by Amy Vansant
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Mick is alive and he has a Jamaican nurse?” asked Mason as they roared north up I-95 from the airport to the Loggerhead. “Is there anything else you’d like to drop on me?”
Shee took a moment to think about his question.
Is there?
She’d almost forgotten he didn’t know about Mick being alive. What else was she forgetting?
While she thought, Mason ticked off her bombshells.
“Secret baby, sister assassinated, daughter raised by wolves—”
“Retirees,” she corrected.
“Oh, excuse me, old wolves. Mick’s alive—is the Loggerhead actually the lost city of Atlantis?”
“No. And, for your information, Charlotte is very well adjusted—”
She winced.
Whoops. There’s another thing.
The light ahead of them turned red and Mason slammed on the brakes. Shee slapped the dashboard to keep from breaking her nose.
“Will you cut that out?” she snapped.
“You’ve talked to her?”
“Who?” She knew the answer, but felt as though she needed a few more seconds to get her thoughts together.
“Charlotte.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“When?”
“Last week,” she mumbled.
“For the first time?”
She nodded. “Since that day at Grace’s.”
“What did she say?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I mean—”
“She had nothing to say to the mother who abandoned her? Didn’t try to kill you, for instance? Come to think of it, maybe she’s the one who put a hit out on you.”
Shee scowled. “Come on—”
The light changed and Mason stomped on the gas, throwing Shee back against her seat.
She sighed. “She found some things at Estelle’s house and came looking. But it was before I went to the hotel. I just sort of bumped into her while I was working a case. I didn’t tell her who I was. I think she still thinks I’m her aunt.”
“Which means she doesn’t know anything about me yet?”
“No. I mean yes, she doesn’t.”
“You were working a case? You came back for that? Not to see your father?”
Shee chewed her lip. “I didn’t know he—”
Mason held up a hand to silence her.
“All I know is, if Charlotte is well-adjusted, that makes one of you.”
He fell silent again.
Shee’s mood darkened. It had felt like they were talking again for a little while. How could she explain to him why she hadn’t come home sooner when she wasn’t entirely sure herself? Why she’d made the decisions she did?
Maybe his silence was the best she could hope for.
You reap what you sow.
They drove in silence until Mason pulled into the driveway of the Loggerhead Inn. Bracco stood at the door as usual, like Anubis guarding the tomb of her past life.
Mason parked and cut the engine, his gaze locked on Bracco. “I thought you told Angelina to get rid of him until you got back.”
“I told her not to let him near Dad.”
Shee opened her door and was about to exit when Mason touched her back.
“Hey—”
She turned.
“Slow down,” he said, looking serious.
“What?”
“Slow down. You can’t go running in there pointing fingers at everyone.”
“The hell I can’t.”
“You can’t base every move you make on some kid talking about an islandy accent.”
She settled back into her seat and pulled the door closed. “It has to be her. The accent is too much of a coincidence.”
“She’s not the only Jamaican in the world.”
“But—”
“And he’s a kid. New at his job. It could have been a Russian accent and he probably wouldn’t know the difference.”
She considered this. He had a point.
Mason continued. “Shee, think. If you go up there screaming for her to get out—”
“I’m not going to scream—”
“—she’s going to know she’s burned. You’ll blow any chance we have of figuring out what’s going on.”
Shee looked at him. “We?”
He took a deep breath and released it. “I’m not going to leave you alone with all this.”
Shee looked away, fighting back grateful tears.
“Thank you.”
His voice grew soft. “You’re welcome. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to choke you.”
“Understood. You can choke me later.” She wiped her eyes under the guise of wiping her brow. He’d cut the air, and the atmosphere in the cab grew thicker by the second.
“It’s getting hot in here,” she mumbled.
She dropped out of the truck and headed for the hotel, hearing Mason’s trademark limp falling in line behind her.
Bracco moved from his spot at the door to the top of the stairs.
She stopped, staring up at him.
What is this?
“Shee,” he said. His expression belied the strain it cost him to formulate the word. He put a closed fist over his heart. “M-M-Mick.”
Shee stared at him, unsure what to say. Tears gathered in the man’s eyes. Already on the verge of crying herself, she felt her cheeks grow hot. She was one sentimental dog commercial away from dissolving into a permanent puddle.
“You love Mick?” she asked.
Bracco nodded so violently Shee worried he’d shake his brain to jelly. He pointed at her, his lip quivering. “You.”
This guy is killing me.
The waterworks pressed harder against Shee’s eyes, and she pinched her expression to try and hold them back in her head. She barely knew the man and all she wanted to do was hug him.
Screw it.
She threw her arms around his waist and Bracco wrapped his meaty arms around her, squeezing her to him.
“You are a straight-up train wreck,” she heard Mason mumble behind her.
She released Bracco and turned, sniffling. “Shut up.”
He held his palms up to her. “Just saying. Maybe we should go find Crazy-Eyes and come up with a plan.”
