by LENA DIAZ,
She hadn’t backed down one bit and he’d ended up apologizing, even though he firmly believed she was wrong. Now, as he stood in her personal space, purposely trying to intimidate her into giving in, he wasn’t having any more luck than he’d had the first time they’d argued. Instead, she stared up at him, her eyes flashing with anger. And something else.
Fear.
She should be afraid, for herself. But he knew she wasn’t. She was afraid on behalf of her sister, and recklessly willing to do anything to help her, even if it meant putting herself in danger. He finally accepted that no amount of arguing was going to change her mind. Intimidation wasn’t going to work. He sighed.
“I’ll help you get Lily back,” he said, “but like I said earlier, I have conditions.”
She darted her eyes toward the closed door, as if by sheer will she could get Waverly and Rickloff to step inside. “What conditions?”
“First, we’re through, finished. There is no ‘us’ anymore. And there never will be.”
“Agreed.”
She answered so quickly Nick was taken aback. He’d been prepared to explain about his job, how he couldn’t date anyone tainted by illegal drug activity, even indirectly through a family member. He’d planned to tell her he still cared about her, that he regretted how things had turned out. But there was no point in apologizing now, not when she so obviously didn’t want a relationship with him anymore.
That knowledge stung far more than he would have expected.
He rested his hip against the table. “Second, you do exactly what I tell you to do at all times. I mean it. Exactly what I say. Unquestioningly. If I tell you to get down, you drop on the floor as if someone had swiped your legs out from beneath you. If I tell you to be quiet, you don’t even breathe until I tell you it’s safe. Can you do that?”
Her eyes widened with alarm, as if she was just beginning to realize how dangerous this mission was.
“O-okay,” she said, her voice soft, hesitant.
“Three, you report to me and me alone. I don’t care what Rickloff or Waverly tell you. One phone call to them at the wrong place, wrong time, could get us killed—you, Lily and me.”
“Why would you think they would ask me to call them?”
“It’s what I’d do if I were them.”
She nodded. “Okay. Is that all?”
He shook his head. “No, there’s one more condition. And it’s a deal breaker. You already agreed to my other conditions. Remember that. One of those conditions was to do exactly what I tell you to do.”
“I understand.”
“Okay. Final condition. We’ll go to Key West together, but you’ll stay in hiding, in my hotel room with another agent watching over you, while I go to that bar to draw Gonzalez out somehow. I will figure out a way to save your sister, but I refuse to use you as bait. It’s too dangerous.”
She raised her hands in a gesture of surprise and frustration. “How will we save Lily if I’m in hiding?”
“Leave that to me. You have my word I’ll do everything I can to save her, but putting you in danger is not part of the plan. I meant what I said. This is the deal breaker. You agree to this or I’m out. And you already know I’m the best agent for the job or Rickloff wouldn’t have tried so hard to convince me to do this. So what’s it going to be?”
She stared at him for a full minute, frustration and anger warring with each other across her expressive face. Even though she didn’t want to agree to his final condition, she obviously knew he was her sister’s best shot at making it out of Key West alive.
He glanced at his watch, well aware of how urgent it was to get moving soon or there wouldn’t be a chance to help Lily at all.
Heather let out a long breath and glared at him, obviously not happy, but resolved.
“I guess I don’t really have a choice,” she said. She shoved out of her chair and headed to the door.
“You made the right decision,” Nick said.
“I hope so.” She paused in the door opening. “Because I’ve decided Lily’s best chance is with someone other than you.”
* * *
NICK AND RAFE leaned back against the desk in the SAPD squad room. They both had their legs spread, arms crossed, as if they had nothing better to do than to watch the fiasco playing out in front of them.
Waverly and Rickloff stood on the other side of the room with the small group of agents who’d come up from Miami with Rickloff, talking to Heather. Apparently they were giving her last-minute instructions while one of the agents grabbed her suitcase that she’d gone home and packed after telling Nick she didn’t want his help. Her refusal to trust him still stung, but he supposed he’d earned that by letting her sit in jail all weekend and not giving her a chance to explain what had happened.
“I heard they’re flying out to Key West in the morning,” Rafe said. “They’re going to a hotel by Jacksonville International Airport for tonight.”
Nick grunted in reply.
“They’ll arrive at the Key West airport around noon,” Rafe said. “An agent from Miami will meet them there with the kilos and drive Heather to a hotel. I might have even heard a rumor about which hotel they’ll be using.”
“One of those infamous contacts you brag about, I suppose?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t suppose you also know the name of the Miami agent they’ve chosen to go to the bar with Heather?”
“I might.”
“That could prove useful.”
They watched in silence as Heather shook Rickloff’s hand. She and the entire entourage headed across the far side of the squad room toward the exit. Heather didn’t even look Nick’s way.
“Are you sure you’ve made the right decision?” Rafe asked, stifling a yawn as he, too, watched the group head to the exit.
“Yep.”
“If Waverly fires you, I could put in a good word for you at SAPD,” Rafe said. “We have an opening for a meter reader. A washed-up DEA agent might be qualified for that.”
