by Debbie Burke
He took the duffel from her and stowed it in the cargo compartment. She walked away fast, heading toward the rain-shiny boardwalk that ringed the hot springs. His long legs caught up to her without effort.
“Why are you here?” The waver in her voice embarrassed her.
“I brought Arielle and Judah home. Consuelo’s watching them. Arielle’s going back to the counselor about her drinking.”
“That’s good.” She sneaked a sideways glance at him. “What about Rochelle?”
Mist shone on his black curls. “She’s staying with a friend for the time being.”
Tawny said nothing but felt reassured that, between Tillman and Consuelo, the kids would be safe.
Dark circles still shadowed his eyes. “Eve and I talked yesterday. We’re going to take another run as partners. There’s too much work for me to handle alone.”
Tawny remembered their last partnership had blown up after only a year. But if they could work together without tearing each other apart, they’d be unbeatable. “I’m grateful to Eve. It was a big sacrifice for her to leave the bench to defend you.” Especially since you thwarted her at every turn. She remembered Eve’s comment that attorneys made terrible clients.
“Mimi’s undergoing a psych eval,” he said.
Tawny’s hurt was too fresh to risk an answer.
A brisk wind kicked up and knifed through her jacket. Rays of morning sun pierced heavy clouds and glowed on the yellow-stained rocks surrounding the springs but didn’t deliver any warmth. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. How could her face burn when her body felt so cold?
He added, “She wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. She wants to curse me out for finding that video.”
He shook his head. “I’m the one she’s cursing. Says I bullied her into silence, forced her to keep her mouth shut. Says if I’d gone to prison for what she did, she would have killed herself because she couldn’t stand the guilt.”
That gave Tawny hope for her. In spite of Mimi’s problems, the girl still had a conscience.
Tillman went on: “Now that I’ve seen the video myself, it’s clear the state doesn’t have enough to charge her, let alone convict her. Slam-dunk case of self-defense.” He took a long breath. “Now we just have to keep her alive long enough get her depression under control.”
Tawny hugged herself tighter. “That’s a big job.”
“Yeah.”
They walked for a few moments in silence past steaming cauldrons that looked like raw, open boils on the skin of the earth. Tawny knew Mimi’s road ahead would be long and difficult. She prayed the girl had the strength to survive. She inherited her father’s toughness.
At last, Tillman spoke again: “She said what you did—proving I didn’t kill Zepruder—was exactly the same thing I was doing to save her. She told me if I couldn’t see that, my head was even farther up my ass than she thought.” He stopped and faced Tawny, head cocked slightly to the side. “I can’t argue with her logic.”
Tawny swallowed hard. “She’s her father’s daughter.”
The boardwalk shook with an underground rumble. A sudden gush of water cascaded over the chalky terraced rock, engulfing them both in sulfury steam mixed with fog. They retreated from the mist.
Dampness chilled Tawny to the core. She could no longer hide her shivering.
Tillman shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her. His body heat lingered in the fleece lining. Droplets beaded up on his crisp blue dress shirt, unable to soak through the heavy starch finish.
Her shivering eased.
He stared down at her with that look that still frightened yet excited her. “To have someone who’d do anything, everything to help you…that’s more precious than pearls.” He took a step toward her. “I was an asshole.” One side of his mouth curved up. “I am an asshole.”
She closed the distance between them. “So what else is new?” She rested her forehead on his chest and felt the steady thump of his heart, the goodness inside that he tried to hide but that would always be there.
THE END
A Note from Debbie:
Thank you for reading Eyes in the Sky. Customer reviews are a big help. Please consider writing a line or two about the story on Amazon or GoodReads. I’d greatly appreciate it!
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What’s in store next for Tawny and Tillman? A vacation to Florida during Hurricane Irma turns into a search and rescue mission when Tillman’s high school coach and surrogate father vanishes during the storm. Has he been abducted or is he on the run?
Check out the sneak preview of Lost in Irma…
Sneak preview
LOST IN IRMA
Chapter 1 - How to Show a Girl a Good Time
Tawny Lindholm struggled to hold a heavy sheet of plywood tight against the frame of a picture window as intermittent gusts of wind tried to tear it from her hands. Her lover and boss, Tillman Rosenbaum, quickly tacked nails into the top two corners, anchoring the wood enough that Tawny could let go.
While he nailed off the four corners, she leaned against the trunk of a foxtail palm and plucked another large splinter from her hand, one of many that had pierced her skin in the past hour. She flexed aching fingers, arthritis reminding her that she was 51.