“Crazy eyes?”
“Angelina’s always got her eyeballs on me—”
“Ol’ Crazy-Eyes is right here,” said a voice behind the blubbering Bracco.
Bracco stepped aside to reveal Angelina standing behind the screen door.
Shee took the last step to the porch and entered the hotel. Archie bolted for Mason, butt waggling. From the crook of Angelina’s arm, Harley yapped, furious about everything.
Shee dropped her bag to the ground. “Is Martisha upstairs?” she asked, squatting to the ground. She tried to sneak a hug from Archie but in his unbridled joy the dog refused to hold still long enough for her to get in a good one. She straightened.
“He’s not a great therapy dog.”
Angelina studied Shee’s teary face with concern before her attention shot to Mason.
He shrugged. “Long day.”
“I’m fine,” said Shee wiping her cheeks dry. “Where’s Martisha? We need to check on Mick.”
Angelina’s attention shifted to Mason.
“It’s okay. He knows,” said Shee.
“Really? Did we make that decision all on our own?” Angelina huffed. “She’s still out. And of course I checked on Mick the second you called. He looks normal.”
Shee nodded. “Good. We can’t let her back in.”
“No. It had to be her who called the detective. Too much of a coincidence,” said Angelina.
Shee looked at Mason. “See?” She stuck out her tongue.
He rolled his eyes.
Harley continued her staccato bark at Archie as the furry mutt earned more attention from Mason.
Angelina put her hand over her dog’s face to quiet her.
“The thing I don’t understand..
. If Martisha wanted Mick dead, she could have killed him weeks ago.”
“What do we know about her?” asked Shee.
Angelina shrugged. “Nothing really. Mick had hired her to take care of the Captain.”
“Who’s the Captain?” asked Mason.
Shee rubbed her hand across her face.
I didn’t tell him about burying the Captain...
She dismissed him with a wave. “No one important.”
She refocused on Angelina. “I assume Martisha has an elevator key?”
“Of course.”
“Can you re-key it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out. When she gets back, tell her I want to spend more time with Dad and give her a week off.”
“Don’t do it alone,” said Mason.
Angelina shifted Harley to her other arm. “And what happens in a week?”
“We’ll look into her. If we haven’t cleared her in a week, we’ll give her another week off. We should change Dad’s bedroom lock, too.” She turned to Mason. “What do you know about changing locks?”
He crossed his arms against his chest. “It’s mostly what I did in Iraq.”
“Really?”
He smirked. “No. But it isn’t rocket science.”
&&&
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Martisha sat in her car, watching her hand shake. She covered it with her opposite hand and kneaded the back of it.
She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
Miss Angelina was too smart. When Miss Angelina looked at her, it felt as though the woman could see into her heart. All the people in the hotel were canny. They were killers, she was sure. If they found out what she was doing to Mister Mick...
What have I become?
Twenty-two years as a nurse and now...
She swallowed and looked in the rearview at Bracco. He was standing at the door, watching her.
Me haffi move.
It made her smile to hear her mother’s voice in her head. Her mother had moved her to the States as a child. She had no real Jamaican accent of her own left, but she’d been channeling her mother’s much heavier patois since arriving at The Loggerhead. It kept people from starting conversations with her.
Another glance at Bracco. He seemed more on edge than usual.
Are they on to me?
The old Captain, her first patient at the Inn, had disappeared. No ambulance had come for him. What had they done with him? Were they having him autopsied?
She glanced at her watch, though it felt like checking a wall clock to see how much longer she had on her prison sentence.
Maybe she wouldn’t have to stay. The girl had come for her daddy. It was the girl he really wanted.
At least she wouldn’t have to try and pry the girl’s location out of Mister Mick anymore.
Martisha hung her head, using her thoughts to practice her accent before heading back inside.
Wha mek me did tell him?
Why had she told him about her children? He’d been so weak and sweet. She never dreamed he’d turn out to be such a monster.
She could feel the weight of Bracco’s stare.
Me haffi move.
Martisha grabbed her purse and stepped out of her car. She felt light on her feet. She’d lost nearly twenty pounds since arriving at The Loggerhead. She found it hard to eat.
Suh stupid.
How could she have been so stupid? She’d let him get into her head. Ruined by greed. She’d never be a real nurse again. She’d end up in jail.
Bracco’s watchfulness draped like chains on her body. She wanted to scream.
Martisha unlocked the car again. She sat inside and opened the glove compartment to retrieve her gun, an old snub-nosed thirty-eight, a gift from her brother. Slipping it in her bag, she locked the door once more and started toward the hotel.
“Gud afternoon, Mister Bracco,” she said, nodding at the big man.
He nodded in return. He didn’t talk. Something was wrong with the man’s brain. She’d overheard a little gibberish between him and Miss Angelina and guessed he had some sort of aphasia. She could help him with that, but she never offered—too dangerous to spend more time with him.
It made her sad.
