Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller)

by S. G. Redling

  “Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of it so far.”

  She smiled at him over her shoulder, gave her hips a little swing. As soon as she turned the corner toward the front of the bait shop, she stepped out of her flip-flops. The gravel on the path cut into her feet but she didn’t flinch. She followed the path past the office, scooped up her sneakers where they sat beside her running clothes she’d left there to dry. She almost stopped to change but just pressed her feet into the shoes as she walked. As soon as her feet hit the paved road out of the fishing camp, Dani started to run.

  10:51am, 99° F

  Pound pound pound.

  The heat made the asphalt feel mushy and Dani was distantly aware that in some spots her heels actually stuck to the melting ground. In the steady rhythm of the stride she heard two words over and over again.

  Set. Up.

  She didn’t want to hear them. She didn’t want to believe them and she wouldn’t let them take root in her mind, but every step, every breath, sounded the same.

  Set-up.

  Tucker singling her out from all the women in the Florida Keys, all the tan girls partying at Jinky’s. He smiled at her. Flirted with her. Because he had business with her boss.

  Her boss had business with the FBI.

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  Set-up. Set-up. Set-up.

  Was she being set up? Maybe someone was using her to set someone else up. It didn’t matter who and it didn’t matter why. She wanted no part of it.

  She saw Caldwell’s smirking face and remembered her urge to run. Not down the beach, not another mile in the sand, but out of the state, out of the south. She could go to Oregon. She could go to Arizona. She could go anywhere.

  And they’d find her.

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  Would she have thought this a year ago? Before Rasmund, would she have felt the same panic being lied to by Tucker, being played against any of her previous bosses?

  She threw herself off the center of the bridge, seeing a school of silver minnows feeding as she fell. There was only one place to swim. Mr. Randolph’s dock. Her home.

  Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe.

  Six years ago she’d been working in a dive bar in Oklahoma. She’d slept with a Fed then. She’d slept with cops and rangers too. She didn’t give it another thought. Nobody used her any more than she used them and for nothing more important than a little sweaty fun and a break in the monotony of the everyday.

  Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

  The government had used her and thrown her away.

  Breathe.

  She’d seen people thrown away before. She’d seen them in the bars and in truck stops. She’d seen them as a little girl on the road with her father—desperate people selling themselves, selling anything, stealing what they needed because they believed they didn’t deserve anything better. Because they were garbage. They’d been used and thrown away.

  Dani sensed the inlet ahead and sped up. She took a deep breath, dropped below the surface and kicked hard.

  They’d thrown her mother away.

  Her body cut through the water, the current at her feet, and Dani let momentum carry her before she drew her arms back to propel her.

  She stopped thinking.

  Her lungs ached for oxygen and her pulse pounded in her ears. Two more strong kicks, two more long sweeps of her arm, and the seaweed around Mr. Randolph’s dock brushed past her shoulder, her fingers brushed the end of the rope strung from the top of the bar’s deck.

  No thinking. Just climbing.

  Hand over hand Dani pulled herself up out of the water, the still painful ache in her shoulder feeling almost like pleasure in its familiarity. Up and up she pulled and twisted, her hands sure and rough against the slick rope.

  The rough edge of the deck railing scraped her shoulder. She ignored the protests of the couple at a nearby table she dripped on. Dani knew six more pulls and she’d be at the top. She’d be above the deck and off the earth and away from anyone or anything who thought they could put their hands on her.

  The wood of the deck awning felt hot against her forehead as she wound her feet in the rope to free her hands and whispered the words she whispered every day.

  “You are your safe place.” Slap.

  “You keep yourself safe.” Slap.

  Dani relaxed her grip and shimmied down the rope, onto the railing, and hopped down onto the wooden deck. She wasn’t quite ready to be disposed of yet.

  11:33am, 102° F

  “Interesting workout.”

  Choo-Choo sat on the top step of the deck staring out at the open water.

