Boca Undercover

by Miriam Auerbach

  A loud knock shook the door. “Hey, hurry up,” a voice called.

  Evidently a Boca Babe who felt entitled to use any facility on demand.

  “I said, just a minute!” I leaned over and peered behind the toilet tank. The camera was aimed correctly at the ceiling. I pressed the record button. Then, to project verisimilitude to the woman outside, I flushed the toilet, ran water in the sink and turned on the hand dryer.

  Finally I opened the door to see Lisa standing there—the prostitution ringleader I’d encountered that morning. The one who’d called me old.

  “Sorry, the air freshener ran out,” I said.

  Her eyes widened, and her lips curled back in disgust. She turned and stomped down the hall.

  Damn, what if she was Social Climber? The camera would have caught her right then and there. Maybe I needed to rein in my snarky impulses when working a case. Nah.

  I returned to my room to await Enrique’s call or Lior’s arrival, whichever came sooner.

  I sat on my bed as dusk fell outside. The days were getting shorter in autumn, with twilight arriving around six.

  Absent any external stimulation, my mind amused itself by imagining Lior’s anticipated arrival. How he would look, how he would feel, what we would do. I was just reaching the part where he reached for my . . . when I heard a sound. Not the phone. The unmistakable rat-tat-tat of a Hog.

  I sprang to the window. It was dark outside by then. I saw a single headlight approaching on the driveway. I made out the silhouette of a chopper with an extended front fork and elevated handlebars, straddled by two men. The driver boasted the beer belly of Chuck, the passenger—the hard body of Lior. At last!

  I was out of my room in a heartbeat.

  Daniel sat at the nurses’ station.

  “I’m going outside for a walk,” I told him.

  “No, you can’t. It’s almost dinnertime, and after that, it’s Club Night, where residents have the opportunity to learn to socialize without the crutches of drugs and alcohol.”

  Right. I was planning to socialize in an entirely different manner.

  “Sounds awesome,” I said. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll just go out for a bit, then I’ll go to dinner. I promise I’ll be back in time for the party. Pretty please?” I flashed him a Boca Babe entreaty. That’s when you tilt your head down, look up, and pout your lips.

  I guess he was not immune. “Okay,” he said. “But be back here in ninety minutes to go to the party. If you don’t keep your word, we’ll have to restrict your privileges.”

  “No worries,” I said, and booked for the exit.

  Once outside the building, I saw that Chuck had parked the bike and both men had dismounted and were removing their helmets. Lior wore a maroon V-necked sweater and black jeans. Chuck wore . . . well, who cared. It had been a couple months since I had seen Lior. He seemed taller, his shoulders broader, his biceps bigger. Odd. I mean, I should know his body after the years of Krav Maga training we had done together.

  As his helmet came off, his black wavy hair tumbled out. He brushed it from his forehead, and his dark brown eyes rose to meet mine. Was it just reflected moonlight that glinted in his pupils? Suddenly I found myself standing next to him, not even aware I had traversed the distance.

  “Hey,” I said. Yeah, I know, real original.

  He reached out and encircled my waist, fingers pressing into the small of my back, drawing me to him. He brushed his lips on the corner of my mouth. A day’s growth of stubble prickled my skin.

  “Hey,” he whispered. The sound waves of his voice transmuted into a heat wave rolling through my body.

  “Hey!” What the hell was that—an echo? No . . . it was Chuck.

  “What about me?” he grinned. This time it was the moonlight, I decided, noticing how it shimmered the silver streaks in his goatee. Chuck spread his arms, and I put mine around his neck as he lifted me off my feet. “Ya okay here, kid?” he asked.

  “You know I am,” I said as he set me down. Chuck knew I could take care of myself. And that I’d learned to ask for help when I needed it. “Thanks for bringing him.” I nodded toward Lior.

  “My pleasure,” Chuck said. “Great night for a ride.”

  “Aren’t they all?” To a biker, there’s no time you don’t want to be out on the open road. Live to ride, ride to live.

