Joint Engagement

by Karen Anders

  As they came through the lobby doors, two men rose. One was Beau’s age, sandy hair, an overconfident air about him. The other guy was older with white hair and a mustache. At first glance they looked like a couple of drug dealers. The sandy-haired guy was dressed in a sleeveless white button-down shirt and dark slacks, and the older guy had his hair in a ponytail and was dressed in a very loud tropical shirt and white shorts.

  The sandy-haired guy took one look at Kinley and stopped. A wary look mixed with hope appeared on his face. He knew Kinley—well.

  Beau frowned, an unsettling feeling coming over him. He didn’t like the way the guy was looking at her. Beau was used to hanging with a woman for a short period of time. There was usually no follow-up, no matter how much he liked her. He avoided commitment like the plague. Why was it all of a sudden he wanted to grab the guy’s collar and say in his most back-the-hell-up voice, She’s mine!

  “Kinley,” the guy said, giving Beau a cursory glance. “I didn’t know it was you they were sending. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Hello.” Her tone was flat and that gave him a lot of satisfaction. “Daniel Wescott, this is Special Agent Beau Jerrott, NCIS.”

  The guy finally looked at him, and then his face changed as he took in Beau’s expression. Beau didn’t extend his hand and neither did Daniel.

  “This is Ken Stewart, my partner.”

  “We thought we’d give you a chance to go up to your room and drop your bags and we’d take you out to dinner and compare notes,” Ken said, looking between Beau and Daniel. As a seasoned agent, it was no surprise the older guy was cluing in on their tension.

  “Sounds good,” Beau said.

  “Kinley, could I speak to you for a moment, alone?” Daniel said.

  She glanced at him and her mouth thinned. “Maybe later. We should get going.” They headed for the front desk and signed in.

  On the elevator, she was quiet and Beau wondered if she’d heard a thing he’d said this morning. “Who is this guy to you?”

  “Someone I used to know.”

  “As in dated?”

  “It’s personal, so I don’t believe I need to answer that.”

  The elevator opened and she headed out to her room. Before she could open the door he said, “It does matter. He’s now part of the investigation and I think this morning I said I don’t like being left out of the loop.”

  “Are you asking this as lead investigator in this case or as the man who wants to sleep with me?”

  Damn if she didn’t keep catching him off guard.

  “As lead on this case,” he lied.

  “Yes, I dated him. It was a disaster.”

  “DEA? Is this the guy you worked with on the task force?”

  She gritted her teeth. “Yes. Okay? Can I go now?”

  “Kinley. Is this going to be a problem?”

  She studied his face, shifting anxiously. “I don’t know, Beau. Is it?”

  “On my part? Is that what you’re asking?”

  “I can only guess you’re pushing this because you think this is personal and it will affect my professional performance. It won’t. Suffice it to say that he and I are no longer...together. Is that enough?”

  “I want the details.”

  “We don’t have time for that now. Stop being jealous.”

  He backed up out of her personal space. “I’m not jealous,” he said. She gave him a skeptical look and disappeared into her room, closing the door.

  He headed to his room and undid the clasp of the garment bag and hung it in the closet. The suits would identify them immediately as cops. He decided it was best to go casual, but for now, he just loosened his tie, undoing the top button. As this was a tropical island, his heavier-weight suits weren’t cutting it.

  He took off his suit jacket and shrugged out of the shoulder holster. Setting it on the bed, he pulled the tie completely off and unbuttoned his sweat-soaked shirt. He went into the bathroom and washed his face and the back of his neck, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes. Damn, he needed a haircut. Chris was going to get on his ass when he got back to DC.

  He tried not to examine the unsettling feeling that continued to plague him. He had every intention of getting the details out of Kinley. It had nothing to do with him being jealous. He just wanted Kinley to be forthcoming so he wasn’t caught off guard in this situation. It was about the information, not about his feelings in the matter. He didn’t like going into situations blindly. Collecting data was second nature to him. Knowledge was power. That’s all it was.