  “Takes the edge off.”

  “Your GI Jane climb? Did it help? You didn’t look like you were in the mood for company when you took off out of here.”

  “Do I look like I am now?”

  He shrugged. “Now it would just be awkward to walk away.”

  Dani flopped down beside him. They both ignored the water that poured off her clothes. She knew she’d regret not changing into running clothes before taking off, her underwire bra and heavy cotton shorts rasping against her wet skin. Knowing it would just get more uncomfortable, she reached under her knit shirt and undid her bra, pulling the straps through the arm holes to free herself, and flinging the dripping lace onto the deck behind her.

  “Here.” He pulled his white cotton shirt over his head. Dani hesitated for just a moment, then pulled her own heavy shirt off and put on his dry one. Then she stood up enough to pull off her wet bottoms, tucking his long shirt underneath her as she sat back down. He laughed. “Not even a look to see if anyone was watching. Dani Britton, you tramp.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” She told him about Tucker and their kiss and his true identity. She told him about their conversation after the meeting. “And so now it looks like I’m the flavor of the day for the most dangerous man in Florida. Yay me.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “What would you do?”

  “I’d fuck him.” When Dani said nothing to that, just stared at him, Choo-Choo shrugged again. “What did you think I was going to say? Tell you to slap his face and cry righteous chastity? This isn’t some Lifetime movie. Nobody cares about your virtue. Why are you staring at me?”

  Dani started to laugh. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s like you’re reading my mind. I keep thinking that he’s only here until Friday; would you think I’m shallow if I said that he’s cute too, although it’s hard to keep that in mind when everyone around you is petrified of him.”

  “And that terror is another excellent reason to be accommodating. If not the best reason.”

  She rested her chin on her knees. “And let’s face it. I’ve done worse.”

  “Haven’t we all?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him, seeing the network of scars that exploded across his chest and stomach. Leaning back, she let her finger drift over his skin, over the jagged line of a long scar that ran from beneath his left arm to his sternum, where it took a sharp turn toward his belly. Smaller white scars radiated out and down across his body. He didn’t flinch.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned forward to show her the long, straight scar that ran along his spine.

  “You know, those scars could be good for some drinks around here.” She bumped her knee against his. “Every time someone asks me about mine—which doesn’t happen often, you’ll be glad to hear—I make up another story and Mr. Randolph buys everyone in the bar a drink. I think we’re up to twenty-three rounds now.”

  “Twenty-three, huh? That’s a lot of stories to come up with.”

  “None of them are more far-fetched than the truth.”

  Choo-Choo nodded and then squinted at her. “So would I be number twenty-four or would I start new with my own list?”

  “Hmm.” Dani shrugged. “I think that’s up to Rolly in the kitchen. He keeps track.”

  He ran his fingers over one of t
he smaller scars. “It’d be nice to have something to show for these.”

  She shook her head at the damage to his skin. “At least we know our government isn’t wasting taxpayers’ money on plastic surgeons.”

  “Yeah,” he said again, his voice soft. Dani saw his mouth tighten the way it had when she’d sat with him at the airport, like he was struggling to spit words out or keep them in. She let him take his time. “I don’t mind them. The scars. Does that sound weird?”

  “I’m probably not the best judge of that.”

  He almost laughed at that, staring out over the water. Dani had to lean close to hear him. “I was seven when I was sent away to school the first time. My father was supposed to take a post in the UK so they put me in this boarding school in Wales that my brothers had gone to. Then it turned out he took a post in Singapore instead.”

  Choo-Choo shifted on the dock, his leg pressed against hers. “My mother said it would be too unsettling to transfer me from the school in the middle of the year. I’d been there two weeks. I was seven.” He kept staring at some point on the horizon. “I was little for my age. Pretty.” He let the word sit there for a long moment before shaking his head, as if dismissing the thought. “Perhaps this isn’t the time for my sexual Dickensian tale of woe.”