  “I’ll leave you two, uh, to it, then,” Chuck said.

  “Thanks a lot, bro,” Lior said, and they did that fist-knuckles-fingers thing that guys do.

  Lior and I stood back as Chuck replaced his helmet, mounted his bike, and fired it up. The engine’s roar rattled the ground as he took off.

  I was alone with Lior . . . with no place to go. It wasn’t like we could go to my room, with Daniel lurking there at the nurses’ station. Wait . . . I had an idea.

  “Come with me,” I said, taking his hand. It felt as if we had never touched before. I was aware of every cell of my skin connecting with every cell of his.

  I led him through the darkness around the side of the building. No one seemed to be outside. The foliage rustled, and the Intracoastal waters lapped the seawall at the far end of the property. Despite all the violence and craziness of the past couple days, at that moment The Oasis seemed very serene. We reached the Meditation Maze. The perfect place for privacy, with its seven-foot hedges and pathways illuminated only by the moon.

  I unlatched the gate and led Lior down a few rows of hedges.

  We turned a corner and came upon broken strands of yellow crime scene tape scattered on the grass, shattering the illusion of serenity.

  Lior raised his eyebrows at me.

  I whispered, “A boy was murdered here yesterday. And last night a girl was stabbed. I’m here on the case. Undercover. I’m sorry, but I can’t leave here until I figure out—”

  My words were cut off as Lior pulled me to him and brought his lips hard onto mine. The fingers of one hand curled in my hair as the other traveled down my spine. He pulled away, and his eyes looked into mine.

  “Don’t ever apologize for who you are,” he said. His voice was soft but fierce. “Understand?”

  Yes, I understood. I understood that this man loved me. He knew that seeking justice wasn’t what I did, it was who I was. He knew my Inner Vigilante. Understood it, accepted it, embraced it.

  It had been five years since I’d been with a man. I’d kept myself alone, isolated. Safe. But now the man was right, and the time was right.

  I stroked his cheek and kissed him back, my tongue mingling with his, my body molding to his. I pulled up his sweater and ran my hands across his bare back, feeling the outline of every chiseled muscle. I licked the stubble along his jaw, savoring the sheer masculinity of him. I moved my hands to the front, tugging at his belt buckle.

  He grasped my hands with his, pulling his head away. “Are you sure you want—”

  This time I cut him off. “Yes. I want you. Here. Now.”

  “You have me. Here. Now. Always.”

  The leaves in the hedges rustled as we wrestled with each other’s clothes. He pulled my shirt over my head, took a moment to eye the va-va-voom bra I’d acquired that morning at the gift shop. The moonlit glint in his eyes brightened.

  He brought his mouth to my breast, his tongue teasing me through the lace, his hand moving to the back to unhook the closure. His fingers paused there.

  “It’s in the front,” I said.

  “Of course,” he murmured. “Model number K253Z.”

  His hand moved between my breasts, and with a twist of his fingers, they were freed. He pulled me on top of him as he sat on the grass, my legs wrapped around his waist. I placed a hand on his chest, feeling the slow beat of his heart.

  Slow? Exactly how excited was he? Okay, so he was a highly conditioned athlete.


  Our lips met again as he lay back, pulling me with him.

  The leaves rustled again as Lior quickly rolled us over, pinning me to the ground with his full, hard weight. My hand was still over his heart, and suddenly I felt it speed up, just as he cried out.

  “Yes, baby,” I said.

  “No!”

  He went rigid. I mean his whole body. “I . . . I’ve been stabbed,” he gasped.

  Then he passed out on top of me.

  Chapter 13

  “LIOR!” I SCREAMED. He was motionless, a dead weight atop me. Oh my god. Was he really dead?

  No. My hand was crushed beneath his chest, and I felt his heartbeat racing.

  With my other hand, I reached around his back, feeling for blood and a knife. There was neither. I pushed away with all my strength and rolled Lior onto his back. I shook his shoulders. No response. In the moonlight, I saw beads of perspiration forming on his face. I felt his forehead. It was burning.

