Dead Man's Bluff

by Debbie Burke

  After several minutes of breathing, she felt revived with new strength.

  She was finished with this charade. From now on, Nyala had to cover her own ass. Tawny pulled the mask off and opened her mouth to tell Ezekiel the truth, to beg him to take her to a hospital, to Tillman. “I need help—”

  Nyala cried, “Please, don’t…” Her eyes widened, full of panic.

  Ezekiel frowned at Nyala then looked back at Tawny. “What’s the matter, lady?”

  A single tear rolled down Nyala’s cheek. Her lip quivered.

  Tawny flashed back on the brief connection that had passed between them when she’d given Nyala the note for Tillman. The meaning of that moment now became clear.

  Ezekiel was the man Nyala loved.

  If he learned the role she’d played in Tawny’s near drowning, he would find out about Nyala’s deception. And she would lose his love.

  Tawny sagged back against the cushions, overcome with weakness that gave Nyala an undeserved reprieve. The truth would all come out soon enough anyway.

  She swallowed hard. “Another blanket, please.”

  “Sure.” Ezekiel hurried forward.

  Nyala clasped Tawny’s hands. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  ***

  Ezekiel helped Tawny below decks to a cabin with a bed. Nyala followed with the scuba tank and sat beside her on the edge of the bunk, holding the mask against Tawny’s face.

  Ezekiel returned to the cockpit. The engine roared to life and the boat lurched forward at high speed.

  The supplemental oxygen had helped but the bouncing yacht jarred Tawny as it skipped through waves, reminding her of the punishment on the dive platform. Every fiber of her body hurt.

  “I’m sorry,” Nyala said. “I should never have pushed you. I panicked when Ezekiel almost saw you.” She swallowed hard. “Afterwards, all I could think of was you being dragged back there, maybe drowning. Then I couldn’t stand it any longer. I suggested sex to make him stop the boat. I didn’t know if you’d be dead or alive. When I heard you coughing, I thanked Jesus.”

  Tawny pushed the mask away and licked her salt-caked lips. Through the throbbing in her head, anger swelled for the hell Nyala had put her through. She wanted to say: If my dead body was dangling off the boat, how would you explain that to Ezekiel and your brother? But she didn’t have the energy.

  “Call Tillman,” she gasped again.

  Nyala scanned the horizon through a porthole. “We might be close enough to land now to catch a signal.” She took out her cell and tapped.

  Even with the background thrum of the engine, Tawny heard Tillman’s roar over the phone’s speaker. “Nyala, where the hell is Tawny?”

  “She’s with me. She’s all right. We’re on a boat heading for shore.” She named a marina.

  “Put Tawny on, now.”

  Nyala handed the phone over.

  Tawny grasped it with trembling fingers and croaked, “Tillman.”

  “Tawny…Tawny,” he gasped. “Are you in danger now?”

  Tears ran down her face at hearing his voice. “I’m OK.” Another coughing fit took hold. When it ended, she said, “Can’t talk much.”

  “Answer yes or no. Can Nyala harm you?”

  With Ezekiel nearby, Nyala wouldn’t try anything. “No.”

  “You’re really safe?”

  Tawny studied the woman who’d nearly drowned her. The normally calm green eyes now brimmed with regret, her mouth pinched in worry.

  “I’m OK.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Then rage returned to his tone. “Put Nyala back on.”

  Tawny handed her the phone, closed her salt-burned eyes, and lay back on the bunk. In the background, she heard Tillman questioning Nyala about what had happened.

  “I’ll tell you when we get to the marina. It’s complicated.”

  What possible spin could the smooth, unflappable Nyala dream up to justify her action? No excuse would matter once Tillman learned the truth.

  Then Tawny realized their conversation had ended. She opened her eyes to catch Nyala quickly tapping a text.

  To Gabriel? Was she luring Tillman into an ambush?

  Tawny grabbed the phone from the woman. Too late. The text had already been sent. The screen read: Exit strategy. NOW. “What does this mean?”

  Nyala pressed her lips together. “I told my brother to get out of town immediately.”

  “Tillman’s already sent the police after him.”

