Lethal Affair

by Jean Thomas

  He managed to stay upright, enduring her face pressed tightly against his chest and the tears that must be soaking his grimy tee.

  “Hey, what’s this?” he demanded, those wonderful hands of his stroking her back. “You’re bawling like a baby.”

  “Can’t help it,” she choked. “You put me through hell.”

  “Yeah, I have a habit of that, don’t I? But I’m here now. See?”

  His hands shifted, holding her away from him so she could get a better look. That’s when she heard him sharply sucking in his breath, as if he were in pain.

  “You’re hurt!”

  “Naw,” he reassured her. “It’s just the bullet wound from Maroa. It’s still a little tender, and after wrestling with Blondie—”

  “What happened in there?” Will wanted to know.

  “Flattened him in the end. He was unconscious when I dragged him out and dumped him in the backyard. Don’t know about that SOB, Ion. I didn’t bother checking on him. I was in too much of a hurry to find the both of you.”

  “And the others?” Brenna asked. “Marcus, Dr. Milosz, Lew?”

  Casey shook his head. “Didn’t make it. There was no saving them.”

  Brenna was too drained by then to care one way or another. And so, apparently, was Casey.

  “The arm is okay,” he said. “But I’m ready to get off my feet.” He dropped down in the grass next to Will, drawing Brenna down beside him, holding her close with the arm that hadn’t been shot.

  The three of them huddled there, solemnly watching the mansion being consumed by a roaring firestorm so bright it lit the night sky above them.

  “There’s one thing for sure,” Casey grimly remarked. “No more of that damn formula is going to be produced in there.”

  Brenna added an earnest “And nowhere else when the world finds out what happened here.”

  Chapter 19

  They sat three across on the flight to Miami, Will in the window seat, Casey on the aisle and Brenna sandwiched in the middle.

  The two men were asleep. She on the other hand was very much awake. She supposed she should be resting as they were, but she feared her mind was too active to shut down long enough for a nap.

  There was plenty to think about. The last two days had been hectic ones for the three of them. With Marcus Bradley dead and no longer in control of St. Sebastian, the island’s authorities had been willing to take action. It was either that or be targeted by the media, whose worldwide coverage of the events had already broken the cabal, putting its members at risk of prosecution.

  The Georgetown police, listening to Brenna and Casey’s story, had caught Karl and Ion and jailed them. Never having believed Joseph was anything but innocent, Brenna never mentioned the young man. As for Curtis Hoffman, they were told he flew back to the United States before any of the recent events at White Rose, and if he were to be investigated and charged it would have to be there.

  The only matter of any real importance was the water sample Zena King had entrusted to Casey. Because Marcus Bradley had ordered Freedom’s well neutralized after learning of the sample’s existence, it was more imperative than ever to recover that sealed bottle.

  Casey had hired Big and Little Jimmy and their trawler to take them back to Maroa, where the water sample remained undisturbed in the hollow bamboo. Towing the crippled My Last Dollar behind them, the trawler returned to Georgetown. As he’d promised himself, Casey had generously compensated the forgiving owner of the cruiser for both its use and repair.

  That achieved and the water sample tucked safely away inside Casey’s carry-on, they had boarded the flight for Miami.

  Everything addressed and neatly settled, Brenna thought wryly. Everything but Casey and her. There had been no time to sort out things between them. Or was it because one, or possibly both of them, were reluctant, even afraid to resolve their present feelings for each other?

  She looked over at Casey where he was slouched down in his seat, hair tousled, long legs stretched out as much as he could in front of him. The sight of him never failed to awaken an urge to touch him intimately.

  In Miami, while we wait for the results on the lab’s chemical analysis, Brenna promised herself, we’ll have plenty of time to discuss just where we’re at with each other.

  * * *

  But it didn’t work out that way.

  After landing at Miami-Dade Airport, they grabbed two cabs. Will had decided to remain in Miami with Brenna and Casey long enough to learn the lab’s findings firsthand before flying back to Chicago. He went off in the first cab to obtain rooms for them at a beachfront hotel, leaving the second cab for his sister and Casey, who didn’t want to lose any time delivering the water sample to the lab waiting for it.

  Having replaced their cell phones Casey had recommended they discard while on the run, they were able before leaving St. Sebastian to inform the laboratory by phone the sample was in their possession and on its way.

  The private facility Zena had so enthusiastically recommended was near the school where she’d been training. The building in which it was located was an ordinary one, but they were impressed by the able technician who met with them. A tall, gangling man approaching middle age introduced himself as Aaron Fowler.

  “We were shocked here by Zena’s death,” he said. “She had such a promising future, but you folks probably know that.”

  “We do,” Casey said. “And believe me she won’t be forgotten. Certainly not on St. Sebastian where her people valued her so much.”

  “You can trust us with her sample,” Fowler assured them. “Our chemists here are the best. I know the media is waiting to tell the rest of this outrageous story, and for that they need our findings. I should caution you both, though, that it takes time to do a thorough, reliable analysis.”

  “Are you telling us,” Brenna asked, “that we won’t know for a while?”

