The Indigo Brothers Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  “I see. So you could really stand to lose this little roll right here,” he teased as he tried to pinch a ball of skin along her waist and got nothing.

  She hooted with laughter, but hit him lightly on top of his head on general principle. “I’m short, every extra pound shows.”

  “No it doesn’t.” He trailed kisses along her stomach up to her breasts. “It’s such a cute belly, but I love these the most,” he declared, tempting out a swollen nipple for his benefit.

  His mouth tugged her into bliss, pulled her along into a fog of gentle blue. He stoked every inch of her to life as quick as a match ignited a dying ember. He slid his hands beneath her hips, moved within her, filling her hotter, brighter.

  With each slow thrust they climbed. Heart thudding as they rose. Soaring through the haze, reaching for that pinnacle, that perfect ripple, they danced on the edge. Circling, spinning, pleasure heaved them skyward and into a tower of glowing white. It glistened brighter than silver, shimmered better than gold.

  Their skin tingled, their blood heated as they tried to catch their breath.

  “I think we left the earth that time,” Raine noted, breathless, her fingers still locked in his hair.

  “Feels like it. Feels like I ran a marathon to the sun and back.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’ve gotten a whole lot better at this over the years. I don’t remember it coming together quite like this.”

  “Told you I’d gotten a lot better.” He nuzzled her neck before rolling to the side.

  “Hmm, but I don’t remember so much sizzle and pop. It’s like electricity when we make love.”

  “I’m pretty sure the pop and sizzle has always been there for me.”

  She elbowed him none too gently in the side. “You never said those kinds of things when we were kids.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m saying them now.”

  Chapter Seventeen - Justice

  “You can’t go digging under the main bridge coming into town where just anyone could likely gawk at the three of you standing there with shovels,” Anniston stressed. “Not only would you draw attention to what you’re doing, you’d also send up a red flag to Sinclair. For one thing he’d probably ask you to cease and desist at the point of a gun. And then he’d likely go on the run to South America just like Wendy had planned to do.”

  Sebastian sat off to the side, listening to his sister plead her case. Glad to be back in the fold, he hurled himself headlong into the discussion. “Let’s say you went out there with regular shovels and picks and did find bones. Your haphazard way of doing it might accidentally destroy evidence. Think about that. Without an official team out there, you could do more harm than good. We’re building a pretty solid case against Sinclair. Let me contact Paul Briggs and get a status update. Give me twenty-four hours before you do anything as bold as digging under that bridge.”

  “I don’t like the idea of waiting for Tallahassee to get here,” Mitch pointed out. “They’re taking their sweet time to figure it out.”

  “Going through official channels is better than going off and destroying all the hard work we’ve put into this,” Anniston insisted. “Listen to reason. We have a plan in place, let it play out.”

  Garret sent Mitch a long look. “I hate to admit it, but she might have a point. Let’s see what happens when Royce rattles their cage.”

  Anniston roamed the room. “Just remember, the goal isn’t for Royce to be convincing, but rather to stir the pot.” She glanced at Sebastian. “You want to tell them or should I?”

  “You have the floor, might as well drop the bomb while the gang’s all here.”

  “You remember when Chuck told me there was male DNA inside Livvy?”

  “Hard to forget,” Garret snapped.

  “He was wrong. When I sent him the cup Mitch retrieved with Sinclair’s DNA on it, Chuck redid the test just to make sure, cautious to avoid mistakes. He found there were two male donors, not one. We already heard Sinclair admit in his little convo with his buddies that he raped Livvy. That’s a given. But the other contributing male sperm was from Nathan Hollister.”

  She heard Jackson’s intake of breath from across the room.

  “So he was there that night? I knew we should have crushed him while we had the chance to get more answers out of that lowlife.”

