by Tim Tigner
“Huh. That’s an interesting idea. People on the run are perfect victims, given that they’re carrying lots of cash and attempting to disappear anyway.”
“Maybe she’s in a landfill? Or a recycling container headed to China? Maybe our problem is solved?”
“Maybe,” Trent agreed. “But of course we can’t count on that. You see how maddening this is.”
“I do. What’s your next move?”
“Checking Florida’s smaller airports. There’s a dozen of them.”
Resseque didn’t reply for a few beats. “Are you sure she flew alone?”
“She only bought one ticket, and there was nobody significant in her life besides her mother, who died just after her discovery.”
“No boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”
“She lived alone.”
“That’s not definitive. Have you spoken to the guy who resembles a Hollywood monster reject?”
“Her studio manager? No. As I said, I left for Buenos Aires immediately.”
“Why don’t you do that?”
Colton’s idea sounded better to Trent than another dozen laps on the airport circuit. “I will. Any other suggestions?”
“How did you leave things with Dark Lord 89109?”
“He’s waiting for me to supply him with a new address. A Nevada address.”
“If she was scared enough to fake fleeing to Buenos Aires, I’d put the odds that she returns to the Bellagio at below ten percent.”
“I’m not holding my breath either.”
“Here’s an idea,” Colton said in that silky voice you couldn’t ignore. “What if we find a contractor who can locate her as part of the package? Someone with both skillsets.”
Trent pondered that for a few seconds. “Like a former detective?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of someone who used to track down mob informants or cartel traitors.”
Now there was a good idea! Leave it to a lawyer to know how to leverage criminals. Trent had no idea how he’d locate such a person. Former organized crime assassins probably didn’t have a Facebook group, and cartel enforcers likely never reached retirement, but he’d think of something.
“Brilliant, Colton. I’m on it.”
17
Killer Compromise
St. Croix, the Caribbean
CHASE SQUEEZED Skylar’s hand as prosecutor McKay entered the courthouse conference room wielding a bulky briefcase and the eye of the tiger. “Good morning Joy, John. Are you ready to fight the good fight?”
“We’re ready and willing, but unable.”
McKay reacted to the last word like a salmon snatched by a bear. She’d been swimming upstream for weeks, only to have the jaws of defeat rip her from the water upon finally entering the spawning pond. “Did you just say unable?”
The prosecutor continued with only the slightest pause, after reading their expressions. “As in unable to fight? Unable to deliver justice to the Meads? Tell me I didn’t hear you correctly? Tell me what unable even means in this context.”
Skylar rose from her chair to release nervous tension. “We’ve been working around the clock to figure out a way to get our story to the jury, but there just isn’t one.”
“What on earth are you talking about? You just tell it.”
“We can’t,” Skylar continued. “Not because we don’t want to—we desperately do—but because the Porter’s attorney has made that impossible.”
McKay set down her briefcase with a resolute thud. “Did she threaten you?”
“Yes, but not in an illegal manner,” Chase said. “We have a very complicated past. A history that, if exposed, would make us worthless as witnesses.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that to me? Not at any of our many meetings?”
“We were certain it wasn’t relevant because nobody knew,” Skylar said.
“We’ve never been so shocked in our lives as we were when Slate dropped her discovery on us at our deposition,” Chase added. “She hit us with bombshell after bombshell. It felt like Pearl Harbor, given the surprise and devastation.”
“Why didn’t you come to me then? That was a week ago.”
“We’ve been trying to figure out a way to outsmart Slate. To get you what you need without allowing her to shred us on the stand.”
“We’ve spoken to several top attorneys,” Skylar added. “None of them came up with anything sufficiently helpful.”
McKay stopped pacing and stood facing them with hands on hips. “What does she have on you? Out with it. I promise, I won’t use it against you if you come clean.”
“We can’t,” Chase said. “And it wouldn’t change anything if we could.”
McKay didn’t budge. “Justice aside. The grieving parents of Maria Mead aside. This is a political disaster. My boss is going to have a conniption when he hears about this. He’s going to order an investigation into you. He’s going to shift the blame onto you. He’s going to ask me to prosecute you—for whatever it is Slate is blackmailing you with. If it’s serious enough to save Porter, it’s got to be good enough to prosecute you.”
Chase sympathized with her outrage, it mirrored his own. “You won’t find it. We’ve spent these weeks trying to identify and plug the leak, but even with our insider knowledge, considerable resources and extreme enthusiasm still we came up blank.”
“Maybe I’ll ask Slate.”
“We didn’t get the impression that she was the type to help prosecutors, but even if she gives you everything she knows, you couldn’t prosecute us. There are jurisdictional issues.”
“We might just see about that. Nobody is above the law.”
“Not even the Porters?” Chase asked, immediately regretting the words.
“We have an alternative proposal,” Skylar hastened to add. “One that, while imperfect, we hope will work both for the Meads and for your boss.”
McKay stopped pacing. “I’m listening.”
“Clearly nothing can bring Maria back. And unfortunately Mrs. Porter’s attorney has placed her out of the court’s reach.”
McKay chuffed.
