2 Lowcountry Bombshell

by Susan M. Boyer

  “You took the words right out of my mouth, Slugger. Shall we shake their tree and see what falls out?”

  “Let’s.”

  Nate and I stopped by the house to change and pick up stakeout essentials. I’d had Granddad’s old landscaping van repaired and retrofitted in May. With its new tinted back windows, captain’s chairs, and built-in desk, it made the perfect surveillance vehicle.

  I packed the cooler with water, Diet Cheerwine, and sandwiches. For snacks, I grabbed nuts and trail mix bars. For stress, I snagged a bag of dark chocolate. Our swim the night before had me exercising an abundance of caution. I added an extra clip to the toys in my tote—my shiny new Taser, pepper spray, and telescopic steel baton. I checked Sig and snugged him into the holster on the waistband of my jeans. Everything else we’d conceivably need was stored in the van.

  I flipped through my stack of magnetic door signs. “I’m thinking for the neighborhood we’re headed to, caterers and pet groomers are out. Wanna be electricians, security system techs, or plumbers?”

  “Security system techs,” said Nate. “It’s ironic.”

  It was almost five-thirty when I parked across the street from Security Solutions. I turned the engine off, and turned on the auxiliary camper air conditioner I’d had installed.

  Nate said, “Now that’s handy. We’d cook in here without it.”

  “It runs off a battery. We’ll have to run the engine periodically to recharge it, or else plug in the extension cord somewhere.”

  “I’ve never done surveillance on a security company before. Feels strange.”

  “Yeah, it is a little weird. But I’m telling you, of all the people I’ve run across since I met Calista, the ones most equipped to pull off that stunt last night are inside that building.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. They also know she’s very wealthy, even if they don’t know about the jackpot.”

  “That’s the thing that bugs me. All their clients are ridiculously wealthy. And their reputation depends on keeping them safe.”

  “Only takes one guy who wakes up one morning and decides he wants to live that good life he’s been guarding all this time. Figures he’ll take the cash and disappear. He’s not worried about the company’s reputation anymore.”

  I raised my left eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that the same thing I told you two hours ago?”

  “Yeah, but arguing both sides must get exhausting. I figured it would help you out if I took one of ’em.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re easy on the eyes. I might be tempted to put you out on that sidewalk I could fry an egg on.”

  “Am I now?” He grinned.

  “Don’t be letting it go to your head. Conceit is most unattractive.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “Do you want the binoculars or would you rather run the tags?”

  “Lady’s choice.”

  “I’ll run the tags. I can keep an eye on Calista at the same time. That’s easier on my laptop than my iPhone. Camera is in the console.” I slid out of the driver’s seat and back to the desk. I initialized my hotspot and opened my laptop. According to both the cell phone tracking software and the pendant, Calista was at home.

  For the next thirty minutes, Nate zoomed in on the license plates of every car in the Security Solutions parking lot and read them to me. One by one, I logged them and searched my subscription database for the car’s owner. We could depend on the cars in SSI’s lot being employee cars. Their clientele did not visit SSI’s operational headquarters—SSI representatives went to them. And it was Saturday evening.

  After we had a list of everyone in the building, I started on profiles. Mack Ryan wasn’t on duty, but I profiled him as well. Everyone I checked was a former member of the military. Most were not married. None of them appeared to have ties to the community going back further than a few years. Unless some of them walked to work or carpooled, there was only one woman in the building.

  At quarter ’til seven, Nate said, “Shift change. We just got the first arrival.”

  “Get a picture.” I stopped typing and spun towards Nate.

  Of course, he’d already framed the shot. He clicked away. “Every time we work a case together, I’m surprised anew that you let me wander around on my own. I’m concerned you don’t hold my common sense in high regard.”

  I threw Nate a level two oh puh-leeze look, which was lost on him because he was snapping pictures. “You know that’s not it.”

  “Really now? Because if that’s not it, all we’re left with is that you’re a control freak.”

  I tried to look offended and failed. “I’m just dotting my i’s.”

  “You have trust and control issues.”

  “It’s possible I’m a bit of a type A personality. This isn’t news to you, so quit acting all injured.”

  His voice was velvet. “We may have to work on your issues later. Perhaps I can help you, in the interest of your well-being, of course.”

  Something warm flowed through my core. I shook myself. “Nate. Would you stop distracting me? Did you get that guy’s plate?”

  “No,” he said mildly. “I’m taking pictures of everyone who comes and goes. After all the cars are swapped out, I’ll get the plates.”

  I was glad he was focused on folks across the street and couldn’t see how flushed I must be given how hot my face felt. I downed half a can of Diet Cheerwine. “Good idea.”

  The corners of his mouth curled up. Had my voice quivered? Damnation, that man knew the effect he had on me. Stakeouts had developed a whole new dimension.

  I turned back to the computer and tried to remember what I’d been doing. Right. Mack Ryan. He’d struck me as such a squared-away, Boy-Scout type. But his background was almost abnormally neat. I had the basics. Date of birth, social security number, home address, education—he’d graduated from The Citadel—and dates of military service.

