by Meryl Sawyer
“What are you doing to find Holly now, Sheriff?” someone shouted.
Jennifer reached the crowd, but everyone’s back was to her as they listened. Standing next to the sheriff were Holly’s parents, Jeff and Debbie Block.
“There’s your mommy,” she whispered to the sleepy little girl, whose eyes were almost closed.
Holly perked up and took her thumb out of her mouth. “Mom-meee! Mom-mee!” she shrieked.
Her young, high-pitched voice carried over the sheriff’s baritone. Everyone spun around in their direction. Jennifer shouldered sideways through the crowd, tears blurring her vision. She knew the agony Holly’s mother had been through, the suffering and hopeless frustration of the long hours waiting.
Debbie Block was running—as much as possible through the crush of people—toward her daughter.
Tears coursed down Jennifer’s cheeks as she handed Holly to the safety of her mother’s arms. For a second, she imagined she was the grief-stricken mother. Little Holly was Jennifer’s child being returned to her. There was no love on earth deeper than a mother’s love and no relief more profound than a mother finding a lost child.
And there was no deeper despair on earth than not having your child safely returned to you. When it had counted most, she had failed, Jennifer reminded herself as she attempted to wipe away the tears with the back of her hand.
“God bless you,” the mother said, her voice broken.
Like hyenas smelling fresh blood, the media attacked Jennifer.
“Where’d you find her?”
“Had she been abducted?”
“Is she hurt?”
“How’d you know where to look?”
Jennifer ignored them, and the sheriff whose stare was a death threat. He was going to make trouble. He’d probably attempt to have her kicked out of the antiterrorist program. She didn’t care; all that mattered was Sadie had found the child.
She spoke in a low voice to Debbie Block. “Holly seems fine, but I think, as a precaution, you should have one of the paramedics here check her over.”
“How can I ever thank you?” asked the mother.
Say a prayer for my dog. “Don’t thank me. It’s my job. My bloodhound, Sadie, gets the credit.”
“She shoot the doggie,” Holly said. “Bang! Bang!”
“You shot your own dog?” This from the hefty sheriff who’d come over to them.
Jennifer needed to get to the vet’s as soon as possible, but she knew she wasn’t getting away without an explanation. She couldn’t imagine what she would look like on the eleven o’clock news, and she couldn’t care less. She kept in mind Kyle’s stern warning, turning away from the sheriff and into the glare of the lights and the microphones shoved in her direction.
Whatever you do, don’t mention my name.
“My partner and I, with the help of one incredible bloodhound—an experienced mantrailer—tracked Holly, picking up her scent across the highway.”
The word “highway” caused a rumble of voices among the spectators, and the sheriff’s florid complexion became a shade darker and a furious ditch formed between his grizzled brows. He had insisted the constant flow of traffic had made it impossible for the child to have crossed the highway.
“Holly had wandered quite a distance considering her young age. She had crossed the key then waded through a shallow channel to another key. We found her asleep near what appeared to be a rock. It was actually an alligator.”
“Oh, my God!” Jeff Block exclaimed, and the crowd echoed his sentiment. Tears were parading down Debbie’s cheeks as she stood rocking her daughter, who’d fallen asleep, her thumb in her mouth.
Take credit for all the sharpshooting and mention the smart gun.
“To make matters worse, a coral snake was in the bush just above her head.” She took out her smart gun and showed it to the crowd, saying, “This special Colt—a Smart Gun—took out the snake.”
There! She’d told enough of the truth without lying about her being the one to shoot the head off a snake.
“The shot woke up the alligator, and he came after us.”
Still holding her daughter, Debbie Block collapsed against her husband who had his arm around her.
“My partner got Holly to safety immediately. I had to shoot the alligator.” Her voice broke, and suddenly she sounded like a three-pack-a-day smoker. “One of the bullets accidentally hit my dog.”
“How’n hell did that happen?” demanded the sheriff.
