I shook my head stubbornly. "It's got to be me. Tyrell would never talk to you. He blames you for both him and his brother being in jail. But you can drive."
"Gee, thanks." He wrapped his arms around my waist, trying a different tactic. "How about we go later? Let's do a little visiting below deck."
I was tempted. Really tempted. Not so long ago, we'd spent some exciting time below deck in the beautiful stateroom. "As soon as we get back from the prison."
"You really know how to sweet talk a guy."
I smiled and leaned in for a kiss. "Shake a leg. It's a three-hour drive."
Mark groaned. "I was hoping for a little more than a kiss and the opportunity to chauffeur you on a three-hour trip to a prison. I spent a week alone on a boat to get here, you know."
After a short consultation with Andre, we borrowed the rented SUV and headed north on US 1. There was only one lane in each direction, and the beautiful views and overlook pull-offs kept the traffic at a crawl.
The drive gave us time to catch up on things that were happening back in Annapolis, Maryland. Mark had spent the better part of the summer designing the new commercial waterfront buildings near Dock Street that would replace the ramshackle office front where Greene's Staffing was currently housed.
"Most of my time has been spent trying to get permits," he added. "I've worked on projects in foreign countries that had less red tape."
I was having trouble concentrating on what he was saying. My mind was still on the threatening scrapbook letters. While I hadn't thought twice about any of them at the time, I kept thinking about how close a couple of those "accidents" had come to killing me.
"You okay?" he asked.
I sighed and turned to him. "Just thinking how much simpler life was when I was a temp and playing gigs a couple nights a week. No one was trying to kill me then." I paused, adding, "Well, usually they weren't." I'd never been threatened on a job before, but manning the counter at the temp agency was another story. People threatened you so much that you kinda got used to it. But no one had ever sent me a threatening scrapbook page or drugged me—sheesh!
Mark patted my knee. "We'll catch this guy. Don't worry. Besides, tour's over in a couple of days. You'll be back at home with Max in no time."
Max was my Shih Tzu-Poodle. A fluffy white dog with an overbite and an attitude. "How's he doing?"
"He asks about you all the time."
I rolled my eyes. "He doesn't even know I'm gone, right?"
"Pretty much. I feed him hotdogs on a regular basis; I think the nitrates may have erased all memories of you."
"Great, now he'll expect hotdogs for dinner when I get home. Did he give you any problems when you left him at Ashley's?"
"No, he was actually excited. Must've smelled the deer jerky Dan was brewing up."
My brother-in-law, Dan, was one part redneck and two parts Paul Bunyan. My sister said he was just "outdoorsy." Guess that explains why he insisted on peeing outside.
"Well, he'll have fun with the kids and Sally." My sister also had three kids and a really dumb Lab. Like "if you look at her, she'll pee" dumb. Come to think of it, my brother-in-law was probably to blame for the dog's potty problem. He hadn't exactly set a good example with his own bathroom habits.
Despite my inability to get my mind off homicidal crafting, the ride was surprisingly enjoyable. The view was lovely, our lunch at an ocean side restaurant along the way was perfect, and the conversation was interesting. It felt like we were on a date. I found myself almost forgetting my problems…only to remember that this date was ending at a prison.
As we pulled up to the sprawling gray industrial building surrounded by barbed wire, Mark took my hand. "Let me go. You don't need to do this."
I stared into his brown eyes. I had an impulse to lean over and kiss him, maybe even jump over into the driver's seat with him. He was just that yummy. But I controlled myself. This was a prison after all.
"Thanks," I patted his hand. "But I need to do this. He's not going to talk to you."
"Well I can at least help you get through the process."
Turns out, there wasn't much of a process. It was visiting day, and the place was swarming with women and children. I signed in, showed ID, and waited. Because Tyrell was in Maximum Security, I had to be escorted to a special visiting area in another part of the prison. I gave Mark a sheepish wave before the doors clanged shut.
It was a long walk down several large gray hallways. It looked more like the office area of an old factory than a prison. It was also weird that there were a lot of prisoners just wandering around. I made a comment to my pudgy guard escort.
