They were gathered around the bar at the Drunken Pirate: Sonny, Bill Worth, Kelsey and Liam—and Jackson, Kody and Brodie.
It was the following night. Colleen was still in the hospital. They thought they had left her dead, but luckily they had not.
They had set everything up. When Rosy had come through the bathroom window one night, she’d found a few little things that had belonged to Colleen—a brush, a compact and a notepad.
Emory—visiting a hapless Bev at the Sea Horse—had managed to plant the things in Adelaide’s room, and they’d taken hair from Adelaide’s brush to leave on Colleen.
They had thought themselves incredibly clever.
“Thing is, they were getting away with what they were doing,” Brodie said.
“My dad would be heartbroken that his music caused such pain,” Kody said.
“Your dad’s music didn’t cause any of this—greed caused it,” Jackson said firmly.
“Rosy said that marrying Cliff was an investment—she only intended to be with him so long. But...my God, did she marry him, intending to kill him?” she asked.
“We’ll see what the prosecutors tell us on that,” Liam said. “Their fate is in the hands of the law now. But this is a death penalty state. They may well plead out to multiple life terms. Rosy wanted a new life—she’s going to get one.”
“The thing is, they were holding a reign of terror—and it’s over,” Brodie said firmly.
“I’m almost surprised they didn’t try to pin things on me,” Sonny said.
“Maybe they were smart enough on that front—if they tried, we’d have disproved them too quickly,” Liam said.
“In light of all this...” She looked across the table at Bill.
Bill cleared his throat. “We never got to tell anyone. But...Sonny and I are a couple. We were actually going to say something right after the festival, but then Cliff...”
“It didn’t seem right,” Sonny said.
“But it does now. We’re going to get married,” Bill said.
Congratulations went around. And then they were silent.
“Thing is, it is over,” Brodie said. He looked over at Kody. “And just beginning.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Jackson cleared his throat. “I have a plan—if you’re interested.”
“Shoot,” Brodie told him, smiling.
“Brodie goes into the academy when it starts up again. Until then, he’s a consultant. It will take some time, so he can stay down here and help you get the museum up and running as it should be. Then, of course, Kody keeps her museum. But Colleen...she also loves the museum. She almost gave her life for it. And, from what I understand, she was very shy. Now, she’s coming out of her shell. She would be a wonderful manager for the place. Of course, you two can spend your time going between places so that Kody doesn’t lose what she worked so hard to obtain.”
There was an awkward silence at the table.
Then Brodie shrugged, smiled and looked at Kody.
“I like it,” he said.
“I like it, too.”
“Yay!” Sonny said.
Jojo walked over.
“Hey, the band is asking if you’ll do one of Cliff’s or your dad’s songs,” he said.
She hesitated. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to do a song again.
And then she did.
Jackson was right. Music hadn’t caused the horror—it had been greed.
So she got up on stage and sang “Love in the Sun,” attributing it to Cliff Bullard and Michael McCoy.
They talked awhile longer. And then, Sonny and Bill headed off, hand in hand.
And when they were gone, the others were quickly joined by the captain and Cliff Bullard.
“I’ll still watch over the house,” the captain said.
“And, I believe I’ll stay awhile myself. And I’m going to be a very promiscuous ghost—improving the lives of young women any time I can!”
They all laughed at that.
Cliff thanked Kody for the accolades.
“I love you. Like I loved my dad,” she told him.
“And when I do go, I will tell him that—and tell him what a spectacular young woman he raised, and just how beautiful you are.”
Soon, the living finished their food and drink.
Cliff was taking the captain for a stroll. He might just make a good promiscuous ghost, too.
And the others split.
Brodie and Kody returned to her house, walking through the streets of the city she loved so much.
At her house, Brodie suddenly swept her up into his arms.
“You know that I’m going to marry you,” he said. “This may be a bit premature, but I’m going to carry you over the threshold. And up the stairs. Maybe not the stairs—they’re old and narrow. I might hurt you. Or me! But...time and place...tomorrow, next year...you choose. But I am going to marry you.”
He looked at her, waiting for an answer.
She smiled. “Okay.” And then she laughed softly. “My mother will be relieved, of course. And you will have to let the captain know your intentions soon.”
“And you’re going to get to meet my diva mom and my ever-patient dad,” he told her.
“I am so glad they’re still in your life!”
He carried her into the house, but not up the stairs. He caught her hand and they ran up together, and they made love, and it was the sweetest thing in the world.
Love in the sun...
Or wherever.
