Gotta run. Send.
Maria’s phone vibrated instantly. This will work.
“Oh, yeah,” Parker whispered. “Working pretty good so far.” Now if Kingman would just stop texting back.
Erasing now---don’t reply. Send.
Parker arrowed back a screen and deleted the entire exchange with “Kayla”—and heard the bedroom door open.
He flicked the ringer back on and placed Maria’s phone exactly where he’d found it on the couch. He made a beeline for the kitchen on tiptoe—and prayed Maria wouldn’t see him running.
CHAPTER 31
ANGELICA STALLED AT THE THRESHOLD—her hand on the knob—hoping Parker had heard her open the door. Praying she’d given him enough time. She turned to face Maria. “I love you, you know. Everything I’m doing—or will do—is because I love you.”
Maria reached and drew Angelica in close. “I know, Baby. I know. I love you too.”
Just not enough. Angelica knew her sister was no closer to leaving Clayton than she’d been at the start of their conversation.
“Parker’s going to wonder what’s going on.” Maria nodded toward the hallway. “Ready?”
Angelica took a deep breath and blew it out. If she stalled now, Maria would get suspicious. She swung the door open wide and strolled down the hall ahead of Maria.
Instinctively Angelica glanced at Maria’s phone on the couch. Had Parker pulled off his little plan?
Maria scooped up the phone and scrolled through it. Relief flashed across her face for an instant. She slid the phone in her back pocket and looked toward the empty kitchen doorway. “Hey Parker, did you find everything you were looking for?”
He stepped out of the kitchen, the cookie jar tucked under one arm like it was a football. Parker worked an Oreo to one side of his mouth and gave them a lopsided grin. “Mission accomplished.”
Yes. Hope surged inside Angelica. Yes, yes, yes.
Parker set the cookie jar down. “And now I’m going for a bike ride. You girls want to join me?”
“You two go.” Maria waved them off. “I’ve got things to do anyway.”
Not anymore. Angelica was dying to say it. But Maria would find out soon enough.
CHAPTER 32
PARKER PEDALED ALONGSIDE JELLY, grinning. There was no way to describe the feeling welling up inside him. It reminded him of when he’d seen the Boy’s Bomb for the first time. Used—but in great shape. The teal color gleaming under coats of wax. He’d taken the boat for a test drive before they actually bought the skiff. Total freedom. Euphoria. Dad stood on shore watching while Parker opened the forty-horse Merc up—and skimmed across the water. He made a bunch of ridiculously sharp turns at full throttle—just to see what it could do—and didn’t slow up for the waves. He got a faceful of spray more than once, and the whole thing turned out to be one of those life-doesn’t-get-better-than-this moments.
And this ride with Jelly—right now—was another one. Pedaling hard. Wind blowing back his hair and rushing in his ears. He kept looking at Jelly, and every time she just shook her head, grinning back.
They headed for Smallwood’s Store—almost instinctively. He needed to get out in the boat. Feel some spray.
“Okay, give me the whole thing again,” she said. “Every text.”
Parker went over the sequence of messages as best as he could remember them.
“You. Are. A. Genius!” Jelly shouted into the wind as they pedaled right down the center stripe.
Parker felt like he could pedal to the doctor’s office in Naples. And back.
“The plan was simple,” Jelly said. “Perfect. And you coming out of the kitchen with your face stuffed with cookies totally obliterated any suspicion.”
Kingman was head and shoulders taller than Parker, and outweighed him by at least seventy-five pounds. Parker had taken on that ugly giant—and won. “From one to ten—ten being boiling mad—how hot would Kingman be if he found out it was me texting him?”
Jelly’s smile vaporized. “What if he finds out?”
“How would he?”
“But what if he did?” She looked dead serious.
Weird. One second she was laughing, riding high, and couldn’t stop talking about what they’d just pulled off. And now?
“You’re taking a risk,” she said. “You know that, right?”
Parker shrugged. “We both are.”
“But I’m her sister. Why are you doing it?”