Tillman straightened to his towering six-foot-seven and tested the strength of the barrier. “That takes care of the windows. But, hell, Hurricane Irma’s probably going to tear the roof off so why worry.” He wrapped an arm around her and they entered the house. He shoved the front door closed against a fresh blast of wind and rammed the deadbolt into place.
They stood, panting, before the humming air conditioner, letting it cool the sweat dripping from their faces after working in 95-degree heat.
Tawny peered up at the dark-haired, lanky lawyer. “You really know how to show a girl a good time. Bring me on vacation to Florida with a hurricane on the way.”
A smirk played across his long, narrow face. “Can’t think of anyone I’d rather ride out a storm with.” His jaw jutted. “About this vacation…it might involve more work than boarding up windows.”
She searched his intense, dark eyes for the secret she’d suspected he was keeping from her. Tillman had developed a disturbing pattern of dragging her into difficult situations—first with his estranged father, then his troubled teenage children—without telling her until it was too late to back out. She heaved a sigh. “Not again, Tillman.”
He lifted one broad shoulder. “Smoky’s got a little problem. Can’t stay away from the sports book. He’s a helluva coach but he’s lost damn near every job he’s had because of gambling. The problem goes back to when I graduated high school. That’s why he asked me to come down to Florida.”
Tawny huffed with exasperation. “Why can’t you just be honest with me? Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to help your friend? I’d accept that better than you trying to bribe me with a phony vacation. I wish you wouldn’t treat me like some juror you want to manipulate.”
“You’re right. I’m an asshole.” His sexy but scary gaze melted her every time. “Why do you put up with me?”
She made a face. “Because nobody else will.” She twined fingers through his springy black curls as he bent to kiss her.
The kitchen door banged shut in the opposite end of the bungalow and their host Smoky Lido clumped into the living room, lugging two cases of Corona. “Tillman, take your tongue out of that nice girl’s throat and go unload the ice from my trunk.”
Tillman released Tawny. “Smoke, you always did have lousy timing.”
“Not fast enough. That’s why I became a coach instead of a player.” He set the beer on the dining table. “I still haven’t forgiven you, son, for not going pro. If you had, I’d have been a rich manager and living in a Boca Raton high-
rise instead of a rented hovel in New Port Richey. Now, go get the goddamn ice before it melts.”
Tillman winked at Tawny and headed outside.
Smoky flapped the tail of his Hawaiian shirt, a garish pink with orange hibiscus, to unstick it from his damp back and adjusted the air conditioner thermostat. “Gonna be a hot mess when the power gets knocked out.”
“What’s the latest prediction?” Tawny asked.
“Irma’s supposed to hit late tonight. Then we rock and roll.” A grin creased his cauliflower features. He reminded Tawny of a gangster from a 1930’s movie, thick in the torso, knuckles like walnuts, grizzled sandy-gray hair, deep-water tan. A large emerald stud sparkled in one earlobe. “As long as we don’t run out of beer and propane for the barbecue, we’re fine. We just grill steaks as they thaw out in the freezer. We can last for days.”
Tawny doubted Smoky’s optimism. Ninety-five degrees without refrigeration or air conditioning sounded like hell. Tillman’s crack about the roof tearing off hadn’t eased her apprehension.
Back home in Montana, she’d endured long power outages when ice dragged down power lines. She knew how to prepare for a winter emergency: extra firewood, canned food, blankets, and battery-powered lanterns.
A Stage Four hurricane was another story.
Smoky flipped on a ceiling fan-light fixture to brighten the room, now gloomy with the windows boarded over, and studied her. “What’sa matter, darlin’? Your first time, right? Don’t you worry, this ole boy knows how to throw the best damn hurricane party you ever saw.” He cracked open a beer.
Tawny sank onto a wicker couch with turquoise, yellow, and lime-green striped cushions. “Who’re you going to invite? Looks like your neighbors all evacuated to shelters.”
“Wimps.” He heavily lowered himself into the matching wicker chair, hitching khaki cargo shorts above his prosthetic leg. “Thanks for pitching in. You’re a good sport. Tillman did it again.”
“Did what?”
“Back when he was a punk in high school, he always wound up with the smartest, best-looking girls. How an asshole like him continues his winning streak, I don’t know.”
Tawny smiled at the gnarly older man who’d been more than a coach to Tillman, a caring, substitute father, unlike Tillman’s dad. “What else can we do to get ready?”
“Have a beer, darlin’.”
