“I hope you’re wrong about my boat, James.” Gus watched The Lucky Lady churn away.
“Keep that happy thought, Quarrel.”
Before they reached their backup boat, the two men heard muffled explosions off in the direction The Lucky Lady had been headed, lighting up the horizon.
“At least you survived, Quarrel. Good show, old man!”
* * * *
Gus quickly slipped the mooring ropes into place, holding the boat he had dubbed Second Best in his St. Petersburg berthing. Nick jumped across to the pier, comically kneeling down and kissing the wood planks.
Gus laughed. “Fuck you, Nick.”
Nick turned his head without straightening, to peer up at Gus. “Man, that trip reminded me of the old movie Wake of the Red Witch. Did you miss any swells on the way here, or did you accomplish your mission of hitting every single one?”
“Sailing into St. Pete from Nassau in a thirty-footer is not for the faint of heart,” Gus admitted. “Especially when you have to hug the coastline of every rock poking out into the ocean so as not to become a new satellite target. Get your lazy ass back aboard and help me with the gear. We’re going to go clean up and wash the salt out of our throats at the local pub.”
“Sounds good,” Nick agreed, re-boarding the boat. “Do we have to shower down here on the pier or do you actually have a bathroom at your place.”
“You used to be a lot less whiny before you were domesticated.” Gus put an arm around Nick’s shoulders.
“What about all those sweet little ports of call we stopped at as we rock-hopped home over the last couple weeks? You look salty, brother, a real Hemingway-esque character.”
“After the first week of touring those sweet little hellholes, I considered giving myself up. I spent six months in the Afghan mountains once with more amenities.”
“You’re getting soft. This trip toughened you up.”
“Why, thank you, Gus. That is so sweet.” Nick pushed Gus away. “Let’s get the hell off this boat. I need to start planning Frank’s demise.”
“Can I come?”
“Yes indeed, Quarrel.” Nick shifted to his James Bond persona. “You know of course, old man, your survival would again be in doubt with this upcoming sticky situation.”
“Show me the money, James, show me the money.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Homecoming
Grace and Tim sat in Frank Richert’s outer office, his secretary having seated them with the promise Mr. Richert would see them very soon. Rachel stood outside the office with Jean, waiting for Grace to summon them. Grace claimed this would be the last step in securing their release from US Marshall protection. Richert had requested the meeting after the deaths of Jason Bidwell and Max Stoddard were made public.
The burned hulk of Bidwell’s cruiser Tequila had been found by Nassau authorities. It was deemed accidental death, a burner left on causing the fire. The four corpses found aboard showed no sign of foul play. The case was closed. Another vessel in the area on the same night had made the news also. The official story had been drug runners caught in a crossfire. Nothing but unrecognizable debris had been found. Grace knew Rachel suspected the worst. Nick and Gus were dead. Now they would be at the mercy of the man she believed responsible.
“Mr. Richert will see you now,” the secretary announced, standing and opening the door for Grace and Tim.
Inside the lavishly adorned office of dark oak, leather, and pile carpeting, a middle-aged man sat behind an oaken desk with a beautiful view from the picture window behind him. He looked up with a smile and took off his reading glasses. Grace looked Richert over carefully as the man stood up. His slate gray suit was tailored impeccably to fit Richert’s paunchy five foot eight form. Grace figured the brown hair to be a rug, but a credible one.
“Marshalls Stanwick and Reinhold, thank you for coming,” the man greeted them, holding out his hand to Grace first. “I’m Frank Richert. We’ve talked a few times on the phone during this unfortunate investigation into Tanus Import/Export and their cohorts at Fletcher Exports.”
“It would have been helpful if your agency had been more forthcoming, Mr. Richert,” Grace said, shaking the man’s hand.
“Actually, I knew so little about the case, my assistants had difficulty finding anything in relation to the two firms,” Richert replied, shaking Tim’s hand before gesturing them into the seats fronting his desk. “In light of the news coming from Nassau, I thought this would be a good time to meet and clear the air.”