“Kingman’s a jerk. Maria’s way too good for him. We’re protecting her, right?” He glanced at Jelly. Clearly, she was waiting—like he wasn’t giving her the answer she’d hoped to get. “And we’re trying to keep our dads from doing something really risky, remember?”
She nodded. “Anything else?”
“If we don’t keep them apart, he’ll hurt Maria. You said it yourself, right?”
She kept pedaling. “So that’s it? You’re doing all this to protect Maria . . . and help our dads?”
How many more reasons did she need? “Yeah, I guess.”
Jelly pulled ahead—and actually looked annoyed. Parker gave her some space. Seriously, what difference did it make why he was doing this? He was helping, and that was all that mattered, right?
She coasted until he pulled up alongside her again. “What if our dads already made the payout? They’ll be taking some kind of crazy risk for nothing if your little plan actually keeps Maria and Clayton apart.”
That was not a happy thought. What was making her so negative all of a sudden?
“There’s no way of knowing,” Jelly said.
Actually, there was a way. Something Parker could do anyway—and he’d check it tonight.
They neared Smallwood’s Store, and Jelly slowed her pace. “Your dad. Mine. You. Wilson. Everybody is risking so much, just because Maria is being stupid.”
“Actually I had fun pancaking those tires. Believe me, Wilson did too. And the texts? I’m still flying high.”
“Yeah, and your head is in the clouds,” Jelly said. “What do you think Clayton would do if he figured out it was you behind that stuff?”
Kingman was a back-shooter. He was slimy that way. “He’d try to catch me off guard. When I wasn’t expecting it.”
“The guy is filled with demon-rage, Parker. I’ve seen it—in his eyes, anyway. You’ve seen it too. And what if that rage comes out of its cage?”
Kingman threatened his own dad with a shotgun. The way Parker saw it, he was scary-close to pulling that trigger. “It could get ugly, I guess.” Which was an understatement.
She propped her bike against the cypress and sat on the edge of the Boy’s Bomb. “He’ll kill you.”
Parker’s gut twisted—like his body was telling him Jelly’s words were true. He glanced at the cypress trees, half expecting Kingman to appear. “I’ll be okay.” But he made himself a promise, too. Unless he was going to school, he’d never go out without his Jimbo strapped to his leg. Then again, did he really think he’d pull a survival knife on Kingman, even if things got really crazy? “He’s not going to find out I was behind the texts—or the tires.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be stupid. Unless we keep them apart, they’ll compare notes. They’ll talk about the day—and the exact time those texts went out. Maria will realize you were the only one alone with her phone, and she’ll tell Clayton. I know it. We should never have messed with them. I shouldn’t have let you use her phone.”
What was it with her? One minute she thought he was brilliant, and now she was worried he’d made a really dumb mistake. Suddenly it felt like it was getting too late to go for a ride in the boat. He’d head home. Maybe Dad was back by now.
“We just stick to our plan.” Parker flashed a smile. Okay, maybe he forced it a bit. “All we have to do is keep them apart, right?”
“But what if we can’t keep Clayton away from Maria?” She stared out at Chokoloskee Bay beyond Smallwood’s. “After what you’ve just done . . . we need a Plan B.”
Parker looked at her. “Plan B?”
She nodded. “How to keep Clayton away from you.”
CHAPTER 33
ANGELICA HEARD MARIA’S MUFFLED SOBS through the bedroom wall long after she’d gone to bed. She probably didn’t think anyone could hear. Maybe she didn’t care if they did. But it did prove one thing. Parker’s plan had worked. He’d kept Clayton away from Maria for another day. Obviously, Maria figured that Clayton stood her up.
If only he really did.
If Maria had the least suspicion about what Parker had masterminded with the texts, Angelica would have known by now. Hopefully Maria wouldn’t ever figure it out.
Should she go to her sister’s room? See if Maria had a change of heart? But Angelica knew better.
Dad had to hear her crying, but he didn’t go to her room to try to fix things. He wasn’t exactly on Maria’s hero list right now. But more than ever he was at the top of Angelica’s. Dad had done the right thing by breaking them up. The hard thing. He’d protected Maria, even though he had to guess she’d hate him for it.