"Most of 'em are on work release or short-timers. They ain't gonna mess up a good thing. Don't you worry." He gave me an admiring glance that gave me an icky feeling.
We came to a door that had a sign warning visitors against a variety of actions. Some of which didn't make any sense.
"Aren't the prisoners behind glass?" I asked, pointing to the sign that read "No Touching."
"Yeah, the sign's for the visitors. No touching each other. We had a problem with girls coming in and putting on a show if ya know what I mean." He gave me a leering grin.
"Oh, I see." Now all the warnings were starting to make sense.
"Okay, here we go," the guard said, grandly opening the door and leading me to a glass booth. "You've got yourself quite a character for a boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend."
The guard gave me an inquiring look.
"He's, um, an old friend from school. I just found out he was in jail."
Great now he was going to think I was really a weirdo. I should've just gone with being his girlfriend.
"Uh-huh." The guard shook his head and made a face, clearly not believing a word. "Well, he's been real anxious to see you. Kept asking if a blonde shorty was here to see him. You seem a little tall to be a shorty," he cackled.
"And you seem a little fat to be much of a guard," I growled under my breath.
"Here ya go, Stretch." He laughed again as he pointed me towards a metal chair in front of a window. There was no phone. It appeared that a speaker was built into the window. In the space opposite me, sat Tyrell. His hair was braided, and he looked thinner than he had four months ago in court.
I sat down and stared uneasily at him.
"Lookin' good, Diana," he drawled. His hooded eyes gave me a lazy appraisal. "I seen you on TV. Made it to the big time, huh?"
"Why am I here, Tyrell?"
"Come on, give me a little foreplay before you grab a handful." He gave me a smile, and his gold grill glinted against his dark skin.
I stared stony faced at him.
He sighed and shifted in his chair. He leaned back, all sprawled out, and worked his mouth from side to side. "You here," he said slowly, "because you got nerves of steel, mama. You impress me. It takes a lot to impress Tyrell."
"I'm here because you've been threatening my life!" I hissed. "And I want it to stop!"
Tyrell put a finger to his lips and shook his head. "No girl, you here because I'm tryin' to save your life."
"From who?" I demanded.
Tyrell leaned forward, his lips inches from the speaker. "From The Spider," he whispered.
Our eyes met, and I saw regret and sadness there. I was confused. Why would Tyrell care what happened to me?
"You're in the web, an' The Spider is already spinning a cocoon around you strand by strand. You ain't gonna know you're caught until it's too late."
I shuddered at his words, already feeling the stickiness of the web.
CHAPTER FOUR
"So is this some kind of joke?" I asked, swallowing my panic. "Get me out here and try to scare me? Have a laugh?"
"Those little accidents you been havin' seem like a joke to you?" He stared me down.
I blinked first. "Tell me about The Spider."
Tyrell shrugged. "Ain't no one know nothin' about The Spider. He's a phantom. A killer you ain't gonna see u
ntil it's too late. The Spider's the best."
"Great." I looked at the ceiling. "So how do you know so much about The Spider?"
Tyrell looked down at his hands and worked his mouth some more. "'Cause I'm the one who hired him."
"You put a hit out on me!" I shrieked. "Really? Shooting at me on stage wasn't enough?"
Tyrell held up his hands. "That was the old Tyrell. I'm a changed man, baby. I cool now."
"So what, you found God or Allah or something?" I asked.
Tyrell waved his hand dismissively. "That old school prison shit. Do I look like I Muslim? No, man, I found peace. Tyrell's livin' large in the vortex. The light of the universe has driven out the darkness. I'm finally on the path." He nodded sagely.
I stared at him like he was nuts.
"Oh, I get it," I said sarcastically, "so hiring a hitman is okey-dokey in the vortex?" I raised my arms and gestured wildly.
The pudgy guard looked up from his desk. He grabbed the speaker in front of him. "Visitor four—read the rules: No lewd conduct. Quit that gyrating down there!"