“But we would like to make an anonymous donation to the Meads or the charity of their choosing,” Skylar continued. “A donation your boss can spin however he wants.”
“You’re trying to wash away your guilt and buy your freedom with money?”
“We’re trying to make the best of a terrible situation. We cannot successfully testify. I guarantee that we will lose to Slate at trial. Given that, this is the best we can offer.”
McKay deflated. Her shoulders slumped. Her complexion lost its red hue. “You’re not looking for credit?”
“Knowing that prosecutors negotiate deals all the time, we’re content to allow your office to stage and announce as you see fit,” Chase said.
“So even the Meads don’t need to know where the money is coming from?”
Chase and Skylar both nodded affirmation.
“How much are we talking about?”
“Seven figures,” Skylar said. “An even million dollars.”
18
The Firm
AS THEY BEGAN the long, leisurely walk from a beachfront café back to the Vitamin Sea, Chewie put his free arm around Vicky’s shoulder. He did that so habitually these days that she’d almost taken to calling him Mother Bird. Almost. The nickname had yet to pass her lips and probably never would. Although his protectiveness sometimes seemed a bit much, she appreciated the sentiment behind it, and did not want him to think otherwise.
Once they hit the firm, surf-washed sand and slipped off their shoes, he hit her with a question from out of the blue. “Why aren’t you happy?”
“I am happy,” she said, reflexively but dishonestly.
Although Chewie didn’t push back, the voice in her head did. Why wasn’t she happy? Her secret fear aside, their life was virtually perfect. The Vitamin Sea had proven to be a comfortable home. The weather was idyllic, the islands interesting, the food healt
hy, cheap, and delicious. Chewie had taken to the captain’s life like he’d been born on a sand bar, and she found the setting to be simultaneously invigorating and relaxing.
Vicky did not need to dig for the honest answer. It was top of mind. She’d made no progress in identifying the people she believed were still determined to kill her. Nobody she’d investigated had a years-long record of extraordinary performance that appeared attributable to mind reading. No talk show host, news anchor, poker professional, or chess champion at least. The negotiators and venture capitalists were proving more difficult to investigate, and of course the spies were virtually invisible.
While conducting a fruitless search day after day was frustrating, the toughest part was having to hide the emotional burden from her sole companion. Apparently, she hadn’t been as successful with that as she’d hoped.
Vicky squeezed Chewie’s hand and expanded on her answer with a shade of the truth. “Despite our wonderful life, I’m having trouble forgetting that someone was so desperate to see me dead that he hired an assassin. It’s just something that I have to work through. And I will, I promise. Will you give me time to do that?”
Chewie didn’t argue or try to convince her that she was crazy to be living in fear 3,000 miles from the scene of the crime. He simply said, “As much as you need.”
With those five words, she was happy. Temporarily, at least.
They walked the rest of the way home in relative silence, but as they climbed back aboard, Chewie held up the shopping bags and said, “I’ve been thinking about our next destination.”
They’d begun their maritime adventure by sailing east from Key West to the Bahamas and had then continued southeast to the Turks and Caicos Islands. While it would have been easy to explore either chain for weeks, they knew it was wise to keep moving in unpredictable ways.
They were technically still north of the Caribbean Sea. It was next on their list, but they had yet to pick the specific port of call. The Caribbean is bordered to the north by Cuba, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico. Central America forms its western shore, from Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula to Panama. The southern boundary is formed by Columbia and Venezuela, whereas the famous islands with poetic names like Aruba, Barbados, and Martinique, are scattered throughout the middle and along the sea’s eastern edge.
Vicky gestured to Chewie’s raised hand. “You have a craving for something you couldn’t find at the grocery store.”
“No, that’s not it. Although now that you mention it, I am missing Peet’s Coffee.” He set the bags down on the main deck table, then opened the one from a bookstore. Chewie had been going through a lot of paperbacks.
“The Firm?” she said, as he extracted the John Grisham classic.
“Have you read it?”
“I saw the movie. Tom Cruise, right?”
“With Gene Hackman and Jeanne Tripplehorn. Tom joins The Firm straight out of Harvard, not knowing it’s owned by the mob. Anyway, they spend a lot of time working, playing, and doing illicit deeds on the Cayman Islands, which are renowned for their offshore banking. Ever since hearing Grisham’s alluring descriptions, I’ve wanted to visit Seven Mile Beach.”
“You just want to see if you can find the prostitute they used to seduce and blackmail Tom,” she said with a nudge and a smile.
“Yes, you caught me.”
“She’s got to be in her fifties by now.”
“You will be someday too, dear. And every bit as desirable as you are today, I’m sure.”
“Nice save.”
“Thank you. Does that mean we can head for Grand Cayman? Maybe hit Jamaica on the way?”
Vicky was about to answer when she suddenly found herself struck dumb. She’d been a fool. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier?
“What is it?” Chewie asked.
She said, “Nothing,” even though it was anything but. Chewie had provided the crucial clue. She knew, just knew, who her would-be-killer was. Not specifically, but generally and intuitively. She was up against lawyers. Lawyers! “Go ahead and plot the course to Jamaica. I need to hop online.”
