Southern Comfort

by Fern Michaels

  “Absolutely; I don’t want to piss off no DEA agent . . . Mr. Tyler. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  He knew that was how he should be treated all the time. Too damn bad Rush hadn’t been around to witness what respect looked like. The bitch.

  “I would appreciate it,” Tyler said. “Nice talking to you.”

  He left without giving her a chance to reply.

  Tyler took his time walking back to his car. The street was noisy, people shouting at one another, laughter bubbling out from the various bars and restaurants. It was after nine, and the gift shops and ice-cream stands were closing their doors for the night, allowing artists, psychics, magicians, and the like a chance to make an extra buck or two at Trafalgar Square, the area made famous for its stunning sunsets.

  Tyler wished he could close off the mess that was his life as easily, but he couldn’t. As his father always told him, “You made your bed, son, now you have to lie in it.” Until recently, he’d never really given much thought to what that actually meant. But here he was again, on the verge of ruining a fifteen-year career just because he wanted the glory, the respect that came with the job. He’d had anything but. He didn’t want to work the shit jobs that the other agents were assigned to, he wanted the fame and glory that occasioned national news coverage and invitations to the White House.

  After this last escapade, meaning his racing down here to, as it turned out, beat Rush and Martin to the pot of gold, he’d acted foolish and stupid. But they were foolish and stupid, too; otherwise, why were they here working off the book? They wanted the fame and glory as much as he did. And Tyler knew something was going down at that mansion on Mango Key. He’d raced down, hoping to discover exactly what it was, only to find Rush and Martin had beat him to the prize as they usually did. He wanted, needed one last big bust under his belt before they kicked his ass straight to the curb.

  He saw that his rental was no worse for the wear; no one had keyed the paint job, and the tires were all inflated. He took the keys out of his pocket, slid in behind the wheel, put the key in the ignition. Just as he was about to crank the key to the start position, a hand reached in and touched him on the shoulder.

  “What the hell?” he said, then looked over his left shoulder. Surprise didn’t describe what he felt. “Oh my God, I’m sorry! I thought someone was about to yank me out of the car!”

  Nancy Holliday in the flesh.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Sorry.” She stood on the edge of the street beside his car. “I saw the car and thought it might be yours.”

  Tyler wasn’t sure what to say. For starters, she hadn’t bothered to show up at Sloppy Joe’s as they’d planned, and now here she was acting like . . . well . . . Shit, Tyler, if she was looking for your car, there must be some reason she wanted to see you, he thought to himself. He wanted to smack his head and say Duh.

  He stepped out of the car. He saw a Ben & Jerry’s right across the street. He’d bet anything Nancy Holliday would rather have an ice cream than a beer. “Want to get an ice cream?” He nodded to the small yellow structure across the street.

  Nancy was dressed in white knee-length shorts with a cherry red tank top. She wore red sandals, and Tyler noticed that her toenails were also painted a bright cherry red. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail secured with a white ribbon. To Tyler, she looked like an angel. A candy-apple red angel.

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” she said.

  Tyler reached for Nancy’s hand as they made their way across the street. “And you’ve had lots of offers today?” he asked, once they made it safely across the street. They joined a long line that snaked around the shop. He figured this would give him a little bit more time to find out as much as he could about her.

  Nancy laughed. To Tyler it sounded like choir bells. And wasn’t he getting snookered? Rush would love this side of me, he thought.

  “No, I’m afraid not. I went to Sloppy Joe’s, and you weren’t there,” she said. “I was running late because the spa where I’d scheduled a massage for the evening had overbooked and, of course, instead of relaxing and letting myself enjoy the luxury, this being my first massage and all, I just couldn’t because I knew I would be late meeting you. And what’s even worse, you never told me your name, or if you did, I can’t remember. All I remember is that you said you lived in LA.”

  “I remember you teach tenth grade at J. P. Stevens High School in Edison, New Jersey, but I don’t recall telling you my name. What an idiot I am! Well, let me introduce myself. I’m Lawrence Tyler.”