Steam started to leak out of my ears.
Tyrell leaned forward and whispered, "Calm down, girl. Shit, you wrapped up tight."
"How do you expect me to be when you tell me you've got a hit out on me? You haven't even told me why," I ground out.
Tyrell shrugged. "You gotta point. I was tryin' to get back at your G-man and that singing pirate you hang with. I wasn't in my right mind. Thought I could get 'em both by takin' you out. But I put the hit out before I found peace and light. I got you here to warn you. I'm tryin' to redeem myself, but you ain't makin' it easy."
"Great! Just call off the hit then." Problem solved. I could feel myself starting to relax a little.
Tyrell shook his head sadly. "See here's the thing about The Spider. He don't fail. And I can't call him off. He don't stop 'til the job's done. Period."
I stared at him for a full thirty seconds. "This can't be happening. I'm a singer and a temp worker. It doesn't make sense for me to have the world's greatest hitman after me." A sob caught in my throat.
"Look, you gotta get your G-man on this. He know people who might be able to stop The Spider. I can't give up my contacts, but believe me when I say they don't know nothin'. It's a system where one hand don't know what the other's doin'. I tell a dude about my problem. He tell another dude. That dude sends a message to another dude. I put money in an off-shore account. It gets transferred somewhere. No trace."
I stared at him. "You've got to be kidding! I can't believe you did this to me!" I screeched.
He held up his hand. "You gotta be cool, girl. Get your man on this and watch your back."
I stared off numbly. "I feel like I'm falling. It's all out of control." It came out in a jumbled rush.
Tyrell slapped his hand on the glass to get my attention. "Then catch yo'self, girl! Ain't no one goin' do it for you. Shit, you let yo'self fall too far, you end up here. Or worse." He looked at me pointedly.
I took a deep breath. Catch yourself, Diana. Get a grip. "Where do I start?"
"Follow the money. Got a pen?"
I dug around in my purse and pulled out a pen and a grocery receipt.
He recited, "Cayman National Bank and Trust. Account number 231590-3675. That's all I got. That was written on a piece of toilet paper and left in my cell. I moved the money using a smartphone I borrowed."
"They have smartphones in prison?"
"Girl, they got everything up in here if you got the Benjis." He flashed his grill.
The guard called time up. Tyrell stood. "You take care now, Shorty. You're the first wrong I'm tryin' to right." He yawned. "Lord, I gotta do some meditatin'. You 'bout wore me out with all yo' negative energy. You might want to get your aura worked on." He waved his hands indicating my figure.
"Yeah, I get that a lot." I sighed. Then I remembered something. "Hey! Tyrell! What about the scrapbook letters?"
He stared at me like I'd finally lost it. Some of the old Tyrell was back in his answer. "Girl you hard a hearin' or somethin'? This ain't no joke! That dude gonna kill you. Ain't no one doin' no god-damned scrapbookin'."
I watched as they led him away, thinking about what he'd said. Time to catch myself. Ain't no one else going to do it for me.
* * *
I drove the three hours back. Mark spent most of the time on the phone.
If my life hadn't been in such mortal danger, the look on his face when I told him about the hitman would've been amusing.
"A top hitman called The Spider? Are you serious? Guess he does scrapbooking in between hits too?" he had asked sarcastically.
"Interestingly enough, I asked Tyrell about the scrapbooking, and he had no idea what I was talking about."
"So maybe the hitman has a crazy partner who likes to scrapbook."
I shook my head. "I've been thinking about this. The messages came before the attempts. Only problem was, I didn't open my mail in time. It doesn't make sense that the killer would warn me."
"None of this makes sense." Mark raked his fingers through his hair. "Oh, geez, I've got to actually repeat this story to colleagues if we're going to get some back up on this." He'd been on the phone with Marsha for the last half hour. I couldn't stand her, but she'd watched my back in the spring when Tyrell was after me. Mark swore their relationship was all business, but I still had my doubts, at least on Marsha's part. The fact that Marsha was a voluptuous red-head who constantly tried to get Mark back into the CIA made her presence barely tolerable.
