Deep Blue Trouble

by Steph Broadribb

  ‘Sorry, I nearly missed our exit.’

  Dakota narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe me. Sounded sad as she said, ‘Won’t you tell me why you’re really going?’

  There’s nothing harder than saying goodbye to your child, especially when you’ve just gotten her back. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her. I wanted to bind her to me and never let her out of my sight, but I couldn’t. What with tracking the fugitive – Gibson ‘The Fish’ Fletcher – for Monroe, and the mystery tail I seemed to have picked up, I figured she’d be a hell of a lot safer at camp than she would be with me.

  I was too choked with emotion to answer her. Checked the mirror – no black SUV.

  She put her hand on my arm. Squeezed it a little. ‘Please?’

  I looked over at her. Nodded. Back when she was little I promised I’d always be straight with her. I, more than anyone, knew the hurt that could come from secrets; the damage and the danger they caused. ‘The truth of it is, JT’s in big trouble. The cops have him charged with murder and the only way for me to help him is to do this job as a favour to an important lawman who can help JT.’

  Dakota’s eyes widened. Her lower lip trembled. ‘Murder? That means he could get—’

  ‘I can’t let that happen.’ I cut her off. Couldn’t hear her say the words death penalty. ‘That’s why I have to go.’

  3

  It wasn’t the most romantic of settings, but then I’ve never been a candles and roses kind of a girl. Armed guards, metal doors and security cameras do create a certain type of ambience, but it was nothing that I hadn’t handled before in my line of work. As a bail runner, you get familiar with the county’s law enforcement facilities. Still, going to that place to visit with JT made it feel real different. Personal. That time, I felt afraid.

  Monroe had pulled strings and gotten me a visit at the Three Lakes Detention Facility faster than the usual seven-day wait. He made sure we were given a private visiting room, and for that I was grateful. Me and JT, we had a whole bunch of things to talk about, and I knew some of that conversation wouldn’t come easy.

  ‘Take good care of our daughter, you hear.’ They’d been the last words JT had spoken to me before the cops took him into custody. Eight words that told me he’d guessed the truth about Dakota, said in a moment that gave me no chance to explain. That’d been four days ago – a long time to think on the things I should have said.

  But even now I still hadn’t managed to wrestle the words I’d rehearsed so they fitted together right. Yes, he had a daughter. We had a nine-year-old daughter; and I hadn’t told him. I’d decided before she was born that I’d never tell him. And, if it hadn’t been for my last job bringing us back into contact after ten years apart, he still wouldn’t know.

  The sound of the door unlocking behind me jolted me from my thoughts. I turned and saw the guard – a younger guy, as tall as JT but maybe twenty pounds heavier – step into the room. He nodded towards the table and two chairs bolted to the floor in the centre of the space. ‘Take a seat, ma’am.’

  I did as he asked. The guard pushed the door open wider and nodded. JT limped into the room.

  He wore a grey sweater and training pants. Fresh bruises, in dark, eggplant shades of purple, were layered over the yellowing ones he’d got as we fought off Emerson and his men, determined to get Dakota safe whatever the cost. ‘What happened to your—’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, sitting down.

  I reached out to touch JT’s face. ‘Looks like a damn hard dose of nothing.’

  The guard cleared his throat. ‘No contact, ma’am.’

  I put my hand back on the table.

  As JT eased himself back in the chair his gaze didn’t quite meet mine. Trouble had found him again for sure. The price on his head set by Old Man Bonchese – head of the Miami Mob – was still in force, so even if JT wasn’t speaking about it, as long as he was in jail, he would be in danger. There’d be plenty of people inside loyal to the Old Man.

  ‘Why’d you come here, Lori?’ he said. His tone sounded defeated rather than angry. I hadn’t expected that.

  ‘I needed to see you.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, gesturing to his face, and the arm he was holding all protective across his ribs. ‘Sure looks that way.’

  He stared at me. Stayed silent. I couldn’t read his expression, but truth was he didn’t seem pleased to see me. I felt tension tightening at the base of my throat. Thought we’d gotten close again on those three days chasing Dakota’s abductors across the South. We’d gotten physical, and at the time it’d felt like it meant something to the both of us. I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

  ‘I’ve made a deal.’