  “A man in my brother’s business is always prepared at a moment’s notice.”

  Tawny tried to shift to a position that didn’t hurt. Whether sitting or lying down, each bounce of the boat was agony. She was in too much pain to care anymore what happened to Gabriel, his henchmen, or his sister. She only wanted Tillman. Nothing else mattered. She curled on her side.

  Nyala adjusted the blanket around Tawny. She remaining sitting on the bunk, hands folded neatly in her lap. What rationalizations twisted in the lovely woman’s brain, what explanations would she offer the cops, if any? She seemed like someone who knew enough to exercise her right to remain silent.

  Tawny turned away from her and closed her eyes.

  Maybe ten minutes later, the engine throttled back. Through the porthole, she saw the dock lights of the marina. She raised up on one painful elbow for a better look. On the shoreline, wrecked boats lay jumbled in bunches. Many finger piers had been splintered by Irma. Floating boards still littered the bay.

  Ezekiel maneuvered the boat into an undamaged slip, shut down the engine, and tied lines to cleats on the dock. Then he came below to the cabin. Together with Nyala, he helped Tawny up to the deck.

  When her legs went liquid, Ezekiel caught her. His arms felt as warm and safe as a loving father’s. He gently carried her as he stepped from the boat onto the pier.

  High beams flashed across the dock, catching her attention. In the marina parking lot, a vehicle skidded to a stop. Tillman leapt out. He ran down the ramp, each footfall shaking the pier like an earthquake. Overhead flood lights showed panic in his dark eyes. He grabbed her away from Ezekiel.

  His fierce grasp around her bruised body hurt but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that he was with her.

  His hand cradled the back of her head. She winced when he touched the knot. His fingers ran lightly over the lump, examining it. “What happened? Jesus Christ, I thought you were dead.”

  A sob started her harsh, hacking cough again. More water rose from her stomach, a disgusting mixture of salt and bile. He steadied her as she spat on the wood planks.

  Nyala had followed and now stood beside Ezekiel, watching.

  Tillman shouted, “What the hell happened to her? She’s soaking wet and sick.”

  Nyala spoke calmly. “Hypothermia and she swallowed some salt water.”

  “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

  “Morton Plant. Take Sixty east. You’ll see it.”

  Tillman half-walked, half-carried Tawny up the ramp to the parking lot. He lifted her into the truck then studied her again under the dome light. “They did this to you?”

  “Yes. No.” It was too hard to explain.

  “The cops are on the way. They’ll arrest them.”

  “No.” She coughed. “Not Ezekiel. He helped me. He’s innocent.”

  “They’ll sort it out.” Tillman’s mouth looked as if he were chewing gristle. He closed the passenger door, got in the driver’s side, and started the engine with a roar. He tore out of the parking lot onto a street, swerving to pass slower cars.

  Tawny struggled for words. “Two thugs grabbed me, threw me in a van.” The effort started another strangling spell.

  “Don’t talk. This can wait.”

  “No. It’s important.” She had to put together a coherent account, make him understand. “I was on a boat…not that one, a different one. Belongs to Gabriel’s thug, Wally.” She paused. “If Gabriel didn’t get Honus, Wally was going to throw me overboard.”


  Tillman grunted as if bayonetted and grasped her hand tightly.

  In short, breathy sentences, Tawny explained the complex double play Nyala had concocted, deceiving both her friend, Ezekiel, and her brother, to cover Tawny’s escape. A plan that had nearly drowned her when Nyala shoved her over the side.

  “Motherfucker!” The truck swerved, almost jumping a curb. Tillman quickly corrected, straightening the wheel. “She’s going down, along with her goddamned brother.”

  “Too late.” Tawny sighed. “She texted him to disappear.”

  Tillman shook his head. “The FBI will find him. Gabriel can’t hide forever. He’s wealthy but he won’t walk away from his family and his three-million-dollar house.”

  “How do you know?”

  He veered into the emergency room portico, stomped the brakes, and faced her. “I tracked down a home address for Gabriel. When Nyala called, I was on my way there.” For an instant, his dark eyes showed a window into hell. “She saved her brother from a much uglier fate than the criminal justice system.”