We stopped at a little seafood restaurant in Marathon. The island was the fourth key in the chain and not far from the villa in Key West. Happy hour was in high gear as Mark led me through the crowd and out to a back deck that overlooked the setting sun.
"You do know how to pick a romantic spot. You must have plans for me." I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively at him.
"You know that's not really sexy," he replied. "Cute, but not sexy."
I stuck out my tongue at him. "How's that?"
"Better." He reached across the table and covered my hand with his.
"I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too." I lost myself in his warm, dark eyes. It felt like it had been months since we'd done this—just stared into each other's eyes, letting the world go on around us.
A waitress dressed as a serving wench arrived to take our order. I shook my head at her attire. There seemed to be no escape.
Mark ordered a beer, and I ordered iced tea. I was still recovering from my roofie experience, and didn't want to test the waters with an adult beverage yet. We decided to share some fish and chips, and I ordered a small salad.
"So I have a plan," Mark announced after the waitress had left.
I raised my eyebrows, not wiggling them this time.
"Marsha's coming here to be your double until after the concert." Mark held up a hand. "It's the only way to throw this guy off the trail. Marsha did some digging. If Tyrell really hired The Spider, it's not just some crazy fan. He's a professional." His voice was serious.
I tamped down the rising panic. "You'll just end up with two of us in his line of sight," I replied reasonably.
Mark gave me a look. "Come on," he said. "Are you really worried about something happening to Marsha?"
"That was a low blow," I huffed. "I don't like her, but I certainly don't want to see the woman killed."
"She's a CIA agent. This guy—no matter how good he is—isn't going to take her out. Having a double for you will keep him off balance and make it less likely for him to try another attempt while you're here. It'll also buy us time to try to track the money."
It was all very reasonable; however, I didn't want Marsha around. She coveted Mark, and she didn't like me one bit. But if it kept The Spider from spinning me up in his web…
"Okay! You win. But I swear if she starts making cow eyes at you, I'm going to rip her red hair right out of her head." I pounded my fist on the table.
Mark's eyes laughed at me. "I like it when you get all riled up. It's sexy." He leaned across the table and kissed me.
The steam went out of my sails and moved downward. My toes curled, and I started counting the miles to the big bed in the boat's stateroom.
Mark drove the rest of the way back so I could call Carol. Not that she really needed my guidance. Carol was definitely the brains of the operation.
"Greene's Staffing," a familiar voice answered.
"Hi, it's Diana. Is Carol in?"
"No, this is Tabitha. Can I help you with something?"
"No, Tabitha. I was telling you it's me, Diana." I rolled my eyes.
Mark chuckled next to me.
"I'm sorry, but Diana isn't in today. I can take a message if you'd like."
I took a deep breath. Let's try this again.
"Hi, can I speak to Carol?"
"Sure, one moment." There was a pause. "Oh, may I ask who's calling?"
I paused. Best not mess this up. "Diana Hudson."
"Oh, hi, Diana! Why didn't you say it was you? I'd have put you right through."
"My fault, Tabitha. How're things going?"
"Well, Carol has me helping out in the office. You know Mr. Pyres is in Yugoslavia for at least a month. I'm still working on his transcription but no more dating sites. He's engaged!" she gushed.
"To Betty Getty?" I asked.
"Yep! I'm so happy for them. It just goes to show that love knows no bounds. It can even happen for vampires."
"Tabitha, he's not really a vampire. You know that right?"
"Of course. Mum's the word," she replied conspiratorially. "Here's Carol."
The funny thing was she wasn't really crazy. Dizzy maybe, but not crazy.
Mr. Pyres had been my employer when I was still temping, and he really did dress and act like a vampire. He was a Yugoslavian professor who wrote about medieval husbandry and played the hurdy-gurdy. Strange, but not other-worldly. I will admit that helping him navigate the online dating world had been quite a challenge. But it seems to have been successful.
On Tour Page 3