by Wendy Byrne
Not many men would take on the task of coming between two pissed-off drunks wanting to take a piece of each other, but Sammie didn’t seem fazed. Instead, she stood between the men, grasping their T-shirts. “Knock it off.” The toned muscles in her biceps flexed as she struggled to keep them apart.
Enrique inched off his seat. He didn’t want to show his hand and interfere prematurely, but at the same time had to be ready if the need arose.
The men glared at each other, then at her. “He owes me,” one shouted as he pointed to the other.
“Bull. I don’t owe you nothing,” the other growled and lurched at his opponent.
As Sammie ducked the blow, she brought her elbow straight back, hitting the guy below the rib cage. The force of her strike knocked him back. If the wincing sound he made was any indication, she hadn’t pulled her punch.
“Do I have to repeat myself?” Her voice remained calm. She took turns glaring at first one man, then the other.
“I…I…wasn’t after you. It was him.” The big man stammered, pointing at his opponent. “He started it.”
His words set off a series of emotions in her as a flush rushed to her face. Her chest moved up and down while she slowly inhaled then exhaled.
“You’re out of here. I don’t want any troublemakers around this place.”
Interesting. Jack Murphy seemed to thrive on trouble, if his history and choice of friends were any indication. If they were so close, why would she be any different?
“Jack wouldn’t have thrown me out for that,” one of the men mumbled as he walked toward the door.
She placed her hands on her hips but didn’t respond to his childish plea. “No fighting. Period. End of discussion.” Sammie surveyed the bar, glancing at all the patrons in equal measure.
Despite her size, she was doing her best to display a kick-ass persona and a that’s-what-happens-if-you-mess-with-me attitude. From what Enrique could tell, it was working.
Rubbing her hands on the back of her jeans skirt, she returned to the bar. This time she went through the gate at the end.
Enrique leaned across the bar, putting his hands on either side of where she stood, and whispered into her ear, “You really are bad to the bone.”
Chapter Two
Sammie stuck her hands under the pillows behind her as the sun filtered in through the blinds. She loathed being in Key West, but paradoxically she was also drawn to it. Florida, any part of it, stirred up so many memories that keeping them safely at bay would be a daily challenge. But she couldn’t let Jack down. Instead of lying in bed, she went downstairs and got to work.
She needed to dig through the financial records and get a handle on the inventory. She hefted a box from the supply closet in back, opening it and checking off the bottles on the brand-new inventory spreadsheet she’d worked up last night. Jack never bothered using computerized tracking. Instead, his system consisted of jotting down notes on pieces of paper he inevitably misplaced. If he didn’t have such a phenomenal memory, he’d have been in deep water long ago.
Thankfully, he could recreate liquor prices and markups in his head without benefit of the accompanying paperwork, which was probably good, since most times he couldn’t find the invoices to save his soul. She’d always told him he’d better hope like hell he was never audited by the IRS, judging by the pile of receipts shoved into his desk drawer. While he was fanatical about following the letter of the law with regard to his business, he didn’t have the proof to back it up.
She readjusted her ponytail as the sun streamed in through the windows. For the two days she’d been here, she’d relearned there wasn’t enough air-conditioning in the world to keep the temperature anywhere near comfortable this close to the tropics. Her plan was to stay in Key West to keep the bar open for business until Jack could get cleared of all the charges, then get back to Providence. That way, not only would she be spared the heat, she’d be far away from Mr. Temptation himself, otherwise known as Enrique Santana.
Really, men who looked like him should be banned from the planet. They should be sent away on a rocket ship where they couldn’t break any hearts, secluded from the female population until they paid for their prior misdeeds. Because, unless she missed her guess, Enrique Santana had a slew of prior transgressions. And that tattoo of a cobra peeking beneath his T-shirt was a big fat warning sign. Unless she missed her guess, that was the symbol of a gang that had its roots in Miami. What further proof did she need that he was trouble?
Before she could finish her thought, Chloe, one of the waitresses at the bar, poked her head into the supply room. “Jack’s lawyer is here to see you.”
Grateful for the reprieve from her disastrous thoughts, Sammie motioned with her hand. “Send him back.” She finished counting the remainder of the bottles in the box, then she wiped her dusty hands down the front of her shorts.
When she’d arrived on Friday, she’d cleaned up the bar, gotten in touch with some of the staff, and opened the doors for business. Jack would need every penny, so ensuring the business remained viable was another priority.
The man who walked in back was close to her age, tall and blond, his skin a bronzy color from the unavoidable exposure to the sun down south. Deep blue eyes partially hid behind wire-rimmed glasses.
