I’ll Be Seeing U

by Dianne Castell

  Sally nodded. “Well, if you ever need any help you know I’m here.”

  Effie added, “Hey, count me in. I’ve dated the scum of the earth, and know just how ruthless some guys are to get what they want. They’ll lie and cheat and feed you any line in the book that suits them.”

  Cynthia took the bag of food. “Thanks for the support, I just might take you both up on it. Right now I’m off for a day with Quaid and Lawrence. We probably won’t be back till late. Can you tell Ida? She and Beau are headed here for an early lunch. I forgot to leave her a note.”

  “Note for what?” Preston asked as he strolled in.

  Cynthia turned for the door. “Sally will fill you in. If I don’t get a move on Quaid will be after me big time.”

  “I better go too,” Effie said. “Ryan and I are trying to find a little office in Memphis so we can meet clients there.”

  Cynthia wished her luck, then made for the docks. She parked in the lot, the sun baking the earth as it always did in August. She changed her sandals for gym shoes, took the bag and headed the rest of the way down the gravel road. The Mississippi stretched far and wide, like a big piece of glass, the blue sky dotted with clouds, humidity high enough to curl the straightest hair and smear the best makeup.

  Lawrence waved from up in the pilothouse. She spotted an orange splash of life vest over his chest and around his shoulders, making her feel a bit better about an outing on the Mississippi. Quaid was busy with boat stuff on the main deck, hoisting ropes and cables. She slowed, taking in the man in his element—a very handsome man with raven-black hair, incredible green eyes and a butt tight enough to bounce quarters on—though she’d rather be doing the bouncing herself.

  When it came to Quaid and sex, she had no conscience, just plain old lust.

  “Can I help you?” said a boy in his late teens, coming out of the dock office.

  She nodded at the tow. “I’m going for a ride on that thing. Say a little prayer.”

  The boy grinned. “You’ll be with Quaid, he’s the best.”

  “And you are…”

  “Hank. Quaid hired me on a few days ago. Gave me a place to stay down here. I…I appreciate it.”

  Max barked, catching Quaid’s attention. He spied her and one of his too-male grins covered his face. “Hey,” he yelled, then came over as Hank trotted off to help another tow pulling in. Quaid helped her on board, the gentle swells supplying a pleasant little rock. Pleasant rocks were good, those she could deal with, pretend she was at a big sale at Bloomingdale’s and getting jostled about.

  Quaid said, “What took so long? Anything I need to be concerned about, like the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms showing up any minute?”

  “Only if they’re looking for a stashed bottle of apricot brandy back at the Acres. I’m perfectly innocent.”

  “Before the AK-47 conversation I would have believed that, but now—”

  “Since you’re not too happy with me over the gun issue, you might as well get your boxers in a bind all at one time. I’ve definitely decided to send Lawrence away to school no matter what it costs. He needs to be in a place where he feels safe, now more than ever.”

  “I don’t wear boxers, as you already know, and I agree that Lawrence needs to feel safe. We differ on the locale. He can feel that way right here on the Landing, where people care about him and he can learn to care about them.” Quaid shook his head. “But you’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?” He nodded to the pilothouse perched up in the air. “I’m going up there and we’ll shove off.”

  “Uh…There’s something else you should know. I’m not too good with boats, especially ones that go up and down a lot. I was on the Staten Island Ferry once in rough weather and…and it wasn’t pretty.”

  “Well, Admiral Nelson, you’re in luck. There’s not a cloud in the sky, except for a few white puffs.”

  At least that was true when Quaid said it, Cynthia consoled herself hours later, but now rain hammered the little pilothouse, perched much too high above the water, as it pitched and rolled in the waves. Lightning cut the sky and Lawrence, Quaid and Max were having the time of their lives watching monitors and talking weather reports.

  “What happened to our cloudless sky?” She swallowed back nausea and held onto the arms of the elevated captain’s chair where she sat.

  “Sorry about this, Cynthia,” Quaid said, staring out the window. “Bad weather blows up quick this time of year with all the humidity.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” Lawrence chirped, watching the radar and looking like a kid at Disneyland. “We’re fine as long as we steer clear of other boats and landmasses. We don’t even have to see to do it.”