“In light of the news, the only reason my partner and I came in today with our clients is to assure their safety. Your agency has had many dubious dealings with both the firms under investigation.”
“My agency’s investigations into terror networks worldwide put us into contact with quite a number of suspicious entities,” Richert stated with straightforward confidence. “As an important information gathering branch of the NSA, we do have what would appear to be strange dealings in our investigations. These specious rumors of our being an assassination-for-hire mob need to be put to rest with the criminals who started them. I wished to meet with Ms. Hunter and her daughter only to congratulate them on helping take down this potential threat to national security. I want to pledge my support in integrating them back into their normal lives.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Richert. If anything does happen to my clients, I have been ordered by the Attorney General to personally take your agency apart piece by piece. Are we clear on that?”
Richert’s mask dropped for a split second, allowing a glimpse of what lay beneath his office façade. “Of course, Marshall Stanwick. I’m sure Ms. Hunter’s troubles are in the past.”
“I’ll go get Rachel,” Tim said and walked out of the office.
* * * *
Rachel jumped a little when the office door opened. Tim stepped through, smiling widely at them.
“It’s all good. Richert’s so full of bullshit, his carpet’s brown, but I think your running days are over. C’mon in for the weasel’s little ceremony and we’ll get the hell out of here.”
“Thanks Tim.” Rachel grasped Jean’s hand.
“I wish the Terminator was here,” Jean whispered.
“That makes two of us, honey,” Rachel whispered in reply, brushing away a tear, cursing the way her eyes filled upon hearing Jean’s familiar title for Nick.
* * * *
“I’m done for the day, Lisa,” Frank said, waving to his secretary on the way out. “I’m going to take the rest of the afternoon off.”
“Very well, Sir, you’re certainly cheerful today, Mr. Richert,” Lisa observed.
“Things are finally starting to swing our way again. See you tomorrow.” Frank went out the office door, whistling tonelessly on his way to the elevator.
On the parking garage level, Frank looked around as he left the elevator angrily. The lighting on the left side of the underground lot near where he had parked his Mercedes was out. He flicked his remote and opened, started, and turned the lights on in his vehicle. Not wishing to ruin his nearly perfect day, Frank took a deep breath and walked carefully over to his car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Richert used his remote to turn on a classical music CD. He leaned back happily, reveling in the rich sound of a piano concerto. He felt a slight sting on his neck, swatting at it with his right hand. Seconds later, darkness swept into him on a wave of despair. Light, sound, and consciousness fled, leaving only a fleeting moment of abject terror.
Frank awoke with a painful throbbing behind his eyes. A pitiful mewling cry belched out of his mouth as realization lanced through him in a heartbeat. He was naked and strapped into a chair. One dull forty watt bulb illuminated the dank cement room only slightly.
“Ni…Nick?” Frank heard chairs scraping as if pushed away from a table and two dark figures walked around him on either side.
“Hello, Frankie, long time, no see,” Nick greeted him with a pleasant lilt to his tone. “I want yo
u to meet my old friend Gus Nason.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Richert,” Gus said formally. “You sure have caused a lot of trouble, Sir.”
“We…we can make this right, honest to God, Nick,” Frank rattled off in high-pitched stumbling fashion. “I’m in charge of everything. Anything you want…anything…I can get it.”
“I’m afraid that ship has sailed, Frankie,” Nick put a consoling hand on Richert’s shoulder. “It sailed the moment you called in a strike on Mr. Nason’s boat, The Loose Lady.”
“The Lucky Lady, damn it,” Gus corrected.
“Not for Frankie, Gus.” Nick grinned over at his partner.
Richert began to sob, his shoulders shaking as a real emotion overcame him: fear.
“Awwww… don’t get so upset, Frankie. I’ll make this real easy on you, for old time’s sake,” Nick promised, bending down to give Richert a hug. “I have my notebook computer all set up. You’re going to help me transfer all the ill-gotten gains I know you have in offshore accounts into my offshore account.”
