by Jayne Castle
“Okay, I can see you’re dying to spring the surprise. What was in the wallet?”
“I.D. for one Luke Cassidy. He’s government, Zac. Drug Enforcement Administration.”
“Shit.”
“I felt a little nervous myself. I was about to make a strategic retreat when I heard him returning along the dock. I made it to the other side of the boat and crouched down behind it. That’s how I got so cold and damp. The water kept splashing up between the planks. And when he came into the boathouse and turned on the light—”
“He found you?” Zac’s gaze was riveted to her face.
“No. I nearly panicked. It was a horrible sensation, Zac. Only the thought of the image kept me from jumping up and throwing myself on the mercy of the government. Can you imagine? How would I have ever explained my snooping around in the boathouse of a government agent? Camelot Services would have undoubtedly come under all sorts of suspicion. It would have been embarrassing and humiliating and I might have ended up in jail or something. I can just see the headlines: Owner of Small Temporary-Employment Firm Linked to Drug Case.”
“So you stayed put and managed to get yourself chilled to the bone instead? You were willing to risk hypothermia for the image?”
“I know it sounds dumb now, but at the time . . .” She morosely let the sentence trail off and took another sip of tea. She was finally beginning to feel comfortably warm again.
Zac got to his feet, shoving his hands into his hip pockets. Restlessly he stalked to the window. “You may have been right. Staying out of sight may have been the best option under the circumstances. But, Jesus, Gwen!”
“I know.”
He turned to face her, his expression hard. “So he’s DEA?”
“That’s what the identification said. Had a little picture of him and everything.”
“Damn.”
“You’re doing a lot of swearing tonight.”
“Yeah. I’m feeling put-upon.” He glanced back at the darkness beyond the window. “We’re in the middle of something, Gwen, and I don’t like it. Best option for us right now is to get the hell out of here.”
She studied him worriedly. “Middle of what?”
He sighed, swinging around once more to confront her. “I heard from Sol late this afternoon.”
“Your friend Sol in Saint Thomas?”
Zac nodded brusquely. “He said a man named Gannon and one named Edward Vandyke were partners a few years back in a small charter operation that was based on Saint Thomas. The business was closed shortly after Gannon was killed.”
“All right. That fits with what Vandyke told us.” Guinevere eyed Zac curiously. “So what’s the catch?”
“According to the information Sol dug up, there was a suspicion that the Gannon-Vandyke charter service made money flying more than passengers and cargo.”
Guinevere bit her lip, guessing what was coming next. “Drugs?”
Zac paced back to the chair and sat down slowly. “The authorities never uncovered any proof, and no charges were ever brought. Sol said it was just speculation. A lot of people with airplanes come under suspicion down in the Caribbean. There are a lot of pilots in that part of the world involved in the South American drug chain. The runs are extremely lucrative. A couple of big ones and a man would have a nice bit of capital. He might have enough cash to invest in a legitimate business, for instance. A business such as Vandyke Development.”
“Or he might get killed,” Guinevere said slowly. “The way Gannon did?”
Zac looked at her for a moment. “Actually, the way Gannon got killed raises some interesting questions.”
“Didn’t Vandyke tell the truth?”
“Sol says that according to the reports in the local paper, which he found in the library, Gannon went down in April of nineteen seventy-two. Apparently he dumped the plane in the water off some little island called Raton. It’s an uninhabited place, a chunk of rock in the Caribbean. The authorities eventually found traces of the wreckage. The body was never recovered.”
Guinevere frowned. “Okay, it all still fits.”
Zac watched her through narrowed eyes. “Not quite. Remember the photocopied page of Gannon’s logbook? The one we found in Vandyke’s briefcase?”
She nodded. “I remember. What about it?”
“It shows another flight, in May of that year. One month after Gannon is supposed to have disappeared.”
