Southern Comfort

by Fern Michaels

  “Are you sure it’s empty?”

  “No, but I never see anyone. I hear voices late at night sometimes if I’m out walking. No boats coming in. I’d hear a motorboat. The Coast Guard rips by five or six times a day. Usually the same boat. I can tell by the sound of the engine. And, when they start to approach that thing, they throttle back, so it’s my guess they’re keeping their eye on it. In order to get there on foot, you have to go past my place. I never see any lights, so I just assume it was built by some drug lord who got caught, and the place just sits there now because everyone is afraid to go near it. No one wants to get caught up in anything drug-related or whatever goes on there during the night.”

  “What do you think, Tick?”

  “You know what, Pete, I try not to think about it. I have enough of my own problems without worrying about an empty building and the Coast Guard keeping an eye on it.”

  “Does anyone check on it?” Pete asked.

  “You mean aside from the Coast Guard? Maybe the DEA, the DOJ; hell, maybe ICE has an eye on that thing. Aside from all the drive-bys I’ve heard, no one else has been poking around, at least to my knowledge. Why are you so curious about an empty building?”

  “You live just down the beach from it, Tick. Those drug people shoot first and ask questions later. I would think with your background, you’d be a bit more curious.”

  “You trying to spook me, Pete?”

  “Hell yes, I’m trying to spook you. You need to keep your wits about you. Jesus, there’s not a soul to be seen except for you and me. If no one checks on you, you could be shot dead, and no one would know but that damn parrot, and I doubt you’ve taught him how to call 911.”

  Tick turned around and started back the way they’d come. “I think we’re both tired, and it’s time to go to bed. If you like, we can check it out tomorrow in daylight.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that. You’re right, it’s been a long day.”

  Chapter 2

  Kate Rush stood in the middle of the filthy room as she strained to see outside through the louvered glass windows that were a quarter of the way open, the handles to close them long rusted. Outside, sheets of rain blasted the building in hard-driving whacks of sounds. The palm trees, nearly bent in half from the ninety-mile-an-hour gale-force winds, slapped at the building, adding to the deafening barrage of sound. Visibility was zero. And it was going to be dark soon.

  There were few things in life that frightened Kate Rush and, while she wasn’t exactly frightened at the moment, she was uneasy. She’d been through a hurricane before and hadn’t liked it then. And she sure as hell didn’t like it now. Uneasy because the moldy, smelly building was empty of furnishings, her contact was a noshow, and a hurricane was raging just inches from where she stood. There was no place to sit, no place to hide or take cover. She’d been leaning against one of the mildewed walls for over two hours as she waited for her contact to show up. Her hand crept inside her jacket on the left side. The comforting feel of the Sig Sauer almost wiped away the uneasy feeling.

  Little storm my ass, she thought as she remembered Tyler’s words when he had called to tell her to meet him. She’d mentioned the word hurricane, which he’d pooh-poohed, saying, “We get these little storms all the time. This is Florida. Get used to it, Agent Rush.” As if she didn’t know this. She’d spent her childhood and teen years living in Florida. Of course, schmuck that he was, he’d probably forgotten that small detail.

  So, she’d packed her bags, driven to Phoenix, parked her car in the long-term lot at the airport, and flown to Miami, where she’d rented a car and driven here through a hurricane. The big question was, where in the hell was her handler, the macho Lawrence Tyler, who was to meet her two hours ago? Hopefully in a ditch somewhere, never to surface again. Or, maybe, washed away out to the Gulf, never to surface again. Or stranded on someone’s roof fighting for his life from the raging waters, only to be swept away, never to surface again. Oh, be still my heart.

  Kate hated Lawrence Tyler. All the agents who worked under Lawrence Tyler hated him. If he threw himself a going-away party, no one would attend. Tyler was a sneaky, slick, obnoxious glory hound who used his agents to make a name for himself. He was the show horse, and the rest of them were the workhorses. She knew in her gut this assignment was a payback for the last confrontation she’d had with the nattily dressed special agent. She’d won that round, and Tyler had been transferred from the Phoenix office to Florida. But Tyler had a long arm, he knew how to kiss ass, and he had an all-powerful protector in his father, who just happened to be Florida’s governor.

  Kate fished around in her go-bag until she found the powerful Maglite she was never without. The bright light didn’t help her mood. She shifted from one foot to the other as she listened to the storm outside. She ran the phone call from Tyler over and over in her mind. Tyler had said everything was NTK. Obviously, while he wanted her here, he wasn’t about to tell her why until they were face-to-face. “Need to know, my ass,” she muttered for the second time.

  The long and short of it was that, for the snitch fee, one weasel had probably whispered something about some drug deal or something else equally rotten that was about to go down into another weasel’s ear, who then whispered it into Tyler’s ear, who then hit the ground running without checking the details—his usual MO.

  As Kate leaned against the wall and listened to the hurricane outside, she wondered why she’d agreed to return to Florida after she’d spent twenty years of her life living elsewhere. She’d been days away from resigning and going to work in the private sector. Her resignation was typed and printed and in her purse. She’d given the DEA twelve years of her life, and because of people like Lawrence Tyler, she wasn’t where she wanted to be. That was the bottom line. That, and the money sucked. She could make twice as much as she earned now with less danger to her person in the private sector. She had no social life, and at thirty-eight, her biological clock was ticking faster than she’d like; it was time to make some hard and fast decisions and stick to them.