  What had happened? If he’d been stabbed, he’d be bleeding, maybe going into shock. Which would mean his heartbeat would be slow and weak, and his skin would be clammy to the touch . . . exactly the opposite of the symptoms he was showing.

  I crouched in a Krav Maga stance, ready to fight, and looked around frantically. Where the hell was the attacker? I saw nothing but hedges reaching for the moon.

  But at the base of the nearest hedge, something glinted in the moonlight. A hypodermic needle and syringe. Lior had been injected with something. He needed more help than I could provide.

  “Help!” I yelled, quickly hooking my bra and pulling my shirt back on. “Somebody!”

  Nothing. I thought of running to find someone, but I didn’t want to leave Lior. The attacker might return. I screamed again, then heard the hedges rustling.

  “Where are you?” a voice yelled. Was it a savior? The assailant? Or one and the same?

  I didn’t have time to figure that out right now. “Over here!”

  I heard panting breaths, then Dr. Stillwater rounded the corner. “What’s going on? Who is this? What happened?”

  “His name’s Lior Ben Yehuda,” I said. This was not time for subterfuge. I pointed at the needle and syringe. “He’s been injected with something. He’s got a rapid heartbeat, and he’s hot to the touch.”

  Stillwater knelt down beside us. “What did you inject him with? Heroin? Meth? I need to know!”

  “I didn’t! He was attacked!”

  She whipped her stethoscope out of her jacket pocket and placed it on Lior’s chest. After a few moments, she took out a penlight, opened Lior’s eyelids one at a time, and flicked the beam across them. Then she took out her phone and tapped the screen.

  My own heartbeat pounded in my ears. Through the pulsations, I heard Stillwater requesting an ambulance and the police and spouting medical terms. “Male, thirties, unresponsive, tachycardic, hyperthermic. Suspected stimulant overdose by IM injection.”

  Stillwater ended the call. “First responders are on their way. What was this man doing here? He’s not a patient.”

  “He’s a visitor. What are you doing here?” Hell, she could be the assailant.

  “I was leaving work, heading to my car, when I heard you call for help.”

  Good story. But I couldn’t trust her. Who was more likely to wield a deadly injection than a doctor? This attack had to be related to the others. Yet the method wasn’t consistent. Demarcus and Jessica had been stabbed with commonplace sharp objects—hedge clippers and a fork. This was a different kind of weapon.

  I could barely think straight. “Where is the goddamn ambulance?” I yelled.

  As if in response, sirens wailed, then voices shouted.

  “Over here!” I yelled.

  At last, two paramedics rounded the corner with a gurney. It all seemed like a replay of finding Demarcus in that very maze the day before. The medics lifted Lior onto the stretcher, then started an IV in his arm and an oxygen flow to his nose.

  “Take that syringe,” I told them, pointing at it. “That’s what he was injected with. The hospital might be able to analyze it to find out what it is. And it’s crime scene evidence.”

  One of the medics picked it up with a gloved hand and dropped it into a plastic baggie. Then they wheeled Lior out of the maze as I hustled alongside, holding his hand.

  Stillwater remained behind, texting someone on her phone. Probably Evans, the hefty CEO of The Oasis, who had run with her to the maze the previous day.

  Just as the medics were pushing the gurney into the back of the ambulance, Lior’s eyes fluttered open. They looked feverish in his flushed face.

  “Lior,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You’ll be all right.”

  “I guess you really knocked me out, babe.” A feeble grin appeared.

  I climbed into the ambulance beside him.

  “What are you doing?” he murmured.

  “Going to the hospital with you.”

  His grip on my hand tightened. “No. Stay here.” He took a shaky breath. “Figure out who did this,” he whispered, his words slurred.

  “No, I need to be with you, to help you.”

  “The doctors . . . will give me . . . the medical help I need.” Another labored inhalation. “The best way for you . . . to help me . . . is to find out . . . what happened to me . . . and to those kids.”