She turned to the Blocks. “I’m sure you understand. I have to go. Sadie’s at the vet’s. I’m praying he can save her.”
“Of course we understand,” said Holly’s father. “We’re so grateful to you.”
“Be grateful to Sadie and say a prayer for her.”
Jennifer charged through the crowd, ignoring the questions the reporters were shouting at her. In her mind’s eye all she could see was a sweet puppy with long, floppy ears and Bambi’s eyes. Little Sadie had followed her everywhere, and the young dog had adored her and trusted her without question. And she’d let Sadie down.
Kyle sat in the dark waiting room of Paws N Claws Veterinary Clinic and watched the small television on the receptionist’s desk. They’d just finished the third live broadcast from the Big Pine Campground, having interviewed anyone with a pulse. They didn’t have squat. The heart of the story had disappeared after a very brief statement.
Inwardly, he smiled. He couldn’t help being proud of Jennifer. She’d handled the press with amazing composure. She was upset about her dog, but she’d taken the time to reassure the Blocks, and let the world see little Holly had survived the ordeal in remarkably good shape.
Any moment he expected her to come rushing into the waiting room. What could he tell her except that Sadie had been alive when the vet took her into surgery?
He put his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long had passed when Jennifer limped through the door of the animal clinic. He leaped up and rushed over to her. He eased one arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him, her wide eyes gazing up, pleading for good news.
“How is Sadie?”
He guided her to the Naugahyde sofa and she dropped onto it. Her hair was tangled and clumped from swimming. Shadows like smudges of soot darkened the area around her blue eyes. He kept his arm around her shoulders.
“She’s in surgery.”
“Thank God.” The words came out with a sigh, her lashes dewy with the tears she was fighting. “All the way here, I kept asking myself what I would do if Sadie died.”
Kyle let the words hang in the air for a moment, then decided he couldn’t give her false hope. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”
Her blue eyes brimming with unshed tears, she asked, “What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing really. They took Sadie into surgery, and I haven’t heard a thing.”
She slumped against his shoulder, exhausted, and stared at the television. The reporters had finally gotten the information on the smart gun and were giving a demonstration. Just as he planned. The novelty of the Colt was bound to keep the media from asking questions about him.
“You did great,” he told her.
“Why didn’t you want to take credit for shooting the snake?”
He wondered how much to tell her, and decided on part of the truth. “I was involved in a mission in Libya where a number of terrorists died. I’m still on their death list. Why stand in front of the world and announce where they can find me?”
That was only part of the reason. He wanted Jennifer to get full credit for finding Holly. Having an ex-SEAL along would only detract from her accomplishment.
“I hate lying.”
“You didn’t lie, did you? You said it became necessary to kill the snake. You never actually said who did it. Pretty slick. With sidestepping talent like that, you should be in Washington.”
She laughed—or tried to anyway.
He told himself to keep his mouth shut. Instead of t
aking his own advice, he heard himself ask, “Did you lie about my kiss being a cut below phone sex?”
A beat of silence, then, “Yes.”
In spite of the horrible situation, he couldn’t help smiling.
Chapter 13
Thelma Mae sat in the big wicker chair near the door in Thunder Bay’s screened verandah watching television with her guests. Chuck and Raven were together on the love seat while Lisa sat in a chair nearby. Chuck and Raven’s eyes were glued to the television. Lisa made no secret of watching her brother and the sexy fan dancer.
Plotzy was being Plotzy. He was sitting Indian-style on the floor, his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest, saying his mantra. “Ooohmmmm. Ooohmmmm. Ooohmmmm.”
There were a half dozen other weekend guests in the room, but Plotzy was the only one who hadn’t seen Jennifer’s brief interview at least twice.
“Don’t the reporters have any new information?” complained Raven. “I want to know if Sadie’s okay. Why don’t they send a reporter to the vet’s?”
“Good idea,” Chuck replied with a smile that was a touch too intimate.