  He pointed to the screen. “The radar gives us range and relative direction. We place the cursor over a target with the trackball and convert that position relative to the Annabelle Lee. We get the actual bearing by adding our ship’s compass heading to the bearing of the boat or object and adjust that number for compass error. If the number is over 360° we just subtract 360 and the remainder is the boat’s true bearing from our position. Piece of cake.”

  Quaid grinned and patted Lawrence on the back. Cynthia considered throwing them both overboard for being so damn cheerful. “How’d you learn all this, Lawrence?”

  “Read the manual while we were waiting for you.”

  “And I can’t even program my darn cell phone,” she moaned, as another wave rolled over the front of the boat. The scent of barbecue, which usually smelled like heaven, was now hell. Her mouth tasted like a dirty dish towel as her stomach rolled and her eyes crossed. She prayed for a quick death.

  Quaid glanced over to her. “Are you okay?”

  “Peachy.”

  He said to Lawrence, “I don’t think your mom’s enjoying this as much as we are, sport. She’s turning a little green. We should put in at the Memphis terminal dock till this weather eases up.”

  Lawrence gave Quaid a salute. “You’re the captain. Maybe someday I can be a captain. Since you’re training Hank, you can train me too.” He glanced at the chart book on the console and pointed. “The dock’s two nautical miles off port side. At our present speed we should be there in—”

  “Mayday, mayday,” blared over the mike gizmo thing hanging by Quaid. “This is Moneymaker II, a mile due north of Memphis, with failed starboard engine, sporadic port engine, taking on water, requesting immediate assistance.”

  Quaid and Lawrence exchanged looks, and the mike beeped to life again with, “Moneymaker, this is Coast Guard four-niner-six at mile marker one-fifty-two, putting us thirty minutes from you. Requesting any craft in the area to lend assistance.”

  Quaid gave Cynthia a sympathetic look. “Honey, we have to help.”

  “It’s the rules of the high seas.” Lawrence grinned, looking happier than ever as he jumped up and down and pointed to the radar screen. “That’s them right there. Cool!”

  “This is the Mississippi, not the seas,” Cynthia whined, knowing it would do no good but feeling the need to vent. “Can’t they just go to shore?”

  Quaid arched his brow, and she caved. “Right, they can’t get to shore. I think I’ve had enough of this fun afternoon and I’ll walk home now, if you all don’t mind.”

  Quaid snagged the mike and pressed the side button. “Coast Guard four-niner-six, this is the Annabelle Lee. We’re approximately one mile from Moneymaker and will lend assistance. ETA ten minutes.”

  “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh,” squealed Lawrence, then threw his arms around Quaid’s waist, squeezing hard. “We’re going to help a sinking boat. This is so intense.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Cynthia groaned. She slid from the seat, tore open the pilothouse door, instantly got soaked to the skin, then lost her breakfast over the side railing.

  Quaid watched Cynthia stagger back into the pilothouse as the Annabelle Lee took another plunge into a wave. “Feeling better?”

  As he passed her a towel, she gave him a look that said eat
dirt and die, and Lawrence handed her a cracker. “Eat this, Mom. It helps.”

  She reclaimed her perch on the chair and Lawrence pointed out the starboard window. “There’s the Moneymaker, Quaid. She’s off the bow.”

  Quaid directed a spotlight in that direction and turned the boat, slowing the engines. “Okay, now it gets dicey.”

  “Now? Now?” Cynthia’s eyes covered half her face. “What was all that stuff from the last two hours?”

  He glanced at Cynthia. “I need you to take the controls.”

  She laughed. He added, “All you have to do is hold the stick steady and ease back the engine when I give you the signal.”

  “Quaid, I can barely stand. I’m not that great at driving a car. This is way beyond a car.”

  “We don’t have a choice here, babe.” Lawrence added, “I’ll help you, Mom.” Quaid’s gaze met Cynthia’s. She was scared and sick and really did want to walk home. “You can do this. I know you.”

  She let out a big sigh and scooted off the chair. “New York was never like this. I could hail a taxi, I’m really good at that.” He wrapped her fingers around the brass controls. Quaid said, “Keep it on this heading.”

