“I can access them from anywhere.” In front of them and far ahead, signal lights began flashing. The line of cars slowed and then stopped.
“Not good,” she said.
“But they’re stuck as well,” Ryan pointed out. “That’s all right.”
“Not at all. They just got out of the car. Run.”
She threw open her door and was gone. Ryan wanted to argue, but instead he grabbed the key out of the ignition, flung open his door and followed her. Farther down the row of cars he saw the heavyset man running along the causeway’s edge. He didn’t stay to watch anything more.
She was moving fast, and he thought she looked exactly as she did each morning on the beach. Her stride was long and ate up the pavement. She hit the intersection where a bridge led to Star Island, the enclave of the rich, and she turned onto it.
Ryan was a cyclist, not a runner. He knew he could run for a short while before slowing, but Caldridge was setting a screaming pace and he didn’t think he could keep up with her. His lungs started to burn and he felt a line of sweat trace a path down his side under the jacket, long-sleeve shirt, and tie. The only thing that kept him moving was the fear that she was right and the heavyset man who was after him.
The bridge to Star Island had a three-foot-high wall topped with a metal guardrail. Triangular lights glowed in a regular procession along the bridge. At the end was a small guard house, and Ryan focused on it as he ran.
Something hammered into the metal rail and ricocheted off and he winced at the noise. He took a quick glance behind him and saw that one of the men from the car was standing on the causeway’s shoulder aiming a pistol. Caldridge had stopped as well and braced her forearm on the guardrail while she aimed her own gun. Ryan thought about the odds of hitting an innocent bystander and panicked.
“Don’t!” he shrieked.
She fired.
The heavyset man yelled and grabbed at his arm.
She lowered the gun and waited while Ryan closed the distance between them. When he reached her, she said, “Keep going. I’ll cover you.”
He was breathing heavily, like a bellows, and his chest and legs already ached from the exertion. Still, he gathered his scattered wits about him. She couldn’t be allowed to engage in a gunfight.
“Don’t shoot again. You might hit the wrong person.”
She snorted. “I’m not that bad of a shot. Now go!” She dropped lower and kept her focus back at the causeway.
“Maybe someone will hear the gunfire and contact the police,” he said. He was bent over, hands on his knees as he gasped for air.
She shook her head, knelt down on one knee and aimed at the man in the distance. “Doubtful. Lots of shooting during hip hop. Get to the guard house. Let him call it in. Perhaps they’ll pay special attention.”
Ryan lined up behind her and kept his eyes on the causeway. The traffic was stopped as far as he could see.
“I don’t see how they’ll wind through the traffic in time to help us. The causeway’s jammed all the way east to Ocean, and to the west there seems to be an accident blocking the right lanes.” He swallowed.
She kept her focus on the man at the causeway’s edge. “You’d better run. He’s getting ready to fire.”
“It’s a bad angle and the guardrail should protect us.”
“Why are you still here?” she said.
A bit of gravel and bits of stone flew into the air, as if on their own, close to his feet. Ryan needed no other urging. He stumbled forward again, running for all he was worth toward the guard house.
Two white cameras on a tripod focused forward, and a mechanical arm blocked the entrance to the island. Ryan saw the guard step out of the hut as he approached, wearing a frown on his face, a brown uniform, an official looking hat, and holding a clipboard in his hand. The guard looked past him and his eyes widened. Ryan couldn’t resist looking back. Caldridge closed the distance between them at a rapid clip, and the gun in her hand flashed in the glare thrown by the lights. The guard scrambled back into the hut and Ryan saw him hit a button just as Caldridge pulled even.
“Call the police,” she said to the guard. “There are two men behind me. They’ve shot at us twice already.” She knelt down again and aimed down the long bridge. It was empty.
“I have a direct line to the station,” the guard said. “They’re already on their way. And the only gun I see here is yours.” He pointed at the cameras. “They’re taking your picture.”
She glanced at his hand. “Please tell me you have more than a camera and a clipboard to defend yourself.”
Before the man could answer, Ryan heard the sharp report of a gun, and pieces of the hut splintered off. The guard yelled something incoherent in Spanish and stared in astonishment out of the hut’s small front window.
Caldridge stood up, grabbed his sleeve and yanked the man out of the structure. “Get the hell out of sight and stay there until you see the police.” She spun around. “Ryan, keep going. The police won’t be here in five, but those two will.”
The guard was sidling to the left, keeping Caldridge in his sights as he did, presenting his back to the bridge and the real danger. Another crack pierced the air and the guard hunched over, holding his arm. Blood poured down it.
“I told you to move!” Caldridge said, and the guard finally did, stumbling right and disappearing behind a white house at the corner.
Ryan sprinted straight onto a long, oval road that looped down and around the entire, manmade island. A grassy rectangular park with tall trees lined the road, as did light posts, each equipped with security cameras. He continued down a short drive to a wrought-iron gate with the letters RC monogrammed in the center. He stopped, pressed the buzzer near an intercom, and once again leaned over to gasp at the ground, resting his hands on his knees.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath. Caldridge jogged up next to him but kept her attention toward the island’s entrance.
