Once satisfied with the intel, Brad reconfirmed that his people were where they were supposed to be and gave a command. He and I headed in on foot, behind two hunky men in full antiballistic gear who were equipped with a door-busting ram.
The front door splintered into pieces with a cacophony of noise as it broke from its wooden frame.
“What the fu—” Denny rolled upright from a sofa to the right of the entrance, a revolver in hand.
“Freeze!” somebody yelled at the same time Denny took aim. “Get on the floor!”
Denny fired at the hole where his front door used to be. The men with the ram charged forward, the lead man shooting. Brad and I dove and rolled to opposite sides of the sandy front lawn. Explosive pops of expended rounds were rapid and brief and ended almost immediately.
“Clear!” a voice yelled. “Suspect down!”
“Clear in back!” yelled a different voice.
Ears ringing, gun drawn, I followed Brad into the beach cottage. Denny lay sprawled on the floor, bleeding, handcuffed, moaning. A paramedic in Kevlar hustled to Ray Donnell Castello, hauling a trauma kit, and went to work. Brad made a phone call to somebody—presumably his boss—and I heard another agent call to request an ambulance.
Everyone kept their weapons drawn while the rest of the house and grounds were searched, but as the infrared indicated, Denny had been the sole occupant. I hoped he would live long enough to make it into the ambulance. I didn’t want to have a dead-body meltdown in front of Brad.
“Thank you, Jersey Barnes.” He hugged me to his body, long and hard. It felt good. But not exactly right.
I nodded. You’re welcome.
Brad went to work, barking orders as a collection of emergency lights lit up the asphalt street in a coda of red, white, and blue. Holstering the Ruger, I inhaled the scent of sea air and walked the two blocks to the ocean. I knew it would be at least an hour or more before Brad would be ready to leave the scene. And I wanted to make a few calls. The wind swirled in forceful gusts, and moonbeams illuminated a choppy ocean. I sat on a thick piece of driftwood near the dunes, stripped off my boots and socks, and burrowed my toes deep in the sand.
I called Spud first, to congratulate him on winning the cook-off Grumbling, he explained that our team got disqualified because none of the chefs were actually employees of the Block. I reminded him that it was a loss of only five hundred dollars—which he would have had to share anyway—and congratulated him on saving the life of a choking victim. My next call went to the judge, to let her know that Morgan was safe; it was over. I thought about revealing that her father was alive but decided the news should be delivered in person, by him. I explained that her brother could use her help, and without hesitation, she agreed to travel to Wilmington the next day. And my last call was to Ox, to see when he was coming home.
THIRTY-NINE
There were the murder charges, of course, but Denny had also been slapped with possession, intent to distribute, and a bunch of other scary-sounding things—once he woke up in the hospital, coherent enough to be read his rights. Castello’s future would be incarceration until he died. That much was certain. North Carolinians don’t like to sentence their criminals to death, but about five or six are executed each year, and Denny could very well end up on that list. Regardless, he’d be off the streets and no longer able to mess with Argo’s or my judge friend’s family.
Brad’s team had hit the mother lode in Denny’s beach cottage: a handwritten grid with network distribution details, a box of prepaid cell phones, more than one hundred thousand dollars in cash, a stack of shoeboxes full of prescription drugs, names of physicians and pharmacists, and guns, including Jonathan’s trap gun. The greedy idiot had swiped the shotgun from Jonathan’s Corvette after he killed him and dumped the body offshore. Basically, Brad had everything he needed to tie up his investigation and come out looking good. There was already talk of the DEA changing Brad’s status to educator, where he’d travel the country to train other agents on the ins and outs of prescription drug rings.
“It is so good to see you, Jersey.” The judge gave me a body-crushing hug, and when she stepped back, she looked as great as she always did. Beautiful smooth skin, killer clothes, and a commanding presence that made people want to please her. “Thanks for everything you’ve done,” she said. “Although I don’t know all the details yet. You’ll have to fill me in.”
“Plenty of time for that later,” I told her. “For now, let’s forget business and give you and your brother a chance to catch up.”
The Block had just opened, and a few people filtered in for lunch. But my crowd took up a whole section, right next to open garage doors, where we could see the river and wispy, low-slung clouds and all the people walking by. The celebration was in full swing, and everyone from the Barnes Agency made it a point to be there. Trish, the local P.I. who’d tailed Morgan for me, had come with her new boyfriend. Spud, his buddies, Fran, and a clump of their New Age Babes friends. Dirk and several others from the Wilmington PD. Brad and a slew of drug enforcement agents. Soup and a gang of his hacker buddies. Friends, such as financier Sam Chesterfield and his son, Jared. And, looking splendid in a sundress and heels, Deanna strutted in on Morgan’s arm.
“Morgan brought a date!” I told Cracker, rubbing noses with the dog. His tail wagged like as though he understood.
I was throwing an impromptu party with a double purpose: a thank-you to everyone who’d helped shut down the network and a retirement party for me. Of course, it was probably the third or fourth retirement party I’ve had. But I always enjoy them.