  “Thank God. My well of woe is pretty full right now.”

  “My point is, Dani, we’ve all been told there’s this happy-happy lifestyle everyone is leading, that there’s this idyllic childhood and super-wholesome family plan that we’re all supposed to yearn for, but you know what? It’s like black holes or electrons. There’s no proof. I’ve never seen it with my own eyes. Did you see any proof of it in Flat Road, Oklahoma?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, me neither. I went from school to school and eventually from bed to bed because that’s where I had to be. That’s what I had to do and I learned to make it work for me. I used it to my advantage. Hell, I was good at it; I made it an art form. And now? My spectacular fall from grace put me back on top of the darling list this summer, but every time someone decided to put their hands on me when I didn’t want it—and sometimes even when I did—I’d strip off my shirt and show them these beauties.”

  He fingered the long scar on his sternum. “They’re hideous and I love them. They’re like my own personal ‘Keep Out’ sign. I’d watch people try to hide their distaste, trying to decide if I was worth it.”

  Dani watched his long fingers move over his skin. “So you’re going celibate and telling me to bang the bad guy?”

  “I said nothing about celibacy.” He turned to her, leaning down to look her in the eye. “I’m talking about changing the rules of the game, taking control of the field. All these pedestrian notions about morality and dignity are just fairy tales. Here’s the reality. You do what you have to do until you don’t have to do it anymore.”

  After a long moment she looked away and down where his hand rested on her gunshot scar. “You and I should get a tattoo of that shit.”

  He snorted and she began to giggle. Their laughter blew away on the tidal breeze.

  11:58am, 103° F

  Oren poured himself a vodka and watched Bermingham, who stood in the doorway to the deck, his back to the bar. Oren watched Bermingham watch the two figures laughing and talking on the stairs.

  He hoped to get a glimpse of Bermingham unguarded. He didn’t know what he wanted to see there—jealousy, irritation, hurt feelings—just something that would crack the irritatingly cheerful college-boy façade he wore outside of that meeting room. The events of the past two days conspired to make Oren feel old. Not just old, either, but passé. What happened to bad guys looking like bad guys? The Wheelers managed it. They didn’t have the polished flash Oren remembered from his heavy coke days, but their speed-wild eyes and their twitchy mannerisms made it easy for a savvy person to know what side of the law they operated on.

  Golf shirts and dimples?

  It sat wrong with Oren, like sneaking drugs inside of baby dolls. Some realities shouldn’t mix. He had to give it to the Canadian, however. The gee-shucks act contrasted nicely with the icy power he wielded. It was disarming.

  Had it disarmed Dani?

  Or had Dani disarmed Oren?

  The questions made his head hurt. This wasn’t what he signed on for. He hadn’t worked so hard to kick his habit and save his dimes only so he could find himself caught between two sides of a new generation of psychopaths. He didn’t mind a little bit of gray business. He didn’t even mind if the business deals got shadier than gray, as long as he could walk away from them. But the drugs had gotten heavier and the weapons had gotten bigger and if the deals started involving explosives or, God forbid, something even more deadly, he wanted no part of it.

  He made a decision. Once this deal with Bermingham was finished, Oren planned to cut all ties with the Wheelers. They needed his dock and his connections, and they could use them both, this one last time. Juan would be pissed if he shut it down, but when wasn’t he? If this deal was as big as both sides seemed to think it was, Oren could use it as his ticket out of this life on the edges of the underworld.

  In the meantime, he had a bar to run.

  Speaking of which, Peg had left a note that someone wanted to reserve a room for the month. If they dealt with Peg on the phone and still wanted to rent, they were the kind of person Oren wanted to do business with. Everybody needed to chill the hell out. This was Redemption Key, for God’s sake, not New York City.

