough to consider it.

  Kidnapping guaranteed a life sentence for the abductors. Too often, they killed their victims so they couldn’t testify.

  Was Gabriel that rash? Tillman reviewed conversations with the man, his courtly manners and smiling green eyes that masked a ruthless calmness.

  Yes, Gabriel was that rash.

  Tillman’s stomach twisted into harder knots.

  His best P.I. back in Montana had put him in touch with a local private detective. Tillman had given the investigator every detail he’d scraped from the internet about Gabriel Marquez Garcia, Nyala Obregon, and Sports of Yesteryear. The P.I. was now contacting personal sources he knew, in search of a home address for Gabriel.

  Tillman needed a hostage to exchange for Tawny.

  Nyala.

  Except he couldn’t locate her on a boat at sea.

  If the detective dug up a home address for Gabriel, Tillman would take Gabriel’s wife and children instead.

  Until Tawny was safe, the man’s
whole family was fair game. Consequences be damned.

  His cell rang.

  “Señor Rosenbaum?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “Manuel from the Sandspur Bar.”

  A possible lead. “What’s happening, Manuel?”

  “Me and my friend, we like the way you make el jefe kneel. That maricón is always threatening us with a knife but we can’t do nothing. We need our jobs.”

  “Someday, someone’s going to take that knife away and use it on him.” Tillman had had to resist the temptation himself. “What do you know?”

  “My friend says today there is a van outside the delivery door. But nobody brings nothing in. We know the regular guys. These aren’t the regulars. He says these two just hang around and smoke by the door. This was happening about the time your lady left.”

  Tillman’s pulse quickened. “Where were they parked?”

  “In the lot that’s at the bottom of the stairs from the outdoor bar.”

  The stairs the dog had led them down until he lost Tawny’s scent in the parking lot. “What’d the van look like?”

  “White Ford, maybe late nineties. No signs, no windows.”

  “What about the men?”

  “I didn’t see them but my friend, he says they are Anglos, gray uniforms and caps. One is kinda big, like a linebacker. My friend hardly noticed them except they didn’t deliver anything.” Manuel paused. “Is the lady OK?”

  “No, those men dragged her into the van and took her.” The words tasted bitter in Tillman’s mouth.

  “Shit. I’m sorry, man.”

  Tillman disconnected and called Nyala. No answer. He typed a text: You will never sleep in peace again.

  Now that he’d verified how the kidnapping happened, he called Gabriel.

  The smooth voice answered. “Mr. Rosenbaum. I thought I might hear from you.”

  “Your sister set Tawny up to be kidnapped. Nyala will go down with you. And you will go down.”

  “Mr. Rosenbaum, there’s no need for such angry talk. The solution is simple. Deliver the Honus Wagner. Then you and Ms. Lindholm can enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

  “The card is gone. It went to the bottom of the swamp with Smoky.”

  “I wish I could believe you but I don’t. Smoky trusted you. You are the logical one he’d give the card to.”

  “If it will convince you, you can do a body cavity search. I do not have the card. I never saw it. I didn’t know of its existence until you told me.”

  “I need my property back, Mr. Rosenbaum.”

  Goddammit, the truth wasn’t working. Tillman needed a different angle. “Your sister is not a criminal. I have to ask—what kind of brother would involve her in a felony that carries a life sentence? The only answer is, a brother with small cojones.”

  Gabriel chortled. “Your insults against my manhood are desperate and pitiful. Call me when you’re ready to deliver Honus.” The connection broke.

  Fury surged through Tillman. He flung his phone against the sofa cushions. It bounced back hard and dropped to the carpet. Fortunately, it didn’t break.

  He was losing it. He forced himself to resist the furnace blasting inside his gut. The device was his lifeline to find Tawny. He grabbed it off the floor.

  From the table, Raul and Jessica watched him, their eyes wide and worried. “Señor,” Raul said softly, “your steak is getting cold.”

  Tillman unclenched his fists and flicked his hand at the untouched plate. “Give it to Churro.”

  Surprise and a hint of joy replaced the concern on Jessica’s face. “Really?”

  For brief instant, the girl’s expression gave pause to Tillman’s frenzied strategizing. She reminded him of his own Arielle. Same gangling awkwardness, eagerness to help, and gutsiness. “Yeah, honey. He earned it.”

  While Churro wolfed his steak, Tillman stepped outside on the balcony overlooking the Gulf and pondered his next move.

  Involving the police would waste precious time. They already harbored doubts about him. Before they’d take action, he’d first have to convince them to eliminate him as a suspect. As he massaged bruised knuckles, he had to admit that their concerns sounded valid.

  Twin claws of guilt and regret returned to tear at him.

  He’d dragged Tawny into Smoky’s problems and now she might die. It was his fault.

  He’d pressured her too hard about marriage. If he never saw her again, the last memory of them together would be a stupid fight.

  Goddammit, he was an asshole.

  A waning crescent moon shimmered on the rippling Gulf. The sight would have made Tawny’s face light up.

