Storms of Change

by Radclyffe

  “Chief,” Reese said, walking forward to stand behind the empty seat. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Take a seat, Reese,” Nelson said, tipping his head toward the chair.

  Reese obeyed the order although she would have preferred to remain standing. She never liked to be in anything less than a superior position when facing an unknown situation. However, Nelson was in charge. As she sat, she got another quick glimpse of the woman. Brown and hazel, five or six years younger than Reese, dressed in civilian clothes—navy blue crewneck sweater, jeans faded nearly white, and scuffed brown boots. A dark brown leather jacket hung from the back of the wooden chair. Her face was honed down and edgy. Reese had seen her before.

  “This is Massachusetts State Trooper Carter Wayne,” Nelson said. “Special investigator.”

  “How’re you doing,” Reese said, extending her hand.

  “Not bad,” Carter said as she returned Reese’s handshake. “Sorry to call you in.”

  “No problem.” Reese regarded Carter thoughtfully, picturing her getting out of a black SUV, a briefcase in her hand. She’d been wearing the same leather jacket, dark trousers, and a dark shirt. “The sign on that office you opened on Bradford says you’re an attorney.”

  Carter grinned. “You don’t miss much. I’ve only had the office there a month or so and haven’t actually done much business yet.” In fact, she hadn’t done any business, and probably never would. As soon as the investigative unit had learned that Rica had purchased a house in Provincetown, they’d worked out a cover story to make use of vacation property Carter already owned. Posing as an attorney in town would afford Carter a perfect opportunity to make contact with the subject. Carter had waited for Rica to get settled before putting in an appearance. “I really just got moved in this past weekend. Surprised you noticed.”

  “It’s not a very big town.” Unlike many local cops, Reese wasn’t predisposed to disliking members of other law enforcement agencies. She had spent almost her entire life within the strict hierarchy of the military where the chain of command was absolute. She issued orders that she expected to be obeyed without question, and she followed orders from her superiors with the same volition. The system would not work any other way, and in moments of crisis when the difference between life and death was measured in seconds, the system had to work. Still, she wasn’t naïve enough to think that the agendas of other agencies would necessarily benefit her community, so she waited for the state trooper to answer her unspoken questions. What else are you and why are you here?

  “I am an attorney,” Carter said. “I got my degree at night. Took me four years. I thought when I finished I’d switch from law enforcement to practicing law, but”—she shrugged—“it hasn’t happened.”

  “I take it you’re here about more than opening a law office.” Reese looked over at Nelson, whose expression was a mix of concern and annoyance. “Something going on around here we should know about?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Carter said. “I thought I’d check in with you. As a courtesy.”

  “What would have been a courtesy,” Nelson said gruffly, “is if someone had told us you were coming a few months ago, and why.”

  He was right, and Carter had argued from the beginning that the local law enforcement people should be advised of her presence, but the FBI had vetoed the request. She had agreed in part with their objections, because the more people who knew who she was and what she was doing, the greater the likelihood that her cover would be compromised. On the other hand, Provincetown was geographically isolated, perched as it was on a strip of sand three miles wide on the very tip of Cape Cod. She had no immediate backup, and even though she was used to working under deep cover, it wouldn’t do the operation any good if she learned vital information only to be taken out because she had no one to call in an emergency. In the end, after much debate, her superiors and Special Agent Allen had compromised. She spread her hands and told them as much as she could. “I’m not sure anything is going on. I’m here following a thin lead that may go nowhere. But it’s best I not advertise what I’m doing. If anybody were to check, I am a duly licensed attorney. I wouldn’t be the first to set up a satellite office here, draw up a few contracts, and spend the rest of my time enjoying the scenery.”

  “That works fine as a cover for anyone who’s not looking too closely.” Nelson slid open his desk drawer and fished around for his roll of Tums. He tore off the silver foil, tossed one in his mouth, and chewed it vigorously. “Now you want to tell us why you’re really here?”

  “We think some of the pleasure boats coming through are carrying drugs. Probably picking them up out at sea and handing them off when they come ashore. One link in the chain, all the way up the coast from Miami.” It was the truth, but far from the whole truth. Carter had found that the best way to preserve her cover and her credibility was to tell the truth, but to only tell as much as she needed to. The subterfuge with fellow law enforcement officers bothered her, but her mission was primary. If the situations were reversed, she had no doubt they’d do the same.

  Reese contemplated the information. On the surface it was feasible. Provincetown had a year-round population of only a few thousand, and major crime was very unusual. Nevertheless, their proximity to the Atlantic Ocean and the enormous number of wealthy vacationers and part-time residents made the possibility of illegal trafficking a worry. Four summers earlier, when she and Tory had just met, there had been a major confrontation with the crew of a vessel that had run aground while ferrying drugs. Nothing of that scale had happened since, but drug-related problems on the entire Cape were escalating.

  “And how do you expect to identify the couriers?” Reese asked.

