Desire on Deadline

by Lucy Lakestone

  “Deputy Rogers,” he answered his phone.

  “Hey, it’s Roz.”

  “About time you called me. Are you OK?”

  “Yes, fine,” she said, surprised by the concern in his voice. “So you heard about my little incident?”

  “Incidents, you mean. We’ve been keeping an eye out, but we haven’t noted any unusual activity downtown, and I’ve run some extra patrols by your place. Looks like no one’s home? And you’re not at your mom’s, I take it.”

  There was more than professional curiosity in his voice. “I found a safe place to stay temporarily,” she said, not wanting to reveal more. “Have you guys had any luck on that partial plate?”

  “The one the pretty boy got from the attack car?” Roz choked back a laugh as Jimbo continued and Alden raised an eyebrow at her. “The first few letters matched a report of a stolen plate in Fort Myers a few days ago. Doesn’t give us much to go on.”

  “No, it sure doesn’t,” Roz said in frustration. “Look, Jimbo, if I asked you to look up another plate, would you be willing?”

  He paused. “What’s the deal?”

  She didn’t see any reason not to tell him. “You know that company that runs the fishing charter whose boat blew up? The plate was on a truck that was parked there when I went to have a look at the building. No markings. I just wanted to see who owned it.”

  “Well, since you could just go online and pay somebody twenty bucks for the same information, I suppose I could do it,” Jimbo said good-humoredly.

  “Want twenty bucks?”

  He laughed. “No, thanks. That’s crossing the line. But I’m still up for ice cream one day. I’ll give you a call when I get some info.”

  “Thanks, Jimbo. You’re the best.” She gave him the plate number Alden had connived to get the night before.

  “Be careful. Let me know if you see anything unusual.”

  “Will do,” she said. “Talk to you later.”

  She took a sip of her orange juice. Alden had stopped typing and was looking at her.

  “So how’s good ol’ Jimbo?” he asked.

  She couldn’t help goading him. “He called you a pretty boy.”

  “Did he now? I didn’t think I was the one he was interested in.”

  Roz laughed out loud. “I think you’re safe. He’s going to look up the license plate for us.”

  “You mean for you. I noticed I wasn’t mentioned.”

  “We each have our ways,” Roz said with a smile.

  “I like your way.”

  “Yours is pretty nice, too.”

  Alden slid closer to her on the couch and clasped the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss, slow, searing. His supple lips, his tongue sparked a flame in her core and stoked the fire until she whimpered from the heat.

  Her smartphone burst into its jarring ringtone, the vibrating bell of an analog phone.

  She broke off the kiss with a gasp. “Damn it.”

  Alden smiled and went back to tapping on his computer as she answered it.

  “Roz Melander.”

  “It’s Jimbo. Interesting character owns your truck.”

  “Who?” she asked, poised to type into the notes file open on her laptop.

  “Company run by Galeno Z. Garza,” he said, spelling the name for her. “He was once arrested on charges of trafficking cocaine, but he beat the rap. Lawyer got him off on an illegal search. He’s kept out of trouble for a while. Or, at least, there’s been no indication he’s still in the drug business, based on police records.”

  “Is the company based in Naples?”

  “Sure is. Seguro Trucking. That’s all I know.”

  “That’s fabulous, Jimbo. I definitely owe you an ice cream now,” Roz said.

  “As long as it doesn’t cost twenty bucks.” Jimbo chuckled at his own joke. “Call me if you need me, and don’t do anything foolish. This guy’s a heavy hitter, or was at one time.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  Alden was eyeing her suspiciously. “If you owe anyone an ice cream, it’s me,” he said.

  She wanted to laugh. “You have a point. I’ll buy you one, too.”

  ≈≈≈

  Alden got a kick out of watching Roz work.

  Of course, at the moment, he’d rather push her back on the couch and strip off her sensible clothes and screw her until she made those incredibly gratifying sounds she’d made last night, but he realized they had priorities. The sooner they figured out who was threatening Roz, the easier it would be to think about other things. Like that plush pink mouth as she absently chewed on the end of a black plastic pen while she typed on her laptop, doing online research.