  He’d never been married. His credit was squeaky clean. He owned his house in West Ashley outright, no mortgage. He was only thirty-six. Private security must pay better than private detecting. Somehow, I’d’ve felt better if one thing about the man had been less than perfect.

  Nate said, “Okay, Slugger. Ready for the next batch of plates?”

  I flagged Mack for follow-up. His background smelled manufactured. “Ready when you are.” I clicked back to the plate search window.

  As I was running the third plate, my iPhone trumpeted the news that Calista had a text. Not surprisingly, her phone and text traffic had been light and unremarkable. I switched screens. “Hang on,” I said to Nate.

  The text was from Niles: I know u had a trying day, dear one. R u all right?

  Calista replied: I’m fine. Sweet of u 2 check.

  Niles: Sorry I can’t b there 2 pet u.

  Calista: I understand. Hope all is well w/ u & Kyle.

  Niles: Don’t u worry abt me. I’ll b fine. We just need 2 spend some time 2gether. C u 2morrow.

  “Oh, please,” I said.

  “What is it?” Nate asked.

  “Just the yoga instructor. Fawning over Calista and making up with his boyfriend. It’s nothing. Let me run that last plate.”

  As soon as I’d run all the plates from the second shift group, I put together basic profile data on them. I was running employment background checks when I found what I was looking for.

  “Got you.” I felt cold all over, as if someone had flash-frozen me.

  “What did you find?” Nate slipped out the captain’s chair and came to look over my shoulder.

  “Ryder Keenan. He’s ex-Charleston PD. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Sounds like a porn star. Is that his real name?”

  “I’m checking.” I accessed four additional databases, piecing
together Ryder Keenan’s life. I had all the basics of his digital footprint, beginning with his birth certificate.

  “Looks like,” I said. “He was born in Summerville—his parents are still there, too. He’s lived in the Charleston area his whole life. He worked for Charleston PD from two thousand two until two thousand eleven. Then he went to work for Security Solutions. He was on the job when the gun that killed Harmony was logged into the evidence room.”

  “That would be a remarkable coincidence.”

  “He has a wife and three kids. Damnation.” I hated it when one person’s greed and stupidity destroyed innocent family members’ lives. I’d seen it all too often.

  “Best have Blake contact Sonny.”

  “Let me run the rest of these names first.”

  “All right. But I think you have your man.”

  “So do I, dammit.” What in the name of sweet reason made men who had everything throw it all away for money? I finished running the employment profiles. Marine. Army. Marine. Marine. “Hells bells.”

  “Well. What do you know about that?” Nate was still looking over my shoulder. The last name, Tim Poteat, was also an ex-Charleston police officer.

  I finished outlining his background. “This guy grew up in Summerville, too. He went to high school there, anyway. I can’t find his birth certificate. His military service records indicate he was born in Florida. That’ll just take a little more digging. But, he also went to work for Charleston PD in two thousand two. Poteat left in two thousand ten, a year before Keenan. He was also still there when that gun went into the evidence room. At least he’s not married.”

  “These guys have history together and with the Charleston PD. And they’re working together now. Could be they’re both involved.”

  “But how in hell are they connected to Calista?”

  “I’d say by virtue of the fact they work for SSI.”

  I scrunched up my face. “When the life coach told Calista a dark-haired man from her past thought she owed him a lot of money, I didn’t pay it any mind. I didn’t know Harmony. I wrote her off as a scammer. But when Grace said the exact same thing…”

  “You’re thinking the connection preceded the security system contract?”

  “Yeah. My instincts are screaming there’s more to it. Also, I trust Grace.”

  “Let’s have Calista take a look at the photos. See if she recognizes anyone.”

  I opened the pictures folder on my laptop. Photos taken with any of our cameras automatically uploaded via the cloud to our computers. “I want to look at these myself.” I scanned the fourteen snapshots and cross-referenced the cars they were getting into or out of to pick Keenan and Poteat from the group. Ryder Keenan was walking away from a black Chevy Traverse. Tim Poteat’s photo was by a silver Nissan 370Z.

  “Sonavabitch.” At seven o’clock on a July evening in the South Carolina lowcountry, it was still bright enough for sunglasses. “With those ball caps pulled low and the aviator sunglasses, they could be anyone. You can’t even tell what color hair they have.”

  “Can’t you pull their driver’s license photos?”

  “No, the system I use has data, but no photos. But Sonny can get us copies. There may be other photos of them online. I’ll have to do some digging.”

  “If nothing else, we follow them until they take off the caps and sunglasses. Getting photos of them won’t be hard. We know where they work, where they live, and what they drive.”

  “You’re right. We need to talk to Sonny.”

  We were still operating under the assumption someone was watching and possibly listening to Sonny. Someone with access to better toys than us could have paired his phone. Nate and I kept the Bluetooth and Wi-Fi access turned off to prevent pairing. Out of an abundance of caution, I opened the Burner app on my iPhone, created a new phone number, and labeled it “Suzette.”