She pictured Parker’s face when she’d questioned him about his motives. Confused? Hurt? “I’m doing this for you, Jelly.” That’s all she really wanted to hear. But she didn’t even get a mention. Parker was doing it to protect his dad—and Angelica’s. She didn’t doubt him on that. But deep down it was all about Maria. Even he couldn’t see the obvious. He still had a shadow of his stupid old “babysitter crush” feelings for Maria. When Maria and Parker were talking about him with the bad dreams? He looked pitiful. Whipped.
Parker could be so stinking naïve. And not just about matters of the heart. He still wasn’t fully grasping the danger he’d be in when the truth of what he’d done surfaced.
“What a mess you’ve made of everything, Maria.”
For just an instant, a crazy thought crossed her mind. That somehow Angelica would make an even worse mess before this was all over.
CHAPTER 34
PARKER DIDN’T KNOW EXACTLY what time it was, but it felt late—and he still couldn’t get to sleep. He forced himself not to look at the time, because that would only make it worse.
Dad had gone to bed at least a half hour ago. Was he having as much trouble sleeping as Parker was? Whatever Dad and Uncle Sammy had planned, it could get dangerous if something went wrong. That was for sure. But what they didn’t know . . . was that they didn’t need to do a thing. Not yet. If the texts worked as well as Parker and Jelly thought they would, maybe their dads would never need to do whatever they were planning.
The simplest thing—and definitely the most honest—would be to tell his dad what they’d done. Then Dad could put his own plan on hold until he could see how the texting scheme panned out. They’d join forces in a sense.
Unless he hadn’t made the payout. If Operation Payola hadn’t started, there was no need to tell Dad anything yet. It wasn’t that Parker feared getting in trouble. Would Dad be upset about the bogus texts he’d sent Kingman from Maria’s phone? He was pretty sure Dad would be okay with that. Keeping Kingman from Maria was a war, and he’d just fed the enemy some bad intel, that was all.
The thing that really gnawed at him? He’d have to tell his dad he’d hid in the shadows and eavesdropped on his conversation with Uncle Sammy. Wouldn’t his dad be disappointed in him? Maybe he could stall that conversation off just a little longer.
So that just left the big question. Had Dad already set the plan in motion?
After Dad took the money from Uncle Sammy last night, he’d gone into his office and closed the door before slipping off to bed. Unless he took the money with him to work today, likely the money was stashed in the office somewhere—which meant he hadn’t put his plan into action yet.
There was only one way Parker would know if he could delay his confession. He had to see if the money was still there.
Parker tucked his pillow under one arm, grabbed the LED flashlight from beside his bed, and tiptoed out of his room. Mom and Dad’s door was shut. No light coming from under the door. If Mom wasn’t still in Boston, there was a chance they’d still be talking. But with her gone, he’d be dead to the world. There was no way he’d hear Parker in the office—if he was careful.
Okay, Parker. Get going. Let’s do this. He crept down the hall, through the kitchen, and into his dad’s office. He closed the door without making a sound and placed his pillow at the bottom of the door. He dropped onto his hands and knees and made sure the pillow covered the entire space between the bottom of the door and the floor. Satisfied, he stood and flicked on the flashlight.
The room was only what, six feet wide? Maybe eight feet long. Dad kept his office as neat as his uniform. Bookcase, desk, chair, and a second chair for when Mom or Uncle Sammy joined Dad there. How long would it take to search it?
He started at the bookcase, trying to avoid looking directly at the alligator skull sitting on top of it. He focused on the shelves of books instead, just to be sure the books were pressed all the way back. He checked behind the bookcase, and under it too. No bundle of cash.
Parker moved to the desk. Sat in Dad’s chair for a moment. The cork bulletin board mounted to the wall in front of him had a few neatly clipped articles tacked in one corner. Every one of them was written by Mom. Dad had drawn a heart around her name on the byline.