A local reggae-and-steel-drum band played at one end of the bar, and their island music enhanced the festive atmosphere. The Block buzzed with upbeat energy. I felt good. It was a beautiful day to be alive, enjoying the company of my friends and family. And it was going to get even better. I found Morgan and the judge sitting outside at a patio table talking, bittersweet smiles on their faces.
“Now that I’ve got the two of you together,” I said, “I have a big surprise. Somebody you need to meet. I’ll be right back.”
Garland waited upstairs at my kitchen table, pretending to read the newspaper.
“You ready?”
He nodded and stood, hugged me tight for a beat. “I don’t know how to thank you for—”
I put a finger to his lips. “Garland, seeing you with your son and daughter is going to be all the thanks I’ll ever need. The judge is like a sister to me. And I’ve come to know Morgan as a good, strong, successful man. They both love you—and miss you—like crazy. Enough said.”
Garland stood up, sucked in a deep breath. “I look okay?”
“You look fabulous, Chef Garland.”
I’ve never heard the judge squeal with delight, but that’s exactly what she did when I escorted Garland downstairs, through the Block, and to the outdoor patio. She squealed, and after a beat of stunned silence, she flew into her father’s arms. Morgan looked from me to the two of them and back to me.
“Is it really…”
I smiled. “It’s really him, Morgan. Garland is alive.”
“Dad.” Morgan joined the group hug, and the trio laughed and cried and looked one another over and hugged some more. I left before the judge had a chance to recover. Otherwise, she’d be on me like green on a grasshopper, demanding to know why I hadn’t told her about Garland sooner.
When I went back inside, Brad leaned against a garage door frame, his forearms and ankles crossed. Despite the closed body language, his face held a smile.
I stopped in front of him. “Hi.”
“How long has he lived here?”
I played dumb. “Who?”
Brad uncrossed everything and pulled me into a hug. It seemed to be a day for hugs. “He was the woman at the cook-off, right? The one that looked like a senior drag queen with lopsided breasts?”
I nodded.
Brad burst out laughing. “When he finishes up with his kids, I’ll have to say he
llo. And let him know that the DEA is officially out of his life.”
“They would all appreciate that,” I said.
I sensed Ox before I actually saw him and let out a squeal similar to the judge’s. “Ox! I thought you weren’t back for a few more days.”
His arms wrapped around me. “We were going to stay in Connecticut for a few days after Lindsey’s internship ended, but we decided that it’s time to get her back in school and get me back to work.”
I made the introductions. Brad, Ox—co-owner of the Block. Ox, Brad—the DEA agent I told you about. The men shook hands and sized each other up.
“I’m off to see Garland,” Brad said. “Before I go, I want to let you know that you won’t be hit with any charges … aiding a fugitive, impersonating an officer, illegal wiretap … those sorts of things.”
“Yeah?” I copped a stance. “I want to let you know that I won’t be updating your director on all the little details … using a civilian as an undercover, illegal breaking and entering, losing a protected witness … those sorts of things.”
Laughing, Brad kissed me on the cheek before taking another look at Ox. “If he’s your complication, Jersey Barnes, I believe you’re in very good hands.” He shook Ox’s hand again. “Later, man.”
Before Ox had a chance to quiz me about Brad, his daughter came running and we went into a spinning hug. “Hiya, Jerz! The ESPN thing was fantastic. I can’t wait to tell you all about it!”
Lindsey was bubbly and bright and captivating as always. She seemed to have grown an inch in the short time since I’d seen her last and looked way older than a senior at New Hanover High. “Welcome home, girl.”
“Thanks.” She passed me an envelope. “FedEx just delivered this and I signed for it. I mean, like, I do still have a part-time job here, right?”
“Of course you do, as long—”
“As you keep your grades up,” Ox finished.
The envelope was addressed to my father. I recognized the sender—a gourmet food distributor. Fully prepared and flash frozen meals, shipped by mail order.
I found Spud doing Jell-O shooters with Fran and some of the NABs. I wasn’t aware that anybody at the Block even knew how to make a Jell-O shooter.
“Spud, why are you ordering gourmet food when you live above a restaurant?” I handed him the envelope.
He ripped into the FedEx mailer and smiled, displaying his blazing white teeth. “It’s not a receipt, for crying out loud. It’s my check!”
I looked at the numbers on the check and my mouth fell open. Fifteen thousand dollars. “What’s this for?”
“Remember how I saved that man’s life at the cook-off?” Spud talked with his cane.
“As I recall, you stumbled and your cane accidentally hit the man.”
Spud shook his cane at me. “That’s neither here nor there. The point is that I saved his life and they interviewed me on Channel Six.”
Fran walked up, fluffing her hair. “Then the AP wire picked up the story, sweetie! How your daddy won this cook-off with his amazing recipe and saved a judge’s life. And then got his prize money taken away because his daughter had never put him on the Block’s payroll, and he’s not an employee.”
“What?” I eyed my father. “You told a reporter it’s my fault the Block got disqualified from the cook-off?”
Fran patted my arm. “Oh, you know your daddy. He didn’t say it exactly like that. Anyway, Spud’s story went all over the place. Even got a mention on Jay Leno. So these gourmet food people, they called Spud and bought his recipe.”