  “I’m hoping they’ll come to me,” Carter said, a small smile softening the edges of her predatory expression for a fleeting second. “Some distributors prefer to have an agent broker their deals. It keeps them one step removed. That’s where I come in.”

  “You didn’t set up those kinds of connections overnight,” Reese observed. There was more to this story than they were getting.

  Carter was impressed, but not surprised. She knew who Reese Conlon was. Most state police officers did. Conlon had made a name for herself when she’d risked her life to save a fellow officer and got shot in the process. She’d solved some other high-profile crimes but had steadfastly refused any kind of promotion or transfer that would take her out of the small town. “I’m inside a few places. I’ve been working at it for a while.”

  Reese looked at Nelson and caught his barely perceptible nod. They’d worked together long enough to almost read one another’s minds. “Any major takedowns, we need to be involved. If there’s a local distributor, we want the name. This is our town. It’s our job to keep it clean.”

  “Agreed,” Carter said. She didn’t actually anticipate intercepting any of the drug shipments coming in on private yachts and sailboats because her team wasn’t interested in that level of distribution. They wanted a shot at Alfonse Pareto, and they were hoping his daughter would give it to them. But that was the vital piece of information she did not intend to share with Nelson Parker and Reese Conlon. “So, we’re agreed. If something comes up, I’ll clue you in.” She looked from Nelson to Reese. “I don’t want to come back to the station again. Which of you should I call?”

  “Let’s make Conlon your official contact,” Nelson said. “She’ll keep me advised.”

  “Done.” Carter stood. Conlon, she noted as the other officer stood, was just about her height. “Is there a back way out of here?”

  “I’ll take her out through the rear holding area,” Reese said to Nelson.

  “Okay, then head home.” Nelson watched them go, two wary allies, and unconsciously unwrapped another Tums.

  *

  Reese waited by the Blazer, watching Carter walk away down the sandy path at the rear of the parking lot toward the Grand Union with its large parking lot half a block up the street. She’d probably left her Exp
lorer there and come around to the sheriff’s department on foot. No one would notice her coming and going. Her story was plausible, but Reese didn’t believe it. No one invested the kind of money and time and training it would take to put an experienced investigator undercover on the off chance that she might stumble on a few shipments of drugs coming into an out-of-the-way port. Reese believed there probably were drugs coming in through the harbor, and she intended to have a talk with the harbormaster about it. She also intended to step up the patrols along the wharf, especially at night. But mostly, she planned on watching Carter Wayne.

  Reese checked the time. It was the middle of the afternoon, and she was supposed to be at home asleep. Now she was awake and unaccountably restless. She could go to the dojo and train for a while. That always settled her, helped her find her balance. There was only one thing in her life that centered her more.

  Minutes later she pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of the East End Health Clinic. At least a dozen cars were parked in front of the low white building, and for a minute, she contemplated backing out and driving away. But she’d been fighting the feeling for weeks that she was running out of time, and all she needed was a minute.

  The front door led directly into the waiting room, and it was crowded as it always was, no matter the time. Reese threaded her way between haphazardly placed chairs, the occasional child crawling on the floor, and aluminum walkers. Randy, the handsome blond receptionist, had a phone tucked between his shoulder and ear and was scowling at a computer screen as he typed. Reese took advantage of his attention being elsewhere and sidled around the counter toward the hallway that led back to her lover’s office.

  When Randy called, “Don’t you dare go back there,” Reese laughed and kept going. Tory’s office was empty, as Reese expected, considering how many patients were in the waiting room. The examining rooms must be full. She went to the large walnut desk that was crowded with file folders, several cups of cold coffee, and a cluster of silver-framed photos on one corner. She smiled at the pictures of Reggie, from newborn right up until the past weekend when they’d taken her out on the ferry for the first time. She looked just like Tory, with red highlights in her golden brown hair and eyes that were blue or green depending on the color of the sky and the water. Reese found a pad and pen and was about to write a note when she heard a sound behind her. She straightened and turned.

  Tory stood in the doorway in a white lab coat, blue jeans, and a yellow cotton shirt. She wore sneakers and a light plastic splint on her damaged right ankle. She had a file in one hand and a quizzical smile on her face.

  “Sweetheart?” Tory said. “Aren’t you supposed to be home asleep?”

  “That was my plan before Nelson called me in for an unscheduled meeting. Kate’s got the baby.”

  Tory closed the door and dropped the file folder onto the middle of her desk. Then she leaned her hip against the edge. “But you’re done now?”

  Reese nodded.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just…” Reese realized that Tory was in the middle of an incredibly busy day and there was nothing she could tell her that would make any sense. Because all she had were vague feelings and uneasy premonitions, things that were completely beyond her realm of experience. All her life she had been taught to deal with the realities of the moment, to stay focused on the events that she could influence by her actions and reactions. Life was a series of choices, and the wrong ones could mean your life. She didn’t deal in what ifs, only in what was. Burdening Tory with worries she couldn’t even frame in words would be selfish. “I was just going to tell you that Reggie was with Kate.”

  “You want me to pick her up later?” Tory asked, still confused.

