by Mark Stone
"I know that!" I shot back, perhaps too sharply. "But it's what I do. I have to find her, Emma. If Charlotte dies because of all of this," I said, swallowing hard. "If I have to look at Isaac and tell him that his mother is never coming home, it'll kill me. Or, at the very least, I'll wish it had. Now please, do what I asked. But be careful. If you see anything—”
"I don't have a death wish, Dillon," she said. "But I'm not going to stand by and watch my friend die." She reached into the purse she'd left in my truck when we'd gone into the church and pulled out a gun. "I can handle myself."
"You'd better," I said. "Losing you wouldn't do me any good either."
"Right back at you," she said.
From behind, I could hear blaring sirens pulling up. What Charlie had said about the police being in the pocket of this ridiculous drug dealer filled my head.
"Dammit!" I yelled.
"No!" Emma said. "Get out." She pushed me toward the door. "This is good."
"How is this good?" I asked, not sure of what she meant but doing what she asked anyway.
"Because I'm taking them with me," she said. "You get to that boat, Dillon. You save Charlotte if she's there. If she's where I'm going, then the blaring sirens and high-speed chase should give pause to anyone looking to kill someone inside."
"And what if she's not there?" I asked, standing in the parking lot with the door of my truck open. "They'll likely lock you up on some trumped-up charge."
"I was a teenager once, Dillon," she answered. "I've been in jail before."
The sirens grew louder. "Now go!"
She had slid over to the driver's side now and slammed the door in my face.
I watched her skid off in my truck and then saw the flashing red and blue lights chase after her, completely oblivious to the fact that I was still here.
Then, gathering myself, I darted toward the pier and hopped onto the motorboat. Thankfully, it was already running but, to my dismay, someone was on it.
A man with a thick white beard and a skipper's hat beamed, smiling at me as he looked me over.
"Welcome to the Wisdom of the Wave. Sit back, relax, and let your trusty captain take you across the soun—”
"Get off!' I said loudly.
"What?" he asked.
"Get the hell off this boat," I repeated.
"The Wisdom of the Wave is a full-service experience and, besides, you have to leave a five-thousand-dollar deposit if you want to take my boat on your own," he answered.
"Five thousand dolla—”
"The Wisdom of the Wave is a beauty of a ship!" he shot back incredulously.
"Stop calling it that!" I said, shaking my head. It wasn't a beauty of a ship, but I didn't have time to fight with the guy, and I didn't have five grand to throw at him at the moment. "Fine," I relented. "But you have to go quickly, and you stay on the boat after we dock." I took a deep breath. "This is going to get dangerous."
Chapter 26
Pine Island came into view quickly. As we veered across Pine Island Sound, propelled by the small motorboat's engine, the vessels “captain”—a talkative man whose name I now knew was Ray—kept prattling on about the wonders of the island I was about to set foot on. He called it one of the glorious places—not only in Florida—but on the globe as a whole. A place like none other, he assured me. It was a “slice of Heaven” in a place where Heaven seemed closer than ever.
I was sure he was right. The island did look like a dream. With lush greenery and acres and acres of agricultural fields, it pulled at a basic piece of my heart and yanked it back to a simpler time. Without a beach, this island looked to be surrounded by mangroves, which only served to add to its beauty and set it apart from the sandy barrier islands around it.
It was shining green emerald, a gem in the middle of the most beautiful waters God ever made. I didn't have time to think about that, of course, not even with Ray spouting factoids into my ear and cackling like a madman at his own jokes.
Charlotte was in trouble. It was up to me to save her, if saving her was even possible anymore.
"I've gotta say," Ray said, shaking his head as we thankfully neared the pier. "I don't mean to be rude, but you don't seem very happy to be here."
"There's a lot on my mind, Ray," I said, glaring over at him as he began the docking process.
"Even more of a reason to sit back and let Pine Island take your worries away," the man said, enthusiastic but clueless about what was really going on. "Heck, I can't tell you how many people get on this boat everyday with their shoulders all in knots and their foreheads all creased up." He waved his hand dismissively and continued. "One day in Pine Island, with the proper tour guide, of course, and their all smiles, giggles, and well wishes."
"I appreciate that, but—” I crinkled my eyebrows. "Tour guide?"
"But of course," he said, docking the boat. "The right tour guide makes all the difference, and it just so happens that you're looking at the most knowledgeable guy on the island. There isn't a fold in this place I don't know or an event that I couldn't recount with enough detail to make you feel like you were right there when it happened."
"Is that right?" I asked, an idea forming in my mind.
"Sure is," he said, looking around. "And it'll only coast you fifty- forty dollars. It'll only cost you forty dollars."
"Is someone dealing drugs out of this island?" I asked as plainly as humanly possible.
Ray's face went white. "That's not really the kind of thing I was talking about," he answered, his voice low. Which, of course, wasn't a “no”.
"I'm sure it wasn't," I answered. "But the thing is, Ray, I had very little interest about what you did or did not mean. In fact," I said, setting my jaw. "I haven't really given a damn about anything you've said since I got on your boat. What I do care about is the man who I know is selling drugs and where I can find him."