Getting drunk didn’t sound like the best storm preparation to Tawny. “I’m good, thanks.”
Tillman elbowed through the kitchen door, a twenty-pound sack of ice in each hand. “Where do you want this, Smoke?”
“Chest freezer in the laundry room.”
A second later, Tillman’s deep baritone voice called, “Freezer’s locked.”
Tawny caught a frown skip over Smoky’s features. He heaved himself to his feet. “Never mind, I’ll get it. Come on in here and keep your lovely lady company.” He lumbered out of sight.
Tillman joined Tawny on the couch. “Got a line on a generator.” He leaned close, flicking the screen of his phone, and showed her a photo. “Last one in three counties. Up in Crystal River, though.”
“How far is that?” she asked.
“About fifty miles north of here but, with evacuation traffic, it might take hours.”
She frowned. “Is it worth the trip?”
He nodded. “Power could be out for days, maybe weeks. At least food’ll stay cold and we can charge our phones. And it’s dual fuel—runs on either gasoline or propane. If we run out of gas, we just rob barbecue tanks.”
Smoky lumbered back into the living room, his steps sounding odd because of a flip-flop on his foot, a sneaker on the prosthetic. “Went by Wally World this morning. Looked like a ghost town, shelves stripped empty. You couldn’t find a flashlight or batteries to save your life. Only food I saw was a dented can of giblets and liver for cats. Probably shoulda picked that up.”
Outside, the wind suddenly kicked up, banging tree branches against the house.
Tawny tensed. “Is that the hurricane?”
Smoky shook his head. “Just an early band moving through. They’ll come and go—roaring like a dragon one second, then silence so thick your ears pop. Later, the rain will hit.”
He clicked on the TV, where wind and sideways rain whipped a weather reporter crouched against a building as waves crested over a sea wall. “…clocked gusts up to a hundred and forty miles an hour here on Marco Island and the storm surge could impact structures as far as five miles inland.”
The TV went black for a moment, video and audio dead. When it resumed, the camera captured the collapse of a wooden dock as massive waves smashed boards into kindling. Pleasure boats tossed and collided in jumbled wreckage.
Tawny sucked in a breath and sank her fingernails into the bright cushion. “How far away is that?”
Smoky answered, “More than a hundred and fifty miles south.”
Tillman rose. “Told the guy with the generator that I’d duke him an extra hundred if he held it for me. I better head for Crystal River now.”
Tawny jumped up, panic washing over her. “Tillman? This is crazy.”
He fingered her auburn braid. “When we’re sitting here in air-conditioned comfort with ice-cold beer, while the rest of Florida swelters without electricity, you’ll thank me.” He nodded at Smoky. “Give me your keys.”
The old coach dug in his pocket and tossed them to Tillman. “Tank’s three-quarters full. Got the last drop of gas at the Wawa station before they ran out. Heard from a trucker that everybody else is bone dry all the way to Ocala.”
Tawny and Smoky followed Tillman to the kitchen door where he paused. “Got a spare pistol?”
Smoky looked sheepish. “You know that would violate my parole.”
Tillman gave him a hard stare. “This is a privileged, confidential conversation with your attorney.”
Smoky grinned, disappeared into his bedroom, and emerged a moment later with a .380 Beretta that he offered to Tillman.
The small pistol disappeared in Tillman’s big palm. “You got anything else here for protection?” He glanced at Tawny then back at Smoky. “She’s good with a gun, too. Better than I am.”
Smoky winked at Tawny. “Beauty and guts. What a combination.” He tipped his head toward his bedroom. “Yeah, got an old twelve gauge.”
They went outside to the two-stall carport where, as Smoky predicted, the wind had died down. Tillman awkwardly folded his long legs into Smoky’s little aqua retro Thunderbird convertible. Earlier, they had to remove the hard top when they discovered Tillman was too tall to sit in the car with the roof on.
Tawny bent to kiss his soft lips, her heart clenched in a knot. “Come back safe.”
He nodded then started the engine and pulled out into the deserted street, dodging the fallen palm fronds that littered the pavement.
As the little T-bird disappeared around a corner, Smoky squeezed her arm. “He’ll be fine. Nothing stops him.”
Tawny sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
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Tawny lindholm
thrillers with a heart
ARE AVAILABLE AT AMAZON
Book 1 - INSTRUMENT OF THE DEVIL
Book 2 - STALKING MIDAS
Book 3 - EYES IN THE SKY
Book 4 - LOST IN IRMA - Coming in Summer 2020