  Yet here she was. One last shot? Her swan song? Maybe one last time to get into Tyler’s face? More than likely agreeing to come here was the stupidest thing she’d ever done. Not that she’d had much of a choice. The only way she could have avoided this assignment was to have handed in her resignation. Then again, maybe it was the fact that Tyler had said he might lend her out to the Coast Guard. Why me? she’d asked herself a hundred times since leaving Phoenix. She smiled at the thought that maybe Tyler planned on drowning her in the Gulf. An evil smile twisted her lips. He could try. Kate shined the beam of the light onto her wrist. Tyler was five hours late. “Which just goes to prove,” she muttered, “if you want the job done and done right, send a woman to do it.”

  Two hours later, Kate’s legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor. Not knowing if there were any rats in the abandoned building, she opted to keep the high-powered flashlight on, knowing she had spare batteries in her go-bag. Eventually, her eyes closed, and she dozed. From time to time she’d jerk to wakefulness to listen to the storm, which gave no indication it was abating. With no sleep the night before and traveling cross-country, she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  Hours later, Kate woke to an eerie quiet. Something had wakened her. Her hand immediately went to the gun in her shoulder holster. She looked around at the brilliant sunlight blasting through the louvered windows to see what it was that had pulled her out of her deep sleep. She crab walked, one eye on the doorway and the other on what she could see through the windows. She blinked at the elegant palms that were uprooted and piled in a pyre as though a bonfire were imminent. Crumpled aluminum lawn chairs were scattered over the narrow stretch of beach. A child’s skateboard stood upright in the sand. An ice chest, the lid hanging drunkenly from one of the still-standing palmettos, lay on its side. She craned her neck and saw a motorcycle farther down the beach, the front wheel in the water, the back wheel buried in the sand.

  Kate wh
eeled around; the Sig Sauer in her hand was steady, the safety off, when the door opened. Disgust whipped across her face when she saw Lawrence Tyler standing in the doorway. “A little late, aren’t you?” she snapped. “Fifteen hours to be exact.” Her hand dropped to her side, but she didn’t holster her gun.

  Lawrence Tyler was GQ handsome, with black hair that she’d happily noticed was thinning and clear blue eyes. Six-two, 170 pounds, and impeccably dressed, he was soft-spoken and as hateful as anyone she’d ever met. Classic nose, dimples, and a dentist’s dream. Basically, Tyler was a wuss in every department except when it came to women. He was a deadly combination for the weakwilled women who were dumb enough to be taken in by his phony charm and good looks. She thanked God she wasn’t one of them.

  Tyler waved his hand toward the bank of louvered windows. “Hurricane. The roads were blocked.”

  “Amazing that I got through, isn’t it, Lawrence? I’ve been hanging out here for fifteen hours. You had me fly across the country and threatened me with my job if I didn’t get here on time even though there was a hurricane warning. You told me Florida was about to get a little storm, but you obviously were unwilling to venture out into this particular little storm.” Kate saw the smirk on Tyler’s face, and it stirred her to throw caution to the winds. “This is your revenge. This is all about your getting even with me for getting you transferred here. Admit it, and we can go on. Otherwise, I’m outta here.”

  Tyler looked around, distaste written all over his face. “You’re being ridiculous, Agent Rush. Obviously, you are PMSing, so I’ll overlook your little outburst this time. The only thing I expect from you is professionalism and doing your duty to the country. Threaten me again, and you go on report.”

  Kate bit down on her lower lip. She thought about the resignation letter in her purse, which she’d shoved into the bottom of her go-bag. Tyler had to pay for that PMSing comment. She debated pulling out the letter and ramming it down his throat. She could do it, too. Every one knew what a wuss he was. He even got manicures. She realized at that moment how much she really hated the man standing in front of her. Still, she’d come all this way. The least she could do was hear him out before shoving her resignation down his throat or up his ass, whichever target presented itself first.

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Tyler. Why am I here? Why is this meeting taking place in this . . . this hellhole? There are hundreds of hotels in Miami. I know you set this up to spite me, no matter what you say.”

  “Your problem, Agent Rush, is that you’re a drama queen. And you will address me as Special Agent Tyler and not by my last name. Is that understood?”

  “It’s understood,” Kate said coldly.

  “The reason, the only reason I picked you for this job is because you grew up in Miami. You lived here for eighteen years.”

  So the little shit remembered after all.

  “You know the area, the people, you have friends here. You were the logical choice.”

  “The logical choice for what?”

  “We have it on good authority that something big is going to go down on one of the Keys.”

  “When? What?” Kate asked.

  “We don’t know. It could be money laundering, it could be drugs, or it could be human trafficking. It could take as long as two years. Don’t look at me like that, Agent Rush. You know how it works. We get in place, set up our surveillance, then wait it out. You’ll also be working with the Coast Guard on a limited basis. There’s a man we want you to watch. You’ll be set up with accommodations that will give you access to the man in question.”

