by D. L. Wood
He moved back to his food and sat down.
“It’s cold,” Korrigan groused, pushing the plate away. “Take care of it.”
Vargas moved to the suite phone and placed a call to room service while Korrigan extracted a cigarette from a silver-plated case and lit it. Taking a long drag, he eyed Vargas expectantly.
“Where are they on Collings?”
“Still working on it. There’s no record of him here or in the States before he first put into the marina about six months ago. The boat’s not even registered to him. It’s rented out to some law firm in New York. Miami’s working on it now. We’re still working a connection with the island’s passport office to compare photos, but it’s slow.”
“Stay on it,” Korrigan grumbled, crushing his cigarette in a black lacquer ashtray on the coffee table. “If Collings is working this, I don’t want him finding that money before we do.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Sampson cursed angrily and plowed through a red light, nearly causing a delivery truck to collide with him. Over the truck’s horn, Sampson cursed again and pressed the gas harder.
After two hours, they’d found no sign of McConnaughey and Collings. Dogs at the hotel had been just as useless, always stopping at the wall where the two had gone over.
Now Korrigan was breathing down his neck and making threats. That pompous, sanctimonious . . . always treating me like one of those meatheads who goes around breaking necks for him. “I didn’t come down here to put up with this garbage again,” Sampson muttered loudly, thinking of the brass in Jersey and the brown-nosing he left behind when he walked away from there.
But the threats . . . they were threats Korrigan would probably make good on. Sampson’s stomach dropped a little. He’d seen what happens when Korrigan’s guys really screw up—that Parker guy disappeared after getting himself caught at McConnaughey’s place. Korrigan had paid Sampson a lot, nearly a year’s salary for a few weeks’ work, and he was obviously expecting a lot. He briefly wondered if he could walk away if he paid Korrigan back, but he doubted it. Besides, a good chunk had gone for a deposit on the boat he’d always wanted. He doubted he could swing a loan to make up for it. Which meant his only option was to show up about five hours from now with two people who had effectively disappeared from the face of the earth.
His phone beeped. Ripping it out of his pocket, he saw it was one of his guys.
“Yeah?”
“We got something, boss. That waiter—the one that ran into McConnaughey—they just got around to re-questioning him, and he said he found something when he cleaned up that mess from the collision. A flash drive. Hid it in his storage locker in case it was valuable. Wanted to get a sense of what was going on before he gave it up. He’s got some petty larceny charge and wants to make it go away in trade.”
Relief flooded Sampson. “You tell that idiot whatever you have to tell him in order to get that flash drive. You hear me?”
“Sure, yeah—”
“I’m headed back to you. Do not let that flash drive out of your sight? Got it?”
“Got it.”
Sampson disconnected and tossed the phone on the passenger seat as he lit up his siren and swung the car around.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Can I get you some more water?” asked the woman named Marta, rising from the table. Chloe watched her deep brunette ponytail swing as she collected her empty plate, her handsome bronze skin a severe contrast against the china.
“Um, sure,” Chloe said as Marta took her glass to fill it at the sink, “but you really don’t have to wait on me.”
“It’s nothing,” said Marta, returning with the glass and setting it before Chloe. “You’re a guest in our home.” The home was a two-story modern structure that looked like it belonged on a hillside overlooking Los Angeles, not buried deep in the St. Gideon forest at the end of a private, hidden road.
“Thanks,” replied Chloe, taking another bite of the chicken salad sandwich Marta had prepared. “This is really delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Marta said, sitting back down. “Old family recipe.”
“So . . . is it just you and your brother here?”
Through the ceiling-high glass panes lining the west side of the house, Marta eyed the two armed men walking the property, and nodded. “Just Manny and I in the house—though we always have a couple of . . . guests on the property.” She smiled. “I keep telling him to get a wife, but he says he’s too busy.”
“And, um,” Chloe fumbled, not wanting to pry, “what, do you—”
“I’m actually in school here,” Marta interrupted, rescuing Chloe. “At the local college. It’s small, but it’s just for the first year. Manny says if I do well, he’ll pay for me to study in the States. I think he would have done it this year, but he wasn’t ready to let me go just yet.”
“Well, that’s nice that he wants you close.”
“I think he wants to keep me close to keep an eye on me.”
Chloe smirked thinly. “I’ve had one of those.”
Marta grinned. “So you’ve got an older brother, too?”
Chloe nodded, yes, not wanting to explain.
“And what does he think of Jack?”
Chloe paused mid-reach for her water. “Umm . . . He hasn’t met him.” At the uncomfortable look on Marta’s face she shook her head. “But . . . it’s not like that with Jack and me.”
“Really, you and Jack—no?”
“Well, it’s not really a . . . good time.”
“Hmm. I would have thought . . .” she paused, appraising Chloe. “Well, never mind. When I saw you two earlier . . . well, I just thought that it made sense now.”
“What made sense now?”
Marta considered her, then plunged ahead. “Did Jack tell you how he met Manny?”
Chloe shook her head. “He just said he’d explain later. Everything was so . . . so crazy. We didn’t get a chance to talk before he went off with your brother,” Chloe replied, indicating the back of the well-appointed house where Jack had gone with Manny more than an hour before.