  Reese cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Call me at home when you’re done. I’ll probably have picked her up already, but if not, we can figure something out then.” She hesitated, then kissed Tory again, slowly this time, memorizing her taste. “See you at home.” She was almost to the door before Tory called her name.

  “Reese?”

  Reese turned and looked back.

  “Was there something else, sweetheart?”

  “No,” Reese said softly. “Just wanted an excuse to say hi.”

  “You never need an excuse. See you later.”

  “Yeah. Absolutely.”

  Chapter Four

  Rica slowed her Lexus on the far west end of Bradford Street and turned right onto a narrow private road that twisted up to a wooded crest. She passed several houses partially secluded by trees and dunes before pulling into the driveway behind her new home. Carrying the groceries she’d picked up on the way, she navigated the flagstone walkway in the gathering dusk. There was no sound other than the distant cries of seagulls and the murmur of the waves to-ing and fro-ing over the sand and stones. Balancing the bags on her hip, she unlocked her door and reflected that while true privacy was impossible to attain in a popular resort town where space was limited, she had come close. She’d managed to find a place where, when she sat on the deck outside her living room and looked out over the salt marshes to the bay beyond, she could almost believe she was alone. And that was exactly what she wanted.

  She couldn’t walk away from her life, even had she wanted to, and it wasn’t a matter of how far away she went. Her father and his enterprises were a two-hour drive away, less than a half hour on one of the ten-passenger, two-engine planes that flew regularly from the tiny airport at Race Point. Still, she had managed to extract herself from the gallery in SoHo, and that was a start.

  Leaning on the black and gold flecked granite counter in her shiny new kitchen, Rica watched another spectacular sunset through the window, aching with the beauty of it. She recognized the poignant sadness in her heart that echoed the deep blues and purples of the sky as loneliness, but accepted that as the cost of her freedom. Here at least, she was not guarded ever-so-politely by men with guns, not the inadvertent witness to events she did not want to be a part of, and not the object of speculative desire from men and women alike who viewed her as an attractive means to an end. She was not reminded by daily interaction with her father that he regarded her as his heir, whether she sought the position or not.

  The phone rang, interrupting her prized solitude, and Rica gave a murmur of displeasure. She hadn’t made any acquaintances in town yet, so it had to be the other part of her life exerting its hold on her. For a second, she contemplated not answering, then shook her head and picked up the phone. She’d never known a problem to be solved by ignoring it.

  “Hello?”

  “Ricarda?” her father said in his deep rumbling baritone. “How is the new house?”

  Rica imagined him in his study, a thick cigar held lightly between his long, powerful fingers, a contemplative expression on his hard, dark, handsome face as he watched the smoke swirl and dissipate in the air. “It’s fine, Papa. I can see the bay from almost every window. It’s beautiful.”

  “I remember the first time you saw the ocean. You went running right in until the water was over your head. Your mama was screaming and I had to pull you out. You were laughing when I dragged you to the surface.”

  A deep sigh came through the phone to her.

  “You were fearless. Always fearless. Do you remember?”

  “I remember, Papa.” She’d been two, if that, and the memory was fuzzy, but she remembered sunshine, and warm sand, and the shining blue water stretching forever. Her memories of her mother were less distinct than that of the ocean. She had fleeting images of swirling black hair, warm dark eyes, and gentle hands. It hadn’t been long thereafter when her mother had been killed in a car accident on a rainy night on her way home from their summer home in the Berkshires. “You were right, I’m part fish. It feels good to be near the water again.”

  “There’s plenty of water in Boston.”

  Rica said nothing. They’d had this discussion before. Her father did not understand why, if she wasn’t goi
ng to live in New York City and run the gallery, she didn’t come home. After all, Ricarda, once you marry, you will be living here anyhow. Why move twice? When she’d tried to explain to him yet again that she was not interested in marriage, he waved his hand dismissively, as he did with any problem not worthy of his time. We all think that way when we are young, cara mia, but you will change your mind soon enough.

  “And the business?” Alfonse Pareto said after a moment of silence.

  “Just getting going,” Rica said casually. “It won’t be like New York. Something smaller, less formal.”

  “That may be, but it’s an interesting community, this new place of yours. Not so very far away, and there are many people of wealth and influence who pass through.” His voice took on a musing quality. “In many ways, the cloak of invisibility is a welcome aspect of your little town.”

  Rica shivered, although the room was warm. “Nothing goes unnoticed here, Papa. Everyone knows everyone else.”

  Pareto laughed. “People only see what they are allowed to see, Rica. That is true no matter where you live. Never trust what you see. There’s always another story.”

  “I know.”

  “I thought I would send Johnny T. over to help—”

  “No!” Rica drew a breath and tried to quiet the surge of panic. “I don’t need a guard. I haven’t needed one since I was sixteen.”

  “Not to guard you,” Pareto said, sounding wounded. “Just to…assist you. Whatever you might need, in the gallery or around the house.”

  “I’m fine, Papa. Really. Thank you.”