  “Heading?”

  Lawrence pointed to the compass. “Keep the line right there by pushing or pulling a little on the stick in your hand. The engine throttle is here, and when Quaid gives the word cut it back.”

  “To here,” Quaid said, showing her the marking. “Got it?”

  “Annabelle Lee, this is Moneymaker. We need some help down here real quick.”

  Quaid replied on the mike, “Moneymaker, approach down wind.” He gave Cynthia a kiss on the cheek. “I have to go.” He handed the mike to Lawrence. “If something goes wrong, call the Coast Guard.”

  Her knuckles blanched white with her death grip on the stick. “Do not even mention things going wrong, Quaid O’Fallon. You save those guys’ fannies and then get yourself right back up here.”

  He shrugged into a life vest. “You got it, captain.” He winked at Lawrence then opened the pilothouse door. The tug pitched in the waves, the rain horizontal, the river tearing hell out of everything. He’d been in worse trouble, much worse, but he didn’t have a terrified but very heroic woman and her son riding shotgun. He hated putting Cynthia and Lawrence in any sort of danger, or even near danger. The one consolation was that the Lee was built like a battleship and safe as any boat could possibly be. Cynthia and Lawrence were safe where they were. Completely out of harm’s way.

  He zipped his jacket and sprinted down the metal-grate steps to the main deck. He called Cynthia to cut the engines as Moneymaker approached from port. Looked like a thirty-four foot Sea Ray, mega bucks. One of the men tossed the rope like some damn city boy who didn’t know squat about the river except how to buy a big boat. Quaid swore. He was out here risking Lawrence and Cynthia for two stupid asses who had no business being out on the river in this storm in the first place.

  The guy missed with the third throw, and Quaid took a line and tossed it to Moneymaker. One of the men grabbed it, nearly lost his balance, but managed to tie it to a side cleat. The Sea Ray limped closer to the Lee, bobbing and twisting and crashing against the Lee.

  Quaid reached for one of the men as he climbed on board, the man nearly pulling Quaid over the shallow freeboard and into the river. Quaid reached for the other man and suddenly realized Lawrence was beside him. What the hell!

  He yelled to Lawrence over the driving rain, “Go back to the pilothouse.”

  “You need me. Max is with Mom. They’re doing fine.” Lawrence took one of the men’s arms and helped him gain his balance, but then stopped dead for a moment, as if confused. Quaid helped the other guy fight the swells to get a foothold on the Lee, and when Quaid looked back to the deck there was no Lawrence. For a split calm second, Quaid thought Lawrence went back up to the pilothouse.

  Until he looked to starboard and spotted an orange lifejacket bobbing in the water.

  Chapter 11

  Demar draped his arm around Jett as they stood on one of the upstairs porches of Hastings House and watched the storm blow in across the Mississippi. The big trees swayed with the erratic wind and clouds gathered, shutting out the afternoon sunlight. Jett snuggled closer. “Oh, sugar, this is so romantic. A big old southern mansion and you and me huddled together like we used to be.”

  Her hair twisted in the breeze and her breast nestled against his arm. The heat from her skin penetrated into his, and her eyes shown, dark and hungry. She was every man’s sexual fantasy, every man’s sexual desire—except his. He wanted Sally. In fact he wanted her more than ever. Each time he was with Jett, knowing she was playing him, using him, he appreciated Sally that much more.

  Trouble was, he couldn’t do one diddly-damn thing about it. He had to lull Jett into feeling secure about him and their relationship. Then she just might let down her guard and give him some information that would break this River Environs case wide open. He needed that. Rory needed a break.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Demar,” she purred. “Let’s go back to my room. There’s a big window with a view of the Mississippi. We can open it wide and let the storm blow over us and we can make our own kind of storm.”

  She circled in front of him and slid her arms around his neck, gaping her blouse in front and giving him an eyeful of her really nice rack as he looked down at her. The view should make him harder than a gun barrel, but it didn’t. All he could think about was holding Sally, being here with her, having her in his arms and then making love to her all day long. He unwound Jett’s arms from his neck and stepped away.