  Anniston was more practical. “Keep an open mind. It’s possible when Livvy went out to run errands that last day of her life, she could’ve had consensual sex with Nathan. They were having an affair. I doubt we’ll ever really know for certain. What we can say with certainty is that scenario doesn’t apply to Sinclair. There’s not a shred of evidence that says Livvy was involved in any way with the police chief.”

  Mitch turned to Sebastian. “That’s what you meant when you said we were building a solid case against him?”

  “We have solid evidence he abducted Raine. We have him on tape admitting to the rape and murder of Livvy, add to that, the murders of Walker and the kids. Now, we may be able to get him for Darla Pendleton’s murder. I’d say, it’s looking up for the good guys.”

  “It’s about damn time,” Mitch grumbled.

  That afternoon, Royce played his part by sending out calls to the partners in the golf course deal. When four of the five showed up in his office midday right on schedule, it was the doughnut shop owner who seemed the most fidgety from the get-go.

  Carson Frawley took a seat in one of the club chairs but squirmed like a little kid. “What’s this all about? Is it about Dave? Have you seen him lately? It’s not like him to take off. He hasn’t been in his office. I’ve checked.”

  “I heard he and Wendy took off for Cancun for the week, no doubt taking a much-needed break from his burgeoning mayoral responsibilities,” Royce responded, repeating the rumor he’d been spoon-fed by the Indigos.

  “But to satisfy your curiosity, I have good news,” Royce went on with a forced smile, hoping to put the man at ease. “We’ll wait for the others to join us before I make the big announcement. Trust me, I think you’ll be pleased.”

  Sinclair strolled in with a swagger. “What’s up?”

  “Royce says he has good news,” Carson tossed out. “Any word out of Dave?”

  Sinclair dropped into the other chair, clasped his hands in his lap. “Dave Oakerson is an idiot. Let’s get on with this good news. I could use some and I don’t have all day,” the cop snarled.

  Baskin and Dandridge came in together and were greeted by the others.

  Royce’s spine stiffened at the sight of Baskin, or maybe it was having to be in the same room with all of them and make nice. Either way, he did his best not to focus too long on their lying, cheating, murderous faces, especially Baskin.

  Recalling what he’d listened to the night before, his stomach churned. His resolve weakening, Royce considered the semi-automatic he had in the top right-hand drawer of his desk. He could easily grab the weapon, point the barrel toward the men he’d known for more than twenty years and take care of these bastards right where they sat. It didn’t matter that they had a long history together.

  At this moment, he didn’t much give a damn about waiting for law enforcement to get around to issuing warrants or making an arrest or justice to wind its way through the muddled court system.

  “Well?” Sinclair prompted, snapping his fingers in rapid fire fashion toward Royce. “I haven’t got all day.”

  The insolence was enough to snap Royce back on track. “I’ve learned through my lawyers that Tanner Indigo is so distraught over what happened to his daughter and grandchildren that he’s dropped all his efforts to stop the golf course from going in. As of this morning, Tanner’s agreed that the preserve will become history, which means the development is back on track. The man’s throwing in the towel.”

  “So how long until we pour the dirt, get the cement mixers busy, and cover up that stink hole?” Baskin wanted to know. “How long before we can expect to line up contractors and finally get this ball rollin
g?”

  “I’m taking care of it,” Royce assured his investors. “There’s just a couple of little hurdles we need to make sure are behind us so that it clears the way to the resort.”

  “What’s that?” Sinclair asked. “We’ve discussed all this till we’re blue in the face.”

  Royce ignored the charge and looked over at Frawley. “Did you grease the wheels with the county commissioner to get the land rezoned for development?”

  “Of course I did. It’s been taken care of, cost you in the neighborhood of seventy-five Gs or so, but it’s done.”

  “What about you, Jessup? Did you pay your man off at the capitol, get him to continue faking the environmental studies that favor us and make all the disclaimers vanish?”

  “Are you losing it, Royce? You know damn well I took care of it months ago. That’s where your fifty grand ended up.”

  “How about you, Boone? How do we look on the construction permits? Are they in place and ready to go?”