“Well,” Marta started, “a few months ago I was at the resort where Jack works. I’d been with friends, but they left early. I’d had a fight with Manny and wasn’t ready to go home. So I planted myself at the bar and started my own pity party. I had a bit too much to drink and actually was flirting with Jack, but he wasn’t interested. So I started talking to this table of guys—there were three of them—and they kept buying me drinks.
“Of course, all this is what Jack told us later. I barely remember any of it. Anyway, Jack said he was concerned, thought the guys were a little too keen on me drinking. At one point he thought he saw one of them slip something into my drink. But he wasn’t sure so he just kept watching.” She paused, looking down at her glass sheepishly and running her finger around the rim.
“It was stupid, I know. But not too long after that, Jack said I started sliding out of my chair. The guys had their arms around me, kind of like they were helping me out of the bar, and were still talking to me like I was aware. But Jack said I was basically out of it at that point. The bar was pretty packed, so I guess no one really noticed.” She smiled. “Except, Jack. He wouldn’t let them leave. Even though it was three to one. When he pushed them back from the doorway, one of them swung at him. That was it. Thirty seconds later it was over. Jack had a split lip and a pretty good cut from a bottle one guy slashed his head with, but the three guys were on the floor. Two of them were out cold.
“What about the third guy?” Chloe asked.
Marta snorted. “He was bawling on the floor. Jack had kicked his knee out or something. Jack found my cell, saw Manny as my last call and told him what happened. Manny was there in ten minutes.”
“Nobody called the police?”
“Oh, sure. Somebody did, because by the end they’d showed up. Good thing, too, because if the cops hadn’t been there, Manny probably would’ve k—” She stopped short and paused, as
if thinking better of whatever she had been about to say. “Well, it just would’ve been bad. For them. I’ve rarely seen Manny that angry.”
Her expression lightened. “But he was so grateful to Jack. Manny told him that if he ever needed anything to just ask. But he never did. Until yesterday. He was so excited when he got Jack’s message.”
“Marta, I’m really grateful that Manny got us out of there. But that was really risky. I don’t know what Jack was thinking. We’d decided we wouldn’t drag anyone into this.”
“Nobody’s dragging anybody anywhere,” boomed a jovial Manny, walking in with Jack. “After all Jack did for Marta,” he said, throwing a brotherly arm around Marta, “it’s the least I can do.”
“But,” Chloe said, flashing a disapproving look at Jack before turning back to Manny, “if you help us, Sampson will be after you too.”
Manny worked to repress an amused smile. “Let’s just say I . . . well, I’m used to being on the police radar. My business,” he paused for emphasis, “sometimes puts me there. But it’s an issue I’m equipped to handle and not one you should worry about.” Manny was being vague, but the general message was clear. These were people used to being at odds with the law.
“We’ll be fine,” he continued. “And,” he sighed, slapping Jack on the back, “so will you. There’s a couple of rooms upstairs. Rest up, change—there’s a closet in the one on the left with clothes you can use.” He looked at Jack. “I’m working on the things we talked about. They should be here soon. We should be able to leave in about two hours.”
Confused, Chloe looked from Manny to Jack.
Manny smiled. “Don’t worry, Chloe. I’m sure Jack will explain everything upstairs.”
TWENTY-SIX
Sampson pounded on the door to Korrigan’s hotel suite until it finally opened a crack.
“What?” Vargas answered, a slice of his face visible behind the door.
“I’ve got news for him.”
“I hope for your sake you’ve got two warm bodies to go along with that information,” Vargas snapped as he swung the door open.
Sampson steamrolled through. “Move out of the way you little—”
Vargas shoved Sampson inside so hard that he tripped, falling to his knees.
Korrigan appeared from the rear of the suite, striding over to Sampson. He looked around expectantly. “I don’t see anyone with you.”
Sampson rose, clearly angry, his chest shaking as he sucked in air. His eyes locked onto Korrigan.
“Where are they?” Korrigan demanded.
“I’m working on it,” Sampson rasped. “If your gorilla’d held off for two seconds I could’ve given you this,” he baited, pulling out the flash drive and twisting it between his fingers.
Korrigan plucked the flash drive from Sampson’s grip and examined it. “Where did you get this?”
“She dropped it,” Sampson spat. “In the hotel.”
“Get me the laptop,” Korrigan ordered, tossing the flash drive to Vargas, who disappeared wordlessly through a door at the back of the sitting room.
“That’s what you wanted, right? If you’ve got that, then you don’t need those two anymore,” Sampson said, as if that decided the matter.
“Wrong, detective,” Korrigan said. He looked at his gold watch and raised his eyebrows doubtfully. “Tick-tock,” he taunted, and nodded Sampson towards the door.
* * * * *
Five minutes later Korrigan pushed back from the laptop, lighting another cigarette as he stared at the black screen following the end of Tate’s video.
“So,” he mused, “we were right. She is the key.” He took a long puff. “We have to find her.”
“What now?” Vargas asked.