  “How did you come by this information, Special Agent Tyler? Which one of the Keys?”

  “That doesn’t matter. The source is reliable, that’s all you need to know. The old maps call it Thunder Key, but these days it’s known as Mango Key.”

  Was it all she needed to know? Nah.

  Kate took a deep breath. This was where the rubber met the road. She turned around, picked up her go-bag, yanked out her purse, then reached in and grabbed her resignation letter. She whirled around, and said, “Let me make sure I have this right. You have a tip from someone who is more or less reliable who tells you something might or might not happen in approximately two years, and you need someone to babysit some man who lives on Mango Key. Do I have that all correct? Ah, yes. I can see by your expression that I got it right. Nah, I don’t think so. Based on all of the above, I think I will pass on this gig, Lawrence.” In the blink of an eye, she thrust the resignation letter into his hand, turned, grabbed her bag, and was out the door and headed to where she’d parked her rental car. But it was gone, thanks, no doubt, to the hurricane, which just meant she’d have to hike to the hotel she’d checked into on arrival.

  “Agent Rush! Stop right this minute!” Kate thought he sounded like a squealing wild pig caught in a rainstorm. She kept on going but did call over her shoulder, “Don’t call me that again. I just quit. What part of that don’t you understand?”

  “You can’t quit! I need you! The DEA needs you! You’re an ace in this type of case. Look, I understand you’re ticked off about yesterday, but these things happen. I said I’m willing to overlook the PMSING you’re going through. Now stop, and let’s talk this through.”

  Kate’s eyes narrowed. She stopped in her tracks, dropped her go-bag, and got in Tyler’s face. “Listen to me, you bastard. I despise you. For ten long years you’ve made my life miserable just so you could make yourself look good. I’m sick and tired of watching you take credit for other dedicated agents’ work, my own included. I’d also like to know where you get all your money. That’s a Hugo Boss suit you’re wearing. I know how much a suit like that costs. You drive a Porsche. You have fancy digs. Where does the money come from, Lawrence? Daddy? The only reason you’re still at the DEA is that your daddy is the governor of this state.” She’d worked herself into such a rage she drew back her balled fist and coldcocked him square on the nose with all the force she could muster. “That’s to remember Sandra Martin by, you son of a bitch!” Then her foot snaked out and found his groin. “That’s for stealing Levinson’s hard work and taking credit for it.” She whirled around and kicked again, this time the blow landing deep in his side. He’d be peeing green for a week after a hit like that. “That was for Jacobson and how you put the screws to him.” Then her fist shot out and landed in the middle of his throat. “That’s for me and every other agent you screwed over. No witnesses, Lawrence. Now, if you’d been smart and had this meeting in some hotel or public place, you could sue me for assault and battery or have me brought up on charges.”

  “You bitch!” Tyler croaked, as he tried to staunch the flow of blood spewing all over his expensive suit.

  “Goddamned bastard!” Kate said as she slogged through the sand to the road. She didn’t look back.

  Chapter 3

  Kate strode through the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport as though she were on a mission. In a way, she was, to get home to her condo so she could shower and get some sleep. Now that she was unemployed, she had all the time in the world to do nothing but eat, plot Tyler’s death, sleep, plot Tyler’s death, dream, plot Tyler’s death.

  She felt grimy, angry, and tired. The smart thing would have been to stay in Miami, clean up, and get some sleep, but it didn’t seem like an option at the time. If she had stayed, Tyler might have found her and done God only knows what. She’d opted to catch the next flight out of Miami and managed to get on board by the skin of her teeth by going standby.

  Now all she had to do was pick up her bag, find her car, which she’d left in the long-term lot, and head for home. While she waited for her bag to come up on the carousel, she pulled out her cell phone and turned it on the way every other traveler was doing. She blinked when she saw the readout telling her she had twenty-seven messages. She knew they were all from Lawrence Tyler, so she snapped the phone shut and shoved it in her pocket. She felt giddy at the thought that she would never have to see or hear from
him again.

  Kate saw her olive green bag with the yellow ribbon on the handle. She reached down to grab hold of it, but a football type picked it up like it was a box of crackers and plopped it down in front of her. She smiled her thanks and headed for the nearest exit.

  An hour later, she parked her car in the underground garage of her condo building. She took the elevator to the eighth floor and got out. The hallway smelled clean and fresh. Mrs. McDermott must have used her magic powder and vacuumed. Miss Dorothy, as Kate called her, was also responsible for the green plants by the elevator and in all the corners of the hallway. She watered and spritzed them every day, and they thrived under her care. Kate wasn’t sure, but she rather thought Miss Dorothy was the one who had painted all the desert scenes hanging in the hallway. All in all, it was more than pleasant to step off the elevator to such splendor.

  Kate opened the door, pushed her bag over the doorsill, and walked into the living room. She loved her condo, with the glorious view. She didn’t have much furniture, but what she did have was bright and cheerful, each piece bought only after much agonizing. And it was all paid for. She never bought anything unless she could pay cash for it because she hated getting bills in the mail and tried not to live above the income her job at the DEA provided.