  “They’re all set after paying off the county architect. He wanted a hundred grand. That guy’s an asshole to work with. But in the end all he really wanted was to see the green stuff and he rubber-stamped the permits right through the system, put his signature on every one of the documents, and already filed them with the county.”

  Royce shuffled some papers around on his desk. “Since Dave’s not here to ask, does anyone know if he secured the loans from the pension fund like he promised?”

  Baskin spoke up. “I watched Dave sign off on the paperwork myself. We got a hell of a sweetheart deal that will never have to be paid back. We fold a couple of the shell companies we’ve created offshore and we’re free and clear of the debt. No problem.”

  “But is it foolproof?”

  “I worked this scam a dozen times in New Orleans and as long as Oakerson keeps his mouth shut, we’re on easy street.”

  “Yes, but can we really trust that the mayor’s discretion will hold up? After all, he blew off this meeting.”

  Baskin smiled. “I guarantee you don’t have to worry about Oakerson running his mouth.”

  Royce nodded and went on as if he were checking off a list. “And let’s not forget Dave’s assistant, Wendy Hollister. Dave’s very generously taken her under his wing. I believe, for a couple of years now, she’s been his trusted confidante. He’s no doubt used her to unburden some of our most intimate secrets.”

  “Then I’ll have to put having a little talk with Wendy on my to-do list,” Baskin promised. “I’ll make sure she sees things our way from here on out.”

  After the meeting concluded, just as Anniston had showed him, Royce cued up the video that had been running the entire time. He hit the send button to email the encounter to her and Tanner with a note that read:

  They admitted to wire fraud, bribing public officials, money laundering and racketeering. If I’m not mistaken most of it falls under the RICO act. Which should make the feds happy after handing it to them on a silver platter. You watch, before we’re done we’ll have the state police fighting for jurisdiction. The one thing they didn’t admit to is the long list of murders. That’s the one thing we need. Find a way to make it happen. In the meantime, I’ll pour myself a brandy and wait for the feds to show up at my door.

  Tech-savvy Anniston opened her email first before Tanner did. After viewing the video, she let out a war whoop of victory and brought everyone over to see. “I love this.”

  Tanner came up behind her, scratched his head. “I don’t believe it. The old fart actually came through on a promise. Never in a million years did I ever think I’d see Royce Buchanan implicate himself in all the seedy corruption he’s had a hand in.”

  “Maybe now you’ll believe me,” Anniston said. “That’s how bad he wants Walker’s murderer to pay for what he did. And he knows it’s likely the only way to draw these guys out, certainly getting them prison sentences at the federal level.”

  “Five years isn’t much consolation,” Garret grumbled.

  Mitch pointed to the screen. “I can’t wait until we show Wendy proof that Baskin’s chomping at the bit to get to her. That ought to put a little more incentive into becoming a federal witness and rolling over on her old friends.”

  “Let’s hope this seals the deal then,” Jackson noted with some skepticism.

  Jessup Sinclair had sensed something was off at the meeting. Even before his contact at the state police had called him that afternoon, Jessup had been suspicious of Royce’s news. Call it a hunch, but that impromptu meeting had thrown up red flags. All those needless questions at the end didn’t come off as genuine. At least not to him. Everyone else in the room might’ve bought it, but he sensed a set up. He should have taken care of that old man a long time ago when he had the chance.

  Now he’d learned that the state attorney general claimed he had evidence that showed he’d kidnapped the little taco queen. The asshole was on the verge of issuing a warrant for his arrest. Imagine them thinking they could slap the cuffs on him.

  Obviously it was all a ruse to try and get him to admit to some kind of wrongdoing. He’d been down that road plenty of times before back at the highway patrol. The state’s attorney was simply trying to box him in, to put the fear of God in him, maybe try to get him to turn on his buds. He didn’t intend to give the state anything. They’d never send him to prison. They’d have to work at it. He’d die first before he’d let them lock him up like a dog.