  He ran a towel over his hair and smoothed it with his fingers. Heading back into the room, he rummaged around in his garment bag and came up with a blue T-shirt that went with the gray suit he was wearing. Pulling it over his head, he resituated the holster and slipped back into the jacket. A little Miami Vice, but it would do until he could get something more appropriate.

  Exiting the room he found Kinley just coming out of hers. She was dressed in the same outfit as before, but he noticed that she kept her weapon in a holster in the small of her back.

  When he came abreast of her, her delicate scent ambushed him. Feeling proprietary, he wanted to slide his hand down to the small of her back and usher her into the elevator.

  But he was out to prove that he could resist her and stay completely professional in public, even though that isn’t what he wanted in private.

  Back in the lobby, Daniel and his partner waited. They rose when they stepped out of the elevator.

  “We can drive,” Daniel said.

  As soon as Kinley moved forward, Daniel cut Beau off by stepping into his path. When they reached the car, Daniel opened the front door for her.

  Beau seethed, not understanding why this guy was getting to him. He didn’t chase women. He didn’t worry about who else they might be involved in. He and Ken were relegated to the backseat as Kinley took shotgun.

  Pulling out into traffic, Daniel struck up a conversation with Kinley in low tones and Beau could barely hear them.

  Ken said, “You were a navy SEAL, right?”

  He turned to him, surprised. “You know me?”

  “You gave us support, oh, about three years ago. Colombia. Pulled three agents out of a Colombian stronghold. Hair was a bit less pretty boy and you were in full-body armor, but I’m pretty sure it was you.”

  “I don’t normally talk about missions,” Beau said. Classified meant classified in his book.

  “Yeah, I hear that. But since we were both there and one of the guys you pulled out of there was me, I guess I can finally say thanks.”

  Beau nodded and met Kinley’s eyes as she turned to look at him.

  “I saw you take down three guys. All without any of them knowing you were even there. Man, never saw anything like it. Right in the open, as confident and as slick as hell. Knew it was SEALs the minute the first guy dropped. Knew my ass was getting rescued.”

  Beau didn’t say anything. He met Daniel’s sourpuss face in the mirror, as Kinley’s focus was now totally on the conversation in the backseat.

  “I remember that mission,” Beau said, bending his rule just a little to get Daniel’s goat. “In and out in one minute forty-five. Black Hawk standing by and you guys were out of there. No casualties. It was a win.”

  “Yeah, except for the damn cartel. Heard you guys took down José later on.”

  Beau searched his memory, then it came to him. Tall, dark, Colombian José Carberra spraying machine-gun fire out into an open lawn where he thought Beau and his team were hidden. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t check behind him. By the time he was alerted, they had already scaled over the wall and breached the compound.

  “Heard José wasn’t in the surrendering mood. Can’t say I felt too bad about that. Bastard tortured me and killed my partner outr
ight. Guess I can thank you for that, too.”

  “Doing my job.”

  “Like hell. I’m sure that’s your canned response. I’m here today because of you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Daniel slowed down for a quaint, white horse–drawn carriage. Beau was used to those as they traversed the city streets of the French Quarter in New Orleans, where he’d been sent fresh from NCIS training.

  As pink and light blue colonial-style buildings and architecture flew by, Ken said, “So you gave up the teams for a NCIS badge.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What do you remember most about Hell Week?”

  This guy was a SEAL lover, one who enjoyed meeting and talking to SEALs. He understood why. He’d been saved by Beau’s team. “Sand,” he said.

  “Sand?”

  “Yeah. We ran everywhere, tired, wet and cold. There was sand in my shoes, crotch and ears, even between my buttocks. That junk itches, especially when you’re constantly wet from seawater. They didn’t let us sleep. When we were allowed to lie down, a few short minutes later the instructors ran in beating trash-can lids with clubs, blowing whistles, throwing M-80s, cherry-bomb-size explosives.”