  Besides, his worry for her had grown to such a point that this morning, he’d quietly talked to the security company based at the resort about posting a stealthy bodyguard to keep an eye on her whenever she ventured out alone, or if she left Casa Blanca on her own. She’d probably be furious at the surveillance, but she didn’t need to know, and if his covert action saved her life, all the better.

  “So tell me what Officer Jimbo told you about the truck,” Alden said. “Unless you need the scoop.”

  “Knowing who owned a truck is not a scoop,” Roz said, filling him in on the details.

  “So a known drug dealer is transferring stuff from his truck to a truck at Consummate Catch,” Alden said.

  “I believe so. It’s just unclear what that ‘stuff’ is.”

  “Have you searched to see if this Garza has a connection with Verret?”

  “That’s what’s interesting,” Roz said, scrolling through pages on her computer. “The only thing they have in common is a nonprofit that promotes ocean conservation, advocates clean water, fights overfishing, that sort of thing. It sounds pretty innocent.”

  “But where’s the fun in that?” Alden said, and she chuckled. “We didn’t see much at the fish place. Maybe we should drop by the trucking company.”

  Roz regarded him warily. “You have to promise me you won’t pretend to be a drunk and try to get yourself killed again.”

  “Aw, Ms. Melander, does that mean you care?”

  “Hmmph. I just don’t want to blow the story, is all.”

  Alden enjoyed her obvious denial. “What if I were genuinely drunk? Would that be better?”

  “More authentic, but not necessarily better.”

  “I’ll promise not to pose as a drunkard. However, if I am drunk, all bets are off.”

  “Then I’ll try to keep you sober at lunch,” Roz said.

  “As much as I like the idea of you taking me out to lunch, I like the idea even better of having lunch here.”

  Was it his imagination, or did she turn just a bit pink? “We can’t dilly-dally, Alden.”

  “I just wanted to dally.” The teasing wasn’t working, and Alden gave in, as he knew he must. “OK, we’ll have lunch and see what we can see.”

  “Thank you,” Roz said. “But let’s approach more cautiously this time.”

  “It doesn’t have to be all cloak and dagger,” he said. “We’ll go in the daylight and check it out. We’ll look like a couple of tourists.”

  “Touring Naples’ industrial district?”

  “We’ll be lost tourists.”

  Two hours later, after mostly fruitless online research, Alden was driving Roz over the causeway in his car, with the top down. It was impossible not to enjoy the sunny, cool weather, the kind of perfect Florida day that got tourists to the beaches, anglers on the water and convertible drivers on the road.

  “We’ll have to pose as tourists in this red Beamer,” she said to him over the roar of the wind. “It’s not exactly subtle.”

  “But don’t you love it?” Alden said, feeling momentarily happy in his Ray-Bans, with Roz beside him. She’d put her hair up in a twist, but escaped strands were flying all over the place, lending her an air of enchanting disarray. He focused on the moment and tried not to think about this story’s grim beginning and unknown end.

&nb
sp; Beneath the bridge, the water twinkled, crystalline turquoise. It was easy to forget that somewhere out there, it hid unexploded bombs, bad guys with guns, and erstwhile movie stars.

  They found a beachfront seafood place packed with tourists and sat on the outside deck. Over delicious fresh mahi sandwiches, they spent a leisurely hour and a half chatting about things that had nothing to do with the story. Alden indulged in just one beer, lest he worry Roz, and quizzed her about her path to newspapers (growing up with the Gazette, ink in her veins; university for journalism; a medium-size paper, and then The Sun).

  “You’re lucky to be so close to your family,” Alden said. “Or to have a family worth being close to.”

  “Except, after mom, I’m the only one left. You’re not close to yours?” she asked, sipping her iced tea, as relaxed as he’d ever seen her.