“We should keep going,” she said. “Climb one of these walls and hide near the houses. The large guy is hurt but the other joined him and he’s skinny and running fast. They’ll be here any minute.”
“This is one of our insureds. I know him. I’m waiting for an answer.” Ryan punched the intercom again.
“They’re not home,” she said.
“He never is, but a condition of our policy is that he maintain private security guards at all times.” Ryan wiped sticky wetness from his forehead and was appalled to see that it was a mixture of sweat and blood from being banged into the furniture. He swatted at a mosquito that tried to land there. No one was answering the bell.
“Well clearly security’s out. Maybe enjoying hip hop weekend in your guy’s absence. Let’s go before they reach us.”
Ryan stepped over and punched some numbers on the keypad. The gate gave an answering buzz and slowly swung open. Caldridge gave him a delighted look.
“Excellent! How did you know the code?”
“It’s his girlfriend’s first name,” Ryan said. “All his codes are the same. I’ve told him time and again to switch it up for security’s sake, but he refuses. Says he’ll never remember anything else.”
“Thank God for that,” she said.
They ran down the drive to the two-story house. The broad, columned front entrance and terra cotta roof tiles gave the structure a feel of tropical wealth. Ryan would have simply pounded on the door, but Caldridge grabbed his arm and dragged him to the left.
“Let’s go around the back where they won’t see us.”
They jogged that way and cut around to a rear door. Ryan pounded on it. No answer. Ryan kicked the wood in frustration.
“I’m going to raise this guy’s premium on Monday.”
Caldridge was pressed against the wall and peering around it to watch the front. She looked over.
“You do that,”
she said, and Ryan saw a hint of amusement in her eyes.
That she could even find anything amusing about their circumstances flabbergasted him.
“This is not funny,” he said. She regained a serious expression.
“Calm down. I’ll get you out of this.” She returned to watching the front of the house. “They’re at the entrance gate.” She whispered the information, and Ryan leaned against the wall next to her.
“What do we do?” He felt the sweat rolling off of him.
“That boat on the dock. Do you know if he keeps the keys in the boathouse?”
A sleek, fast cigarette boat was tied at the dock next to a small boathouse that was a miniature of the main villa. Ryan tried to remember the particulars from the policy.
“Maybe. But we don’t have a key to get in.”
She shrugged. “Let’s break a window.”
“It will set off the alarm.”
“Exactly. Maybe we can muster up this security detail that you’ve insisted he retain?” She waved at him and headed to the boathouse. Ryan jogged behind her. When they reached the door they found a keypad in place of a dead bolt.
“No keys necessary. Try the girlfriend’s name again.”
Ryan punched in the code and the door buzzed and clicked open.
She flicked on the lights and stepped inside. The interior held all manner of water sports equipment. Water skis hung from hooks on the walls and two jet skis sat on trailers. A pegboard with hooks next to the door held several sets of keys, all neatly labeled. Caldridge picked up the set over the label BOAT. She held them up for Ryan to see.
“Well that certainly makes things easier, doesn’t it?”
Ryan groaned. “They’re supposed to be in a locked cabinet. Why do people leave their keys at the front door? And then label them? Don’t they know that it’s a burglar’s dream come true?” Caldridge leaned into him and he saw that the humor was back in her eyes.
“Because, unlike you, they don’t analyze the risk. Let’s go. And take off your jacket, shirt, and tie.”
Ryan was nonplussed and felt his face flush, which was stupid. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t undressed in front of a woman before, except she was a client and it felt odd. He swallowed.
“Why?”
“So they won’t immediately recognize you once we return to the Beach. Burglars do it all the time. Wear a dress shirt over a colored tee shirt, strip it off after the crime, and any witnesses give the wrong description to the cops.”
“I knew that.”
She shot him another glance with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t comment.
Ryan stripped his arms out of the jacket and dropped it, yanked at his tie, dragged it over his head and tossed it in a corner. While he unbuttoned the shirt he watched her rummage in a locker. He peeled off the shirt and welcomed the rush of cool air that played over his back and chest. He felt a bit self-conscious standing in front of her bare-chested. She pulled a black cotton tee shirt out of the locker that carried the graphic of a rock band on its front and tossed it to him. He caught it.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He shrugged the shirt over his head and followed her. She paused at the door, glanced around and then nodded. They jogged to the dock and the cigarette boat. The evening was upon them and the air had cooled a little, but the humidity remained high and Ryan was glad that he’d tossed the heavy clothing.
The boat was covered. Caldridge shoved the gun into her waistband while she yanked at the edges of the tarp. The snaps pulled off with a sharp sound.
“Damn that’s loud,” Ryan said. She nodded and scanned the area.
“But I don’t see them yet. They’ll have to scale the wall to get here, and while the skinny guy could do it, the other one is probably too injured.”
“Thanks to you,” Ryan said, and was rewarded with a quick smile before she returned to the task of removing the cover. When it was off she jumped into the boat.
“Can you untie it and push it away?”