  Chapter 25 – Binding Contract

  During four hours in the ER, Tawny underwent a battery of tests. The CT scan showed a concussion but no intercranial bleeding. Amazingly, X-rays didn’t turn up any broken bones but massive contusions covered her body. The doctor warned of the possibility of pulmonary edema or pneumonia and released her with strict instructions to Tillman to bring her back immediately if her symptoms worsened or she showed signs of a brain bleed.

  Tillman drove them to the hotel suite, bathed her in the whirlpool tub, and put her to bed. She fell asleep in a haze of pain medicine, her head pillowed on his thigh, comforted by his soothing strokes on her forehead.

  The next day, her back and butt were mottled with magenta, blue, and purple bruises. The tie-down strap had left raw, chafed abrasions around her ribs and under her breasts. Her shoulders felt as if they had been dislocated multiple times. But she was able to breathe better.

  In the suite, police detectives and FBI agents took Tawny’s statement under Tillman’s hawk-like supervision. When she struggled for breath, he stopped the questioning and enforced frequent rest breaks.

  The FBI had raided Gabriel’s home but he’d disappeared. His wife claimed she didn’t know where he was. Nyala was in custody and being interrogated. Ezekiel was temporarily detained but released after Tawny insisted that he was innocent of any wrongdoing and had saved her life. Search aircraft spotted Wally’s yacht adrift in the Gulf and the Coast Guard was on the way.

  ***

  After three days of rest in the hotel suite, Tawny awoke to morning light, at last feeling stronger. She emerged from the bedroom to find Tillman working at the living room desk, paging through a thick sheaf of papers. A rolling cart held the remains of breakfast and a carafe of coffee.

  She padded barefoot across the carpet to his chair.

  Tillman looked up over his half glasses and gently looped an arm around her waist, careful to avoid the worst bruises and scrapes. “How are you feeling?”

  “Almost human. Muscles still pretty sore.”

  “Want the masseuse to come up again?”

  She smiled. “I could get used to these daily massages.”

  He lifted her t-shirt and kissed her belly. “Three times a day if you want.”

  She sat on his lap and nestled her head in the warm crook of his neck.

  He rocked her gently, his cheek against her forehead. “I cancelled the plane tickets and told Esther to get continuances. We’re staying here until you’re up to flying.”

  She peered at the papers. “Whatcha doin’ with this stuff?”

  “The attorney in St. Pete messengered these over. It’s Smoky’s estate work. The statement of death without recovery of a body.”

  “Lots of pages.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want me to help?”

  He frowned. “You need rest.”

  She unwound from his arms, rose, and went to the table where she poured thick, black Cuban coffee. The rich, sweet brew promised a quick caffeine jolt. “As soon as this wakes me up, I’m ready to work.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  She sipped coffee. “I know. But it’ll feel good to do something normal, for a change.” She fetched extra readers from her roller bag and carried the cup to the desk. She leaned into his shoulder. “Come on, give me part of the pile.”

  He studied her for several seconds, shook his head in resignation, and handed over a stack of papers. “Make sure everything appears complete, the DNA report, the inventory of recovered evidence.”

  She sat in a nearby chair, enjoyed the coffee, and scanned inventory pages.

  Material, 100% cotton measuring approximately 15 centimeters by approximately 33 centimeters, color pink with orange hibiscus pattern. Blood stains consistent with known DNA from subject.

  Tooled leather billfold, color brown, containing Florida driver’s license, Florida saltwater fishing license, $37 in cash.

  Remains of a damaged partial tibia and fibula of the right leg, approximately 28 centimeters long, with partial ankle bone. DNA consistent with known samples from subject.

  One below-the-knee prosthesis with attached right foot, serial number…

  She stared at the words. Something sounded wrong. She reread the page several times.

  “Tillman, which side was Smoky’s prosthesis?”

  “Right.”

  “That means he lost his right leg in the accident three years ago on the boat.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shouldn’t these recovered bones be his left leg? It says here the ones Churro found are the right leg.”

  Tillman leaned toward her and peered at the report. “What?”

  “If his right leg was amputated three years before he disappeared,” she murmured, “how can that be?”