“Oh my God, that’s right. I’d forgotten.” Guinevere sat stunned, absorbing the implications. “And that last entry was filled out in the same handwriting as the previous entries, wasn’t it? At least, I don’t remember thinking at the time that it appeared to be different handwriting.”
Zac inclined his head once, leaning back in the chair with his big hands linked together under his chin. The gray gaze was almost remote now. Guinevere had seen that look before, and it made her uneasy.
“So,” he went on almost musingly, “we have one very nervous ex-partner of a man who may not be dead. And the partnership may have been involved in drug smuggling. We also have a dashing pilot running around who apparently is familiar with Toby Springer and Washburn. Said pilot is carrying DEA identification.”
Guinevere shivered again, but not from cold. “I think you’re right, Zac. I think we are in the middle of something. Something messy.” She paused a moment, her mind skipping ahead. “Do you think it’s the fact that Gannon might be alive that’s upsetting our client?”
“He’s running scared from something. If he’d been under the impression that his ex-partner was dead all these years, and then someone sends him a page out of a logbook with a flight filled in after the one that should have been the last . . .”
“You think Gannon’s materialized from Vandyke’s past and is going to blackmail Vandyke?”
Zac shrugged. “It’s one possibility, and it would explain a lot. Vandyke’s straight these days. He’s built up a good business. He’s about to conclude a very important deal.”
“Rumors of a past spent smuggling drugs could ruin him in the Seattle business community,” Guinevere concluded thoughtfully.
“Talk about having your image tarnished.”
“Yes.”
They sat in silence for a while, considering the situation. Finally Zac spoke. “I don’t think it’s the documents he’s worried about. I think he’s been trying to get bodyguard service without telling me that’s what he really needs. He only seems to be concerned about the briefcase when I remind him of it. The rest of the time he’s distracted and nervous, and he doesn’t like me to get too far out of sight.”
“A bodyguard? To protect him from a blackmailer?”
“A possibility.”
“And in the meantime the Drug Enforcement Administration is breathing down his neck?”
Zac winced. “Poor Vandyke. He’s got more reason to be nervous than he even knows. You said Toby Springer was arguing with Cassidy?”
Guinevere nodded thoughtfully. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen them together. Remember when we first saw him standing on Cassidy’s dock?”
“Yeah.” Zac idly rubbed his thumb along his jaw, eyes distant. “If Toby Springer is working with Cassidy then we have to assume someone is setting a trap.”
“But for whom? Vandyke’s been legitimate for years. Would they really waste a lot of time and money coming down on him now?”
“The government never needs an excuse to waste tax dollars, you know that,” Zac replied impatiently. “But you’re right. It would seem more likely they’d be interested in a current case, not one that was over a decade old.”
“I can’t believe Vandyke is currently involved in smuggling dope!” Guinevere was incensed at the notion. “He’s a nice man, Zac. He’s got a wife he cares about, a good reputation, a successful business—�
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“That business may have been founded on the proceeds of his last smuggling venture,” Zac reminded her bluntly. “He may have decided to go back to his old line of work for new capital.”
“I refuse to believe it!”
“That’s because you don’t want to believe it. You like the guy.”
“What’s wrong with liking him?” she fumed.
“In your case, it tends to cloud your reasoning. You’re too empathic, Gwen. You let your emotions dictate your loyalties.”
She stared at him, infuriated. “What a chauvinistic thing to say! Just because I tend to trust my judgments of people, that doesn’t mean I let my emotions sway those judgments! I like Edward Vandyke, and I don’t believe he’s involved in drug smuggling—whatever he may or may not have done in the past.”
“Your faith in your client is touching. But it doesn’t solve our immediate problem.”
“What is our immediate problem? Warning Vandyke about Cassidy?”
Zac gave her a dryly amused look. “If you think Vandyke is an innocent honest businessman, why are you concerned with warning him about Cassidy? Why would he even need to be warned about him?”
Guinevere flushed, aware of the trap he was setting. “He’s a client of mine. I feel obliged to help him. And you should feel the same, Zac. Vandyke’s your client too.”