If he thought he was fooling Thelma Mae Horton, he could think again. She lived to make up house rules like number 7 just to see how clever people were in getting around them. Chuck was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Half the guests at Thunder Island had seen him on the beach with Raven.
“Most of the crews are from Miami,” Chuck went on. “It’ll take them a while to call around and see which vet is treating Sadie.”
Plotzy came out of his trance and looked around. In the bright light of the big-screen television, his bald head glistened and his eyes were glazed as if he were on something. Thelma Mae knew better. Plotzy had been her first permanent house guest when she’d opened Thunder Island.
She’d checked his room often enough to know Plotzy lived beyond the pale of reality without any help from drugs. He had an enormous trust and was fortunate to live in Key West where the banker administrating his money was accustomed to “characters.”
“Sadie. Sadie. What about Sadie?” asked Plotzy. “The bloodhound is a physical manifestation of an invisible cosmic energy.”
Raven rolled her eyes and Chuck winked at her. One of the weekend guests answered Plotzy’s question and filled him in on the details of the rescue operation. Plotzy mumbled something. It was impossible to tell if he was praying for Sadie or merely zoning out.
“I wonder where Kyle is,” Lisa commented. “He missed dinner.”
Thelma Mae had a pretty good idea where to find Kyle, but she didn’t voice her opinion. She’d noticed Jennifer had referred to “her partner” during the interview, but she hadn’t used a name. Thelma Mae’s sixth sense, which was usually infallible, told her Kyle Parker had helped find the missing child.
“Go on, you can’t mean it.” Lisa giggled, flirting with one of the men here on vacation.
When it came to men, Lisa Wilson had the morals of any alley cat in heat. Maybe the right man could tame her. Maybe not. Perhaps her illness and brush with death had permanently warped her moral values. This week she was hot for Kyle, next week she would be after someone else.
“What does Kyle do?” Raven asked.
Thelma Mae couldn’t help noticing the way Chuck frowned at the question. Even more interesting was the pinched expression on Lisa’s pretty face. Raven and Chuck were a new item. They’d lived at Thunder Island about the same length of time, but they had only recently become intimate. Obviously, their affair didn’t sit well with Chuck’s sister.
“Who’s Kyle?” Plotzy wanted to know.
“Get a grip, Plotzy. You met him on the beach at sunset. Remember?” Lisa said with more sarcasm than Thelma Mae thought necessary. Lisa knew Plotzy’s antenna didn’t pick up all the channels.
“Right-o, the hunk. I remember.” Plotzy beamed. “What does he do?”
“It’s top secret,” replied Raven.
Thelma Mae wondered how Raven knew this. Kyle had merely said he was a special instructor at the Navy facility. Not that it would surprise Thelma Mae to learn Kyle was more than just an instructor. There was something guarded about him, even when he looked at Jennifer. It made Thelma Mae wonder.
Raven came to her feet, a slow yet provocative movement that was sexy without being too staged. It was easy to imagine her dancing covered by nothing more than an ostrich plume fan. “I’ve gotta run. The show at Luna Si goes on in less than an hour.”
Lunacy was more like it, Thelma Mae thought. The club where Raven worked opened the evening with a lingerie “show.” Then Raven came on to fan dance and warm up the crowd for the Amazons who mud wrestled in the nude.
“I’ll walk you down there,” volunteered Chuck.
Thelma Mae watched them leave the room and wondered if one night Chuck had wandered into Luna Sí and seen Raven dance. He hadn’t been particularly interested in her until lately.
“Let’s turn on the weather station,” Thelma Mae said. “There’s a tropical storm to the south of us.”
“Worried about another Georges?” asked one of the guests.
“Yes. Georges all but leveled this island.”
The guests eyed each other, obviously concerned. Evacuating up the single highway north was dicey. The traffic would be bumper to bumper. The planes, already crowded with tourists, wouldn’t have enough room for everyone who needed to get out of harm’s way. People would be forced to use the Overseas Highway.
“Looks like the storm’s heading due north toward Mobile,” someone commented when the weather map came on the screen.