  “Damn. DEA training is a bit less intensive,” he said with a chuckle.

  “We found pure coke on the hijacked cutter,” Kinley said after a few moments of silence.

  “That cocaine could be part of a big shipment we heard got transported out of Cuba headed for the Bahamas,” Ken said.

  “How much of a threat is Cuba in drug trafficking?” Beau asked.

  “Mexican drug traffickers control much of the movement of drugs. So they are the go-to guys,” Ken said.

  “Maybe this was a smaller operation, a way to bypass the Mexicans? Keep the profits to themselves?” Daniel said.

  “It’s possible,” Ken replied.

  “This seems too involved and elaborate for a drug run to me,” Kinley said. “There is a definite presence of drugs on the cutter, but at this point we don’t know how much. What I don’t get is why the whole hijacking and CG impersonation bit. Most drug runners just launch go-fast boats and try to outrun us. This was a staged and deliberate subterfuge. I say something else is at work here.”

  “You always did have a unique perspective at looking at situations, Kinley,” Daniel said.

  Kinley stiffened at the regret in Daniel’s tone, and Beau found himself jealous all over again with the way Daniel seemed to be trying to make amends for something from their past.

  They pulled up to a pink rectangular building with what looked like a hand-lettered sign saying McKenzie’s.

  “Are the reports of the Cubans cracking down on drugs exaggerated?” Kinley asked.

  Ken responded as Daniel parked. “Even with the indication that drugs are being stamped out in Cuba, we’re not buying it. A number of major drug trafficking figures from Colombia, Mexico and Peru were reported to be holding meetings or living in Cuba. Given the repressive nature of the society, it is unlikely that these visits went unnoticed or were unapproved by the Cuban government.”

  “It’s more a pipeline, then,” Beau said.

  “Correct, with the exception of the Las Espadas Cruzadas cartel. We estimate two tons of cocaine per year was flowing through Cuba to other destinations. That’s what pissed José off three years ago when we seized a shipment of more than ten tons of cocaine in Cartagena, Colombia, just days before it left for Cuba. From Cuba, the cargo was supposed to be reshipped to Spain. Large shipments like this are never made without the ‘pipeline’ already having been tested. The company shipping this cocaine had previously made four other container shipments to Cuba that went on to Spain.”

  As they exited the car, Ken said, “This is a great place to eat. One of our favorites. Right, Wescott?”

  “Yeah, it’s great.” Daniel replied. “Conch is a Bahamian staple, brought in fresh each day and really good. You should try the conch salad made with mangos and pineapple. Totally different taste for seafood.”

  They entered the stall-like building with four columns painted the same pink as that stomach relief medicine. As they entered, he could see the harbor and the long span of the bridge over to Paradise Island.

  They ordered from a young girl, Beau getting the salad. He didn’t want to be jealous, tried to keep himself neutral, but he just didn’t like the way Daniel crowded Kinley. He wanted to shove the guy away from her.

  When they each got their dishes and headed for the table, Beau inserted himself by pretending to bump Daniel. “Sorry about that, buddy.” But it put him in the perfect position to sit next to her. Since it was a boothlike setup with a narrow wooden table between them, Daniel and Ken had to sit across from them. Daniel wasn’t happy about the arrangement. Too bad.

  “So, we tracked down Umprey Thompson’s widow. She lives here. The Defense Force is willing to back off until you have a crack at her. She hasn’t been told about her husband.” Ken said.

  The subject of Paradise Island came up and Ken launched into all the fun stuff to do there. Once lunch was over and they headed back to the car, Beau pulled up a picture on his phone. “Was this guy on your radar?” he said as he settled in the back seat. Kinley got in next to him.

  “Yeah, we know him. Dudley Martin. American. He’s a two-bit drug-dealing scum,” Ken said with a frown. “Bad news if he’s involved.”

  “Local authorities have been searching for him to question him. We’ve been looking for him, too. He looks dead,” Daniel said.

