Undercurrent: A P.I. Munro Crane Romantic Suspense Thriller

by Louise Rose-Innes

Crane lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He had to get into that locked room. Sarah had said the guests were Arabs, which could give them a lead on Kaz’s Afghani links. It was a sweeping assumption, of course, but with the amped up security, Arabic guests and the DEA interest, it was a lead worth exploring. Besides, the thought of breaking into the impenetrable room gave him a thrill. It was dangerous, it was risky, but it was what he was here to do.

  Tonight wasn’t an option. He needed the passcode and to get that he’d have to watch who went in and when. That required daylight, and binoculars, the latter of which were in the trunk of his car.

  His thoughts turned to Sarah, alone in the big house with her husband. What was she doing now?

  Sarah stared at Kaz’s phone lying on the bed. Kaz was in the shower, she could hear the water running and see the steam seeping under the door.

  Quick as a flash she darted to the bed and picked up the phone. It was an iPhone, heavily protected, with an unbreakable six-digit passcode. She’d recently read a news article about how Apple wouldn’t give the FBI the passcode to a criminal’s phone, but without it the FBI couldn’t get any leads from the device. The point being, if the FBI couldn’t do it, it was unlikely she could.

  On a whim she tried his birth month and date. Nothing. Then she tried hers. Fat chance. She didn’t want to try again in case it locked the phone or registered too many attempts. Who knew what safeguards Kaz had installed on his phone?

  The water stopped running. She heard the shower door open. It was time to leave. Cautiously, she set the phone back on the bed, in the same position she’d found it and darted back through the connecting door to her bedroom. By the time Kaz returned to his bedroom, Sarah was tucked up in her bed with a book.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The new guy’s name was Sergio and he’d been hired as a driver, although it was clear his talents didn’t end there. Big, burly and regimented, it was evident he’d had some military training, probably in Eastern Europe or Russia, and walked around with the confidence of one who knew how to handle himself, his hard eyes taking in everything and everyone he came across. The ponytail was weird, though. It seemed at odds with the man’s general demeanour.

  Crane disliked him from the start. It wasn’t just that he looked like an evil son of a gun, with that jagged scar across his nose, and thin, brutal lips but he had this pent up aggression simmering just beneath the surface, like he wanted to lash out and fight someone, but had been ordered not to. Crane resolved to keep a close eye on him.

  It had been an interesting but uneventful day. Crane had accompanied Kaz to several meetings dotted around town. They’d been innocuous enough, but whether they were with business associates or part of the drug smuggling ring, Crane had no idea. He’d memorised names, places and companies, however, to feed back to Doug, who’d get the DEA to look into their backgrounds, business interests and known associates. Soon they’d know everything there was to know about these guys.

  After Sergio had driven them home, Crane asked for some time off to stock up on supplies. Each bungalow had a small kitchenette so the staff could fix their own meals. It was equipped with a bar fridge, a single hot-plate to cook on and a microwave. So far, Crane hadn’t used the kitchenette, but then he didn’t have any groceries. Not even milk for coffee.

  “Why don’t you take Sarah to the store with you?” Kaz suggested. “If she hasn’t been already. I know she wanted to go.”

  “Sure.”

  Who was he to argue?

  He waited around outside until Sarah appeared. He noticed she’d put a smattering of make-up on, unusual for her. Was it for his benefit? He wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

  He kept his distance for appearances sake, nodding hello and opening the back door so she could climb in.

  “I’ll sit up front with you,” she said, opening the passenger door and climbing in. So he shut the back door and walked around to the driver’s side. A movement from the window caught his eye and he looked up just in time to see a dark head move away. Kaz.

  “Your husband saw you get in the front. Do you think that’s going to be a problem?”

  She glanced across at him. “No, why should it be? I normally ride up front. I get carsick in the backseat. He knows that.”

  “Okay then. I wouldn’t want you hurling all over my seats.”

  That made her laugh. “Thanks for driving me to the store.”