  “They hated me going into journalism. My father, especially. He wanted me to be a lawyer like him. Once they got a whiff of my cascading failures, they didn’t go out of their way to contact me.”

  “And have you contacted them?”

  “Rarely,” Alden said, annoyed that the question made him defensive. “There’s only so much disapproval I can take. They always know where I am. I let them know about the Mimosa Key job. They have a vacation home just up the coast in Sanibel. If they want to see me, they can call any time.” And they hadn’t yet, he thought. Alden took a sip of his beer and tried to calm himself. He never liked talking about his family. “As families go, I’m better off without them.”

  “That’s too bad,” Roz said, and her sympathy made him feel worse. “Any siblings?”

  “Fortunately, I have a younger brother who has outstripped me in popularity by becoming a lawyer like dear old dad. He and the wife have produced grandkids for them, so I’m pretty much irrelevant.”

  “I doubt that,” Roz said. “They should be proud of you.”

  He almost spit out his drink. “You’re saying that? The queen of traditional journalism? I’m the sleazy tabloid guy, remember? Not to mention what came before.”

  She shrugged. “You’re really good at what you do. Maybe our methods aren’t the same, but you and the Times always have me worried.”

  He was a little bit sorry and a little bit delighted. “The feeling has been mutual,” he admitted.

  “Really? Oh, good. It sucks to go through panic attacks alone.”

  “Do you have panic attacks?” he asked.

  She looked uncomfortable. “Maybe once every six months. A good reminder of mortality.”

  “You’re getting plenty of reminders this week.”

  “Getting shot at is almost an improvement over a panic attack,” she said, her humor almost hiding her disquiet. She grabbed the bill as the server dropped it on the table and stuck a credit card inside the folder.

  “Hey, I’m getting lunch,” Alden said.

  “Absolutely not. I already don’t know how I’m going to repay you for the resort.”

  “There’s no reason to. It’s my weekend getaway,” he said with a smile. “But I’m glad to have you along.”

  Roz shook her head. “I think that page has already gone to print, and it says you got me the villa to save my life.”

  “It’s a life worth saving.” The server brought back the folder, and Alden resigned himself to watching Roz sign the check. “Aren’t you having fun?”

  Roz busied herself with putting away her card, then lifted her head, regarded him seriously for a few moments — and smiled.

  Whoa, that smile — smart and sexy and sunny and intimate, and Alden wanted to kiss it right off her face. But she was already getting up, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and he had to follow.

  They put the top up on the convertible to give them a little cover and went in search of Seguro Trucking. As Alden drove, Roz unpinned her windblown hairdo and brushed out her hair. It was all he could do not to touch it.

  When they found the place, he had to admit that Roz had been right — tourists would be really obvious around here. The company was based in a beige warehouse with an office and multiple bays, each closed door big enough to accommodate a box truck. It sat in a commercial park off Industrial Boulevard, not far from the airport. A few trucks were parked in the lot, all gray with no obvious labels, not even the name of the company.

  Alden did one spin around the block, then parked across the street in front of a building that held multiple businesses, including a butcher, a hydroponics store and a pottery studio. There were enough cars in the lot to make his red one a little less conspicuous, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with their perch.

  “Maybe we should have brought your dull little car,” he said.

  “Hey!” Roz protested. “It’s not dull. It’s like a space shuttle inside!”

  Alden laughed, rolled down the windows and turned off the car. “Let’s just say it would be less likely to be noticed.”

  “Yeah, but we’re over here, half-hidden by the hedge, and over there — it looks dead.”

  She was right. After fifteen minutes, there had been zero activity. After fifteen more, he was bored out of his mind.

  “I would suck at law enforcement,” Alden said.

  “For many reasons,” she agreed.

  At his annoyed look, she added, “But charming ones.”

  “Are you charmed, Ms. Melander?” he asked, reaching over to take her hand. He rubbed her knuckles lightly with his thumb.

  “You have — charms.”

  He loved it when she fought her own instincts. He could always tell.