  Tillman’s voice rumbled low. “Jesus Christ.”

  They stared at each other, frowning.

  “That night before he went missing,” Tawny said, “he told me this crazy story about losing his leg. Said some butcher from Argentina amputated it. Claimed the guy was so drunk, he thought if he saved the leg, it could be reattached. He wrapped it in plastic and threw it in the hold with the frozen fish. I though Smoky was bullshitting me. But…what if he kept the leg?”

  Tillman’s mouth pulled to the side. “Pretty whacked if that was his idea of a memento.”

  Tawny’s mind sped ahead. “With his gambling problem, maybe he figured someday he’d need to fake his own death.” Her pulse fluttered with excitement. “Tillman, he didn’t lock the Honus Wagner card in his freezer. It was his leg. That’s why he was so peculiar about us looking inside.”

  “Tawny, you know what this means?”

  Her breath caught. “Maybe he’s not dead?”

  Tillman’s cell rang. He picked it up and frowned, showing Tawny the screen. Nyala. He tapped the speaker button. “Ms. Nyala.”

  “Mr. Rosenbaum, I have something for you. Would it be possible for you and Tawny to come to my condo this morning?”

  Tillman raised an eyebrow at Tawny. “I’m surprised you’re not in custody.”

  A long pause. Finally, she said, “I retain excellent counsel, Mr. Rosenbaum. Almost as good as you. Now, will you come?”

  “What do you have?”

  “I prefer not to discuss it on the phone.”

  He mouthed to Tawny: You OK to go?

  She nodded.

  He answered, “We’ll be there in about an hour.”

  “Thank you.” She disconnected.

  “What’s that all about?” Tawny asked.

  “Damned if I know. She ought to be in jail unless she’s cut a deal to testify against her brother.” He sprang to his feet and paced the living room, seething all over again. “I can’t believe she has the balls to call me. She must know I’m ready to kill her because she almost drowned you.” During the past three days, he’d alternated between unbelievable tenderness while caring f
or her to epithet-filled rages at Gabriel and Nyala.

  On his next agitated pass, Tawny caught his hand. “I agree. It was a crazy risk. But if she hadn’t come for me, I would be dead, for sure.”

  He dropped to his knees beside her chair. For the first time since her brush with death, his depthless eyes filled. She pulled him close. His breath huffed in her ear, coming in husky sobs as his tears ran down her cheek and dampened her t-shirt.

  ***

  Inside Nyala’s condo, Tawny and Tillman sat on a wicker couch with lime green and turquoise cushions that was a twin to the one in Smoky’s house. Tawny wondered if she’d gotten a buy-one-get-one-free deal, furnishing both homes at the same time.

  Nyala wore a yellow pareo and sat opposite them on the matching chair. Her bare legs peeked through the split in the dress. A house arrest monitor was fastened around one ankle.

  Tillman noticed it, too, and exchanged a silent message with Tawny: that’s why she’s not in jail.

  Tawny’s bag had disappeared when she was abducted but now it sat on the glass top of the wicker coffee table, along with a small, padded envelope.

  “I recovered your purse when I came aboard Wally’s boat,” Nyala said, with a glance at Tawny. “You know how men are. They can’t tell one woman’s purse from another. Neither Wally nor Ezekiel even noticed when I took it. They both thought it was mine.” She pushed the bag closer to Tawny. “Your ID, money, credit cards are all there. I wanted to spare you the nuisance of having to redo that.”

  Tillman’s eyes narrowed. “No, what you’re saying is you took it to remove evidence of the crime you perpetrated against Tawny.”

  Nyala said nothing for a long moment. At last, she lifted her chin high. “What people think of me doesn’t matter. But I did want to keep Ezekiel’s good opinion. Unfortunately, when the police and FBI questioned him, he learned what my brother is accused of and the part I played.” She folded her hands and stared down at her graceful fingers. “He’s a fine man. I regret he was dragged into this.” Wistful sadness flickered in her green eyes. “I had hopes…for a future.”

  The elegant woman’s duplicity, while trying to protect her brother, had cost her the man she loved and probably her freedom.