  “Demar, did I do something to upset you? Are you mad at me?”

  Oh, crap, now what was he going to say? Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of someone on the other porch. Mimi! Holy shit! If Jett saw Mimi she’d contact the person she was working for, placing Mimi in immediate danger. Think, dammit, think! Do something!

  He snapped Jett into his arms and kissed her as Mimi dashed back into the house. Demar breathed a sigh of relief until Thelma and Ryan stepped out on the brick patio below, looked up at the storm, and connected with him and Jett intertwined, playing kissy-face.

  Well fuck a duck! There was no justice in the world. He saved Mimi and just ruined everything with Sally. There was no way Ryan wouldn’t tell Sally her boyfriend was cheating on her. Folks looked out for each other on the Landing. His only hope was to get to Ryan and Thelma before they got to Sally, and set them straight on what he and Quaid had cooked up.

  Jett broke the kiss and smiled up at Demar, her cheeks pink, her lips wet and full from his kiss. Damn. “Oh, sugar, now that’s more like it.”

  “I should go.”

  She twisted her fingers into his shirt and held tight. “I want to make love to you, Demar.”

  Oh, double damn!

  “I want you in my bed right now. I want to stroke that big cock of yours and feel it sliding deep inside me for the rest of the day and into the night. You are my big stud, Demar. I want you now.”

  “Let’s eat. Have lunch. I’m hungry, aren’t you hungry? Storms make me really, really hungry.” He couldn’t get away from her without causing suspicion, but he could stay out of her bed…he hoped!

  Her fingers wound tighter and she pulled her face to his, “And you make me hungry. I want you for lunch, sugar. Every thick inch of you.”

  He swallowed. His Adam’s apple felt like the size of a baseball. “I’m not ready for that, Jett, not yet.” Not ever! “I know a great place in Memphis, fine food, a bottle of Rémy Extra, you and me and the rain.” Just mentioning Rémy reminded him of the last time he had it—with Sally in the tub. Damn, he wanted to be in that tub with her again.

  “Memphis? Why there, sugar?” Jett ground her hot mound against his dick, which responded as if it needed a good dose of the little-blue-pill. She frowned, a wrinkle furrowing her brow, but there was a spark of wariness in her eyes. “Something’s bothering you, Demar. You
are so not yourself.”

  If he didn’t get with the program he’d blow his cover to hell and back. He forced a grin, “I’ve been without you so long, baby, and missed you so much, and now you’re here. Takes a little getting used to, is all.”

  He kissed her again because he had to, then he slid from her arms and hooked her around the waist and led her into the house. “Get into something pretty for me and we’ll go into town. I want to show you off, let everyone know I have the prettiest girl east of the Mississippi on my arm. I’ll get Slim to cover for me today and we can take our sweet time.” This would give him a chance to find Ryan and straighten things out…he hoped!

  She slipped her fingers in the waistband of his jeans and held him tight. “I’m ready now, and after we eat in Memphis I’m having you…all of you…for dessert. You know how I like my…chocolate, thick and creamy.”

  She hooked her arm into his and ushered him down the hall. He said, “I should call Slim and—”

  “Thelma can call for you. We have plans. You promised.”

  Now what the hell was he going to do? He called himself every name for stupid, for not being an accountant like his mother wanted him to. Oh no, he just had to be a damn cop and get himself embroiled in a real mess that could cause him to lose the woman he loved.

  And he did love Sally Donaldson, every lush inch of her. From her curly hair to her beautiful smile to the tips of her cute hot-pink toenails. For a second he grinned like a lovesick teen, then it was gone, because he couldn’t level with her about that or about Jett. What he had to do was take Jett to lunch, get her relaxed, and then get her to talk and spill why she was really here and who she was working for, and then bring his damn investigation to a close. Then he’d get his Sally back in his arms, where she belonged, for good.

  Rain beat on the metal roof of the bar as Preston sat on a stool and Sally served him a plate of ribs and a cold longneck. Since the racket overhead nearly drowned out Clarence Carter’s “Stroking,” she saw fit to help him along. “I stroke it to the north. I stroke it to the south.”