Sailing into Death (CJ Washburn, PI Book 2)

by James Paddock

  Stella raised both of her eyebrows and tilted her head at him. "You're forty-four and I'm... well, even though there is not yet a four in my age, I do have a nine, so I'm not far behind you. My maternal clock is winding down... that is, the urge to have a child has just about run its course. You've come along just a little bit too late, Clint."

  "Oh." CJ made a face of disappointment.

  "You've got two adult children. You should be looking forward to grandchildren." Stella gave Josh a look.

  "Sorry," Josh said. "Not even on the horizon."

  "Good! Because I'm not old enough yet to be a step-grandmother, or any kind of grandmother."

  "You're at that awkward age," CJ said.

  "Awkward... age?"

  "I mean..."

  "Sure."

  CJ smiled over at Parker. "Is that offer of brandy still on the table?"

  Two of three children were home from school when Stella, CJ and Josh took their leave. The women as well as Parker and CJ promised to stay in touch.

  "I'll be calling you," Parker said to CJ.

  "About what?" Gracie said.

  "Official business," Parker said. "I'm a detective. CJ's a private detective."

  "Consulting stuff," said CJ.

  Gracie looked at Stella and shrugged her shoulders. "Whatever." She gave Stella a hug. "I want an invitation to your wedding."

  "For sure," Stella said. "And you'd better show up."

  Josh pulled up in front of the hotel lobby to let the two of them out, saying that he'd be up as soon as he parked the car. Stella mentioned that her wound was hurting and that she was anxious to take a pain killer and then lie down for a nap. CJ expressed like sentiments.

  "I'm trusting that you won't get in trouble in the next five minutes," Josh said.

  "I think we're too tired and sore to get into trouble," CJ said. "By the time you get up to the rooms we'll probably be in slumber land."

  "We should take the time to ice you again," Stella said as they struggled out of the car.

  "How about later? You need to get some rest first."

  "I can rest later."

  A woman and two men joined them in the elevator. The woman pushed three; one of the men pushed seven. Stella pushed five. The doors closed.

  "What time does the flight leave in the morning?" CJ said.

  "Little after seven." Stella leaned her head against CJ's shoulder. "How long do you think Josh will be here?"

  "Probably not long after we leave."

  The doors opened. The woman got off.

  "But then," CJ continued, "with Blain out and Coulter maybe on the sideline, Taffer may hold onto him."

  "True," Stella said.

  They stood in silence as the doors closed and the elevator restarted its assent, CJ looking down at the floor and the sand caked in the crevasses of his shoes. He thought about the fact that he'd walked through the hotel lobby without checking anyone out, and he was sure that there had been people. It had to be the exhaustion from a very long day. He glanced at his watch. It wasn't even five o'clock.

  And then he noticed that the two men who were sharing the elevator had the same kind of footwear issues, though not nearly as bad. One pair was pointed toward him, the other away, toward the doors. They also must have been at the beach. That's odd, CJ thought and lifted his eyes to take a look at the them. The one facing away was wearing a loose-fitting blue shirt. CJ could sense a warning bell just beginning to go off in his head but with the brandy still burning through his system, he was slow at making sense of its meaning.

  The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and the men stepped in front of the door, both turning to fully face CJ and Stella. "You're not getting off here," said Blue Shirt, producing a short-barreled gun.

  CJ heard Stella's sudden intake of breath. The man standing before them, in the blue shirt, was the man who killed Eveleen and claimed that his name was Eddie Hall. The ball cap covered the contusion on his head, sunglasses covered his eyes. The other man was the one who attacked them in the hotel room.

  The doors opened to an empty corridor, paused for what seemed an excessively long time and then closed.

  Blue Shirt continued. "The next time the elevator doors open we will not get off. We will select the lobby. When we get there my friend here will go out first, followed by you, Mister Washburn and then your lady. I will bring up the rear, my gun concealed but ready. I will be watching both of you. You will make no facial or hand gesture. You will say nothing. If you do and I suspect that a message has been transmitted, I'll be forced to kill the other person and then the lady here."

