He had several people who had completed sensitive jobs for him in the past: Men who understood the value of a hard earned buck and realized when those bucks were in an abundant supply, expediency and secrecy were part of the job.
He dialed a number from his cell.
“Place needs to be spotless. You understand? Spotless. Couch, area rugs, towels, sheets, pillows, mattress, chairs, everything needs to be gone.”
“You know how good we can be when properly motivated.”
“I don’t want the place barren. Everything gets replaced. Top shelf shit. Don’t go to some chain furniture store, thinking it will have time and money. Do it right. All the way. Every detail.”
“Got it. You use a cleaning service down there?”
“Can’t use them. Find some off the radar cleaners. Don’t hire anyone established. Find some illegals, just make sure they’re damn thorough.”
“Got it. Time frame?”
“You’re on the clock as soon as we hang up. Everything needs to be done by noon, one tomorrow. One-thirty at the absolute latest.”
“That is one hell of a tight time frame, considering we have to buy all new stuff, move it down to your place and take everything out. Damn tight time frame.”
“I’ll pay you enough for you to make time stand still. Figure it out. Make it happen.”
There was one snag; he expected at least one issue that cost him an additional $50,000. It was a small price to pay but a large enough price to make sure Jessica Gracers didn’t outbid him. His hired hands confirmed his investment was well spent by sending him a video of the pile of his furniture burning. He watched the video a couple of times, making a visual inventory of each piece of furniture he remembered being in his lodge.
Brian Hilton ended up sleeping much better than he expected.
Chapter 16
August 21
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Nikkie and Derek were in the downstairs lobby of their hotel, drinking coffee and eating some less-than-fresh pastries from the complementary continental breakfast. Seems they had arrived during a convention, the Regional School Teacher’s Union, which made the breakfast area much too crowded for them to find a seat.
“I’m going to tail Hilton for a few hours. See how he spends his day. If I get a chance, I’m going to talk to him as well. He probably won’t say a word to me, but I need to make sure he doesn’t think his stunt at his lodge crippled us.” Derek took a long swallow of coffee, stood and gestured towards Nikkie’s half-empty mug. “I need more coffee. You?”
“I’m fine,”
She watched him walk away, twisting his way through the crowded lobby and into the even more crowded breakfast area off of the hotel’s lobby. She counted at least a dozen turned heads as he made his way to the coffee station; teachers in Florida, it seemed, had good taste in men. At six foot even, one hundred ninety pounds and an obviously well conditioned body, Derek had a “head-turning” physique. But Nikkie knew that when those heads turned and saw his strong face, dusty blonde hair and striking blue eyes, women’s knees got shaky and their minds went racing to places they would never want their husbands or significant others to know about.
As she watched him fill his cup of coffee, and watched small groups of women begin to whisper to each other while looking at Derek, Nikkie felt a twinge of jealousy. She wondered how Lucy, Derek’s dead wife, had dealt with the obvious interests other women held for her husband.
“Was Lucy jealous?”
“Come again?” Derek said as he sat down beside Nikkie on the padded windowsill. The morning Florida sun was already making its intentions for the day clear and was beating on their backs through the slightly tinted window.
“Lucy, was she a jealous woman?”
“Of me?” Derek said, his face twisted in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “Not of me. Why are you asking?”
“You’re thirty-eight, right?”
“For a little while longer, yes.”
“You and Lucy were married when you were in your mid-twenties?”
Derek nodded his head, still wondering where Nikkie was taking this conversation.
“I was in the Army still. We were married when I was twenty-five. Still had a year left of service.”
“How did you look when you were married? I mean, you’re still in great shape, amazing shape, actually, but seeing as how you were still in the Army, you probably were in even better condition.”
Derek smiled a broad smile, showing his perfectly straight, white teeth.
“You’re telling me I’m letting myself go, aren’t you? Suggesting I need to lay off the cheeseburgers and scotch and spend more time in the gym, right?”
“Not at all. Just noticed that almost every woman in this lobby is checking you out. They watched you walking towards them when you went to get coffee and they watched you walk away from them. Now, they’re checkin’ you out sitting next to me. If you, at thirty-eight years old, still have the ability to turn every head in a place,” Nikkie paused, breathed deeply through her nose then slowly shook her head, “then I feel bad for Lucy.”
“I don’t notice stuff like that,” Derek said, nodding his head sideways towards the center of the crowded lobby. “Doesn’t really mean anything to me. Sure, I get propositioned once in a while, but it’s just not my style. When I was with Lucy, she knew I was only interested in her.”
“And now?”
“I’m only interested in finding out where you and I end up, not in whether other women want to spend time with me.” He smiled again. “That sounded a little conceited, didn’t it?”
“Based on the looks you’re getting, I’d say you are spot on accurate.”