  With this app, I could create new numbers anytime and delete them when I was finished with them. Once deleted, it was as if the numbers never existed. This was more convenient than buying burner phones.

  Sonny wasn’t as enthusiastic about technology as I was. He’d bought a burner phone, and Blake had given me the number when I’d checked in earlier.

  From my newly created number, I dialed Sonny’s burner. He answered on the second ring and I immediately hung up. Ten minutes later I called back. By now, he should be someplace safe from eavesdropping. Just in case, we talked in code.

  This time he answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”

  In the most seductive voice I could muster, I said, “Hey, Sonny. This is Suzette.”

  “Well, hello, hot stuff. How are you tonight?”

  “It’s Saturday night, and I’m all by myself. You want some company?”

  “Sure doll face. You want to get a drink at The Blind Tiger?”

  “That sounds divine. How about nine o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there. And Suzette?”

  “Yeah, Sonny?”

  “Don’t wear any underpants.”

  I ended the call and burst out laughing.

  Nate was not amused. “What was all that about?”

  “I was just selling the pretext, Nate. So was he. If anyone was listening, they’ll think he’s meeting someone for a drink at The Blind Tiger, after which he’s going to get lucky.”

  Nate gave me a level look. “Sonny’s never been that lucky, has he?”

  I laughed. “Oh, puh-leeze. Sonny’s like a brother to me.”

  “See, I’m not so reassured by that since there was a time you might have said the same thing about me.” His tone was teasing, but with a layer of something else.

  I lowered my chin and sent him a smoldering look, full of promise. “Darlin’ I have never, ever, considered you anything like a brother. Sonny’s a friend. He’s never been anything else.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Have you ever been to the Banana Cabana on Isle of Palms?”

  “No. I thought we were meeting at The Blind Tiger over on Broad Street.”

  “So does anyone else who might have been listening. Blind Tiger is code for Banana Cabana.” I turned onto East Bay.

  “We’re cutting it close to get to Isle of Palms by nine. It’s quarter ’til.”

  “Nine means ten.”

  “When did y’all work all this out?”

  “Blake and Sonny came up with it this afternoon. They figured we needed a way to call clandestine meetings. Came in handy.”

  “You gonna call Blake?”

  “Would you? This van doesn’t have Sync.” I missed the voice-activated system in my Escape.

  “As long as I don’t have to seduce him.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Blake, Sonny, Nate, and I huddled around a table on the far perimeter outside at the Banana Cabana. The guitar player was on break, so we could hear the surf.

  The waitress brought a round of margaritas and we ordered shrimp and oysters to snack on. Then Nate and I told Sonny and Blake how two ex-Charleston police officers worked at SSI.

  Sonny shook his head. “Why would a professional security guy be after this McQueen woman?”

  I sipped my margarita. “She’s worth a lot of money.”

  “This may be good news for me,” he said. “I’d rather have ex-police officers after me than someone I depend on to watch my back. With missing evidence, you don’t know who to trust. I hope you’re right.”

  Blake said, “We don’t have anywhere near enough to be sure. You still need to act as if anyone could be involved.”

  “Trust me,” Sonny said. “I don’t trust anyone except the people at this table right now.”

  “Are you staying someplace safe?” I asked.

  �
��Yeah. I’m off the grid. Camping.”

  I asked, “So, do you know Ryder Keenan or Tim Poteat?”

  Sonny nodded. “I know them both. Neither of them very well. Both had already been on the job a while when I started as a uniform. Couple years later, both of them were working undercover. Deep undercover. I never saw either of them after that. Couldn’t tell you what kind of cases they worked. I don’t remember Keenan leaving the force. But there was trouble with Poteat. Memory serves, he was fired over some kind of abuse of power complaint.”

  Nate asked, “Do you remember if they were friends?”

  “Nah,” Sonny said. “Like I said, I didn’t know them that well.”

  “I don’t guess you could access their files?” I asked.

  “That would be a definite ‘no,’” Sonny said. “It’s not like on TV where I can chat up someone in HR and they’ll slip me a file. That’s a serious breach.”

  “Well, can you ask around?” I asked.

  “Of course I’ll ask around,” he said. “Discreetly.”

  My phone alerted me that Calista was receiving a call. I picked up to listen. I didn’t put the phone on speaker, but stepped away from the table so the guys could continue talking.

  “Calista, I’ve just gotten in for the evening. I was concerned about you. You seemed overwrought this afternoon. Are you feeling better?” A man’s voice. Not Niles. Not Jim.

  “Dr. Gadsden,” Calista said. “Thank you for checking on me. Yes, I thought a lot about what you said. I am feeling better.”

  Hells bells. A therapist that checked on patients after ten on Saturday night? I must have made a face.

  “What’s wrong?” Nate called.

  I shook my head.

  “It’s best to allow only positive energy into your life. Don’t let anyone disturb your peace of mind. Don’t let them have that power over you,” said Dr. Gadsden.

  “I’ll remember that,” said Calista.