  He frowned. ‘Tell me.’

  So, I told him what Monroe wanted me to do – about catching Gibson Fletcher – and why I’d agreed to do it, for the most part anyways. All the while JT stared at me, his expression unreadable.

  ‘So that’s the deal. I find Fletcher. Monroe gets you free.’

  JT raked his hands through his dirty-blond hair, pushing it back from his face before letting it fall shaggy across his forehead again. He shook his head. ‘Walk away from this, Lori.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘You’ve got Dakota. You can’t take the risk, not now. Not for me.’

  ‘I can, and I will.’

  ‘I don’t want you to.’

  ‘It’s not up to—’

  ‘You only just got her safe.’ His tone was no-nonsense tough. ‘She had a hell of a shake-up – getting snatched by Emerson’s men, being held prisoner and watching a man die, almost drowning as Emerson’s boat sank into that swamp.’ He held my gaze. ‘Meeting me.’

  I looked down at the table. Traced the cracks in the plastic laminate with my gaze. ‘The DA’s talking about going for the death penalty, making you his career case. I can’t let that happen. I had to get Monroe to—’

  ‘I didn’t ask for you to do that.’

  ‘You’d didn’t need to.’

  He sighed.

  ‘I don’t get why you’re taking the fall. We had a plan, so why confess to a bunch of things that weren’t your fault? Why are you lying?’

  JT flicked his gaze towards the guard and gave a tiny shake of his head.

  Never trust no one. That was JT’s first rule. Either he didn’t want to speak on it, or the men inside loyal to Old Man Bonchese included some of the guards. From the way JT was acting, I figured what we had going on was most likely a half of both.

  Frustration and the fear of what would happen next fireworked in my stomach. I slammed my hands down on the table. Watched the plastic top vibrate from the blow. Wanted more than a one-liner-style conversation, and needed JT to answer me straight. The stakes were top-dollar high; there wasn’t room for ambiguity. ‘Enough of the silent act already.’

  He slid his hands across the table towards mine, stopping them so our fingertips were a couple inches apart. ‘How’s Dakota?’ he asked, his tone softer.

  I exhaled hard. ‘Honestly? Not so great. She won’t talk about what happened.’

  ‘I get that. Those three days, they were a whole lot for anyone to deal with, and she’s just a kid.’ He looked real thoughtful. ‘But she’s strong, like her momma. You give her time. She’ll talk when she’s ready.’

  I nodded. I knew he was right, I’d been telling myself the same thing, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  I looked into his eyes. ‘What you said before, about Dakota being your—’

  ‘Don’t, Lori. Okay? Not here, not now.’

  I stared at him. Thought about telling him why I’d never told him about his daughter; that it was easier to rely on myself because, in my experience, men always let you down; better to never depend on them in the first place. I knew I should tell him about her illness; about how, although she was in remission, there was the ever-present threat that the cancer could return, about how, if she needed a bone-marrow
donor, he would be her best shot at a match because I wasn’t a viable candidate. But I didn’t want that conversation to be this way: him with his barriers up, me all angry and confused. So I said nothing.

  He exhaled hard. ‘You should go.’

  ‘I only just got—’

  ‘You coming here, it ain’t right.’ He sounded real determined. ‘Go, Lori. Please.’

  His rejection stung like a bitch, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to show the hurt. ‘I’m doing this to get you out faster. To stop them—’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to take the deal.’

  ‘Yeah, I hear that.’ I felt the anger building inside me. Pushed my hands against the table and stood up real fast. ‘But it doesn’t mean I’m going to listen none.’

  I strode away from JT. Left him sitting in that dreary box of a room with the table and chairs bolted to the floor. As I passed the guard he nodded. I tried real hard to ignore the pity in his eyes.