Was it her imagination or was he looking at her differently today?
No. No. Stop.
She couldn’t let herself panic. Not here. She had to get to Mister Mick’s room and maybe she could take a minute to come up with an escape plan just in case—
“Martisha, there you are.”
Miss Angelina met her just inside the door looking happy and calm.
Very calm.
She’s hiding sup’m.
The new dog ran toward her and she took a step back.
“Don’t be afraid. He’s sweet,” said Angelina as her own rat of a dog barked from its place on the desk.
The new dog stared up at her with one brown eye and one blue, still, as if he were considering what to do with her.
Martisha swallowed.
He sees the real me with that blue eye.
“Martisha?”
Martisha pulled her attention from the dog and looked at Miss Angelina.
“Hm?”
She scanned the room.
Nothing felt right.
The girl, Croix, stood behind the reception desk, staring at her instead of her phone. The new man with the blond goatee, the one they called William, appeared from the hall and took a place in front of the elevator, crossing his hands in front of him. He leveled his gaze on her.
Fear gripped Martisha’s chest as sure as if Miss Angelina had reached through her ribs and snatched away her breath. The woman spoke, but Martisha only heard a smattering of words. Something about Mister Mick’s girl wanting to spend time with him. Something about how they didn’t need her for a while.
They’re firing me.
She couldn’t look at the man in front of the elevator. He wouldn’t let her upstairs. She knew that. She glanced behind her. Bracco had turned, his attention locked on her.
He’s going to grab me.
“Are you okay?”
Miss Angelina was talking again.
“Yeah, yeah. I—bathroom,” Martisha pointed down the hall.
Her accent had disappeared. Her mother’s voice had left her head.
Come back, Mama.
She tried again.
“Mi guh—” The words caught in her throat.
Best not to talk at all.
Her mother had taken back her voice to punish her wicked daughter.
They know. They know.
She’d disappear like Captain Rupert. Her kids would never know what happened to her.
“Um...”
Angelina didn’t look happy about her plans to use the bathroom but Martisha moved past her. She couldn’t go out the front door. Bracco would grab her. She gave the man guarding the elevator wide berth, nearly missing the hallway and walking directly into the wall.
She slipped into the bathroom and leaned against the door, breathing heavily but feeling as if no oxygen entered her lungs. Her hand slid into her purse and she felt the gun.
She could tell them it wasn’t her fault. That he’d made her do it—
They won’t care.
Even if she made it to the front door, she’d never get to her car before Bracco stopped her. Or William shot her. Or Beatriz—that little woman might be the scariest of all. Where was she? Hiding? Waiting for her?
The back. The boats.
If she could sneak out the back... They left the keys in the hotel’s runabouts.
Martisha cracked open the bathroom door far enough to peer down the hall. She saw the back of Angelina’s heel. She was still out there, but turned away.
She slipped out and crept through the back door, careful to close the screen without letting it bang. She eased down the stairs, holding her breath.
Once on the ground, she ran for the boats, her purse clutched agains
t her chest.
&&&
Chapter Forty
With Angelina and Shee beside him, Mason stared at Mick’s doorknob. Angelina handed him a new lock sealed in plastic and he took it, happy to have a project. It would keep his mind off Shee’s bombshells for five minutes. Keep him from killing her.
“Think you can swap it out?” Shee asked.
He nodded. “Yes, but I need tools. I’m retired Navy, not Swiss Army.”
Shee chuckled and turned to Angelina. “Where do you keep tools?”
Angelina’s mouth hooked to the left. “I generally marry them.”
“I mean, like, screwdrivers.”
“Oh.” Angelina hit the elevator call button. “There’s some downstairs. I’ll get them.”
The silver doors opened and Mason found himself alone with Shee in the hall. She stared at him, and he could see her brain searching for words.
“I don’t want to talk about anything right now. Just the current mission,” he said.
She nodded and chewed on her lip. After a moment, she perked.
“You want to see Mick?” she asked.
He nodded. “Sure.”
Shee pushed through Mick’s unlocked door and led him inside. The main area of Mick’s apartment looked like a typical living room but smelled like a hospital. The smell only grew stronger as they entered Mick’s bedroom.
Mason had to keep himself from gasping out loud. It had been years since he’d seen Mick, but the man in the bed looked nothing like the one he remembered. Pale, thin, his cheeks sunken...
Mason hung his fingers on the silver roll guards, watching his old leader’s chest rise and fall beneath a thin blanket.
“I’m having trouble reconciling this man with the one I remember,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” mumbled Shee.
“What’s the prognosis?”
“Angelina said his doctor said he should be awake.”
“Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”
She shrugged. “Apparently, Mick’s guy is pretty high up the food chain. And if he was in a hospital—”
“The world would know he’s alive.”
“Exactly.”
She motioned to Mick’s head as her phone rang. “The gunshot wound is on the other side—”
She stepped aside to answer and he rounded the bed to see where the sniper had left his mark.