"And how am I supposed to know that?" Ray asked, looking at me uneasily.
"Because you know every fold in this island," I said, using his words against him. "Because you can make me feel like I was there."
"I don't do drugs, bud," he said, pointing to the pier. "And I'm not interested in helping you score. Now please get off my boat and, if I were you, I'd look for another transport back, because you're not going to be using mine."
"You misunderstand me," I said, producing my badge for the man to see. "I'm looking for the drugs and the man selling them, but not to take them, Ray. I'm here to shut this down."
He blinked, looking from me to the badge and back again. I saw something inside of him move, a break behind his eyes.
"You can't," he said, shaking his head and sighing. "I wish you could. Lord knows I do, but it's deeper than you think." He shrugged. "This island used to be a gorgeous place. St. James City, it used to be the greatest small town you could ever imagine, but then things started to change. Whispers about someone setting up in town, about drugs pouring in and making their way off the island and to the mainland." He put a sea weathered hand over his mouth and then dropped it, pulling at his beard. "And from the places you wouldn't think of either. I can't even go to church anymore, sir."
"Church?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at the man as I realized where to go. "He's using the churches."
"Sir," Ray said. "I wish I could tell you that wasn't true, but I—”
"Where?" I asked. "What church? Where do you go to pray?"
"Pine Island Baptist," he said, nodding at me. "Or I used to."
"Can you tell me where it is?" I asked, my heart racing as I stepped out of the boat and onto the dock.
"Went there for thirty-three years, sir," he said, pointing forward. "Even if it wasn't at the end of that lane, I'd be able to tell you where it was. I'd be able to get there with my eyes closed."
"Thank you," I said, reaching into my pocket, pulling out a crumpled up fifty and tossing it toward him. "Worth every penny."
"Sir, be careful," Ray said, catching the wadded-up money. "People happier and bigge
r than you have ended up with a noose around their necks in these parts."
"Understood," I said, nodding my thanks and turning toward the lane.
My feet hit heavy against the blacktop, my nostrils filled with the scent of the Gulf and my heart heavy with worry and dread.
I thought about all those nights I had spent with Charlotte, about every conversation we'd ever had, and about all the things we swore we'd do together when we grew up. While growing up turned us both into different people, I wasn't ready to let her go yet, especially not to the hands of her bastard of an uncle, a maniacal drug kingpin, and some horror show with a thing for nooses.
I was going to get her out of this. I just had to hope my hunch was right.
Pine Island Baptist was a more modern looking church than its Catholic counterpart in Fort Myers. While no less gorgeous, this church had stucco and dark wood in place of aged stone and stained glass windows.
The person in charge of this, it seemed, had a thing for churches but didn't care about the denomination. It was all fair game.
I rushed to the door, wondering if I was going to have to kick it in or worse, shoot at it. I didn't see any vehicles here, but that meant little. It was close enough to the water for Oscar to carry Charlotte here directly from a boat without much effort at all.
I pulled my gun out and walked carefully toward the door. Surveying the area, I was shocked when the door pulled open. On the other side of it, Father Jameson's fake brother stood, a strange smile on his face and a glass of what looked to be scotch in his right hand.
"What took you so long?" he asked, raising the glass to me. "I was beginning to think you weren't the detective everyone says you are."
Chapter 27
"Where is she?" I screamed, pointing the gun at the man who was seemingly behind all of this.
To his credit, Father Jameson's fake brother seemed entirely unaffected. He even looked a little amused as he gave me a once over, shaking his head slightly and taking a gulp of his scotch.
Did he think this was a joke? If so, he wouldn't think that for much longer. Anger rose in me like a strong gulf tide.
"I swear on everything I hold dear, if you've hurt so much a hair on her head, I'll—”
"Shoot me in the face?" the man asked, clicking his tongue at me and staring at the gun in my hand. "I doubt that very seriously, Detective Storm. Now put that ridiculous thing away so that we can talk."
He might as well have slapped me across the face, because that was the way it felt. If this fool thought I was going to lower my weapon even for a second, then he had another think coming. I wouldn't kill him. He had that much right, but I would enjoy throwing him in prison for the rest of his natural born life.
"I'm going to ask you one more time and, keep in mind, if you don't answer me, things will get ugly for you," I said through a set jaw and clenched teeth. "Where is Charlotte?"
"She's inside, Detective Storm," he said, stepping out of the way and motioning to a set of interior double doors. "She's right through there."
My body reacted before my mind could even catch up, rushing past him, knocking his shoulder backward, and darting toward the interior doors, toward Charlotte.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man said.
The tone in his voice, playful and cold, pulled me to a stop.
"What have you done?" I asked, my blood chilling with the possibilities as I turned toward him.
"Nothing yet," he said, letting the outer doors close and stepping toward me. He looked smaller than he had in the hospital, and older too. I felt powerful next to him, like I could crush him with my bare hands. "I'm not going to kill her, Detective Storm. I will make you that promise right here and now." He shook his head. "Though you don’t know me, I can assure you that my promises are never broken. The woman you've come for is through those doors. She is alive, and she will not die by my hand. You have my word."