“You’ll kill me anyway!” Frank cried out. “I’ll give you everything-just let me go.”
“Ah…no.” Nick shook his head. “You know how this works, Frankie. You can give me what I want and go out painlessly, or you can scream for death over the next ten hours, and then give me what I want. I’m only making the offer once though. If you start playing me, you’ll get ten hours of wishing you were dead, no matter what information you give me. What’ll it be, ol’ buddy?”
“O…okay,” Frank sobbed in gasping breaths, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“You see, Gus.” Nick looked up at his friend. “I told you Frankie would be cooperative.”
* * * *
Grace stopped the rental van in front of Nick’s Pacific Grove house.
“Wow, this is gorgeous. I guess Nick really liked you two.”
“He gave me the keys and paperwork,” Rachel replied tiredly. “I don’t have a clue about the legal ramifications.”
“Nick’s coming back!” Jean piped in angrily from the backseat, where she and Deke huddled together.
“Easy Jean,” Grace soothed, exchanging a knowing glance with Rachel. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. Is Deke okay? I know they gave him something for the flight.”
“He’s better since riding from the airport with his nose out the window,” Jean answered, hugging the dog’s neck.
“We really didn’t have to fly straight here from D.C. after our meeting with Richert, although it will sure be nice to drive over and see my place. Too bad we couldn’t get a flight leaving Washington until nearly midnight. Getting stuck in that damn Dallas/Fort Worth hellhole until nearly dawn really frosted me. I’m lucky Tim volunteered to stay in D.C. and cover my tracks.”
“I didn’t want to stay around there any longer. That Richert guy gave me the creeps.”
“This from a woman traveling around with Nick,” Grace retorted, opening her door. “C’mon, let’s get your stuff inside. I’d like to see the inside of Diego’s home.”
Twenty minutes later, the two women sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, while Jean and the still-groggy Deke watched television.
“I’m as spacey as the goofy dog,” Grace complained. “At least with everything the Benoits have given us, you won’t have to testify anywhere. Are you really going to live out here now? This is your first chance in a long time to get back in touch with friends and family.”
“It’s great knowing I can do that, but I’d rather come out of hiding slowly. After being with Nick, I don’t see the world in quite the same way anymore.”
“Look…” Grace leaned over the table, lowering her voice. “We both know Nick won’t be back. Tell me about him. Was -”
Grace’s cell-phone rang. She checked the caller ID with some irritation and then answered it with a sigh. “Yes, Timmy, we’re here safe and sound in lovely California. It’s so thoughtful of…what?”
Rachel watched Grace’s bored expression turn into bewildered, open-mouthed shock. Grace glanced furtively at Rachel while listening intently to her partner’s voice. Minutes ticked by as Grace simply acknowledged what she heard with short grunts of acceptance.
“Okay…call me if anything else comes up, Tim. I’ll check your place, too, after I sleep all day. Yeah, right…you can clean your own damn place, pal. See ya’.” Grace ended the call and hesitated to speak for a moment.
“Grace! What the hell’s going on?” Rachel asked impatiently, dread washing over her in a cold, clammy wave.
“Richert’s dead. They found him slumped over the steering wheel of his car, halfway home, along the roadside. They think he had some kind of stroke. Tim says it’s lucky he didn’t crash into -”
Rachel erupted in laughter.
“What?” Grace looked at Rachel as if she were nuts, and then leaned back in her chair, comprehension flooding in along with stunned disbelief.
“Oh come on, Rachel. You don’t think? No way…”
Jean ran in from the next room at the sound of her mom’s laughter with Deke trying to keep up. Rachel hugged Jean, teary eyed, and barely able to keep her fading laughter from turning into sobs of relief.
“What’s wrong Mom?” Jean asked worriedly, holding onto Rachel tightly.
“The Terminator’s back,” Rachel whispered.
Jean pushed away in jubilation, pointing excitedly at Rachel. “I told you.”