  I went back through the security checks and the airlock doors in a daze. I was taking the deal, whatever JT said. It was the right thing to do, the necessary action to take. And sure, I knew I should have told him about Dakota’s illness, but he frustrated the hell out of me. I didn’t have time for his strong-and-silent bullshit; I needed him alive, for our daughter’s sake, and I was going to make damn sure that happened. Everything else, I would just have to leave to fate.

  The final set of doors clanked shut behind me and I emerged blinking into the sunlight. I inhaled the fresh, hot air – it sure tasted a whole lot sweeter than the stale environment of the detention-centre compound. The image of JT, battered and bruised in his prison-issue sweats, floated into my mind. I pushed it away, fought the urge to feel sorry for him, knowing I had to stay strong. I’d got work to do.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I was almost at my truck when I noticed. My breath caught in the back of my throat. I halted. Looked around.

  The driver’s door was open.

  I drew my Taser from its holster and stepped towards the truck. Scanned the area for signs of life.

  Saw nothing.

  What the hell was going on?

  4

  The mutterings had started the second day JT was there. Nothing concrete, just rumours relayed to him during exercise, always by the more squirrelly, nervous types, looking to get in with the hard men for protection.

  ‘There’s a price on your head.’

  For sure, tell me something I don’t know.

  ‘Price just got doubled.’

  Just means the more stupid of you will try your luck.

  ‘They’re saying you didn’t kill Thomas Ford. They’re saying a woman did it.’

  He’d said nothing. Walked away. Clenched his jaw so tight his teeth started aching. Pretty soon the fidgety, anxious types left him alone. Realised he wasn’t going to give them protection. That he didn’t pick favourites. That he kept himself to himself.

  He didn’t go looking for trouble. Made a habit of that, just like when he was on the outside. But if someone else chose to start something, he sure as hell would be the one finishing it. He’d said that to the few who’d gotten all up in his face. Seemed that they hadn’t believed him.

  He looked at his knuckles, purple and black against the grey marl of his sweatpants. Remembered the look on Lori’s face when he’d batted away her questions about the bruises – hurt and confusion, mixed with irritation. He knew that if he’d answered she’d have fired more questions at him. Questions whose answers he wouldn’t have wanted to say in that room; answers for no one else to hear but her. Given the situation, it had been better to say nothing.

  He flexed his fingers. Winced. Knew it’d be a couple of days before the swelling went down.

  Trouble had found him a couple of hours before Lori’s visit. The cells had unlocked for morning exercise and his cellmate, who snored like a hurricane but was bearable enough, scooted out fast. Moments later two guys – one tall and stringy, one heavy-set and bulky, both shaven-headed – entered his space. They looked wired, ready for action.

  ‘What?’ JT had said. He’d stayed sitting on his bunk. Acted casual.

  The stringy one spoke first, his voice nasal with a whiny twang. ‘Word is you been killing our brothers. Started with Thomas Ford.’

  JT didn’t respond. Kept his expression neutral, showing no reaction to the name of Lori’s former husband, the man she’d killed. A murder JT had covered up ten years before.

  The stringy guy continued, ‘Gunner Zamb. Richie Royston. Johnny Matthews.’

  JT recognised the names – soldiers from the Miami Mob. They’d held him captive in West Virginia the previous week, waiting for Ugi Nolfi, one of Old Man Bonchese’s top enforcers, to come collect him. Lori had bust him out before Ugi arrived. They’d left the three men tied up and alive.

  ‘They were still breathing when I left the ranch.’

  Stringy glanced at the heavy-set guy then back to JT. ‘What about Ugo Nolfi? Heard you left him shot up in an amusement park. That’s kind of sick.’

  JT clenched his jaw. Ugo Nolfi had been a good guy. They’d talked and struck a deal, but Ugo had been shot by Emerson’s henchmen before he could tell the Old Man. ‘Not me.’

  The heavy-set one cocked his head to the side. ‘Not you, huh? So tell us about the bitch.’

  JT clenched his fists. He wouldn’t tell them shit about Lori. ‘Don’t start something you can’t finish.’

  They didn’t take the warning. The skinny one grinned. Cracked his knuckles. After that JT knew it could only end one way. He was going to have to fight.