  Nancy had a sense of humor, and normally he didn’t like women with a sense of humor, thought they were goofy airheads. But if she didn’t have a sense of humor, he figured she’d never have taken the time to meet him at Sloppy Joe’s. So now, he decided, he liked women who had a sense of humor.

  The line was slowly moving forward. They had at least ten people in front of them. Enough time to pick her brain.

  “So, you said you’ve been here before. What brought you back?” Nancy asked.

  Should he tell her the truth, or at least a version of the truth? Or should he make up a fantastic story to impress her. Normally, the women he dated were impressed simply by his profession. Somehow, he didn’t think his title would impress her. He would tell her the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth. A pumped-up version of the truth.

  “Actually, I’m not here on vacation. I’m the chief of the Miami district of the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA, though strangely enough, I am usually located in LA. I’m here . . . well, let’s just say I’m here on official DEA business.”

  Nancy looked as though she’d been hit by a truck.

  “Wow, a real live officer of the law. I must say that’s the last . . . well, I thought you looked like the accountant type, or maybe an attorney. I just . . . well, I feel very safe standing here with you.” She shot him a toothy grin as wide as the sunset.

  For the first time in his almost forty-one years, Lawrence Tyler knew what smitten truly meant. “Thank you, I think.”

  They both laughed. The line continued to move. Tyler wished it would slow down. He was liking every minute standing here with a woman who really seemed to be what she was. Good, clean, and wholesome.

  “Lawrence, would it be too brazen of me to ask if you’re related to Governor Tyler?”

  His night was ruined. No, he wasn’t going to let the mere mention of his father ruin the rest of the evening. “Actually, he’s my father, but don’t tell anyone you heard it from me.”

  “Wow, you’re really something. I can’t wait to tell my students I met the son of Florida’s governor. And he’s a bona fide DEA agent. I’m sure this will be the talk of the cafeteria once the cat is out of the bag. I’m a little bit impressed, I must say.”

  Tyler didn’t notice the short, stocky, seventy-year-old man who had come up behind him until he felt the pressure of cold metal jammed into his back.

  “Lawrence Tyler, I can’t believe it’s you! What in the world are you doing out this late? I thought little boys were supposed to be at home in bed.”

  Carlton Staggers! What the fuck?

  Tyler swiveled his head around. “I think I should ask you what you’re doing here? I’m here on official business.”

  Staggers wedged the barrel of the gun deeper into Tyler’s lower back. “So am I. I’m here to take you home, Lawrence. Your father’s been taken to the hospital. You’ll need to come with me right away.”

  Tyler’s heart was pounding so hard he thought his chest would explode. He no more believed his father was in the hospital than he himself was. If that were the case, it would be plastered all over the news. And there were plenty of television sets hanging around in the bars in Key West.

  “What do you want?” he asked his godfather between gritted teeth. He hated this man more than anything or anyone in the world.

  Staggers had the decency to whisper in his ear. “Aren’t you supposed to meet th
at blackmailer tonight?”

  It was then that Tyler finally remembered where he’d heard the blackmailer’s voice.

  He’d been hearing it his entire life.

  Carlton Staggers, godfather and lifelong friend of the family.

  “I think you’d better come with me.”

  So as not to create a scene, as much as he hated to desert her, he knew he must. And it was important that he not give her any indication of who he was walking away with. “Nancy, I’m sorry, but my father is ill. Here.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “Get yourself an ice cream. I’ll be in touch.”

  Nancy looked stunned. She just nodded.

  Staggers dug the gun deeper into the tender spot at the base of Tyler’s spine. “I’ll call you,” he shouted to Nancy, as Staggers forced him out of the line and toward the street and the spot where he’d parked the Mustang.

  And the fun just keeps on coming, he thought as he raced across the street with the muzzle of a gun jammed in his back.

  Chapter 23

  “I’ve never been on a real high-speed police chase before,” Pete said, as he and Sandy jumped into the unmarked sedan parked in front of Ben & Jerry’s.