Ryan unwound the ropes that held the boat to the dock, tossed in the bumpers, pushed the bow away with his foot and jumped in. He listened as the engines engaged with a heavy roar that ripped through the quiet night. Ten seconds later she was headed out to sea.
I’ve just stolen an insured’s boat, he thought.
He gripped a rail while he stood next to her. When they were free of the no wake zone, she lowered the throttle and the boat responded, surging forward and lifting a bit out of the water with the speed. Ryan held onto the edge of the windshield, and as the spray fell over his face he felt an exhilaration that he hadn’t felt in years, perhaps ever.
“Where are we headed?” he called to her over the noise.
“Key Largo.” She checked the dash. “We have enough gas and I have a friend there who can help us.”
He noted her use of the term “us” and was grateful for it. Still, he felt the need to let her off the hook if she wanted it.
“You don’t have to help me. You’re just getting yourself in more danger.”
She gave him another one of her smiles. He liked the way it lit her face.
“Why are you helping me?” Ryan said.
She shrugged. “I don’t like your chances of getting out of this without my help; it’s pretty clear that you’re not trained to handle these types of situations.”
“Neither are you,” he said.
She smiled again. “You yourself pointed out that I’ve survived a lot. I won’t leave until you’re safe.”
He was relieved to hear it, and swallowed to contain the sudden emotion he felt. After the past few months of wanting to die, he suddenly realized that he had been wrong. What he’d really wanted was to feel again.
THEY PULLED UP to a short dock in Key Largo. Caldridge hadn’t said much, it was impossible to speak over the noise of the engines in any event, and Ryan had taken advantage of the time to mull over the situation. She killed the engines, and he sighed in relief at the resulting silence.
Frogs and insects peeped in harmony and the ocean lapped against the dock’s supports in a regular rhythm. From above and somewhere near, Ryan heard the sound of music and quiet laughter. The smell of pot smoke wafted on the night air, and he wondered just what type of place she’d taken him.
“Is that pot I smell?” he whispered. She nodded.
“So it would seem.”
“What kind of friend is this?”
She finished mooring the boat and gave him a glance. “One who knows how to take care of himself.”
Well, that was certainly cryptic. Ryan didn’t like it, and his mistrust of her and her adventurous life reared up again.
“Since last month the risk of getting arrested with pot has been substantial in Key Largo. The nearby country club has demanded a crackdown. I think we should just go to the police. Let them figure it out.”
“If you wish, of course. But in the meantime this man will keep you safe.”
The bushes rustled and he saw a slender man with dishwater blond hair tied in a ponytail emerge from between two trees. He wore battered jeans low on his slender hips and a white tee shirt. He held a rolled cigarette between his finger and thumb and took a hit off of it in a deep inhalation. When he blew out the smoke and the scent of pot intensified. He smiled at Caldridge.
“Well hello, beautiful. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” He closed the distance between them, walked up to Caldridge, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. He lowered his head and gave her a long, leisurely kiss.
Ryan wasn’t sure where to look. Caldridge kissed the man back but kept her arms low and placed her palms lightly on his hips, and Ryan had the impression that while she indulged the man, they weren’t a couple. The realization made him happier than it should have. When the man was finished kissing her, he stepped back and
grinned at her. She gave a slight shake of her head but smiled back.
“Sebastian Ryan meet Wilson Vanderlock,” she said. She looked at Vanderlock. “Mr. Ryan works for an insurance company.” Vanderlock reached out and shook Ryan’s hand.
“I’m covered, thanks,” he said.
“Ryan’s in trouble.”
She ran down the evening’s events for Vanderlock and turned back to him.
“They want you to pay up. Who’d you deny coverage to?”
Ryan was confused. “You mean lately? Only you.”
Vanderlock snorted. “Now that was the best decision you’ve ever made. She’s impossible to keep safe. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Caldridge shot Vanderlock a warning look and he subsided, but a smile stayed on his lips.
“Whatever’s going on,” Ryan said, “I don’t think it’s safe to be around me. You don’t have to get involved.” To his surprise, Vanderlock just shrugged.
“I’m happy to help any friend of Caldridge’s. You’d best come to the house. I’ve got some friends over, but they’re reliable.” He waved them up the path.
“I’ve explained to Ms. Caldridge that she’s a statistical nightmare,” Ryan said as he followed Vanderlock through the trees. Vanderlock barked a laugh.
“That she is. I think I’m going to like you.”
“And yet, let’s not forget that it’s not me that’s being attacked,” Caldridge pointed out. They emerged onto a back lawn and Vanderlock threw an arm around her shoulders.
“I have to agree with Caldridge on this one. Someone wants to convince you to pay.”
“I think you both are jumping to conclusions. It’s the hip hop weekend, when three hundred thousand people descend on Miami Beach and crime spikes. I think they were just burglars looking for some cash.”
Vanderlock gave him a glance. “If Caldridge thinks they’re after you in particular, then they are. She may be a statistical nightmare, but she’s smart as hell and her instincts are right on.”
Caldridge gave her friend a surprised look. “Why thank you.”
Risk Page 3