  “Kaz’s suggestion, not mine, but I’m happy to oblige. I need to stock up on a few essentials too.” Her long legs covered in jeans stretched out next to him, slim and enticing. She wore sneakers and a pale-blue tracksuit top, with a light jacket. Sporty, yet sexy.

  “I tried to get into Kaz’s phone,” Sarah said as they drove along the road to the local retail park. It was ten minutes’ away by car, too far to walk with heavy shopping bags.

  He glanced at her. “And?”

  “I couldn’t break the passcode.” Her shoulders sagged. “I tried twice but was too nervous to try again in case it locked the phone or something.”

  “Wise move,” he said. “That’s okay. I don’t want you to take any undue risks.”

  “If it’ll help nail him, I’m more than happy to do it,” she retorted, with a rare show of anger.

  “Still, we don’t want to give the game away. It’s important your husband doesn’t realise we’re onto him.”

  “I know. I’ll be careful.”

  They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Sarah asked, “Have you managed to find out anything else?”

  “I’m not sure. I met a whole bunch of new people today who may or may not be involved. Perhaps you can help me identify them?”

  She nodded, so he filled her in. “First we went to the country club and Kaz had a session with a pro-golfer, Dylan Rosemont, I think his name was. They were working on his golf swing, and discussing business.”

  “Yes, I know Dylan. He’s apparently done wonders for Kaz’s game, or so he says. I don’t think they do any business together.”

  It certainly looked like an in-depth discussion they were having on the golf course, and Crane was willing to bet it wasn’t instructional.

  “Hmm…” was all he said.

  He slowed down as they approached the shopping centre turn-off. Up ahead was the entrance to the carpark. It was busy, a steady stream of cars going in and out. Apart from the grocery store, there was a Starbucks, a pharmacy, a liquor store and a French-style patisserie.

  He kept talking as he looked for a vacant spot. “Next we went to an auto shop on the west side of town run by a man called Gary Tobin. Have I got that right?”

  She nodded. “Gary and his wife, Amy, are good friends of ours. We often have them round for dinner.”

  “Yeah, I recognised him from the party I gate-crashed the other night. As well as the owner of your gym, Mike Robson.”

  “You’re very observant,” remarked Sarah, giving him a curious look. “Mike was there too, with his girlfriend, Carol. He’s divorced. His first wife left him because he was unfaithful to her. She took their kids and moved to California. We’re still friendly. I see her sometimes when I’m in town.”

  He paused as he turned into a parking bay and switched off the engine. The shopping centre was thriving with shoppers going about their business, carrier bags and Starbucks cups in hand. There were several mothers with prams on the sidewalk chatting.

  Then it began to rain. The clouds that had been gathering all morning unleashed their load in a steady drizzle. They watched as the mothers ran for cover in Starbucks, while others dashed to their cars or inside stores.

  “Are Gary and Mike business associates of your husband’s?”

  They didn’t get out. It was warm inside the car and country music played softly on the radio.

  Sarah shrugged. “I’m not sure. I can’t see what they’d have to do with his textile importing company. I think they’re just friends. We’ve known them for years.”

  “Hmm...” he
said again.

  “Do you think they’re involved with the drug smuggling?” Her voice was a whisper. He liked how she put two and two together in no time at all. The journalistic instinct again, except he could see in her expression she didn’t believe it. He wasn’t convinced himself.

  “I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure that out. Maybe. They’re all well placed to distribute heroin to their clients, aren’t they?”

  Sarah thought about this for a moment, then nodded. “I guess so. Dylan could use his golf clients, they’ve all got money, but what about Gary and Mike? I can’t see the connection there.”

  “Auto shops are notorious for distributing drugs,” Crane told her, watching her eyes widen. “They transport them across state to smaller dealers in hidden compartments in the vehicles. Also, Mike could be selling directly to his gym customers.”

  “Fitness freaks aren’t likely to take drugs, are they?” asked Sarah, her forehead furrowed. “Protein shakes maybe, or steroids, but heroin?”