  “And you aren’t going on one now either. This is going to be nice and slow. I don’t want to attract attention. But just in case, make sure your seat belt is fastened,” Sandy said as she pulled out onto Duval Street. “I’m just going to follow him for now, just like Jelly said.”

  “Tell me again why I had to sacrifice our dinner plans? What’s so important about this guy we’re following?” Pete asked, as they cruised a safe distance behind Lawrence Tyler’s rented Mustang.

  Sandy checked her rearview mirror. “Long story. Here’s the short version. Jelly’s friend, Tom Dolan from Homeland Security, seems to think the governor’s son is in danger. As usual, he needs someone to babysit his useless ass. Hence what you and I are currently doing.”

  Pete laughed. “I think there’s more to it than that. Remember, my brother was a cop. I know you have to keep this under your hat, so I’m not offended that you’re not telling me the truth.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes and cast a quick glance at her passenger. “You know, if I weren’t driving, I just might smack you upside the head for that comment. I am telling you the truth. Tyler is a total asshole. He’s been a thorn in both mine and Kate’s sides for all the years we’ve been with the DEA. We’re always pulling his ass out of a jam. Pure and simple. Tonight’s just more of the same. Almost makes me want to return to teaching.”

  Sandy perked up when she saw the Mustang pull into the parking lot of TIB Bank of the Keys, a Florida-based chain of banks. “I wonder what he’s up to now?” She pulled into the Darling Dolls Day Care parking lot across the street from the bank.

  “Why are we parking?” Pete asked.

  Frustrated with his nonstop questions, Sandy turned to Pete. “We’re here to make out.” Sandy couldn’t help but smile. “Look, if you want, get out and hitch a ride back to Mango Key. I’m supposed to tail this piece of human crap. You knew that when we left Tick’s place. So if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen. My mom used to say that all the time. Took me years to understand what it truly meant.”

  “Okay, I get it, but you still haven’t told me why we’re in this empty parking lot.”

  “Someday, we’re going to make out in a parking lot. Consider this foreplay, practice, whatever. Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Sandy asked, keeping her eye on the Mustang.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Pete said. “This isn’t my kind of foreplay, just so you know,” he added.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. And I would tell you to kiss off. I like to talk, and if you don’t like that, well, you know what you can do.”

  Pete burst out laughing. “You’re really funny, but you already know that, don’t you?”

  “Be quiet, and yes, I’ve been told I’m funny. And no, I don’t have any plans to take my act on the road, before you ask.”

  Sandy saw the Mustang’s passenger door open. “Shit, and I’ve got on my new white jeans. I swear if I get one drop of blood on these pants, the good old state of Florida is gonna buy me a new pair.” Sandy opened her door, checked her shoulder harness to make sure her gun was within easy reach. “I just might shoot the son of a bitch. Put the governor and the first lady out of their misery.”

  Pete knew the situation was more serious than Sandy was letting on, so he decided to keep quiet until he knew exactly what was going down. In a loud whisper, he said, “I thought Tyler is a DEA agent.”

  Sandy nodded, then proceeded to open her door all the way. Once she had the door opened as far as it would go, she crouched behind it. She whispered, “Hand me my purse.”

  “What?” Pete questioned.

  Sandy spoke between gritted teeth. “I said give me my purse. Now!”

  Pete thought it was a helluva time for her to ask for her purse, but he did as she asked.

  With her left hand, she reached for her gun. Using her right hand, she dumped the contents of her purse on the seat. She saw her cell phone, flipped it open, and held down one number.

  “I’ve got him in my sights,” Sandy whispered into the phone. “They were sitting in his Mustang in the parking lot, then the passenger door opened. But I haven’t seen anyone come out yet. I’ll get back to you as soon as something happens.”

  For what seemed like hours, but surely was just a few long, drawn-out minutes, Sandy watched the Mustang, waiting for something more to happen, waiting for Lawrence to jump out of the driver’s seat, wailing like a hungry baby. But nothing.