There was a long, somewhat awkward silence between the two. Derek worked at his coffee while Nikkie, a woman from whom the feeling of jealousy was entirely foreign, darted her eyes around the lobby, occasionally meeting the eyes of one of Derek’s admirers.
“We need to start having sex,” she said without looking at Derek.
“May be a bit awkward with all these people around.”
“Let’s solve this damn case then take a little vacation. Just you and me. We deserve it after all we’ve been through.”
“Fine with me,” Derek said. “Have any place in mind?”
“I know this lodge south of Tallahassee. I have a feeling it will be up for sale or rent soon.”
“I heard about that place. All new furniture and clean as a whistle.”
Their laughter started out laden with nervousness but soon morphed into the type of laughter which brings people together. Their laughter, though it last only moments, pushed their past even further away from their minds and evaporated the stresses of the Gracers case.
“Okay,” Nikkie said, now ignoring the continued lustful glances towards Derek that the teachers were still lobbing his way, “I know what you’re doing today. Want to hear my plans?”
“Absolutely.”
“Jessica said Brian and everyone at the FJ Company is in the business of buying and selling, right?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Real estate, businesses, everything.”
“Yup.”
“You can’t buy so much as a cup of coffee without there being a trace of the transaction left behind. I’m going to do some research on Brian Hilton today. Probably on the whole FJ Company, but specifically on Brian Hilton’s dealings.”
“What are you looking for?”
“A reason for murder.”
It was getting close to the end of August, meaning the final month of the third quarter was soon to start. For the year, Brian had delivered on his promised revenue numbers, but the fourth quarter—beginning in October and ending on the last day of December—was looking weak. He needed either two or three average-sized deals to flip or one whopper. Since the size of the deal really didn’t alter the amount of work or persuasion needed — in fact the smaller deals often were more taxing — Brian settled on giving everyt
hing he had to one potential deal.
It was a big opportunity: Depending on how quickly he could acquire the targeted business, he could flip the business to already identified buyers by mid-December. But if the current owner wasn’t motivated properly, or even worse, had weak decision making muscles, the identified buyers may send their interest and their capital elsewhere.
That would mean Brian would miss his quarter revenue promise and, more than likely, miss his yearly commitment. Both were wholly unacceptable possible outcomes.
“No time like the present to get things moving more quickly,” he thought as he sat in his custom-made, leather desk chair, picked up his secure phone, and dialed a Tennessee area number.
“I’m hoping you have some good news for me, doctor,” Brian said, feeling no need to introduce himself. “Pretty sure we discussed and agreed on having this wrapped up by the end of August.”
“It’s only mid-August,” the doctor said.
“It’s August twentieth. The fifteenth is mid August, not the twentieth.”
“He’s scheduled to come in tomorrow. I have the test results and I’ll deliver them to him then. After that, my job is done.”
“That’s probably not true, and it bothers me you may actually believe it to be true. You deliver the results tomorrow, making damn sure you do so with impact. Then, when he asks for a second opinion, which we both know he will, you direct him to our partner. Then, that partner will send him back to you to have the conversation about treatment. So, doctor, your job is far from done.”
“You can do your part of this agreement the second after he leaves my office. If you’re as good at closing deals as you say you are, my job will be done. Hell, I may be able to start on another job for you before August ends.”
“One at a time, doctor. One at a time.” Brian paused, letting the doctor’s imagined smile fade away. “How convincing is the report?”
“It’s not only convincing, it’s so specific he won’t know where to get a second opinion. We’ll force him our way.”
“And you’ll make the suggestion before he leaves your office?”
“Like the other one, I’ll suggest he get his affairs in order. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls you on his way home from my office.”
“That would be perfect. Didn’t turn out that way last time, though, did it? Took longer than it should have.”
“If I recall, the last time we worked together, things worked out well for you in the end.”
“And for you, too. This one needs to go smoothly and quickly. Be convincing, doctor.”
“A cancer diagnosis usually is.”
Chapter 17
Matt Steel didn’t flinch at all. True to his surname, he sat with his face set as still and as cold as ice. As he sat on the visitor’s side of his doctor’s desk, Steel listened to his diagnosis, prognosis and suggested course of treatments.
“I’m sure this is hard for you to hear. It always is. And, I’m sure you’re going to want a second opinion. I took the liberty of doing some research and I found a doctor who specializes in your type of cancer. He’s outside of Tampa, which, I know isn’t all that convenient, but he’s the best in the south. I can have my office set up an appointment for you.
“Listen, Matt, I’m really sorry. I’ll do whatever I can to help you through this and, honestly, I think you’re going to be fine. But it’s going to take everything you have. Treatment and recovery for this type of cancer is a real bear, and you’re going to need all your focus on getting better. I can’t make any decisions for you, but I can suggest you clear your calendar for the next six or nine months. At least. Maybe a year. The specialist in Tampa will know better.