  “You’ll hear from us at the earliest possible moment,” he promised them, taking charge of the small, sealed bottle Casey placed in front of him.

  “Sounds like that moment could amount to days,” Casey said in the cab that carried them toward Miami Beach where Will, who had reached his sister as they came away from the lab, reported the three of them were booked into White Sands Hotel.

  Days. In one way, she knew that was a disappointment. In another, it would provide the unhurried opportunity she longed for to discuss their feelings for each other, to determine just where they stood.

  But once again her expectation was blocked. Casey’s cell phone rang. Now who? she asked herself. There were only a couple of possibilities. With their phones and numbers being so new, there had been little time to notify people of the changes.

  Brenna didn’t have to guess, however. Although for her the conversation was one-sided, she knew from its content that Casey was speaking to someone in authority from the Chicago division of the FBI.

  His face was sober when he ended the call.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m being summoned back to Chicago for a final question-and-answer before there’s a decision.”

  “When?”

  “On the first flight I can get.”

  “And if you and the others get cleared?”

  “Then we get reinstated to active service status.”

  “Meaning you won’t be here to learn the lab’s findings. You’ll be out in the field again.”

  “Brenna, no. It doesn’t work that fast. I’ll have time to get back here before I’m assigned to another case. You’ll see.”

  “I’ll count on that.” She made the effort to sound cheerful about it, not wanting him to see she was close to despair. That she feared the next time she heard from him his suspension would have been lifted and he would be involved in a fresh case somewhere far away.

  They wouldn’t talk, not now, not then.

  * * *

  Her brother was waiting for Brenna in the lobby when the cab delivered her to White Sands Hotel.

&nbs
p; “Where’s Casey?”

  “He isn’t coming. We had to have the cab take him back to the airport.”

  She and Will were close. He’d always known from just looking at her face when something was wrong. “All right, what’s happened?” he wanted to know.

  “He had to return to Chicago on the first available flight.” She explained as briefly as possible why. She didn’t tell him that, when their cab dropped him off at Miami-Dade, his departure and the kiss that accompanied it were fleeting.

  There was a moment of silence before Will muttered a guilty “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh what?”

  “I called my editor at the Trib to let him know I was back in the States. He wanted to know why I wasn’t somewhere more specific than that. Like back at my sports desk in Chicago.”

  “You’re flying home, too, aren’t you?” She would be alone in Miami waiting for those results. No brother to keep her company and her mind off Casey. It was a dreary prospect.

  “Not until later tonight. We have until then. Let’s go out to the swimming pool. They’re serving lunch there. We can talk.”

  Yes, she needed to talk to someone who understood her. And that would be her brother.

  The pool was located in a large courtyard with wide bands of alternating brick and stone framing it on all sides. Wrought-iron tables and chairs, shaded by colorful umbrellas, were scattered around. Pots and upraised beds, overflowing with flowers, added to the ambience, making it a pleasant place for casual dining.

  After they’d ordered, Will leaned toward her with an earnest “All right, what’s bothering you?”

  “Why should you think anything is bothering me?”

  “Oh, please, after all these years you think I don’t know. It’s Casey, isn’t it? What’s he done?”

  “It’s what he hasn’t done that’s made me unhappy.”

  Will tipped his head to one side, examining her critically. “You’ve gone and fallen in love with him again, haven’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I ever fell out of love with him.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I love him, but I don’t think he’s capable of loving me back. Not anymore. I can’t really say I blame him. I was pretty rough on him when I broke our engagement. Something tells me he never got over that.”

  “I find that hard to believe about Casey.”

  Brenna lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “It could be, too, that he’s been waiting for some safe indication of just how I feel about him.”

  Will shook his head. “After the way you greeted him when he turned up outside the burning plantation house? I don’t think your emotions could have been any plainer than that.”

  “The thing is—”

  Before she could go on, their server interrupted them with their orders, iced tea for Brenna, a cold beer for Will and BLTs for both of them.

  When she’d departed, brother and sister began to eat their sandwiches. Brenna resumed the conversation between bites.

  “The thing is, whatever our feelings for each other, Casey may not be interested in a reunion. He can’t have forgotten how, when I gave his ring back to him, I could no longer bear his dangerous assignments.”

  “You must have gotten over all that after what the two of you shared down in St. Sebastian. Brenna, you thought he was shot and drowned and later that he perished in the fire. And he survived all of it, and you survived your desperation. What more do the two of you need?”

  “But none of that was by choice. Marrying him would be giving him my permission this time around for him to go out on those deadly assignments. He must sense that, maybe thinks by not telling me he loves me he’s providing me with a ticket to walk away. Who knows? Could be I’m not strong enough to withstand the dangers. That I’m no better in that department than Mom was.”

  Will lowered his glass, wiping beer foam off his upper lip with the back of his hand, looking exasperated by her defense.

  “There’s one thing you’re forgetting, Brenna. Mom knew Pop was a fireman and always would be when she married him. She knew the danger and hated it, but she loved him too much not to risk it. How about you?”