  “Pete,” she whispered, “how long have we been here?” As usual, she hadn’t remembered to wear her watch. She didn’t want to risk opening the phone again to check the time. That little green screen put out more light than one thought.

  “Fifteen minutes,” came his reply.

  Sandy nodded. “I want you to stay here. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, hit the number one on my phone and tell Jelly I need backup.”

  Without waiting for his reply, Sandy kicked off her three-inch heels and sprinted across the street to the bank parking lot. Approaching from the side, only a row of shrubbery at least eight feet high was between her and the Mustang. She kicked herself for wearing her white jeans, knowing she’d be a moving target for whoever had forced Lawrence into the car.

  While she couldn’t stand the sight of him, he was an agent, and she’d taken an oath to protect her fellow agents no matter what the case. Leave it to Lawrence Tyler to screw up a date with the first decent guy she’d met in like forever. If she got his ass out of this alive, no when she got his ass out of this, whatever the hell this was, she would personally kick his ass all the way to the governor’s mansion. If he thinks Kate’s an ass kicker, wait till I let loose with my Cuban temper. The image caused her to smile.

  Sandy took a few steps closer to the tall shrubbery, hoping to get a better view of what, if anything, was taking place inside the Mustang. It was dark, and the streetlights were too far away for her to make out anything other than shadows. She’d have to get closer. With that thought in mind, Sandy squeezed through the bushes. She was cussing beneath her breath like an out-of-work sailor. She felt something crawl along the back of her neck and wanted to scream. Taking a deep breath and trying not to think about tarantulas, and God forbid those icky brown recluse spiders that were so deadly, she shivered in the warm night air. She was getting pissed just thinking about the thought of a spider when she heard a muffled cry coming from inside the car. Spiders aside, Sandy cleared the small hedge in front of the shrubs in one giant leap. She stepped on several tiny pebbles but remained quiet until she knew what the situation was.

  Holding her breath, gun aimed directly in front of her, Sandy crab walked around the back of the Mustang. She inched her way over to the driver’s side, where the door still remained closed. Stopping again, she again heard muffled cries from insi
de the car. She slithered on her belly like a snake underneath the Mustang. Tyler had better be dead; if he wasn’t, she planned to kill him on first sight. Not only were her jeans ruined, but she could feel the asphalt as it dug into her belly.

  With her entire body under the car, Sandy positioned her head so that she could view the inside of the vehicle. What she saw almost made her pee her pants. She pulled herself out from under the car and slid into the passenger’s seat.

  “What the hell have you got yourself into this time?” Sandy asked, as Tyler tried to talk with layer upon layer of duct tape across his mouth. She stuffed her gun back inside her shoulder holster. “I should leave you here just like this. Maybe I’ll even take a picture.” Sandy laughed loudly. “Would make a hell of a screen saver for my computer, but, Mr. Tyler, today is your lucky day because I don’t have my phone on me. Rather I do, it’s just not in a convenient location. So—”

  “. . . et eh,” Tyler mumbled.

  “Oh, all right. Let me see if I have a knife in the car.” Sandy raced out of the Mustang to her unmarked car across the street.

  Pete looked scared.

  “I was starting to get worried. It’s been almost fifteen minutes. Everything okay?”

  “Peachy,” Sandy said as she rummaged through the glove compartment. She found a pocketknife. “I’ll be right back.”

  Without giving Pete an explanation, Sandy raced across the street. Her feet were raw from the damned pebbles, her stomach had a scrape the size of a melon, plus she had to pee.

  Seeing Lawrence Tyler’s mouth taped was priceless. Seeing Lawrence Tyler’s upper body duct taped to the steering wheel was even better. Sandy couldn’t help herself. She laughed so hard tears pooled down her face. Before she cut him loose, she wanted to see the bastard squirm just a few minutes longer. After a couple of minutes of watching him writhe and twist, she whipped the pocketknife out and sliced the heavy-duty duct tape away from his mouth.