* * * *
Gus sat on his beach chair, looking out over the surging surf, smashing against the rocks at Otter’s Point. He pulled up the collar of his down jacket for the third time since arriving for what he had lately come to consider Nick’s weekend dawn patrol. No painting could do the little beach justice, Nick had told him countless times. After less than two month’s living in Pacific Grove, Gus now accepted the fact that he was hooked. With a sigh of satisfaction, he reached for the Sunday paper he had carried down to the beach with him. Deke ended his leap from the granite wall a few feet above the sand to a spot not more than six inches from the startled man’s feet.
“Eeeeyaaaaaahhhh!” Gus fell sideways, grabbing his paper while fending off Deke’s lavish attention. “Holy mother of God, Deke! You shaved five years off my life!”
Gus ceased fighting the dog off and simply sat up in the sand with Deke across his lap. It was only then he heard raucous laughter over the wind and beach noise. Gus glanced to his right as Nick and Jean descended the stone steps to the sand, having a merry time at his expense. Jean had her strainer and bucket in order to pursue the hunt for treasure in Otter’s Point’s myriad tide pools. Nick carried beach chairs and a backpack Gus knew contained a stainless steel coffee thermos with mugs. Jean waved hello as she passed by. Deke pawed sand over Gus in his haste to follow her, leaving Gus using his newspaper as a shield. Nick was still laughing when he reached down a hand to the less-thanentertained Gus.
“Oh… that was so funny,” Gus growled, allowing Nick to pull him up to his feet.
Nick brushed sand off his friend with overdone zeal and righted the beach chair.
“Good morning, Gus.” Nick set up the three beach chairs he had carried down with him. “Would you believe I’d never have let Deke off the leash if I’d known he would launch himself from the walkway?”
“Not even for a nano-second, you prick.”
“Good, I’d be disappointed if you thought these entertaining inspirational gems I think up for you were an accident. Coffee?”
“Ha, ha, I beat you to the beach for the first time since being talked into moving here to the Arctic.” Gus held out his hand for the mug Nick filled from the thermos.
“The Arctic? Oh…turn that record over, will you?”
“I might as well be living in Boston,” Gus proclaimed, blending the perfect amount of nostalgia for a place with weather he detested, along with enough insinuated guilt to set Nick’s teeth on edge. Gus chuckled as his familiar barb lanced home for a fleeting moment.
Nick stood
up with manufactured outrage. He grabbed up his beach chair, waving at Jean, and calling out to her. “Come, Danger, we must move on. I’ve been insulted once too often by this uncultured rube.”
Jean met Nick’s indignant demeanor with a smile, waved back, and continued her sifting endeavor with the forever curious Deke hunched over the rocks, waiting patiently for new discoveries to sniff at. Gus pulled on Nick’s coat with his free hand.
“Sit down, fool, before you stir up the sand. Where’s Mrs. McCarty?”
Nick barked out a short laugh and sat down again. “I got Rachel so good this morning. You know how she hates it when I’m always up before she stirs. This morning, I inched out silently from beside her and spent ten minutes carefully making her into the bed. The only thing showing from the covers was her face. Then I snuck out of the room and closed the door. It took some doing, but I managed to keep both Deke and Danger from ruining my little charade before we left for the beach.”
Gus shook his head, smiling at what entertained the cold-blooded killer sitting beside him. “I figured when we came back from Vegas after the wedding, you two would settle into humdrum married life. Here it is nearly six weeks later and you’re still trying to annoy her like always. How do you do it?”
“I’m thinking of getting Deke a kitten.”
Gus nearly snorted coffee through his nose, as he had just begun sipping the brew.
“Damn, Nick!” Gus laughed. “You need to get back to work. This family life has released your inner demons. It’s not pretty.”
“I sent Diego’s newest adventure in last week. My agent called me Friday and claimed it’s my best work yet,” Nick said defensively.
“We both know what work I’m talking about, partner. What’d you title your book anyway?”
“Caribbean Contract,” Nick answered with enthusiasm. “Diego took on a partner in this latest literary masterpiece of mine.”
Cold Blooded Page 28