  Brenna gazed back at him, ashamed of herself. He was right. What her mother could be she could be.

  “I don’t know what we’re discussing all this for,” Will wondered. “Haven’t you and Casey talked about it?”

  She shook her head. “There’s hasn’t been any time.”

  “So you make it a priority when he comes back.”

  She hesitated before admitting to her brother what she’d been fearing ever since she’d dropped Casey off at the airport.

  “I’m not sure he is coming back to Miami. I’m not sure when I hear from him again he won’t already be on assignment.”

  * * *

  After Will left, Brenna expected to have a dull time of it waiting to hear about the findings from the lab. Much to her surprise, however, neither the first day after his departure, nor the second, were solitary ones.

  It started when she was having breakfast out at the poolside where she and Will lunched the previous day. A thin, middle-aged woman approached her table. Brenna looked up as the well-dressed woman spoke to her with a hesitant “Ms. Coleman?”

  “Yes, I’m Brenna Coleman. How did you know—”

  “Generous tips can do wonders. One of the bellhops in the lobby pointed you out. As for learning you’re staying in this hotel...well, the reporter who interviewed you here told me. I’m afraid there isn’t much that stays private anymore.”

  Very true, Brenna thought. She and Casey had been all over the news ever since the story broke in St. Sebastian. But what was this particular mystery about?

  “I seem to have interrupted your breakfast. My apologies for that.”

  “It’s all right. I was finished except for drinking the last of my cup of coffee, um—”

  “Valerie. Valerie Hoffman.”

  The name wasn’t familiar to Brenna. Or was it? “What can I do for you, Ms.—”

  “Valerie. Just Valerie. I apologize for intruding on you like this,” she went on quickly, “but when I read you were in Miami... My husband and I have a vacation home here, though our permanent home is in Chicago. Anyway, I had this sudden impulse to speak to you. I promise I don’t want anything from you, other than to share a proposal of mine and, hopefully, to have your opinion.”

  This could be nothing but a scam, but there was something genuine about the woman. Brenna decided to take a chance. All she need do was listen. “You’d better sit down and tell me what this is about.”

  “Thank you.” Removing her sunglasses and revealing a pair of gentle eyes, she settled on a chair across from Brenna. “I think you met my husband in St. Sebastian when you were both guests of Marcus Bradley. Curtis? Curtis Hoffman?”

  Brenna stared at the woman. Valerie Hoffman. The wife of Curtis Hoffman. No wonder the woman’s surname had seemed vaguely familiar. She was the author of the secretive, unfinished letter Brenna had discovered in the guesthouse.

  She must have registered her shock. Valerie noticed that and misunderstood. “I don’t blame you, Ms. Coleman, for—”

  “Brenna, just Brenna.”

  “Well, I don’t blame you for your reaction. Curtis isn’t always a likeable man, and for you to have learned he was involved in that horror down there...”

  Should she tell her she had found and read her private letter? Brenna quickly decided to just keep it to herself.

  “But here’s the thing where Curtis is concerned. I’m ashamed to say I let him control me. That is, I did until I read what courageous people you and your friend were in exposing Marcus and his associates. You were an example to me what a woman should be. What I should have been all along.”

  “That’s very flattering, but I’m nothing special, Valerie.”

  “I don’t agree, only that isn’t why I’m here. Curtis and I are no longer together. I don’t know what’s going to happen to him
concerning his part in this awful thing, and I don’t care. What I need you to know is that the big money Curtis let people think he had was never his. It was always mine, family money I inherited.”

  “I don’t understand why you need me to know this.”

  Brenna watched Valerie take a slow, deep breath. “This is what I’m proposing. I want to make amends with my money for being connected, even in the reluctant, minimal way I was, with Marcus Bradley and his madness. For not making an effort to bring my husband and the rest of them down.”

  Brenna was still puzzled. “How?”

  “I understand his construction of a luxury resort and attached casino is at a standstill, without much chance of its ever being completed.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “I’m going to buy that project and see it finished as a fully staffed, free clinic for St. Sebastian’s native population. And I’m going to call it the Zena King Clinic in honor of the woman who gave her life fighting for the health of her people.” Valerie sat back in her chair, gazing at Brenna. “Do you think what I want makes sense?”

  “What I think, Valerie Hoffman,” Brenna said slowly, her emotions threatening her self-control, “is that the people of St. Sebastian will regard you as their saint.”

  * * *

  Will phoned her the evening of the next day, wanting to know how she was doing on her own.

  “Fine,” she said, knowing she was lying, knowing she was lonely and restless and aching for Casey.

  “You hear from Case?” her brother wanted to know.

  “No. I imagine they’re keeping him busy at the bureau going over all the details again before they make a decision whether to reinstate the agents involved in what went down that day.”

  “Brenna?”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you call him?”

  “He has my number if he wants to talk to me.”

  And that was the problem, wasn’t it? There had been no contact from him since his departure. Was this his way of telling her it was over between them? This time for good? That he was an FBI agent with all the risks it involved, and he couldn’t bring himself to change that for her?