It was more intense, more passionate than ever before.
Because now they knew it would be forever.
* * *
The next day, they visited the cemetery together. Kody set up flowers for her father—and for Cliff.
The reality of death was especially hard for him, knowing the way his life had ended.
“Looks nice,” Brodie told her softly.
She nodded as they walked away.
She looked back. One of Key West’s famous sunsets was streaking the sky, casting light and shadows down on the beautiful old McCoy tomb.
And for a moment, just a moment, Kody thought that she saw her father.
Lit up in a second of Key West mauve and golden light.
He smiled at her, drew his fingers to his lips, and sent her a kiss.
It couldn’t be...
But maybe it was.
She blew a kiss back, and then took Brodie’s hand.
Michael McCoy had given her so much. He’d taught her so much.
And, she knew, he would be happy.
He would have liked Brodie very much. If only he’d seen him, met him.
And she wondered if, maybe, in a way, he had.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an exclusive preview of
Undercover Connection.
A thrilling new romantic suspense from
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An undercover cop and a deep-cover FBI agent have to team up to take down an organized crime ring on the sultry Miami Beach strip...
Available November 20, 2018,
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And make sure to catch up on the complete Krewe of Hunters series, featuring the FBI’s elite team of paranormal investigators:
Phantom Evil
Heart of Evil
Sacred Evil
The Evil Inside
The Unseen
The Unholy
The Unspoken
The Uninvited
The Night Is Watching
The Night Is Alive
The Night Is Forever
The Cursed
The Hexed
The Betrayed
The Silenced
The Forgotten
The Hidden
Haunted Destiny
Deadly Fate
Darkest Journey
Dying Breath
Dark Rites
Wicked Deeds
Fade to Black
Pale as Death
Echoes of Evil
“Exceptional character development and worldbuilding...suspenseful elements that will leave you guessing until the end.”
—RT Book Reviews on Darkest Journey
Discover the electrifying Cafferty & Quinn series, where an antiques collector and a private investigator are drawn together in New Orleans as they investigate the city’s most unusual crimes:
Let the Dead Sleep
Waking the Dead
The Dead Play On
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Don’t miss other heart-racing stories from The Finnegan Connection mini-series:
Shadows in the Night
Out of the Darkness
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Undercover Connection
by Heather Graham
Chapter One
The woman on the runway was truly one of the most stunning creatures Jacob Wolff had ever seen. Her skin was pure bronze, as sleek and as dazzling as the deepest sunray. When she turned, he could see—even from his distance at the club’s bar—that her eyes were light. Green, he thought, and a sharp contrast to her skin. She had amazing hair, long and so shimmering that it was as close to pure black as it was possible to be; so dark it almost had a gleam of violet. She was long-legged, lean, and yet exquisitely shaped, and amazing as she moved in the creation she modeled—a pastel mix of colors which was perfect and enhanced by her skin coloring, bare at the shoulder and throat, with a plunging neckline—and back—and then sweeping to the floor.
She moved like a woman accustomed to such a haughty strut, proud, confident, arrogant and perhaps even amused by the awe of the onlookers.
“That one—she will rule the place one day.”
Jacob turned.
Ivan Petrov leaned on one elbow across the bar from Jacob. Ivan bartended and—so Jacob believed thus far—ran all things that had to do with the on-the-ground-management of the Gold Sun Club, the burning hot new establishment having its grand opening tonight.
“I’d imagine,” Jacob said. He leaned closer on the bar and smiled. “And I imagine that she might perhaps be...available?”
Ivan smiled, clearly glad that Jacob had asked him; Ivan was a proud man, appreciative that Jacob had noted his position of power within the club.
“Not...immediately,” Ivan said. “She is fairly new. But...all things come in good time, my friend, eh? Now you—” he said, pouring a shot of vodka into a glass for Jacob. “You are fairly new, too. New to Miami Beach—new to our ways. We have our...social...rules, you know.”
Jacob knew all too well.
And he knew what happened to those who didn’t follow the rules—or, who dared to make their own. He’d been south of I-75 that morning, off part of the highway still known as Alligator Alley, and for good reason. He’d been deep in the Everglades where a Seminole ranger had recently discovered a bizarre cache of oil drums, inside of which had been a cache of bodies in various stages of decomposition.
“I have my reputation,” Jacob said softly.
Ivan caught Jacob’s meaning. Yes, Jacob would follow the rules. But he was his own man—very much a made man from the underbelly of New York City. Now, he’d bought a gallery on South Beach; but he’d been doing his other business for years.