“One who hasn’t been straightforward with me.”
“He’s scared!”
“That’s not my problem, unless he chooses to be upfront about the situation and unless he hires me to do something about it. Even at that point I’m not obliged to worry about it unless I decide to take the case. Gwen, as far as I’m concerned, Vandyke hired me to baby-sit a briefcase full of documents. So far nothing has happened to that briefcase. I’ve done my job. And you’ve done everything you were obligated to do. I have a feeling it’s time for both of us to get the hell out of Dodge City.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you and I should be on the next ferry back to Anacortes.” He glanced at his black metal wristwatch. “It leaves in an hour. If we move, we can make it.”
Guinevere set down her teacup, alarmed. “Zac, we can’t just leave like that. We’ve got to talk to Vandyke.”
“Honey, we don’t have the least idea of what’s coming down here. Cassidy might be planning some kind of raid. He might be setting a trap. And who the hell knows where Toby Springer fits into all this?”
A thought struck Guinevere. “What if Springer is a plant?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Maybe he’s working for Cassidy’s outfit as an inside informant.”
Zac looked exasperated. “Wonderful. And where does that lead us? Do we then assume that Sheldon Washburn is cooperating with the government? Helping Cassidy set up Vandyke?”
Guinevere bit her lip. “Not necessarily. Washburn and Vandyke are going to be partners after the final contracts are signed,” she went on slowly. “Maybe they’ve been partners before.”
Zac considered that. “You think Washburn might be Gannon?”
“Why not? It’s a possibility, isn’t it? Washburn and Vandyke are in similar lines of work these days—real estate development. They’ve both emerged on the business scene since nineteen seventy-two, and they both seem to have had a good chunk of capital with which to get started. It would be easy enough for them to pretend in front of the rest of us that they’ve never met before.”
“Oh great, Gwen. Now you’re not only convicting your own client, you’re saying Washburn’s in on it with him. Make up your mind.”
She stood up. “I can’t make up my mind. I don’t know what’s going on. And neither do you. We can’t just leave Vandyke in this situation, Zac. We’ve got to at least talk to him.”
“No we don’t.”
Guinevere glared at him over her shoulder as she crossed the small room to her closet and began searching for something to wear to dinner. “He’s our client, Zac.”
“We’re not doctors, priests, or lawyers. Our relationship with a client is hardly sacred.”
“Do you mean to sit there and tell me we’re going to do absolutely nothing for Vandyke? Just hop on the next ferry and get ourselves safely out of the picture.”
“It would seem,” he said, “the most advisable course of action at the moment. I don’t have any desire to be blithely sitting in the middle of this mess sipping tea when Cassidy comes through the front door, six-guns blazing. As you discovered in the boathouse, the prospect of explaining our innocence to the government is about as enthralling as explaining our tax returns to them at an audit.”
Guinevere studied his face, seeing the resolve in his eyes. “Vandyke’s a client, Zac,” she said quietly, reaching into the closet to pull out a black wool dress. “I think we owe him the courtesy of offering him your services.”
Zac looked as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “What’s this? We owe him the courtesy of offering him my services? In what capacity, for God’s sake? I’m a consultant, not a hired gun. And above all I will not allow you to get further involved in this damn situation.”
“Zac, all I’m asking is that we talk to him. Tonight. We can leave in the morning after we’ve fulfilled our obligations.”
Zac threw up his hands and surged out of the chair. “You’re a stubborn, idiotic, emotional, bleeding-heart female who doesn’t have the common sense she was born with. What’s worse, you’re trying to drag me down with you. If I had the sense I was born with I’d bundle you up, stuff you into the car, drive you onto that ferry, and say the hell with it.”
Guinevere looked at him hopefully. “We’ll talk to Vandyke?”
“I’ll talk to Vandyke. You will keep your charming little ass out of this, or I will not be responsible for what happens. When it comes to security matters that turkey is my client, not yours. Got it?”