  Two guys were easy. Like a walk in the park on a Sunday, even with him still bashed up after the business that went down with Emerson. Even though the bullet wound in his thigh wasn’t fully healed. Hadn’t mattered. Two men, one of him – a quick one-two to the heavy-set one to get him dazed; an uppercut and roundhouse to the stringy one, and he went down. The first came back for a little more, and a triple right hook finished him off.

  JT doubted either got more than a single punch in but he didn’t feel bad. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t warned them. He lived by the motto: You throw the first punch, it’ll be me that throws the last.

  He could take care of himself, always had and always would. But Old Man Bonchese’s men were asking about Lori. They’d linked her and the killings, and that made him real twitchy. Because, problem was, now they’d connected her name to the Mob men who’d died, JT knew it wouldn’t end there. And from the inside of a jail cell there was nothing he could do to keep her safe.

  5

  ‘Did they take much?’ Monroe slid onto the bench beside me and held out an iced tea. It felt like a peace offering of sorts, showing he was taking my concerns about being followed more seriously, now that it was too damn late.

  I took the go cup, shook my head. ‘They’d tossed my stuff, but nothing was missing.’

  ‘We swept it for bugs. Found this.’ He passed me a black box, a couple of inches long by a half-inch wide. ‘They’d stuck it way back under the dash.’

  ‘A GPS tracker?’ I guessed that explained why I’d seen no sign of a tail when I’d left my apartment that morning. They could track me onscreen, no need for a visual. ‘Why’d they break in? Why not just use a magnetic one under the wheel arch?’

  He shrugged. ‘Could be they thought you’d be less likely to find it inside. Guess you coming out of your visit early surprised them and they had to abandon the vehicle before they’d finished.’

  ‘You heard about that?’

  ‘My contact told me you stayed less than a half-hour…’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You get what you needed?’

  I took a sip of the iced tea. Had I got what I needed from my meet with JT? No, not even close, but that shouldn’t have been a surprise. No good ever came from dreaming on a man, I knew that, but the thing was, I’d let myself get caught up in the moment, thinking on the possibility of some kind of ha
ppy ever after. I knew it was fantasy – some bullshit pedalled by hopeless romantics and greeting-card sellers. The best I could hope for was guaranteeing a straight plain after for JT, and so safeguarding one for Dakota.

  I met Monroe’s gaze. ‘I told him about our deal.’

  Monroe nodded. ‘So you’re ready?’

  I studied him a moment. He was wearing his trademark shades, which made his expression hard to judge. His suit looked a little more crumpled than usual. I wondered why he’d chosen this spot on the edge of Palatlakaha River National Park to meet. Me, I preferred to sweat in the heat than kowtow to formality and air-conditioning, but I had a feeling he’d rather have been sitting inside. ‘Why aren’t we meeting at your field office?’

  ‘Because this isn’t an official operation – you’re an asset, not an operative.’

  Yeah, that was for sure. I was expendable, a means to an end, he’d already made that clear. And I kind of appreciated his frankness – meant I knew where I stood. ‘So tell me, what’s the deal on Gibson Fletcher?’

  ‘You know from when you chased him before that his rep is as a largely opportunist jewellery thief, taking from boat owners and tourists along the Florida coast. That changed when he tried to rob a Chicago businessman, name of Patrick Walker, who was holidaying with his wife, Ailsa, and their eight-year-old twin girls, Hayley and Ana, on the Keys. Fletcher misjudged the timing of his breakin, got spooked when he was interrupted by the family coming on board the yacht. He killed Mr and Mrs Walker. Left the kids covered in blood and catatonic.’ Monroe took a gulp of iced tea. ‘The inside of that boat looked like a goddamn abattoir.’

  I bowed my head, thinking of those two girls witnessing the brutal murder of their parents. They’d been just a year younger than Dakota was now. No wonder they’d been catatonic.

  ‘What happened to the kids?’

  Monroe gave a wave of his hand, like it didn’t matter. ‘They went to live with Mrs Walkers’ parents. Had a tough time adjusting I heard, they hadn’t had much contact with their grandparents until then.’