Korrigan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Stay with Sampson. That idiot will never find them on his own. Make sure he doesn’t make things worse than they are.” A thin vapor of smoke trailed from his lips. “We need to start moving on, expanding the search. Be sure Sampson has alerted whatever contacts he has on nearby islands. But keep this under the radar. We can’t use legitimate law enforcement channels. We don’t want any questions being asked once we do find them, given that eventually they’ll be disappearing for good. Tell Sampson to spread some cash around. And keep our people on the airport.”
Vargas nodded compliantly. “I’ve got a couple patrols running the ports, but it’s a lot of water to cover.”
“Double them. Those two are headed off this island. The way I see it, there are two likely possibilities. One—they still don’t understand what’s happening and are running scared. They’ll either try disappearing or getting to someone that can help them, most likely the Feds. If they get as far as the States, this thing becomes a whole lot harder. We can’t have the Feds involved. Too many questions, too many checks and balances. We would never be able to make them quietly vanish after that.”
“And two?”
Korrigan’s eyes flicked up to Vargas. “If she’s figured it out, they just got everything they need to finish what Tate McConnaughey started.”
“So they’d have to head to Miami.”
Korrigan nodded. “Keep an eye on all the likely spots. I’m not sure of the end game yet, but maybe they’ll try making a connection with someone linked to her brother. I doubt they’ll get there for another day or so, but still—if they arrive first and we miss them . . .” He trailed off ominously, pondering the possibility. “A lot depends on Collings’s role in this.”
“We’re still working that out,” Vargas confirmed.
Korrigan exhaled another cloud of smoke. “Well, get it done. Because if we don’t—if those two get their hands on that money,” he posited, pausing to crush his spent cigarette in a tray, “they may get their happily ever after, but I can promise you, we won’t.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
A lopsided wave smacked into the hull, sending spray over the railing and generously spritzing Chloe. She licked the salt from her lips and ran a hand over her damp hair, or at least what was left of it. A deck hand moved industriously around her, working the forty-foot trawler, never making eye contact. The captain, presently perched above her in the cockpit, would smile at her occasionally, but that was the extent of their interaction. Jack had instructed them to leave her alone. He trusted Manny, but the men in his employ were a different matter. It seemed to have worked. They were a day into the two-and-a-half-day trip from St. Gideon to Puerto Rico, and not one of them had bothered her in the least.
Jack strode over from a spot on the opposite side of the bow and cupped a hand over her ear. “We’re hitting a bit of a rough patch,” he said, his shirt flapping wildly in the breeze just as it had on the beach the day they met. The boat listed unpredictably, and Jack steadied himself with a hand on the rail.
“We okay?” Chloe asked, growing concerned about the darkening clouds.
Jack nodded. “We checked the radar. It looks like a tiny system. Shouldn’t amount to much, but you’d probably be better off in the cabin.”
Despite the looming trouble, she swore he was nearly grinning. He’d spent most of the their time on the craft playing captain to the actual captain, overseeing the cockpit, barking directions to the deck hands, checking and rechecking their plotted course. He was clearly no stranger to extended sailing. Knowing he was on top of things, especially out here on the water, made her feel safer. I couldn’t have picked a better partner in crime if I’d planned it.
She left him on the deck and moved below to the cabin they occupied at the far aft. It was exceedingly small, with a bed barely larger than a twin and an airplane style bathroom just large enough for her to squeeze into. She had no idea how Jack managed it. A sudden pitch to the left threw her off balance, and she stumbled, landing awkwardly on the bed. Rolling over, she stared at the low ceiling as the rocking picked up, trying to distract herself from the growing storm by making sense of the mildew stains that formed shapes like clouds. Before long her thoughts had drifted again to the journey tha
t lay ahead.
According to Jack, they’d land in San Juan sometime late the next night. They’d chosen Puerto Rico because it was a U.S. territory. If they did run into trouble using their passports, at least they’d be on U.S. soil with a better chance of being heard out and not sent back to St. Gideon. If all went well, the morning after arriving they’d fly out of San Juan to Orlando, rent a car, and head south to Miami, where they’d walk into Herb Rohrstadt’s law office and finally get some answers. Or at least that was the plan.
The boat leaned hard to the left, and for the first time since they’d sailed from St. Gideon, Chloe felt nauseated. She closed her eyes. Despite the lurching, it wasn’t long before Chloe slipped into a light sleep, hazy and warm. She was aware of nothing else until Jack finally returned to the cabin and clicked on the single-bulb sconce, casting a dim sixty-watt glow about the tiny room.
“What time is it?” she asked, slowly sitting up and rubbing reality back into her eyes.
“Six.”
“How’s the weather?” she asked groggily.
“Better.” As he said it, she noticed that the boat wasn’t rocking quite as violently anymore.
Jack sat on the foot of the bed and patted her leg in an ‘atta-boy’ fashion. “You slept through the worst like a pro. Even snored a bit.”
Chloe smiled and caught the scent of something wonderful. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. “Whatch’ya got there?”
Jack held a plate out to her. “Freshly caught this afternoon. Broiled it myself. Sorry the rice is plain, but we ate the last of the potatoes yesterday.”
The grouper, drizzled with butter, melted in her mouth. “This is amazing, Jack.” She held the fork out to him.