Like most people in town, he dressed casually. This far south, even lawyers wore shorts, sandals, and bold-print shirts.
He held out his hand. “Jonathan Crane. I’m representing your uncle.”
“Sammie Murphy. It’s good to meet you.” She grasped his hand as he gave her a smile.
“You wanted to discuss your uncle’s case?” He placed his briefcase on the floor and leaned his back against the stainless steel counter.
“Has bail been set?” She worried her lip.
“He was caught dealing a significant amount of drugs, so bail was set at a half million dollars. You’d need to come up with 10 percent and work through a bail bondsman.”
“That’s fifty thousand dollars.” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I imagine Jack has some equity on this place. Maybe I could check with a bank about a loan.”
“Definitely something to look into.”
“Why didn’t my uncle call me when this happened?” She’d only learned about Jack’s incarceration because, after days and days of calling him without success, she’d contacted the hospital. When he wasn’t there, she’d called the police station to file a missing persons report and learned he’d been locked up. Frantic and anxious for details, she’d hopped on the next plane. While she was glad he wasn’t laid up in a hospital somewhere, in some ways this was even worse.
“Embarrassment or regret, if I had to guess.” He patted her hand. “I’ve known Jack for a while, and he seems like a great guy. I have no idea why he chose to do what he did.”
She shook her head. “But that’s just it. Jack would never sell drugs.” Part of her wanted to divulge the ugly past with her parents and why Jack had brought her up, but the other part needed to keep that info to herself.
“I’ll be honest. There’re a lot of bars on Key West, and business hasn’t been that great of late. Maybe he got desperate, because what he did does seem out of character.”
“When are visiting hours?” Sammie needed to straighten this whole thing out, and the only way to do that would be to talk to Jack directly.
He checked his watch. “Only until three. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” He winced. “Besides, Jack told me specifically he…well…he doesn’t want to see you.”
Sammie sucked in a breath and choked back the hurt. Then again, after their last conversation, maybe she didn’t want to face him as much as he didn’t want to face her. Still, what his lawyer told her hurt like hell.
“What is my uncle charged with?” She waited for the inevitable.
“He had ten kilos of cocaine, five kilos of heroin, and fifty grams of methamphetamine. Even though it’s his first offense, he’s still looking at
a minimum of ten years in federal prison.” He spoke the words in lawyerspeak, only looking contrite when he spotted the expression on her face.
Intellectually, she suspected what he’d say, but still the words reverberated down her spine, bringing with them a renewed sense of fear and desperation. None of this made sense. Her uncle was the antidrug poster child. He was the one who’d kept her from ruining her life. He was the one who’d made sure she stayed far away from those who did any kind of drugs. Even though he’d never said as much, she suspected it had to do with the mess her mother had made of her own life. No doubt he was scared Sammie would follow in her mother’s footsteps.
Her body trembled as her stomach sank like she’d swallowed a lead balloon. “My uncle will never survive ten years in prison. You need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Both her parents were tough as nails. They could go into prison and come out on top. But not Jack. He was much too vulnerable to withstand that kind of mental strain. Sammie had no doubt Jack would die in prison. That realization made her heart beat faster as determination steeled her backbone.
“I’m good at what I do, but I might need your help.” Jonathan closed his briefcase and stared at her.
“What can I do?” She held her breath.
“Since you’ve opened Murphy’s up, I need you to keep an ear open for anything relating to drugs. I think your uncle was set up, and we need to figure out by who.”
She dreaded asking the next question, but she needed to know. “How did it happen?”
“He sold to an undercover cop. The good news is they found nothing stashed at the bar. I tried to ask Jack why he did it, but he said he needed the money. They might go more lenient on him if he turns over names, but so far he’s not saying. I’m not sure if he doesn’t know or he’s afraid.”
Hope started to bubble inside her chest. “Maybe Jack can tell what he knows and get put into one of those witness protection programs.”
“I’d love to get a plea deal for him, but he’s insisting he knows nothing. Maybe you can get something out of him if he agrees to meet with you.”
“Have you talked to the undercover officer in on the arrest?”
“Not yet. But they have the whole confession on tape, which is worrisome.”
“I’ll visit my uncle tomorrow and see if he tells me anything.”
“Call me right away if you find out anything. I’d love to be able to plead the case down in exchange for information.”
The errant thought that her parents were somehow involved passed through her mind, but she dismissed it quickly. While there was bad blood between them and Jack from as far back as she could remember, Sammie hadn’t seen either her mother or her father for over ten years. The last she knew, they were headed for South America. Suddenly, a leaden weight congealed in her stomach as she closed her eyes. No way in hell would Jack hook up with her parents and run drugs.