  His chocolate brown eyes held my gaze. Dammit, of course he was right. My Inner Vigilante wouldn’t rest until it had the answers—and they wouldn’t be found in the hospital. But I couldn’t just leave Lior alone to the vagaries of the medical system. In his vulnerable condition, he needed an advocate with him.

  But who? Of course—the Contessa. As a major donor to Boca hospitals, when the Contessa spoke, staff listened.

  I ran a hand across Lior’s forehead and brushed my lips to his. “I’ll see you soon,” I whispered. But his eyes had closed. He’d lost consciousness again.

  “Please, miss,” one of the paramedics said. “We need to go. We’ll take good care of him.”

  “Where are you taking him?

  “East Boca Medical Center. He’ll be in good hands there.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” With reluctance, I clambered out of the ambulance. They slammed the doors shut behind me and sped off, the tires hurling gravel at my ankles.

  Turning, I saw Stillwater standing there, framed in the moonlight. Her habitual mask of perfection looked frayed around the edges. She still held her phone in her hand. No doubt she had the Contessa’s number stored in there, since the Contessa was a donor to The Oasis as well.

  “I need to borrow your phone,” I said. She opened her mouth to protest but apparently changed her mind upon seeing my expression. She handed over the device.

  I scrolled through the contacts and found the Contessa.

  “Good evening, Maria,” she answered in her regal tones.

  “It’s me, uh . . .” I glanced at Stillwater and walked away from her. “Harriet Horowitz.”

  The Contessa, sharp as ever, didn’t ask what I was doing on Stillwater’s phone. Instead, she remained silent, waiting for me to convey the nature of my business.

  “Lior has been assaulted. He’s en route to East Boca hospital. Please make sure he gets the absolutely best care.” My voice might have quavered just a bit.

  “Certainly, Harriet. I will go there personally.”

  Damn, a tear slid down my cheek. “Thank you, your Highness.”

  I wiped my face, turned back to Stillwater, walked to her and handed her the phone. Only then did I see that the police had arrived. They were the same uniformed officers who’d been at the scene of Demarcus’s murder the previous day—Hernandez and Fernandez. The hairy one and the bald one.

  “Ms. . . . Holloway, is it?” Hairy—I mean Hernandez�
�asked.

  I nodded.

  “We’ll need a statement from you.”

  We stood there as I gave him all the details. Well, not all the details. There was no need to know this had been a case of near-coitus interruptus.

  Hernandez’s face remained impassive as he listened and took notes.

  “Search the area,” he said to his partner when I was done. Then to me he said, “Do you mind if I search you?”

  “What, you suspect me? What about her?” I pointed to Stillwater, who stood nearby, still texting.

  Hernandez looked from me to Stillwater. Druggie vs. Doctor. Right. Who would a cop believe? If Stillwater was the guilty party, it wouldn’t be the cops who’d find out—it was up to me. Sighing, I raised my arms and submitted to a pat down.

  “All right, Ms. Holloway,” the cop said. “You’re free to go.” He pressed the radio transmitter on his shoulder. “Fernandez, where are you?”

  “I have no freaking idea,” the voice came back. “This place is a goddamn maze.”

  I rolled my eyes. I wanted to search the maze myself, but I couldn’t with the cops and Stillwater there. I stalked off and headed straight to my room, ignoring all the sundry staff along the way.

  Daniel was still seated at the nurses’ station in the detox unit. “How was our dinner?” he chirped.

  “Um, just fine.” I had no desire to disabuse him of his misapprehension about my whereabouts.

  “Don’t forget, Club Night starts shortly.”

  “Headache,” I snapped through gritted teeth. “Going to bed.”

  “This is not an optional activity, Hailey,” he sang to my retreating back.

  I slammed the door behind me and plopped on the bed. My heartbeat still pounded in my ears. What was happening with Lior?

  Okay, take a deep breath, I told myself. I could trust the Contessa. In fact, Lior would no doubt get better care under her watch than my own. My f-you attitude would likely get me booted right out of the hospital. Also, Leonard had already mobilized the “operatives,” so the Contessa would know how to get a message to me once she had something to report on Lior’s condition.