Nick shoved him.
Rafe shoved him back.
Waverly held the door open for Heather, and the small group headed out front. They stood at the curb, apparently waiting for the van from the airport that was heading toward the front of the building from the end of the parking lot.
“He’s not going to fire me,” Nick said.
“You sure about that? He seemed pretty ticked that you didn’t go along with Rickloff’s plan. I haven’t seen his face that red since you cleaned him out at poker a few months ago.”
Nick sighed. “I miss poker nights. I can’t believe you let Darby cancel our poker nights.”
“Let her? Are you implying the decision wasn’t mine? That she has me wrapped around her finger?”
“I’m not implying anything. You’re her lapdog. Ruff, ruff.”
“I’ll pay you back for that.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“This is serious. You could lose everything.”
“Yeah. I know,” Nick said quietly. “But I’m still going through with it.”
While Heather’s luggage was being loaded, she and her entourage got inside the van. Apparently they were all accompanying her to the airport hotel. Nick supposed that was their way of pretending they were actually protecting her instead of sending her into an impossible situation where the odds of her being hurt, or killed, were enormously high.
The van slowly took off, as if it had all the time in the world.
Nick tapped his hand on the top of the desk beside him as he and Rafe watched the van’s slow progression. The van turned the corner and disappeared.
“Where is it?” Nick demanded, shoving away from the desk. He grabbed his go-bag of clothes and toiletries from where he’d hidden it inside a small
office trash can.
Rafe reached behind him and grabbed a set of keys from out of a folder. “First row.” He tossed the keys to Nick, who was already running toward the exit. Nick caught them midair and ran outside. He heard Rafe running to catch him, but he didn’t wait.
He sprinted around the corner of the building.
“Damn it, Nick. Hold up.”
Nick stopped at the narrow chain-link gate, but only because he didn’t have a key to open it. “Hurry,” he said, as Rafe pulled his key card from his pocket. “It’s a long drive and I’ve got a lot to do before they get there tomorrow.”
“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying.” The gate buzzed and Rafe pulled it open.
Nick ran inside, immediately spotting the car Rafe was letting him borrow from the impound lot. He whistled and ran his hands lovingly over the sleek contours of the red Maserati GranTurismo convertible.
Rafe caught up to him and called him a name that would have given their mother a heart attack, especially coming from her oldest, the son who could do no wrong.
Nick grinned. “You’re jealous I get to drive this sweet baby.”
“No. I think you’re a fool to have chosen this car out of all the ones I told you about. I would have chosen the black Lamborghini over there in the corner. Much less flashy.”
“Flashy is the point. It’s what my low-life friends expect down in the Keys. Besides―” he opened the door, pitched his go-bag onto the passenger floorboard and paused “―I may need a backseat. You never know when you’ll have to carry something, or someone, and need the room.”
Rafe exchanged a long glance with him, obviously understanding Nick’s meaning. If Heather and her Miami agent ran into trouble, Nick might end up being their only way out. He couldn’t do that with a two-seater.
“Don’t scratch it,” Rafe said as he closed the door. “And no bullet holes this time. There was hell to pay the last time I let you borrow a car. I mean it. Not even a scratch.” He ran to the car gate a few feet away and pressed the button that started the gate sliding back on its rails.
Nick started the engine and backed out of the parking space. He would have preferred to get a car from the DEA impound lot, but his boss knew him too well. He’d given express orders that Nick wasn’t allowed to check out any vehicles.
As soon as the gate was open wide enough for him to squeeze through, he stomped the accelerator. The car jumped forward like a gazelle, swift and graceful. He waved at Rafe as he zoomed by. He had to ease his foot off the gas to maneuver through the narrow, winding road by the police station. But as soon as he reached US 1, he turned the car south and let the horses run.
Normally when he got to drive one of the impounded sports cars, he would marvel at the perfectly tuned engine or the luxurious feel of Italian leather seats he’d never be able to afford in an entire lifetime of working for the DEA.
But not today. Today he was more concerned with the clock in the dashboard.
He had less than thirty-two hours to figure out how to save Lily and Heather without getting himself or anyone else killed.
Chapter Five
Heather had assumed Nick was exaggerating when he’d described the rough atmosphere of the Key West bar called Skeleton’s Misery. But it was just as seedy as he’d said it would be. Still, it’s not like she was alone, defenseless. Mark Watkins, the undercover DEA agent assigned to work with her, was sitting beside her. And Rickloff had backup outside somewhere, ready to come to the rescue at the slightest hint of trouble. But even with Mark and backup nearby, a shiver of apprehension still lanced down Heather’s spine—because this was definitely not a typical bar, and Nick had definitely not exaggerated.
She avoided eye contact with the men around them, men who looked like Satan’s personal biker gang, draped in black leather and silver chains, and covered with tattoos of snakes, dragons and naked women. She’d glimpsed knives peeking out from beneath some of their jackets. Big knives that made the pocketknife she usually carried around for emergencies—the one she’d had to ditch to board the airplane—look like a harmless toy. And she was fairly certain she’d glimpsed guns beneath some of their jackets, too.