  She had a point, and he tended to agree with her. “No, I guess not.” Perhaps Doug could shed some light on it.

  The rain began to fall harder.

  “We’d better go inside,” she said, peering out at the torrential rain. It was thumping down on the car window obscuring the view outside. “It’s only going to get worse.”

  Crane nodded. “I’ve got an umbrella somewhere,” he said, twisting to look behind his chair.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s only rain.” Sarah opened the door and immediately the steamy smell of rain on hot concrete swept into the car, along with a fine spray as the droplets ricocheted off her legs. Crane watched in amusement as she dashed across the parking lot, her purse swinging wildly over her shoulder, blonde hair flying. Within seconds, she was inside the store.

  Crane got out and followed her lead, locking the car behind him with the press of a button on his key fob as he ran into the store. There were several people waiting at the entrance for the rain to let up enough to make a run for their cars. Most people had been caught unprepared, although the sudden downpour was pretty typical of this time of year.

  Crane finished his grocery shopping long before Sarah, so he put his bag in the pick-up, grateful that he had the canopy over the back, and went next door to Starbucks to get them each a take-away coffee. Sarah was at the check-out when he got back, so he waited until she was done, then handed her the coffees and carried the bags to the car. She smiled her thanks and wrapped her hands around the warm cups.

  The rain was still pelting down with no sign of letting up. The sodden concrete seethed with a fine mist while puddles began to form. They got back into the car, grateful for the respite.

  “Are you married?” Sarah blurted out as he pulled out of the parking lot, coffee cup between his legs. He glanced at her in surprise. She flushed and said, “I’m only asking because it can’t be much fun staying on the property if you’ve got a wife and kids waiting for you back home.”

  “No, I’m not married.” The windows steamed up so he switched on the heating. The wipers whipped back and forth in an unsuccessful battle against the rain. “I’m not sure I’m the marrying type.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “Do you have something against marriage? Because I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  He chuckled. “No, nothing like that. I was in the military for many years, which wasn’t conducive to a long-term relationship, and since I’ve been out, well, I haven’t really had the opportunity.” How could he explain that after his recovery he hadn’t felt able to dedicate himself to a relationship. What would he bring to the union? Emotional baggage, past trauma, nightmares where he dreamed of a mountain collapsing on top of him. Nope, he certainly wasn’t the marrying type. Probably never would be.

  She shrugged. “You’re not missing much. In my experience, it’s overrated.”

  He didn’t know whether she was joking or not, but a quick glimpse at her sullen face told him she wasn’t.

  “Hang in there,” he said softly. “It won’t be for much longer. Something’s got to give soon, then we can arrest your husband and you’ll be free of him.”

  She turned to look out of the window so he couldn’t see her face. “I hope so, because I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence, listening to the radio and the rain thumping down on the roof. The security guard opened the gate for them without comment and on the way up the driveway Sarah suddenly put her hand on his leg. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered, her face earnest. “I mean that. It’s so good to have someone on my side.”

  She squeezed his thigh, unconsciously showing her desperation, but it was doing strange things to his body. He put his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze, at the same time gently removing it from his thigh.

  “Sorry,” she said, realising it was an inappropriate gesture but he didn’t think she was aware of the effect her touch had had on him. “I’m just so relieved you’re here.”

  They pulled up in front of the house. He cut the engine. The radio fell silent and the windscreen wipers came to a halt. Immediately, the rain accumulated on the windowpane, sliding down in little rivulets. Nobody would be able to see in from outside. He turned to her. “I am here. And I’m only a phone call away. If things get out of control or you feel like you’re in any danger, call me. I can be there in five minutes.”

  She breathed in through her nose and nodded as she exhaled. “Thank you. I mean that.”