“Go home, try to relax and figure out what’s most important to you. I know your company is your baby, but, for considering the severity of your diagnosis, I think you should consider stepping aside and letting your son run the business for a while.”
“My son has no interest in the business. I think I told you that.”
“Probably did. Sorry. Someone else, maybe? Someone you trust?”
“Like I said, it’s me or no one. I built it from the ground up and no one knows how to keep it running but me.”
The doctor steepled his fingers, nodded his head, then took a long, deep breath in.
“Your health is what’s important now.”
“I know. And I know what I need to do. This specialist in Tampa? How quickly can you get me an appointment?”
“I’ll have my office staff call him right now.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Go home. I’ll call you personally when we have an appointment scheduled for you. You going to be able to be flexible with your schedule?”
Matt Steel nodded his head.
“I’ll be damn flexible real soon.”
“Good for you. You deserve to focus on yourself after how hard you’ve worked. And, before long, you’ll be right back making your competition nervous again.”
“We’ll see about that. First things first. Thanks, Doc. Call me at home when everything is set up.”
Doctor Timothy O’Connell walked his patient out of his personal office, through the waiting room, down the hall and right to the double exit doors. He held his face in a stern countenance the entire way. He stood and watched Matt Steel amble across the parking lot like a man who had just lost his best friend, watched him find his car and pull out of the medical complex before he turned and quickened his pace back to his office. He could hardly contain his excitement. If things went as they had the last time he partnered with Brian Hilton, Doctor Timothy O’Connell would see be seeing a lot more zeros at the end of his offshore bank account.
He told his head nurse to cancel all of his one-on-one appointments scheduled for the rest of the day, there was only one, that being an appointment with an eighty-three year old woman, suffering from a chronic case of shingles, made his way to his private office and sat down after pouring himself a large tumbler of whiskey. O’Connell thought about calling Brian Hilton to let him know he should be expecting a call from Steel any minute now, but decided instead to keep hold of the upper hand he felt he possessed.
“Let that son of a bitch find out for himself,” he said softly enough to ensure his spoken words didn’t creep outside the walls of his office.
Timothy O’Connell assumed Hilton would want to partner with him at least one more time, which he was fine with. The first partnership yielded the good doctor over $350,000. If Hilton didn’t screw up, the Steel partnership should almost double his take.
“One more time,” he said in a whisper. “But next time, my fee will be enough to set me up for life.”
He drained the whiskey, poured another, then began scanning his patient files for a possible third target.
He identified two possible targets. Both wealthy, in their mid-fifties and with a family history of cancer.
“Perfect candidates,” he thought to himself. And if he had lived another week, he might have tried to run the “Hilton Scam” on his own. But of course, Doctor Timothy O’Connell was just a day away from the end of his life after he closed his computer down, finished his second double whiskey and decided to call it an early day.
Chapter 18
Snead Island, Florida may not have the allure Anna Maria Island has, but those who call Snead Island home wouldn’t trade a thing in exchange for the attraction Anna Maria has. Though the island is fairly heavily populated, with million dollar homes squeezed into small lots, the lack of tourists and renting transients makes the island more of a community. Neighbors know each other. Help one another out. Take care of each other.
It surprised Derek how easy it was for him to find Brian Hilton’s address. Though it wasn’t listed in any phone book, not that he could have found a phone book had he even attempted to look, a simple database search on his iPhone revealed a Snead Island address as belonging to Brian Hilton.
He parked outside Hilton’s palatial home, sitting with the air
conditioning blasting away, in his rented Nissan Altima. He didn’t care if Hilton noticed his car, grew suspicious and called the local authorities to have the car checked out. He would have preferred it, actually. If a cop car pulled up behind his car, Derek would know Hilton was home. For as it was, he had no idea if the house was empty or occupied.
At one point, Derek climbed out of his car and went for a walk, looking for the “library” Jessica told him about. He found the small, white painted case a quarter mile from Brian’s house. He walked up to the case, which was nothing more than a three-by-three wooden-made box with sliding glass doors, and checked the inventory. Nothing by Lee Child.
Though Derek was in excellent condition, the short walk in the oppressive heat and humidity drove him back to his car. He walked slowly, admiring the beautiful homes, the spectacular views of the bay and breathing the heavily salted air.
He waited nearly two hours — waiting, doing nothing was the part of the private investigator job Derek disliked the most — before he decided on taking a different approach. He pulled his car into the driveway, shut the car engine off, and then walked up the immaculately maintained walkway to the front door. He rang the doorbell and listened as the customized doorbell played the Mozart piano concerto number twenty-four inside the house.
Less than a minute later, a man with short brown hair, graying at the temples, swung open the door. He was shorter than Derek by two inches and had a thin body; like the body of a long-distance runner.
“Can I help you?” the man said.
“I’m looking for Mr. Brian Hilton.”
“You found him. And you are?”
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