  “He is. We found him on that drifting cutter,” Beau said.

  Ken shook his head. “Predatory bastard. He probably lured those poor damn tourists with a lot of cash to pose as CG. Too bad your petty officer wasn’t savvier in port.”

  Beau nodded and growled. “He was just a kid, looking to hook his parents up for their anniversary with a trip to Paris.”

  “Ah, that’s tough. Glad the bastard’s dead,” Ken said.

  Daniel pulled into traffic and said, “Looks like Dudley’s lifestyle finally did him in. A lot of palms were greased to keep him out of lockup. He was the front guy for the Las Espadas Cruzadas cartel. In English, that’s—”

  “Two Crossed Swords,” Beau said.

  Daniel nodded. “They operate out of Cuba and are connected with Kaamil ‘The Assassin’ el Ajeer.”

  Beau sat up straighter. He’d been on that hunt when he was still on the teams, but they’d never found him. “The leader of Sons of the Republic. The CIA has been trying to take that bastard down for some time. Elusive as all get out.

  “Yeah, and he loves the Caribbean.”

  “Sure. The white sand beaches, the turquoise water and tons of coke.” Beau nodded.

  “It has long been a paradise for smugglers who take advantage of the many islands, crowded waters and weak law enforcement.

  “That is a fact and why we formed Operation Bahamas, Turks and Caicos. We estimate that as much as twenty percent of the cocaine that reaches the United States moves through the Caribbean, although that figure has varied over time.”

  “Do you have Mrs. Thompson’s address?”

  “Sure. Ken?” Daniel asked.

  Ken pulled out a notebook and ripped off a piece of paper. “Here you go.”

  Beau accepted the paper and tucked it into his suit jacket.

  “So any insights on what Martin might be doing on that cutter?”

  “Martin is a known associate of a fugitive we’re currently seeking. That’s why we want to talk to him.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Diego Montoya. He’s the logistics guy for the Las Espadas. He was supposed to testify for us, but pulled a fast one and disappeared. We believe Martin was involved in helping him to escape.”

  “Montoya and Martin
were tight?”

  “Very. Diego trusted him with his life. Spent some time together in lockup. It’s rumored that Martin protected him on the inside and he was repaid in kind.”

  “Let Kinley and I check out Mrs. Thompson and see what she knows.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Daniel agreed.

  Thirty minutes later Beau and Kinley pulled up to a faded mint-green house that looked recently repaired and restored. At the door they knocked and a black woman answered. She was dressed in a simple white dress and a colorful scarf used as a belt around her waist. With her cloud of dark, kinky hair her light, amber eyes and chocolate skin, she was quite striking. A little girl with the same color eyes hung on her skirts dressed in a light blue shirt and khaki shorts. When the woman saw them, her face went blank and impassive. “Can I help you?” she said, the soft, husky tone of her voice wary, apprehension in every line of her body.

  Beau showed her his badge and Kinley followed suit. “We’re from NCIS and CGIS.”

  “CG? As in Coast Guard?”

  Kinley nodded.

  Mrs. Thompson’s eyes started to fill with tears. “Umprey is dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, but he is,” Kinley said softly.

  Mrs. Thompson backed up and tears spilled from her eyes. She called, “Momma!” A woman bustled out of the kitchen and Mrs. Thompson picked up the small girl and spoke rapidly. “Please take her to the park.”

  The mother eyed them as she left, her lips thinning with a hostile look. Apparently Americans were not very welcome in this house.

  “Please.” She swallowed hard. “Come in.”

  They sat in a small sitting room and Mrs. Thompson grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and blotted her eyes. “How?” she asked, her voice clogged with tears.

  “He was found on the cutter he was transporting back to the Bahamas.”

  “I knew this was a bad idea. That weaselly white man was nothing but trouble.”

  “Is this the man?”

  She looked at his phone with a look of disgust on her face. “He is the one. He looks dead. Tell me he is dead.”