“Fifteen thousand smackaroos!” Spud held up his check and kissed it. “They bought the rights to use the recipe and my name. Might even put my picture on the label, but I told ’em that will cost extra.”
“They’re changing the name a teeny bit,” Fran said. “It will be called Spud’s Buoy Base. You know, like a buoy that floats in the ocean? And they’ll put ‘fish stew’ below that in parentheses.”
“He’s done it again,” I told Ox. “How does he manage it? I’ve been working my ass off for free, as a favor, and my father somehow ends up with fifteen grand because he accidentally poked somebody in the stomach with his cane?”
“Hey, kid, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll give you the rights to serve Spud’s Buoy Base here at the Block.”
“We already are serving the bouillabaisse, Spud. Garland gave me his recipe!”
“Yeah, but now you can call it Spud’s Buoy Base.”
Ox took my hand and pulled me into the core of the party. “Let’s go get a beer and you can catch me up on everything I’ve missed.”
“I helped bust up a drug ring, I’m officially retired again, and my father continues to completely flabbergast me.” I looked up at Ox’s familiar face and focused on the wide jaw and square chin, realizing how much I’d missed him. “That’s pretty much it. You’re caught up.”
“In that case”—Ox grinned enough to make his dimple deepen—“let’s go upstairs and catch up on other things.”
EPILOGUE
Present Day
Greenlawn Memorial Park
It’s been a wild ride,” Leo said to his partner. “I’m happy to have been on the coaster.”
“It has been a wild ride,” Michael agreed. “But I’m happy to be off that coaster.”
The two physicians watched reflections of a blue jay as the bird flew across a shallow lake. The sprawling cemetery was lush and secluded, with plenty of aged hardwoods and shade. Jonathan had loved the outdoors. He would have liked it here, they knew.
“Roller coaster or not, at least we’re getting to keep our medical licenses,” Leo said. “I really don’t mind selling Divine Image Group. Might be good to get a group of youngsters in there. Somebody who wants to do medical dermatology. Skin cancers and such. We’re getting more and more retirees in this area. Lots of sun-damaged skin.”
“That would work well.” Michael picked up a pecan that had dropped from a nearby tree and rolled it in his fingers, studying his hands. “We designed our building with enough space to accommodate five doctors. Maybe they’ll do a combination of medical and cosmetic.”
“Speaking of cosmetic, what’s your first case?” Leo asked.
Michael tossed the pecan toward the lake, thinking of all the surgeries his hands had performed in the past, realizing that he really would make a difference in people’s lives now. “I’ve got a six-year-old girl, car accident, no seat restraint. They stitched her up and saved her life, but the scarring on one side of her face is hideous. Drooping eyelid. Deformed bottom lip. Both parents work, but they don’t have health insurance. And they make just enough money so that they don’t qualify for Medicaid or other assistance.”
“I suppose that describes all of our new patients,” Leo said. “People in need who are falling through the cracks.”
Michael nodded. “When I finish with this little girl, she’s going to be beautiful. She’ll look just like every other kid at her school, and there will be nothing to tease her about. In fact, she gets to dating age, her father had better watch out.”
Leo chuckled. “Guess we won’t be doing any more lipo procedures. My next surgery is a breast reconstruction. Double mastectomy patient.”
“Ah, I never liked doing lipo anyway,” Michael said. “Wears you out. And the patient always thinks that you can make them look like Angelina Jolie.”
The doctors had struck a bargain with prosecutors, and both sides were happy. They had agreed to sell their medical practice, but they could keep the proceeds. More important, they could keep their medical accreditations as long as they followed the rules. For the next three years—a probationary period of sorts—they would be volunteer physicians for a nationwide organization that provided free services to low-income and uninsured families. They’d have to travel to various participating hospitals and outpatient clinics, but there were enough people falling through the health insurance system cracks in the Carolinas and Virginia to keep the
men close to home.
Leo squatted to prop a Duke University student ID card against the engraved headstone.
“We love you, John,” Michael said.
Leo stood, put an arm around his partner’s shoulder. “Let’s go make him proud.”
READER’S GROUP GUIDE QUESTIONS
About the Book
Jersey Barnes keeps trying to leave home without a weapon strapped to her body. She’d love to get an eye-stopping tan and maybe take up golf or tennis. She wants to retire. Well, sort of. When her judge friend asks Jersey for a favor, the unconventional security specialist readily agrees. The judge’s brother, an introvert from Dallas, Texas, has moved to Jersey’s stomping ground because he inherited a restaurant. But Argos isn’t just any eatery—it’s the hippest place in town where Wilmington’s elite dine. It’s also the site of a mysterious and dangerous secret that could land the judge’s brother in jail… or worse, a cemetery.
Reading Group Guide Questions
Southern Peril is the third Jersey Barnes mystery, and in this book the author has delved deeper into Jersey’s upbringing as well as her conflicted thoughts about being raised without a father. Do you think that knowing more about Jersey’s past adds depth to the current story?
T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 03 - Southern Peril Page 27