  "Why don't I just go quietly with you," CJ said, barely able to keep his voice calm. "Let her remain in the elevator. Punch a number and let the doors close. By the time she'd be able to get off and tell someone, we, you two and I, would be long gone."

  "You are quite a gentleman, Mister Washburn. No. We're doing what I say, so please, don't start a bloodbath."

  CJ opened his mouth again.

  "You argue with me and I'll leave her in the elevator as you requested, only with a bullet in her head. Do I make myself clear?"

  CJ thought about the SIG Sauer nestled in its holster in Stella's purse–about as useful now as a squirt gun–and about his injuries, thus his limitations. He'd likely not have a chance in the confines of the elevator. However, while walking through the hotel lobby, would these guys really risk shooting people in front of any number of witnesses, maybe even video cameras? Of course with ball caps they could easily keep their faces hidden.

  And then he thought about Stella and what she was thinking. He turned his head and looked at her. She appeared angry and scared, pensive, her purse hanging off her right shoulder, not her left because that's where her injury was. She would have to retrieve the SIG Sauer with her left hand and then get it into her right. He could almost read her thoughts. What if he stepped in front of her to give her cover so she could make the draw? She was also shaking. If she tried and fumbled, or hesitated, or just wasn't fast enough... he didn't even want to think about it. You couldn't outdraw a man with a gun already aimed at you, no matter how experienced you were, and Stella wasn't experienced at all.

  CJ took a deep breath, felt the pain around his ribcage, looked back at Blue Shirt, and nodded his acquiescence.

  "Very good. I have it on good authority that you are not armed, Mister Washburn, but you," he looked at Stella, "I know better."

  "She's just my secretary," CJ said. "Doesn't even carry Mace."

  "Really? Well, that's not very smart. There're a lot of people in this world intent on causing pretty young women harm. You really should consider it. In any case, you don't have a very good memory, Mister Washburn. We both know firsthand about the SIG she carries." He turned his gun toward Stella. "You're going to release your purse and let it drop to the floor. You will leave it behind when we walk out."

  CJ turned his head toward Stella again and saw the look on her face. He nodded and it seemed like her resolve deflated. She let the purse drop.

  "Excellent," Blue Shirt said. "You shouldn't have to worry about it. I'm sure a Good-Samaritan will turn it into the desk. As long as you are cooperative, you will live to retrieve it at a later time."

  During the exchange, the elevator had made its stop on the seventh floor and then as directed by Blue Shirt's partner, descended to the ground floor. The doors opened, the gun went into hiding and the partner stepped out. Blue Shirt eased to the side to allow CJ passage. Two people, a young couple, waited to get on, each with a small backpack hanging off a shoulder. CJ made sure to avoid their eyes. He was certain, from the tone of Blue Shirt's voice, that the man knew what he was doing, that he was possibly a gun for hire, that he wouldn't refrain from following through on the bloodbath that he referred to. He'd killed Eveleen Danohough and most likely Douglas. A few more certainly wouldn't bother him."

  They made their way along the passage, some fifteen or twenty yards to where they'd turn right and head for the main
doors, CJ conscious of Stella close behind him, Blue Shirt following, watching every move.

  Just as they approached the corner, a man started yelling.

  "Miss! Ma'am!"

  "Keep going," Blue Shirt said when CJ paused.

  "Ma'am!" The man was right behind them, his footsteps pounding on the passageway floor. "Ma'am! Is this yours?"

  The partner looked over his shoulder causing CJ to do the same. It was the young man who'd just gotten on the elevator. He ran right up to Stella, holding her purse out to her. "Is this yours? You must have dropped it in the elevator."

  Stella appeared to panic and then said, "Oh my God! Yes! Thank you very much. I..."

  "I can't believe you did that, Sweetheart," Blue Shirt said. "Thank you, fine sir."

  "No problem," the young man said. "Have a great day." With that he jogged back to the elevator where his wife, partner, whatever was waiting, holding the door, pride for the gallantry of her young man beaming across her face.