That was the information that had been fed to what had become known as the Deco Gang—because of the beautifully preserved architecture on South Beach.
Jacob was, for all intents and purposes, a new major player in the area. And it was important, of course, that he appear to be a team player—but a very powerful team player who respected another man’s turf while also keeping a strict hold on his own.
“A man’s reputation must be upheld,” Ivan said, nodding approvingly.
“And, of course, give heed to all that belongs to another man, as well,” Jacob assured him.
A loud clash of drums drew Jacob’s attention for a moment. The Dissidents were playing that night; they were supposedly one of the hottest up-and-coming bands not just in the state, but worldwide.
The grand opening to the Gold Sun Club had been invitation only; tomorrow night, others would flow in, awed by the publicity generated by this celebrity-studded evening. The rich and the beautiful—and the not-so-rich but very beautiful—were all on the ground floor, listening to the popular new band and watching the fashion show. Jacob took in the place as a whole, noting an upstairs balcony level that ran the perimeter, with a bar at the back above the stage. That bar was closed; the guests that night were all downstairs, and Ivan Petrov was manning the main bar himself.
The elegant model on the runway swirled with perfect timing, walking toward the crowd again, pausing to seductively steal a ripe and delicious-looking apple from the hands of a pretty boy—a young male model, dressed as Adonis—standing like a statue at the bottom of the steps to the runway.
“I believe,” Jacob told Ivan, turning to look at him gravely again, “that my business will be an asset to your business, and that we will work in perfect harmony together.”
“Yes,” Ivan said. “Mr. Smirnoff invited you, right?”
Jacob nodded. “Josef brought me in.”
Ivan said, “He is an important man.”
“Yes, I know,” Jacob assured him.
If Ivan only knew how.
* * *
JASMINE ADAIR—Jasmine Alamein, as far as this group was concerned—was glad that she had managed to learn the art of walking in ridiculous heels without tripping—and observing at the same time. It wasn’t as if she’d had training or gone to cotillion—did they still have cotillion classes?—but she’d been graced with the most wonderful parents in the world.
Her mother had been with the Peace Corps—which had maybe been a natural course for her, having somewhat global roots. Her mom’s parents had come from Jordan and Kenya, met and married in Morocco, and moved to the United States. There, Jasmine’s mom, Liliana, had been born and grown up in Miami, but had travelled the world to help people before she’d finally settled down. Liliana had been a great mom, always all about kindness to others, and passionate that everyone must be careful with others—words could make or break a person’s day, and truly seeing people was one of the most important talents anyone co
uld have in life.
Declan Adair, Jasmine’s dad, was a mostly-Irish-American mutt—her father’s own words. He’d been a cop, and had taught Jasmine what that meant to him: serving his community.
They had both taught her about absolute equality, color, race, creed, sex, and sexual orientation, and they had both taught her that good people were good people and, in all, most of the people in the world were good, longing for the same things, especially in America—life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
They sounded like a sweet pair of hippies; they had been anything but. Her father had also taught her that those who appeared to be the nicest people in the world often were not—and that lip service didn’t mean a hell of a lot and could hide an ocean of lies and misdeeds.
“Judging people—hardest call you’ll ever make,” he’d told her once. “Especially when you have to do so quickly.”
He’d shaken his head in disgust over the result of a trial often enough, and her mother had always reminded him, “There are things that just aren’t allowed before a jury, Declan. Things that the jury just doesn’t see, and doesn’t know.”
“Not to worry, we’ll get them next time,” he assured her.
Jasmine scanned the crowd. Members of this group, the so-called Deco Gang, hadn’t been gotten yet. And they needed to be—no one really knew the full extent of their crimes because they were good. Damned good at knowing how to game the justice system.
Fanatics came in all kinds—and fanatics were dangerous. Just as criminals came in all kinds—and they ruined the lives of those who wanted to live in peace, raising their children, working—enjoying their liberty and pursuing their happiness.
That’s why cops were so important—something of course, she had learned when sometimes, her dad, the detective, hadn’t made it to a birthday party.
Because of him, she’d always wanted to be a cop.
And she was a damned good one, if she did say so herself.
At the moment, it was her mother’s training that was paying off. Because, as a child, she’d accompanied her mom to all kinds of fund-raisers—and once she was a teenager, she’d started modeling at fashion shows in order to attract large donations for her mom’s various charities. She had worked with a few top designers who were equally passionate about feeding children or raising awareness when natural disasters devastated various regions in the States and around the world.
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