Parker missed her. Not that he’d admit that to anyone. But she’d been gone a lot on assignment lately. That was another problem with living in a podunk town at the bottom of the Everglades. A person who wanted to make a living freelance writing for papers and magazines couldn’t do all their work from home. Sometimes they had to go where the stories were. And clearly there was nothing happening in this corner of the world. Nothing anybody wanted to read about anyway.
A stack of manila folders sat on the corner of the desk. None of them thick enough to hide a stash of cash. Framed pictures lined the back of the desk—and Parker checked behind every one of them. No bundle of Benjamins.
His desktop was organized, with an odd collection of items that held a special meaning to Dad. An old silver dollar. A cue ball. A hunk of supposed kryptonite. But no wad of cash.
The desk was unlocked. Parker slid open each drawer without a sound. Checked to make sure the payout wasn’t taped to the bottom of one.
“C’mon, Dad,” he whispered. “Where’d you hide the money? Tell me you didn’t actually transfer it to some drug mogul—or Guido the thumb-buster.” But in his heart he knew his dad wouldn’t be part of something like that. There was no way.
He checked the time. How long had he been in here? It was crazy, but he felt like a burglar in his own house. He crawled under the desk—but there was no envelope duct-taped there either.
After another five minutes, he had to face the facts. There was no money here. He leaned back in Dad’s chair and did a sweep of the room with the flashlight. Door. Extra chair. Bookcase. He stopped and stared at the alligator skull on the top of the bookcase. The jaws were propped open with a small dowel rod—giving it the appearance of an all-too-familiar, menacing grin.
Uncle Sammy showed up with the skull just two weeks after the mauling. Parker had never asked, but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t some random rogue gator that the rangers euthanized. Alligators could be territorial. Parker was sure Dad and Uncle Sammy had hunted the gator down who had nearly killed him—and they’d taken its head. It wasn’t a trophy as much as it was an act of vengeance.
Parker stood, keeping his flashlight on the pockmarked skull. The empty eye sockets were black, yet the beast seemed to be looking right at him. Would Dad have hidden the money there, knowing Parker would steer clear of it? Grabbing the extra chair, he swung it around in front of the bookcase and used it as a stool.
The chair didn’t give him enough height to get a visual inside the beast’s jaws. He reached—then hesitated. C’mon, Parker. It’s just a skull. The numbness in his arm seemed to get worse. Penetrated deeper somehow. Spread up to his shoulder.
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br /> Carefully, he slid his hand through the gaping jaws, past the stick propping them open, and onto the top of the bookcase behind it. His fingers brushed against a package. A bundle—just the right size. Bingo.
“Clever, Dad.” This was definitely the cash, right? Dad wasn’t hiding a stash of coupons up there. Parker knew he’d kick himself later if he didn’t make one hundred percent sure.
He slowly lifted the bundle, angling it slightly to avoid knocking out the prop stick holding open the jaws. The instant he saw it, he recognized it as the same package Uncle Sammy had given Dad.
Parker glanced at the office door. Held his breath to listen for any movement in the house. Then he quietly slid the rubber bands off the bundle and opened the envelope.
Parker shined his flashlight inside—and stopped. There was a whole lot of cash inside. More than he’d ever seen at one time, that was for sure.
Dad, what are you getting yourself into?
Benjamin Franklin stared into the beam of the flashlight and didn’t even squint. He had that slight smile on his face like he knew exactly what the payment was intended for—and he wasn’t telling.
Maybe if Parker knew how much money was in the envelope he’d get a clue as to what Dad intended to do. He took the bundle back to Dad’s desk and sat.
A warning sounded in his head. Telling him to put the money back and get out of there. What if Dad walked in? But it wouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes to count a stack of hundreds, right?
He slid the money out of the envelope and saw the scrap of paper when he did. No name. Just a phone number. Parker set the paper on the desk and whisked through the stack of money, counting as fast as he could.
Seventy-three hundred dollars. Which was an odd number. Maybe it was seventy-five hundred and he’d miscounted. Whatever. He was close enough. But what on earth was Dad going to do with all that money? He could buy a decent used skiff for less. He could buy enough guns to fill an arsenal, with plenty of ammo to boot.
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