  "Where are the Good Samaritans when you actually want one?" Blue Shirt said. "Let's continue. No more holdups. No surprises. Keep your hand out of your purse."

  There were no more surprises as they filed out of the hotel and across its load/offload area to the sidewalk where a two-tone blue Ford Explorer waited.

  "You get in the passenger seat, Mister Washburn and I'll keep your lady... what is your name?"

  Stella glared at him for a few seconds and then said, "Mariana."

  CJ suppressed a smile at her defiance, providing only her middle name instead of her first name.

  "Very good, Mariana. I will keep you company. If Mister Washburn does anything stupid, it'll be you who gets shot."

  Stella and then Blue Shirt climbed in the back, he instructing her to drop her purse onto the floor, while the partner went around and got in the driver's side. They left CJ standing by the passenger door. Under any other circumstance, it'd be the best opportunity to make a break for it, but then Blue Shirt and partner knew that CJ didn't have any choice but to comply. He glanced toward the hotel parking lot but didn't see Josh. By now he would have parked the car and entered through the closest entrance completely out of view of the front. What will Josh do when he discovers they aren't there? How long will it take him to determine that they'd been taken, or would he not even knock on their door, figuring they didn't want to be disturbed for a while?

  CJ opened the door and got in. He looked up toward the hotel entrance. There were a few people, but no one was looking their way, no one paying them a bit of attention.

  "Buckle up please," Blue Shirt said. "Don't want to damage our cargo should my friend get in an accident."

  There came the sounds of seat belt clips snapping and then they were off.

  Chapter 35

  CJ tried to memorize the route, but there were so many turns that he started to get confused. Was that their plan, and if so, why? Blindfolds would have done the trick. And there's that; why weren't they blindfolded? You don't have to blindfold your captors if you plan on killing them. Stella still had her purse. Maybe there was a chance... maybe.

  They wound up on 70th Avenue, the south side of the street having homes with backyards up against the bay; at least he thought it was the south side and he thought it was the bay. Between one pair of houses he got a brief glimpse of a long bridge structure off in the distance, two towers holding up the freeway. He considered the map he'd been looking at on Saturday before the bomb was thrown, and his earlier exploration of downtown St Petersburg. The bay was to the east, but the map showed that it also wrapped around to the south where it merged with the Gulf of Mexico and he remembered an interstate highway crossing over somewhere to the south; I-275 if he wasn't mistaken. Therefore, with recollection of the map and with where the sun was hanging and the fact that, from his experiences so far, avenues ran east-west in St. Petersburg, the back of these houses had to be south.

  They pulled into the circular driveway of a split-level home with a double car attached garage on one side. The garage was set back so that the entry driveway did not impede with the circular drive, allowing plenty of parking. A pair of dark green paneled vans were parked side-by-side in front of the garage. On the driveway sat a deep-red Fiat Barchetta, spoiler on the back, top down; not a car CJ would associate with an IRA or UIRA thug.

  As the partner stopped the Explorer behind the Fiat, a man came out of the house. During the entire trip the partner had not said a word. As a matter-of-fact he'd not opened his mouth from the time Blue Shirt pulled out the gun and started spouting instructions. On his right hand was a gold ring with a purple stone, telling CJ that Blue Shirt's partner was the bomb thrower. He bumbled that and the kidnapping in the hotel room. Is that why Blue Shirt had delegated him to driving?

  "You will get out, Mister Washburn and accompany this gentleman up to the house," Blue Shirt said. "Mariana and I will be along in a jiff."

  CJ looked over his shoulder at Stella. She was tight-jawed.

  "It'll be okay," he said.

  She allowed a very slight, but sad smile.

  "He is correct," Blue Shirt said. "It will be okay as long as both of you do exactly what you're told."

  CJ had questions but he didn't want to ask them in front of Stella. He'd just told her it'd be okay and he was a afraid that the answers to his questions, if Blue Shirt provided honest answers that is, would indicate otherwise.

  He opened the door and the man from the house grabbed his arm.

  "Shouldn't he be handcuffed?" the man said.