Relieved, Thelma Mae slipped out of the room. It was almost time. They had agreed to speak once a week, if possible. Of course, his schedule and the unreliability of foreign telephone systems made it difficult. She hadn’t heard from him last week, so she didn’t want to miss his call tonight.
Upstairs in her rooms, the best suite in Thunder Bay, she looked out the windows at the corner of the building. From here she could see the sandy beach behind the guest house, and, if she turned slightly, she could gaze out over the Victorian mansions and gingerbread conch homes of Old Town.
She’d come here as a broken-hearted young girl hardly out of her teens, the bride of an older, wealthy man who she cared nothing about. Here she’d fallen in love again. This time she wasn’t foolish enough to give her heart to a man who would betray her. This time she fell in love with Key West.
How could you explain Key West to someone who’s never been here? she asked herself while she waited for the telephone to ring. It was New Orleans transported to some Caribbean Island. It was exotic and mysterious; foreign yet familiar.
Amid palms swaying in the tropical breeze and banks of lush ferns were homes painted the colors of the West Indies. The eaves of most were festooned with gingerbread, the work of ship’s carpenters who originally settled the island. Like so many stiff petticoats, white picket fences separated the homes. Narrow cobblestone streets were a legacy of bygone years.
In many ways, the houses looked the same, yet each was unique. The whole island was unique, she mused. And most unique of all was the attitude of the people.
Known for sunsets and eccentrics, Key West’s motto was: live and let live. Accept. Never condemn.
Nothing was too weird or too far out. Not Raven. Not Plotzy.
Not even Thelma Mae Horton.
“Fate brought me here,” she said out loud. “And fate brought us together again.”
With that comforting thought, she sat in the rattan chaise on her balcony and gazed out at the starlit sea. She’d almost given up hope he would call, when her telephone rang. She dashed through the French doors and across the polished wood floor to her nightstand.
Taking a quick breath, she tried to keep the excitement from her voice. “Hello.”
“Hey, there, gorgeous. It’s me.”
Gorgeous. Who did he think he was kidding? But she couldn’t help smiling. Like his father, he had the devil’s own cha
rm. “How are things?”
There was a long pause and a little static on the line. For a moment, she thought the connection had been broken. Then he said, “I’m alive … barely.”
She didn’t dare ask what he’d been through. He’d warned her that he worked undercover and couldn’t discuss his business.
“How can I help? Tell me.”
“I’ve been thinking,” he responded without hesitation. “Money talks. You know that better than anyone else, right?”
Thelma Mae closed her eyes and dropped onto the bed, the receiver clutched in her hand. How could he be so cruel?
“I’m coming home and going for the dough. To hell with the rest of the bullshit. Understand?”
“Yes,” she managed to respond.
Once, many years ago, she’d been faced with a choice and had gone for the money. To this day, she regretted it.
Money. The god of all evil had its hooks in him. She wondered if he realized what he was sacrificing. She hadn’t until it was too late. Then she understood what people meant when they said money isn’t everything.
She would give up all she had, even miss out on Key West and Thunder Island, to go back in time and right her sins.
Against Kyle’s shoulder, Jennifer’s head was warm. She’d fallen asleep almost immediately after getting his report on Sadie. She shifted positions without waking, unconsciously cuddling against his bare chest.
Where she belonged.
He’d known she was fibbing about his kiss being so bad that she’d rather have phone sex. Phone sex? Where did she get those weird ideas?
The ideas were cute actually. Most women came up with the same thing. But Jennifer was always a surprise.
Despite being pissed as hell at him and despite being engaged to another man, Jennifer still cared. He wanted to talk about what was bothering her, but now wasn’t the time. She was too exhausted and concerned about her dog to discuss the past.
He lowered his head until his lips touched the top of her head. Her hair was a mass of tangles, and bits of brush had caught in it during their trek through the dense mangroves. The brackish water in the channel hadn’t helped.