“Are you all right?” He touched her arm.
Jack was in trouble, and he hadn’t called and told her. Frustration built inside her like a slow-moving steam engine. How could she convince anybody her uncle wasn’t guilty? She felt his innocence with every fiber of her being, but that was a far stretch from having evidence.
“He sounded strange the last time we talked. Maybe somebody was pressuring him somehow?”
“That’s possible, but unless he tells me something, there’s nothing I can do.” Jonathan picked up his briefcase. “I’ll do everything in my power to help if I can.”
“Thank you.”
After she escorted him out the door, she refocused on her task and rummaged through her uncle’s desk to see if she could find anything relating to the mortgage on the bar. Finally, she found some paperwork and the name of the bank. At least she had a start. She opened another file cabinet and found tiny slips of paper that had a weird series of numbers on them. They almost looked like betting slips. Uh-oh—she had a really bad feeling about that.
Why did she get the idea this nightmare wasn’t going to end any time soon?
…
Enrique propped his feet on the corner of his supervisor Mel’s desk. “What did you find?” Even though he tried to remain impartial, something about Sammie Murphy piqued his interest.
Tossing a stack of papers in front of him, Mel spoke. “Turns out we’re in luck. She used to live in southern Florida, the Miami area. Went to high school there. One arrest when she was a juvenile. Of course those records are sealed, but a safe guess would probably be for drug possession, considering the family connection.”
Now he was even more convinced of Sammie Murphy’s involvement in the drug operation. Nothing else made sense. “What’s she been doing for the last ten or so years? Could she be acting as a distribution center up north?”
“Seems possible.” Mel sucked in a breath as he flipped to the next page of notes. “She was taken in for questioning about six months ago in Providence. Something about being connected to a dealer. She claimed she didn’t know anything about it. Lack of evidence. They had to let her go.”
Enrique let out a sigh. “Sounds familiar.”
Mel smiled. “Her real name is Sammie Alicia Murphy. Twenty-eight years old. Graduated with a degree in art history from the University of Massachusetts. Lists her occupation as karate instructor/bartender on her IRS 1040, but she must suck at both, since her income is barely above the poverty level.”
“You mean her legitimate income, right?” Enrique glanced at Mel and smiled. This woman was guilty. There were a few strings he needed to unravel in Jack’s case, and she might be the key. She knew a hell of a lot more than she was saying. That was for sure.
“Lives alone in a small apartment in a less than ideal neighborhood in Providence.”
“Much easier to sell drugs in a crime-infested area, no doubt.”
“They put a couple pictures in the file, but I haven’t had a chance to look.” Mel’s eyebrows rose as he pulled a photo from the envelope. “Damn, if she looks this good in person, I might want to think about going back undercover.”
Mel handed Enrique the picture. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, Sammie had her blond hair pulled back in a braid. She was walking down the street with a guy by her side. Based on her expression, she was pissed. But that didn’t mean much, since that seemed like a normal state for her.
“Who’s the guy?”
“Daniel Gross.”
“Maybe he’s involved as well. What’s his story?” If there was a photo along with a police file, somebody had to be under surveillance.
“Currently doing five to ten as a guest of the State of Rhode Island on drug charges.”
“He Ms. Murphy’s boyfriend?” Not too surprising that she had a boyfriend who made his living in the drug trade.
“Used to be.”
“You sure about that? How often she see him?” Enrique sucked in a deep breath. All the pieces didn’t fit together yet, but they would eventually. They always did.
“She doesn’t visit. Doesn’t call. Doesn’t write.”
Enrique placed his thumb under his chin. “Of course if he got busted, she’d want to distance herself from him.”
“No doubt. The woman has proven time and time again she’s good at avoiding getting caught, since there’s nada on any arrests, let alone convictions.”
“She hasn’t come up against me yet.” Enrique’s chest hitched a little when he spoke.
Mel smirked. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“Damn straight.”
“Don’t get in over your head. She must be good if she’s gone this long without getting caught.”
“I’ll be careful. Aren’t I always?” Enrique had learned that hard lesson with his ex-wife, Teresa, more than six years ago. After both he and Mel were nearly killed because of information Teresa leaked to the wrong people, he’d resolved to keep his personal and professional lives separate, despite the difficulty working undercover. He tended to be a little dense at times, but af
ter that experience, he knew saving women on a road to self-destruction could lead to his own endangerment, as well as others’.
However, while he felt confident he’d secured exactly what he wanted in this case, why did the very idea he’d be seeing a lot more of Sammie Murphy make him a little nervous?
Chapter Three
As soon as Jonathan left, