“Thanks for coming out.”
“My job. You gonna be okay?”
She’d have to be. “Things will move on a slower bell, that’s all.” And no digging for a few days. That was the worst part.
“Walk out with me.” Glen held the door for her but didn’t speak until they reached his car. “Have you received any phone calls like the one Trinh answered? Anyone suspicious come out here?”
“No. And only the people you see here.”
He opened the driver’s door. “Better get on back in there before Dan busts a gut trying to hear what we’re saying.”
She smiled. Barely.
Zia sat in the porch swing talking on her phone. Inside, Dan was wiping her blood off the top of the stove and the counter.
“Thank you, but you didn’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I did. You can’t even feel your fingers.” He finished and tossed the wet paper towel into an open trash bag. “I will be here in the morning. I’ll do the heavy lifting. You will supervise and make the decisions.”
She shook her head.
Dan bowed with a sweeping flourish. “I will be your humble servant.”
Taylor laughed. “How can I refuse a humble servant?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “You can’t. Now that I’ve gotten a better look at what’s here, I know what you’re up against. Together, we can clear this house in a couple of days.”
“No way.”
“Oh, yes, way.” He walked around the room gesturing to match his words. “We’ll move things around in the salvage shop so items we move from the house will fit. When your hands are better, you can clean, paint, whatever you need to do in here. Then you can determine if you want to tackle the shop on this visit.”
Unbidden, she teared up and bit down on her lips. She looked toward the porch so Dan wouldn’t see. Her plans for her time here were being shanghaied from every direction. She wouldn’t be able to finish inside the house without help. Who could have guessed she would pull out the stove? She hadn’t known herself until she tried.
After several quick blinks, she turned back. “I appreciate the offer, and I accept.”
“Good. You didn’t really have a choice. I’m persistent as hell.” He grinned.
The screen door slammed, and Zia came in. “I was on the phone with my office. My housecleaner is on the way. I’ll do what she says, which will be to hand her things, and say I helped. A painter who owes me a favor will be here at eight in the morning to paint.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Nonsense. You’ll be back to speed next week. In the meantime, go sit in the swing. They made room.” Zia put one hand on her hip and pointed toward the door with the other. “Go. Now. Let me get to work. When Paulette gets here, we’ll let you say what to keep from the bathroom, we’ll clean it, and the painter will paint. Now scoot.”
Taylor had held command positions for years. Relinquishing control to someone else wasn’t easy. She knew in her mind the cleanup and paint job were gifts of kindness from Zia. But in her heart, Taylor felt as if she was losing part of herself by not participating in the process.
The manager of The Waterfront met Jake in the lobby and escorted him upstairs, filling him in on details he should have kept private. He did have the decency to wait in the hallway while Jake went inside and looked around. The housekeeper hadn’t reached his room yet, and he added a twenty to the few dollars he’d placed on the table before he left. He found a notepad and wrote Thanks for being alert. More than likely she wouldn’t receive any extra from the hotel.
His computer sat on the desk. His clothes were in his bag. His toothbrush and shaving gear stood by the lavatory. He traveled light. Except for the bag of tools locked in the trunk of his rental.
In order not to raise suspicion, he waited three more minutes before opening the door. “Everything accounted for.”
Relief washed over the manager’s face. “Very good.”
“Do you need me for anything else?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I need you to sign an insurance release that nothing was stolen from you. And a Rock Harbor police detective would like to meet with you. He promised it would take only a few minutes of your time.”
Inside, Jake groaned. Police and a few minutes never went together in the same sentence. Another reason his dad didn’t like for anyone to cozy up to local law enforcement. Signing the form wasn’t quick and easy either. The manager hadn’t expected him to read it first. Ten minutes later, the manager took him to the open door of a small meeting room and left. Inside was the same detective that stopped at the boatyard yesterday morning. Up-something-or-other. With the eyebrows.
The detective stood. “Come in, come in. You’re in room—?”
“Jake Solomon.” He gave the detective his room number.
“Have a seat. I’m Detective Upchurch. Let me find you on the list. Here you are.” He ran his finger across the page. “You checked in Sunday. Correct?”
Jake sat. “Yes. For two weeks.” Purposely longer than Taylor would be here, so as not to show an overt connection.
The detective went on, confirming his address, phone, and email. He asked for a photo ID. Jake complied and pitied the thief during his interrogation. It would last a while, even though he was caught in the act. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“I understand you arrested the suspect?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have any distinctive scars or was he wearing any distinctive jewelry?”
“How distinctive?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Upchurch leaned back. “Are you an investigator?”
Jesus H. He should’ve never brought it up. He pulled a card from his carrying case and pushed it across the table. Then he mixed up a smidgen of truth to hide his lie. “We’re a global security firm. I’m not here on business, but sometimes the business thinks otherwise. If you get my drift.”
Upchurch nodded. “I do, indeed. I can’t give you particulars, but there were no identifying scars. The only jewelry was a sleeve of gang tats. Or maybe that falls under scars.”
Jake returned the detective’s smile. “Perhaps. But it’s not what I was looking for.”