  His buddy inside the state police claimed the process was already a done deal. All the state had left to do was get a warrant. Lots of luck there, Jessup decided. Personally, he didn’t believe they’d find a judge to issue such a thing. He’d been the chief of police here for more than twenty years. That had to count for something. No way would it happen.

  At least that’s what he told himself as he fixed himself a sandwich and listened to Jerry Jeff Walker blaring from the stereo. The song made him wonder if he could finagle Desiree, over at Magic Hands, into bed for a little afternoon romp in the sack. She’d be a good distraction and keep his mind off what was happening in Tallahassee. He’d load up on his Viagra and spend the rest of the day “on patrol.” At least that’s what he always told his wife Brenda.

  But something nagged at him. He couldn’t shake the feeling. His gut instinct told him he needed to be on guard. It was like he had a giant spider crawling up his back waiting to take a bite out of him at the first opportunity.

  On second thought, he wasn’t much in the mood for Desiree’s company. She’d more than likely blather on about her coworkers until he wanted to shove a fist down her throat. But neither did he want to hang around the house and wait for his wife to get back from her shopping trip. Brenda was just as prone at yammering his head off as Desiree. A man needed his alone time. Maybe he’d go seek out his fishing buddy. God knows going back to talk to Baskin and Dandridge was a waste of time. And Carson Frawley was more of an idiot than Oakerson. Which made him wonder if the mayor had already got wind of his own misfortune and taken off for parts unknown. It wasn’t like Dave to miss a meeting. Maybe he’d taken that wild-eyed Wendy and caught a plane to Guyana. Why hadn’t he considered that before now?

  Losing his appetite, he pushed his sandwich aside. Maybe it was time to put this town in his rearview mirror. But first he had a few cards up his sleeve that needed playing.

  Chapter Eighteen - Justice

  After spending a day and a half looking through piles of tax records, the only Eisenbart that Anniston and Garret were able to locate anywhere in the county was a man who settled into the area before the war began. He kept to himself and was known to live in a shack in the northern part of the county close to a swamp. Those notes came right off the tax card, circa 1933. It seemed the shanty where Eisenbart lived didn’t even have running water, electricity, or an official address.

  “We have to go check this out,” Garret said. “It’s our only lead in this stack of otherwise useless documentation.”

  Anniston’s
eyes bugged. “You’re suggesting we go poke around in…” she snatched the card out of his hand, “some place called Lost Gator Swamp and try to get information out of swamp people. Are you nuts? They live off the grid for a reason. Mainly because they don’t especially like to be around our type? You know, the nosey kind who asks intrusive questions. They won’t exactly welcome strangers, which we definitely are.”

  “I know that,” Garret acknowledged, losing patience. “But we have to try. What else do we do? Ignore it? Not me.”

  “What exactly are you hoping to gain by going there? What are you looking for exactly? This part of it just points the way to the gold.” She stopped talking and stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve caught gold fever.”

  “No. But I’m curious by nature. I keep asking myself why did these guys—Sinclair, Baskin and Dandridge in particular—end up here? How did they know to set up shop here?”

  “Maybe they just thought Indigo Key looked like easy pickings.”

  He sent her a dubious look. “I still think Royce had a hand in it, recruiting people to aid in his business dealings. He relied on those same people that he could either control outright or blackmail. No way would these men come into any other town and get the kinds of sweetheart business loans they received to start up their companies.”

  She sighed. “My spreadsheet seems to back up that theory.”

  He looked surprised. “When were you planning to mention that? So you admit Royce had a long-term plan in mind to put these people in key positions so he could control the town?”

  “It hurts to admit it, but yes. There’s definitely a pattern. Just because he’s helping us now doesn’t mean we should forget that.”

  “Do you intend to tell my dad that? Because he should know.”

  “Eventually.”

  “Glad to hear it. I was beginning to think you’d turned a blind eye to all Royce’s shady practices.”