"What game are you playing?" I asked, my body tensing
"I don't play games," he answered gruffly. "I'm a businessman and, in business, you're only as good as your word, but you're not the only person I gave my word to. I won't kill her, but I've instructed the people on the other side of that door to cut a piece of Charlotte off should you walk through those doors without me by your side. And I assure you, Detective Storm, the piece they cut off will be one she'll miss."
"You son of a bitch!" I yelled, terror and disgust rushing through me.
"We're all sons of something, aren't we?" he answered.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, swallowing hard.
"First, I want you to get that gun off of me," he said.
I blinked and then did what I swore I wouldn't do, lowered my gun. I couldn't shoot him. Not now. And whoever had Charlotte behind those doors were probably itching to mutilate her. I couldn't risk her like that.
"Good job," he said. "Now, onto the meat of the issue." The man leaned against the wall, looking over at me like he owned me. "My name is Franklin Reeks, Detective Storm." He chuckled loudly. "I know what you're thinking. I'm being foolish by giving you my name but, the truth is, you're the one whose being foolish by thinking it matters. I own this island, Detective. I might not hold the deed, and I might not have my name on any of the buildings. But rest assured, this place belongs to me. I know it, you know it, and the people who live in it know it. It's why I'm able to move about so freely, so openly. It's why I can stand here in this church and do whatever the hell I want with no fear of prosecution. I have the same in Fort Myers and, soon enough, I'll have the same in Naples too."
"You left Naples," I said sternly.
"I'm regrouping," he answered. "I'll admit that, when Archer went against my plans and started talking to that priest of yours, it derailed me a bit. I wasn't sure what the old man knew or who he told it to. So I took the necessary precautions to make sure my business didn't become front page news."
"You ran him over," I said, glowering.
"Not personally, but yes," Franklin responded. "I really thought that would kill him too, but I guess he was made of stronger stuff than I anticipated. No matter, even he can't survive the Hangman." Franklin winked at me. "He's my favorite toy."
"His family," I said. "Did you kill his sister and her children?"
"I told you I'm a businessman," he said, rolling his eyes. "There's no business in being a monster. I'm holding them captive. I'll release them once all of this dies down. Unlike Archer, I'm not sloppy, they haven't seen me. They haven't seen any of us. They don't have to die."
"Why churches?" I asked. "Why priests and pastors?"
"Because churches are the perfect place to run my business. All people are welcome, even those with certain proclivities."
"You're dealing drugs out of the churches?" I balked.
"Genius, isn't it?" he said. "Of course, it requires someone at the head who knows what's going on. It's why I contacted Oscar in jail and convinced him to earn his collar. It's why I sent Archer down there to convince Father Jameson to become one of us in the first place, and it's why I have a request for you."
"For me?" I asked. "What could you possibly want from me?"
He turned, pushing the double doors open.
The church revealed itself to me, empty except for Oscar standing at the far end with a few other men I had never seen before and, on her knees with a pair of handcuffs on, Charlotte looking back at me.
My heart jumped.
"Her, Detective Storm," Franklin said. "You're going to kill her for me."
Chapter 28
"Charlotte!" I screamed, looking at her on her knees. Once again, my body reacted before my mind could, darting toward the woman faster than I had ever run toward anything in my life.
"Stop right there!" Franklin yelled at me. Again, his voice did much to stop me. I pulled sharply, stopping in front of Charlotte, and staring at her.
Of course, she was afraid. Red rung around her eyes. Her cheeks were puffy and tear stained, and her lips trembl
ed with fright.
"It's okay," I told her, looking her right in the eyes. "I promise you, this is all going to be alright."
She nodded weakly and broke eye contact with me, looking down at the floor instead.
"Let her go," I said, looking from Charlotte to Oscar. Hate filled me so quickly and so furiously that my entire body began to shake.
"Can't do that, Dillon," he said and, in his voice, I heard all the hurt he'd ever caused, all the horrors he'd ever inflicted on his family, his friends and even himself. They were all there, wrapped up in this moment. "You heard Franklin. You've got to kill her."
"Kill her?" I balked. "You're out of your mind if you ever think that's going to happen." I looked back at Charlotte, at a woman I had loved much more than I had ever loved myself, at the mother of my nephew, at one of the kindest people I'd ever met in my life. It would be a cold day in hell before I raised my hand to this woman, let alone killed her. I could easier kill myself.
"You will, Detective Storm," Franklin said, walking up behind me. "You will kill her and, by the time you do, she'll be begging you to do it."
I turned to him, ready to scream at the top of my lungs, ready to tell him all the reasons he was wrong and just what I was going to do to him and his little operation here. I didn't get the chance to though because, when I turned, Franklin wasn't the only person standing there.
I hadn't heard him near me. I hadn't even sensed his presence but, right beside Franklin, stood the man I'd fought with back in the hospital, the man who had killed Father Jameson in his room, the man everyone had warned me about.
"Hangman," I muttered.
"My reputation precedes me," the man smirked, setting off every internal flasher I had. My hand tightened on my gun and, as if noticing that, the killer looked down at my weapon. "You're not fast enough," he said, his voice light and playful. "I promise."