The detective turned into a proud travel guide until his phone rang. “I hate to cut this short, but business calls. Pleasure talking to you.”
An hour after arriving, Jake walked out of the hotel and waved goodbye to Glen Upchurch.
While he was in town he decided to top off the gas tank—all part of being prepared. Before he reached the station, Kelly called. He pulled over.
“What’s the latest with Dad?”
“No change. Still running a high fever and being pumped full of IV antibiotics. I can only use my laptop by dropping the security a couple of levels. Mom is home now. When she comes back, I’ll go. Then I’ll see if syncing to my home computer through a secure satellite will work.”
“I don’t expect you to work while you’re with Dad.”
“Please. I’m as invested as you are. Visiting hours are for ten minutes every four hours. What else am I going to do? I’ve already read three books and called Simon so often he told me he had work to do.”
That was Kelly—Type A personality and workaholic. “Thanks, sis. I wish I was there.”
They talked for several minutes, and Kelly was in a better mood by the time they hung up. He finally reached his surveillance location two hours after he left. Zia Markham had arrived. Jake pulled the binoculars to his eyes.
Taylor sat in the swing on the back porch, keeping it in motion with her foot. Her head lay against the back and her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks. The exposed curves of her neck invited him to linger. His forty-some-year-old penis jerked to life.
Down, bozo. Jake shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. He was here to protect Taylor, not get lucky.
The binoculars trailed down her body to her hands in her lap. His
gut clenched.
What the fuck?
Gauze wrapping covered one of her hands.
He zoomed in for a closer look.
The fingers of her left hand sported large Band-Aids. On the right, her fingers were exposed, but gauze padded her palm and extended to her wrist.
A sick feeling rose in his throat, and he sucked in air through his teeth. He loosened his grip on the binoculars but kept them to his eyes for several seconds until he was satisfied the regular rise and fall of Taylor’s chest was real and not his imagination.
Jake had followed his dad’s wishes and kept his distance. If Oliver Fallon was the killer, he would kill Jake at first glance. So far he’d played by his dad’s rules. Now he would play by his. No one harmed those he cared for. No one.
Words failed Taylor as she walked through the kitchen and bathroom after Zia and Paulette, her housecleaner, had gone on their way. The fresh orange scent replaced years of dust, grime, and grease and made her smile. The windows were clean and streak free. The painter would be here in the morning.
Taylor crossed the street to the boatyard. She’d seen each item taken out of the bathroom, and Randy’s belt and photos hadn’t been included. A half hour ago, the tips of her cut fingers had started to throb, but the numbness lingered in her palm. Several pickups were parked in front of the boatyard, and the chandlery was filled with customers, so she didn’t disturb Trinh. In the work area, Will waved to her from under a bow rider. From time to time he scooted fore to aft and back again—either a bottom job or damage repair.
After a few minutes, he crawled out. “How are you?”
“Better, thanks.” She wiggled her fingers a tiny bit and set off a new wave of throbbing. “The numbness is fading. Do you mind if I hang out over here until I can drive? Trinh’s busy, or I would’ve chatted with her.”
“You can wait in my office.” He pointed toward a door between two large windows. “It’s not locked.”
“Thanks. I need to walk around. You don’t need to entertain me.”
He waved his arm. “What’s mine is yours.”
She headed down the quay, heat from the sun beating on her tight back muscles and finally loosening them. Will ran a good boatyard. She’d never owned a boat, but she was in and out of boatyards and shipyards regularly. Neatness counted. Not only for appearance but for safety.
Several yards out in the bay, a catamaran limped along parallel to the shore. It had to be the one Will expected. The hulls, jib, and mainsail were red. She turned back toward the office. Will was nowhere in sight, so she went inside. From the edge of a window, she watched the cat turn into the channel.
Will was right. The Stiletto had the bones of a beautiful craft. The boater was clueless about how to handle her. He tugged and shoved and jerked instead of applying simple, smooth motions. Had the wind been stronger than the light breeze that swept across the bay, he would have slammed into the quay. The resultant damage would have served him right.
Will entered her field of vision, and he didn’t look happy. He stood with both hands on his hips, shoulders squared, and chin up, ready for a fight. She opened the door a crack to listen to their conversation. After all Will had told her, she wanted the rest of the story. Or at least the story the cat’s owner decided to tell.
The Red Witch floated to the quay no more than thirty feet in front of her, and she had a perfect view. The owner, Nate Brady, towered over the hulls, and cussed up a blue streak, as Randy would’ve said. Will was right about him having no respect for the boat.
“You think it’ll take the full three weeks?” Brady stepped onto the quay and hitched up his shorts.
“Probably.” Will removed his ball cap and ran his hand through his hair before he tugged it back on. “She’s listing like a drunk whore. What’d you do, run into a buoy?”
“None of your damn business.” Sunglasses hid Brady’s eyes, but his words and the quick snap of his head said go to hell.
“We’ll lift her out tomorrow and get an eyes-on.”
“I want this fixed right, Knox.” He waved a finger at Will.