  "He'll be fine," Blue Shirt said. "I'm going to stay here with his girl, my gun in her ribs. When he is secured inside, I'll bring her in."

  The man pulled on CJ's arm. CJ pushed back his urge to resist and allowed himself to be guided into the house.

  The front door opened into an entryway which led into a large living area; a great room to be exact, living room first and then the dining room. The kitchen wrapped around out of sight, CJ assumed. Decoration was minimal. Two sofas and a pair of chairs faced a television screen of at least eighty inches tuned to a news broadcast, middle east looking people talking to men in full body armor, serious weapons slung off shoulders. Volume was low and there was no one watching it. To the back, beyond a paper littered dining table, were a pair of huge windows looking across a grassed in backyard and a paved path leading down to a dock where a fair sized boat was moored. Beyond that stood the bay and the bridge network CJ had spotted a few minutes before.

  The view drew CJ, but he was stopped midstride by a female voice, shrill and angry. "Don't bring him in here, Gabe!" A woman near sixty appeared out of nowhere. "Why the hell isn't he shackled?"

  "Alan has the girl and he said..."

  "I don't give a flying fart what Alan said. You take him to the FROG and you shackle him! Got that?"

  "Yes."

  Gabe pulled on CJ. CJ resisted for a few seconds, trying to get a look at a map spread across the table, until he noticed a gun in Gabe's other hand.

  "That way," Gabe said, indicting back toward the entryway with a twist and nod of his head. "And then up the stairs to the FROG."

  CJ gave him a look. "FROG?"

  "Finished Room Over the Garage. Move!"

  "Oh." CJ gave in and turned around. As they passed through the foyer, the woman rushed by them, heading out the door toward where the Ford Explorer sat and where Stella and Blue Shirt, now known as Alan, still resided. As CJ ascended the stairs he could hear the woman's voice but not make out her words. She wasn't very happy. He couldn't really blame her with all the bumbling that had gone on with her operation in the last few days; however, from CJ's point of view Alan had handled the abduction quite well. Except for the guy returning Stella's purse from the elevator, he'd attracted no attention and had CJ completely under his control.

  Someone had made one mistake, though. Stella's purse, and thus her SIG Sauer, were still in her possession. CJ wasn't sure, however, if that was going to turn into good mistake or a bad mist
ake for the two of them.

  Chapter 36

  CJ and Stella sat on opposite sides of the room, shackled with handcuffs, each to their own chain which led to half inch steel rings affixed to the walls. If they stood and went to the end of their chains, they could hold hands. They did so until Stella said that between her exhaustion and bullet wound, she had to sit down. CJ certainly couldn't argue with that.

  The only furniture in the room was a table and chair against the wall opposite the entry door and two overstuffed chairs in which he and Stella sat. A second door, on Stella's side, led to a bathroom. There was one window, over the table, covered with a cheap blind, too far away for them to see out. In the corner, just inside the door, lay Stella's purse, out of reach for both of them. After the woman had brought her in, handcuffed her and left, Gabe had returned with the purse, throwing it into the corner.

  Stella took some time to find a reasonable position in the chair, fooling about with the chain and handcuffs. More resigned than comfortable, she settled and said, "What do you think they're planning to do with us?"

  "It's all I've been thinking about since the elevator," CJ said, "and I've not come up with a thing. After I got out of the car, what did Alan say to you?"

  "Alan?"

  "That's what the woman called him."

  "Nothing. We just sat there until the woman came out and wanted to know what he was doing, why we weren't shackled."

  "What did he say?"

  "He said, 'Shackling in public view draws attention. You don't want attention. As soon as I know that Washburn has been secured, I'll bring in the lady.' She said that she still didn't like it and he said, 'You hired me to succeed where your previous idiots failed. I don't fail.'"

  CJ thought about that for a few seconds and then said, "So they... she... tried using her own people but when that didn't work, she hired a pro."

  "That's what it sounds like. He also said something about how if she'd hired him in the beginning, the Feds wouldn't be all over it, that her mission wouldn't be on the edge of complete failure."