“Thank you, Zac.” Guinevere demurely lowered her eyes so that he wouldn’t see her satisfaction. She scurried into the bathroom to dress for dinner.
Chapter Seven
There were times, Zac reflected a few hours later, when he’d give anything to have Gwen’s winning way with people, when he would find it very useful to have them confide as easily in him as they often did in her. Theoretically he should have had Gwen with him when he tried to pin down his anxiety-ridden client. She always had a soothing effect on people. But the truth was he didn’t dare get her any more involved in this crazy situation than she already was. Furthermore, if Vandyke was enmeshed in some drug-running scam the last thing Zac wanted was for his client to think he and Gwen were aware of it. People who ran drugs were inclined to be defensive on occasion. Downright hostile, in fact. The simple truth was, people who ran drugs were often willing to kill to protect their lucrative secrets. No, Zac decided, if Vandyke was innocent, and genuinely needed help, the man was going to have to volunteer more information.
By ten thirty that evening Zac had to admit that thus far the gentle art of subtle interrogation was not going well. He was fairly good at the straightforward pin-them-to-the-wall style, but he lacked the finesse needed for the more diplomatic strategy. He ordered another tequila and watched Guinevere dancing with Toby Springer. The sight annoyed him, but he had to admit it kept her occupied and away from the table while he was trying to corner Vandyke. Beside him Vandyke watched the pair on the dance floor broodingly. Washburn had retired a half hour earlier. Zac decided to make one more attempt with Vandyke.
“With your competitors gone, and now that you and Washburn have signed the development deal, I can’t see any further need to worry about that briefcase, Mr. Vandyke. I think I’ll let you keep it tonight.”
“Fine.” Vandyke sounded uninterested. He was still watching Guinevere and Springer.
“I thought Gwen and I could catch the first ferry out in the morning.”
That caught Va
ndyke’s attention. “You’re going back early? I thought we agreed you’d stay until I’m ready to return to Seattle. I was planning on leaving around noon. Actually, I had planned to discuss the possibility of your continuing to—”
“I’ve got a business to run, and it really doesn’t look as if you need me any longer,” Zac said ruthlessly. He looked at the older man. “I’m not sure you ever needed me in the first place. No one so much as winked at that damn briefcase.”
Vandyke shifted his glance back to the dance floor. “Having you along was just a precaution.”
“Against what?”
“You know. Theft, industrial espionage, that sort of thing. You can’t be too careful these days.”
Zac held on to his patience. “Why don’t we level with each other, Vandyke. If you’re in trouble, tell me. You’re my client. I’ll do my best to help you. But don’t give me any more bull about that damn briefcase. You were never all that concerned about it. You just wanted me nearby. Somehow I can’t believe you were simply looking for companionship.”
Vandyke stiffened. “Nobody’s paying you to ask questions, Justis.”
“I know. I’m being paid to stick close. Not to the briefcase, but to you. Why don’t you be honest about that part, at least? Normally I don’t hire myself out as a bodyguard. It lacks class.”
“Now listen here, Justis—”
“But since I’m already on the scene, I’ll do what I can—if you’ll tell me what it is I’m supposed to be guarding you against,” Zac concluded coldly.
“I don’t have the vaguest idea what you’re talking about.”
Zac wanted to slam the man up against a wall. His fingers tightened around the small tequila glass. “If it’s blackmail, Vandyke, there are ways of dealing with it.”
Vandyke’s eyes widened for an instant and then narrowed. His voice was tight. “You’re way out of line even suggesting that I’m being blackmailed. What the hell gave you that idea? I have absolutely nothing to hide. I resent your implication, Justis.”
Zac cradled his tequila in both hands, his elbows on the table, studying the older man for a long moment. This was getting nowhere. “All right, Vandyke. Have it your way. You hired a baby-sitter for that briefcase for three days. You’ve had your money’s worth. I’m leaving first thing in the morning and I’m taking Gwen with me.”