  Bermingham strolled up to the bar, whatever he’d been dwelling on while watching Dani now tucked away under his floppy hair and goofy smile. Oren couldn’t get over just how big the guy was. Big in that kind of way you didn’t realize until you were being dwarfed by him. On a good day Oren flirted with six feet; the Canadian had to be at least five inches over that and broad enough across the beam that everything seemed in proportion. Up close, with sweat pressing his golf shirt against his chest, the guy looked as solid as a redwood.

  Imagine what he must look like to someone Dani’s size.

  Oren hoped he hid his shiver.

  “You ever get used to these gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, Randolph?” Bermingham climbed onto a barstool.

  “I never take one for granted, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  The Canadian grinned. At least his mouth did. His eyes did something hard that made Oren’s stomach clench. “That’s probably a good way to live. Never assume there’s going to be another one, eh?” Then the frat boy face came fully back online. “I could get used to living like this. I could call this place home.”

  “Let me get you a beer.” Oren bent down into the cooler, keeping the end of that sentence to himself. And shove it up your Canadian ass.

  12:40pm, 104° F

  Dani came up the front steps by the bait shop to the kitchen door. She figured Bermingham would be on the premises somewhere and hoped she’d get a chance to see Mr. Randolph first.

  Rolly wolf-whistled and Dani gave him a little bow. Choo-Choo suggested she wear something appropriately skimpy to keep Bermingham happy. The closest thing she had was a black cotton slip dress. The spaghetti straps showed off her shoulder scars but Choo-Choo assured her that the way the fabric clung to her ass, nobody would be looking at her shoulders. She remembered why she rarely wore the dress.

  Mr. Randolph’s voice made her jump. “Don’t you look like a party waiting to happen?”

  She hoped her tan hid most of her blush. And she really wished she’d worn a bra. Standing in the middle of Jinky’s kitchen, Dani suddenly felt obvious.

  “Mr. Randolph.” She stepped closer, half expecting him to step away. She didn’t think Rolly would care about their conversation—and there really were no secrets in Jinky’s—but this felt like a confession. “I didn’t know who he was. Bermingham. I really didn’t. I wouldn’t . . .”

  Mr. Randolph nodded, staring over her head out the door, not really looking at anything, it seemed. Just not looking at he
r. “Okay, Dani. It happens. But now you know who he is. You know what he is.” He finally looked at her, over her clothes with a look that made her want to grab a towel. “You do what you need to do. Maybe this will work out for all of us. Maybe you’ll keep him happy enough that he won’t shoot any of us through the head.”

  He started to pat her on the shoulder the way he always did but caught himself, cutting the gesture off early and moving past her to the door. Dani could see Rolly listening in, pointedly keeping his face down over the cutting board. So much for being discreet.

  “I know you have plans tonight.” Mr. Randolph paused with the screen door open. “But I need you to get some rooms ready. Mr. Bermingham is going to be our guest until his business is finished and, surprises of surprises, we actually have a paying customer coming in tonight. See if you can find the time to get a room ready, all right? Oh, and get Bermingham another beer.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer.

  12:40pm, 104° F

  Booker turned off the highway at the Walgreens. Marlene at the rental car desk in the airport at Key West couldn’t have been nicer, drawing him a little map on the back of the rental contract. She and her husband, Mitch, used to fish at Jinky’s, and she assured him that after the craziness of Key West, Redemption would feel like heaven. She recommended getting pizza at someplace called No Name Pub and advised him to keep a sharp eye out for Key deer.

  “For an endangered species,” she’d whispered, “they are everywhere!”

  Booker had listened and laughed, following her directions as she scribbled them. He smiled and nodded but he wasn’t really hearing her. His mind pulled him elsewhere. He wanted off this island. He didn’t like islands.

  He didn’t mind the heat; he thought the houses and boats beautiful in their way. Traffic moved smoothly but Tom Booker had never been able to relax anywhere that had only one way out. One road moved everyone into and out of the Keys. He could in theory take a boat, but he didn’t exactly have one handy. He had a rental car and only one road to drive it on.