19
What If?
THE SKIES WERE DARK GRAY and so was Skylar’s mood as St. Croix disappeared over the horizon. She wasn’t certain which would clear first, but her money was on the weather.
“Who’d have thought it could be so unpleasant to give a million dollars away,” Chase said, handing her a rum punch. “Now I know why McKay’s boss didn’t want credit. I’ll never forget the look on Mrs. Mead’s face.”
“There was no way to avoid that look. Absolutely nothing we could have done short of testifying. Well, short of shooting Mrs. Porter on the courthouse steps.”
“Don’t think I didn’t consider it.”
Skylar knew that the tall, handsome man she called her husband was only half joking. He was a good man. An honest, faithful, hardworking patriot. But he was also a man of passion and action. As he’d once explained to her over another drink on that very yacht, “Once your government decides to solve a problem by commanding you to kill, that method remains stuck in your head as a solution.”
Skylar had pushed back at the time, as she tended to do, both to keep their relationship healthy and to sharpen her mind. “A government solution, not a personal solution.”
“The orders I received came from individuals, not Congress. And while most were undoubtedly issued with the intent of doing the right thing, I later learned that at times the real goal was benefitting either the guy giving the order or someone further up the chain of command.”
Skylar had let it drop then, and she let it drop now. “The Meads’ gratitude will come in time. Meanwhile, if it helps them to be angry at us, so be it.”
“You’re a wise woman, Skylar Fawkes.”
Chase dropped onto the sofa beside her. “I’m just so incredibly frustrated by the whole thing. You know I won’t be able to relax until I uncover the source of Scarlett Slate’s information.”
Skylar gestured around the bridge of their yacht. “I know you won’t stop, but I think we’ll find ways to relax from time-to-time.”
“It’s not just what she uncovered, but how quickly,” Chase continued, ignoring the verbal off-ramp.
“Maybe she didn’t uncover it. Maybe she already knew it—and just got a lucky match.”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose she also works for the cartel. Maybe she recognized us.”
“Recognized us from where? We never met any cartel members, only Tory.”
“She might have seen some security video footage. In fact, that’s the only way she could have learned the details of Tory’s death. Nobody else was on the tiny island.”
Chase shook his head. “That’s not the only explanation. A careful autopsy would have revealed Tory’s cause of death.”
Skylar shrugged. “Either way, my theory holds. Slate had to have seen our faces before she became Porter’s lawyer.”
“What are the odds of that coincidence? Slate’s from New York City, which is thousands of miles from St. Croix.”
“And yet she obviously has a reputation in the Caribbean, otherwise the Porters wouldn’t have hired her.”
“Good point.” Chase’s face went from expressing excitement for a mystery potentially solved to one showing panic for a fear discovered.
“What is it?” Skylar asked.
“The bigger picture.”
“What do you mean?”
“Slate helped Porter by using information she picked up from the cartel. What if the reverse also applies? What if she also decided to help the cartel using information she picked up during the Porter case?”
“You think she told them where to find us?” Skylar asked, certain that her face had also fallen.
“If she wants more cartel business, that’s exactly what she’d do.”
Skylar agreed with the deduction, but couldn’t swallow the ultimate conclusion. “If that’s the case, then why are we still aliv
e?”
“Slate would have insisted that the cartel wait for Kitty Porter to be cleared before doing anything, lest our death cast suspicion her way.”
Skylar felt her stomach drop another notch. “In which case, they’d wait for us to sail off. Which we’ve just done.” She scanned the horizon for any boats speeding their way. Fortunately, she saw none. “What’s our next step?”
Chase set down his glass. “First, we need to give the Sea La Vie a thorough inspection. Make sure nothing’s been, uh, added or removed.”
More butterflies. “You think there might be a bomb on our boat?”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“That’s an understatement,” Skylar said, hoping she’d hit bottom. “What’s the second thing on your list?”
“Once we’re convinced that the yacht is clean, we set out to confirm your hypothesis.”
“We look for a link between Scarlett Slate and a Caribbean drug cartel,” Skylar said. “Good idea.”
“Thank you.”
“Now go check the boat.”
20
The Ultimate Blow
VICKY STARED at the faces on the screen and knew that she’d found them. Her fellow mind-readers. Her would-be assassins. The Cains to her Abel.
Competing waves of emotions sloshed over her like the dual wakes of a speeding yacht. Excitement and relief, followed a few seconds later by anxiety and panic.
She longed to share her feelings and her discovery with Chewie, but he’d gone to bed long ago. Should she wake him?
Peeking into their bedroom, Vicky was struck by how peaceful her boyfriend looked. Chewie was a large, strong man with a wild look, but he was fundamentally gentle and kind. An elephant without tusks. What would happen if she told him she knew who was trying to kill her? What would he do? That was an easy question to answer. Her boyfriend would go after them.
Vicky did not yet know much about her fellow mind-readers and would-be killers, but standing there looking at her elephant, the word hyenas popped into her mind. Beasts with bone-cracking jaws that attack in packs.