  Tillman hadn’t prayed since he was a kid and only then out of respect for his Orthodox grandparents. Bubbe always believed Hashem had delivered her from the camps. Tillman went along with her but suspected, if he’d endured the torment that she had at Stutthoff, he would have become an avowed atheist.

  Now, he wondered, if there was a God, would he listen to the prayer of a skeptical Jew, begging for the life of the woman he loved?

  His grandfather, a practical, down-to-earth wheat farmer used to say, “Couldn’t hurt, might help.”

  Tillman closed his eyes and lowered his head.

  A text chirped on his cell. A message from the Florida P.I. read: G’s home, followed by a St. Pete address.

  Tillman raced back inside the suite to his laptop and called up Google Earth. The house was in the Venetian Isles neighborhood. Finger islands were interspersed through canals, connected by narrow roads to the mainland. The street view showed a stone-sided house with a white tile roof, a boat dock off the rear, and a swimming pool inside a screened enclosure.

  By an astounding stroke of luck, the house was for sale. Three-point-two million.

  He pulled up Zillow. The listing showed a dozen photos of the interior and floorplan, enough to familiarize himself with the layout. That knowledge enabled him to launch an attack on Gabriel’s home. Estimated travel time was an hour. By then, he would have formulated a plan to get inside.

  Already, Tillman imagined the satisfying snap as he broke Gabriel’s fingers, one by one, until the man screamed out where Tawny was.

  Chapter 23 – Trolling for Sharks

  At first, Tawny thought she imagined the burbling sound in the distance. But, as it drew closer, she became certain. Another boat was approaching.

  At dusk, in international waters, it was too much to hope for the Coast Guard.

  Gabriel?

  She recalled the postal receipt and again wondered if Smoky had mailed the valuable baseball card to someone in Panama. If she told Gabriel that detail, he might let her go and follow that lead instead.

  Maybe.

  Except, by kidnapping her, Gabriel had already committed to a course that led straight to prison. Could Tawny convince him to trade her life for a vague chance of recovering Honus Wagner?

  The slapping of water grew louder and the boat rocked from increased wake. Several bumps jarred as the two yachts glanced off each other. She heard male voices. The boat dipped—someone climbing aboard. Then, a female voice.

  Nyala.

  What the hell?

  Tawny quickly kicked the blanket over herself to hide that the tie-downs no longer bound her legs. With her arms and hands useless, her feet were her only weapons. She drew her knees up taut and tightened her quadriceps.

  The hatch opened and a light clicked on inside the dark cabin. Tawny squinted as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.

  Nyala descended the ladder. She pulled the hatch closed then faced Tawny. “Are you all right?”

  Tawny didn’t answer.

  The woman approached the bunk, looking down at Tawny. Her voice was low, urgent. “There isn’t much time. Don’t talk.”

  Come a little bit closer.

  When Nyala leaned down to pull the blanket aside, Tawny kicked as hard as she could. Both feet caught the woman in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She staggered back into
the dinette table. Her arms crossed defensively over her middle and she gasped for several seconds. When she caught her breath, she stared daggers at Tawny.

  “That was foolish,” Nyala hissed. “I’m here to help you.”

  What? “You set me up,” Tawny retorted.

  “You can listen to me and let me help you or you can go overboard. Your choice.”

  Tawny’s brain scrambled to change gears. Why was Nyala on the boat? Was she really trying to help?

  Without any better options, Tawny had to take the chance. “All right.”

  Nyala moved closer but with caution. “Don’t kick me again. I’m going to untie you.” She reached behind Tawny’s back and flicked open the metal latch. The strap slackened and fell loose.

  Blood rushed into Tawny’s numb arms and hands in excruciating, pin-prickling relief. She shoved the tie-downs aside and flexed her elbows and wrists. “What is going on, Nyala?”

  The woman sat on the bunk beside Tawny. “I did not set you up. Gabriel just asked me to question you to see if you knew where the baseball card was. I didn’t know he was going to pull a stupid stunt like kidnapping. I won’t be involved in a crime, even for my brother.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I told you I had a date with a friend on his boat. Ezekiel used to play for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. So did Wally. They’re old teammates. My brother told me you were on Wally’s yacht. I convinced Ezekiel we needed to rendezvous for a visit. But he doesn’t know anything about what Wally’s doing or that you’re on board.

  “While Ezekiel was busy tying the boats together, I told Wally that my brother sent me to talk to you. He thinks I’m acting for his boss, Gabriel, and he’s not going to get in my way.”

  Tawny’s head spun with confusion. “Are you taking me with you?”

  Nyala’s eyes narrowed. “If you want my help, there are two conditions.”

  “What?”

  “Ezekiel is a man of God. He runs a sports ministry for kids on probation. He won’t be involved in anything illegal. He knows my brother and wants no connection with him. Ezekiel can’t find out that Gabriel’s people kidnapped you. If he knew, he’d go straight to the Coast Guard and my brother would be arrested.”