“If you don’t stop trying to sail her as though she’s indestructible, one day I won’t be able to put her back in shape. It’s been less than a year since you had her in here for work.”
“Last July. You let me worry about that. I’m flying to the Panhandle tomorrow. The Gulf Spirit Regatta is in five weeks, but I’ll be back in three to put her through her paces. Have her ready.”
“We’ll do our best.”
“If she’s not waiting and in the water, I won’t bring her here again.”
“Take her elsewhere if you don’t think we can do the job.” Will’s hands returned to his hips. “Right now.”
Brady took off his sunglasses and revealed hard little pig eyes trapped by extra folds of skin, like a double eyelid. “Don’t get pissy with me, Knox. Don’t think I wouldn’t, except my ride’s waiting for me out front.”
He slammed his sunglasses back on and strode toward the entrance with a long gait.
Who in the world would give him a ride? Too bad a window didn’t overlook the street side so she could find out.
She shivered. Someone like Nate Brady could make threatening phone calls. And tape razor blades to the back of a stove.
Will was checking the lines. When he finished he’d probably head in here. She gently closed the door before choosing an overstuffed arm chair in the corner and leaning back. It wouldn’t do if he thought she’d eavesdropped on his business.
If she caught one of her officers or crew listening to what she presumed to be a private conversation, she would issue a verbal reprimand to the offender and instruct her XO to hold sessions for officers and enlisted on the rights and responsibilities of privacy. Do as I say, not as I do. How many times had she heard that growing up? Christ, she was turning into her mother.
A few minutes later, Will walked through the door and tossed his hat to his desk.
“All done?”
He jumped. “Sumbitch! I forgot you were here.”
“Soaking up the free air conditioning.”
He laughed. “Go for it. I’m finishing an order before I head out. You’re welcome to stay until then.”
“Can you chat and work?”
“Sure. What’s up?” He focused on the computer screen and didn’t look at her.
“I just wondered if I needed to be quiet. Do you have a boat?”
“Not now. Everybody else does, so it’s not like I never go out. I’ll probably break down one of these days, though. How about you?”
“I like to sail, but I don’t own a boat either. Ones I can afford seem pretty small after the Susquehanna.”
“How long is she?”
“Two hundred seventy feet. Thirty-eight-foot beam.”
He whistled through his teeth.
“Looks like a rubber ducky next to an aircraft carrier. Size is relative.”
“Only in some things.” He raised his head and wiggled his eyebrows.
“You’re not old enough to be a dirty old man. How did it go with the catamaran?”
“One of these days Brady’s going to break the Red Witch in half, and when he does, I wonder if he’ll have enough courage to hang on.”
“I know the type. We rescue them all the time, or find their swamped boats.”
He pushed away from the computer and leaned back in his chair. “None of the other yards will deal with him. Rumor is he likes to gamble, and if he loses, he pays the debt by running drugs. I’ve never seen evidence firsthand, but I always expect the task force to show up when he brings her in. His other boat never has a problem, but it’s engine driven, not sail.”
“Go-fast boat?”
“No. Similar to your uncle’s sportfisher but not as nice.”
Lots of room to stash a payload of drugs in a sportfisher. But no need to share her Coast Guard thoughts with Will. “Some people are born to sail, and some aren’t.”
Will stretched h
is arms and moved his neck around. “I often wonder, though, who’d ever expect a catamaran to be a drug boat? Especially one operated by an inept sailor.”
“Maybe that’s what Nate wants them to think, so the focus is on the cat.”
Nate Brady could take the sportfisher out anytime, throw out lines, and no one would be the wiser.
At the same café where she’d eaten dinner the night before, Taylor lingered over a second cup of strong black coffee and practiced her fractured Spanish with the server. It was barely dawn, and she’d been the only customer; but as they talked, the taqueria came to life. She paid her bill and went across the street to a drugstore. Inside the door, she stopped. Her eyes widened, and her skin tingled. A few feet away, Mr. Brooklyn browsed through a large rack of postcards.
A smile grew on her face as she walked toward him. She had a new understanding of why women were attracted to older men. He was sexy as hell. “Good morning. We really need to stop meeting this way.”
He looked up.
Oh crap. He didn’t even remember her. Her smile vanished. She was being too silly—like a teenager. “From the—”
“What happened to your hands?”
He reached out and held her wrists in his palms, his touch as gentle as the breath of air she couldn’t seem to catch.
“I thought you didn’t remember me.” Shut up, Taylor.
He explored her face, and she thought her heart might explode. “I could never forget you.”
Heat rose to her cheeks, but she didn’t break the connection. “I just, well, I. . . .” You wanted to talk, Taylor. Spit it out.
Those green eyes stirred feelings absent from her life for years. She took a deep breath. “I thought I’d never see you again, and here you are.”
He smiled, but the caring in his eyes never wavered. “Your hands?”
Oh. “Yesterday afternoon. Cleaning. I sliced them on some sharp metal.”
Even though her heart beat like a drum roll in her ears, she wasn’t about to go into details with a stranger. That’s what he was, even if she did want to jump his bones. Oh, Lord, where the hell had that come from? It was the truth.
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