  And then she yawned.

  “Oh, I get it. I’m boring you,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

  “No, not at all, it’s just that even though I thought I got a lot of sleep, I just haven’t worked out all the fatigue from the past few days. I’m dreaming of that bed at Casa Blanca.”

  “So am I.”

  She laughed at his inflection. “I mean, what a fantastic nap it would make.”

  “If we were in that bed right now, we wouldn’t be napping,” Alden said in a low voice, looking her in the eye.

  Roz swallowed and didn’t say anything, but she licked her lips, once, and he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Damn his timing.

  “We can continue this farce, or we can go back to the resort,” he said after a minute. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “My pleasure — ” She savored the words as if she were licking a lollipop, or, he imagined, something entirely different, then spoke more briskly. “OK, hanging out at the beach would be a lot better than this, but we’re here. It’s probably thirty, forty minutes back, with traffic. I say we wait it out, give this a chance. Maybe coming in the afternoon was a bad idea. Once it gets dark, if they’re doing anything they shouldn’t, they might get more active.”

  “Like vampires,” Alden joked. “I bow to your sense of duty. Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll watch. I’ll read a book on my phone. If you feel like it later, you can watch, and I’ll take a nap.”

  “You’re swell,” she said with a smile. Without further ado, she reclined her seat and, within a minute, slipped into the steady breathing of sleep. He watched her, taking in how innocent she looked, how soft, not the ambitious, driving reporter who always gave him a run for his money. But she was that, too, and he realized he found both sides of her equally attractive. So attractive that his body stirred, and he had to remind himself that he wasn’t in a bed or even in a villa. He was in an ugly parking lot in a small car surrounded by industrial buildings. He willed his arousal to subside and turned to the reading app on his phone, calling up a nonfiction book about modern warfare that immediately killed his wayward thoughts. His life could be a lot worse, he thought. And, as he glanced at Roz, he considered the idea that it could be a lot better.

  Though practically, really, how in the hell would it ever work between them? She was the lead reporter and editor of the Gazette. He was the go-getter at the Times. He’d heard of newspaper marria
ges in which the spouses worked at rival papers, but in those cases, the publications were a lot bigger, and it was easy to avoid a head-on collision if one reporter worked in, say, sports and another wrote editorials. In that atmosphere, they’d never have a serious conflict of interest.

  But in Mimosa Key, Alden and Roz were practically tripping over each other. He had a crusty editor and a demanding publisher, and even though the Times went more for frippery than hard news, it still wanted to be first. Roz was trying to save the Gazette, or at least save it to sell it, and that meant she could give no quarter. There was no way they could be together for real, not if things continued as they were.

  Eventually, though, things would change, and not for the better. It didn’t seem likely the Gazette would make it. He knew the circulation numbers. He knew how well-heeled his backers were. If it failed — well, Roz wouldn’t be competing with him anymore, but from what she’d told him, her mother’s finances would be in trouble. Roz might have to be a full-time caretaker. Or she’d find a way for her mom to survive without her — or worse, her mom’s declining health would lead to the inevitable — and either way, Roz would go back to her big-city career and leave Florida behind.

  Hopelessly distracted from his book, Alden looked over at her again.

  Hopeless. Yes, that was the word. The very idea was hopeless. And she was hopelessly beautiful, inside and out. And one could very easily fall hopelessly —

  “Oh, hell,” he muttered.

  True to form, he’d had even less sleep than she had. He put away the phone, rolled up the windows, slouched in his seat and let his own hopeless fatigue, a weariness of bones and soul, drag him under.

  ≈≈≈

  The sound penetrated Roz’s unsettled dream in the form of gunshots. No, a woodpecker. No —

  She opened her eyes. She felt overwarm, and it was dark, except for the beam of light shining into the driver’s side window. Someone out there was tapping on the glass.

  “May I help you, officer?” Alden said after he rolled it down. From the looks of him, he’d just awakened, too. So much for keeping watch.