  He smiled in reply. Her hair was damp and stuck to her face but he resisted the urge to wipe the tendrils away. She looked at him with a mixture of relief and something else, something which made him feel warm all over, the same feeling as when she’d put her hand on his thigh. The urge to embrace her, to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay was strong, but he knew he couldn’t go there. Not here, right outside the house. Even with the rain pelting down, someone might see something. No, he had to back off, keep this impersonal.

  Tearing his eyes from her face, he opened the car door. “Come on. Let’s get this shopping inside.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Armed with a flashlight and wearing gloves, Crane left his bungalow, avoided the footpath, and slunk through the dense trees around the crescent lake towards the house.

  The rain had stopped, thank goodness, but it left everything damp and muddy. He’d have to be careful not to slip on the mulchy mix of dead and rotting leaves.

  Normally, he loved being outside after the rain. If he was at home right now, he’d be sitting on his patio with a cup of coffee, Blaster and Spirit at his feet, listing to the dripping leaves and inhaling the lush, pungent smell of sodden foliage.

  He hoped the dogs were okay without him. A neighbour had promised to pop round every day and put food out, and they knew how to enter the cabin through the trap door underneath. Even so, he’d go back in the morning to check on them. Tomorrow was Sunday, so presumably he’d get the day off.

  The trees whispered secretively as he carved his way around their dark trunks, as if they were warning him to stay away. No harm in taking a look, he thought.

  He glanced at the luminous dials on his wrist watch. Eleven o’clock. By his calculations, Peter would have returned to his cabin fifteen minutes ago, via the footpath, and wouldn’t emerge for another hour. The weakness in the night-time security guard’s schedule was it never changed. It was predictable. Peter was a sucker for routine. Crane had sussed it out within the first few nights of being here. Two-hourly patrols. Forty-five minutes each. Plenty of time.

  He wore a balaclava over his head and dark clothing and footwear. Nothing to identify himself should the cameras pick him up. The moon was a thin sliver, barely large enough to shed any light on the moist ground, thereby giving him more protection.

  He circled the house, sticking to the trees. Now he had to cross the edge of the carpark and risk the hidden cameras picking him up. The securi
ty light along this side of the house was out. He’d made sure by smashing the bulb with a stone earlier that afternoon, and by the looks of things they hadn’t got round to replacing it yet. Another weakness of the security system was if he stood directly behind the light, the camera couldn’t pick him up either as both were positioned next to each other under the eaves.

  The rain had dampened the gravel so it didn’t crunch too loudly under his feet as he ran across it and flattened himself against the garage wall. No light went on, and no alarm sounded. So far, so good.

  He reached the control room, behind the dual garage, exactly twenty minutes after he’d set out. There was the keypad he’d observed earlier, attached to the wall beside a heavy, metal door.

  Now for his next trick. He took a small aerosol can out of his pocket and gave the keypad a good spray. This would react with oils in the skin and show up the keys that were frequently pressed. Then it was just a matter of deducing the right combination.

  Four numbers glowed in the darkness. One. Two. Three. Zero.

  Hundreds of possible combinations.

  It would take all night to go through all the permutations, but luckily he didn’t have to. Earlier that evening, he’d hidden amongst the trees with his binoculars poised and waited for Peter to do his rounds. It had been dusk, so light enough to have some visibility. He knew Peter’s schedule so he didn’t have to wait long. The angle from which he was watching gave him a clear view of the keypad so long as Peter didn’t shift his position. Unfortunately, something made the security guard turn to the side and so Crane only got the first two numbers of the code. It was enough though. All he needed.

  He got to work and typed in the first two, two-one. Then it was simply a process of elimination. He tried two-one-three-zero. No luck. So it must be two-one-zero-three. Bingo.

  There was an audible click as the mechanism released. Crane took a quick look around to make sure no one was coming, then he pushed the door open. He shone his flashlight around the room. It was about nine square foot with cement floors, devoid of carpeting, and no furniture other than a metal table positioned against the far wall upon which stood an enormous computer monitor hooked up to a central power unit. In front of it stood a single chair.