Everyone in the bar seemed to be taking turns staring at her and Mark with open hostility and suspicion while the two of them sat at one of the high-top tables, sipping their beers. She was the only woman in the bar. And from what she could tell, she and Mark were the only “nonregulars.” It was as if they’d intruded into someone’s home without an invitation, or into a drug dealer’s lair where his minions were planning their next big score.
Mark pretended to be absorbed in the football game on one of the TVs suspended from the ceiling. At least, Heather hoped he was pretending.
A large duffel bag sat at their feet, with four bricks of cocaine concealed inside. She didn’t want to think about what might happen to her and Mark if Satan’s bikers realized what was in that bag. She imagined there would be a violent frenzy, like a group of man-eating sharks scenting blood in the water.
“It’s nine-fifteen, Mark,” she whispered. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”
“Don’t use my real name.” Mark’s reminder was said in a quiet voice Heather had to strain to hear over the loud TVs and music.
“Look, honey.” He pointed to the football game and spoke louder as if for the benefit of those around them. “We’re in the red zone. We might pull this one out after all.”
Heather rolled her eyes. It was Tuesday night. She and every football fan in America knew that any football game on tonight was either a highlight reel or a replay of an old game. The TV above the bar was tuned to ESPN Classic, which was replaying a Tampa Bay Bucs game Heather had seen firsthand last season in Raymond James Stadium. She’d heard the cannons boom to celebrate the score that clinched the game. Obviously Mark wasn’t a football fan or he’d have known that. Her respect for him plummeted and she shook her head.
Another half hour passed. Angry mutterings started around them. The bartender gave her and Mark pointed looks as if to warn them their presence wouldn’t be tolerated much longer.
Heather risked another glance around the room. She didn’t know what Gonzalez looked like, but he knew what she looked like. If he was in the crowd, surely he’d have spotted her by now and would have approached her table. The note he’d left at her apartment had been clear about the time—nine o’clock. Well, nine o’clock had come and gone over forty-five minutes ago. What did it mean that no one had shown up to make the trade? What did that mean for Lily?
She jumped at the feel of a hand on top of hers.
Mark was leaning over, his mouth next to her ear. “I don’t like the looks of the guys who just came in. Let’s get out of here.”
He didn’t like their looks? Was it possible for someone to be scarier-looking than the men already in this place? Heather started to turn, but Mark put his arm around her shoulder.
“Don’t look at them. Let’s go.” He pitched some tip money on the table and stood.
Heather clutched the edge of her bar stool. “But we can’t leave. Lily—”
“We’ll figure it out later. We’ve got to go. Now. Trust me.”
Trust me. The last person who’d told her that was Nick. Had she been wrong not to trust him? Had she made a mistake that had just cost her sister her life?
She took a deep breath, trying to stave off the panic that was threatening to consume her.
Mark tugged the strap for the duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed her hand, hauling her toward the door.
The moment they were outside, reality slammed into Heather like a physical thing, twisting inside her chest, threatening to make her double over and freeze like a terrified rabbit. She had to lock her emotions away. She couldn’t give up yet. There was still a chance she could save Lily. There had to be.
Mark pr
essed his hand at the small of her back, urging her to move.
“There are four of them,” he whispered a minute later. “And they’re definitely following us.”
“What about our backup?”
“They should be here any second. I said the code word into my transmitter. They know we need help. That’s why we went outside, so Rickloff’s men can grab the guys behind us without having to fight every man in that bar. We’ll be fine.”
Since his fingers were currently digging painfully into her back as he propelled her along, she wasn’t so sure that he believed everything was fine.
He led her down the sidewalk back toward their motel, which was little more than a collection of cottages a block off the water, with a pool out back and a stage where live bands played every night. Although the sun had set hours ago, the moon was full and bright, guiding their way.
The knot in Heather’s shoulders began to ease when the sign for their motel came into view. It wasn’t far now, four, maybe five blocks. Unfortunately, the businesses in this section were dark and closed up for the night. Apparently the tourists didn’t venture this far down except in the daytime. What had Rickloff been thinking to put them in such an isolated area? Had he realized what he was doing when he’d chosen their motel?
Again Nick’s warnings flitted through her mind. He’d seemed unimpressed when he realized Rickloff was from Miami. Was this why? Did he fear that Rickloff would make mistakes because he wasn’t familiar enough with the Keys? That sounded like a no-brainer to her, but she’d assumed Rickloff would have had good intel on the area. Looks like she’d put her faith in the wrong people after all. Once she got back to the motel she was going to demand to speak to Rickloff.
“Cross to the other side,” Mark’s urgent whisper sounded in her ear.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the street to the other sidewalk.
“Don’t look back,” he whispered. “Keep walking.”
The worry in his voice sent a sinking feeling through her stomach. He wasn’t even trying to pretend anymore that he wasn’t concerned.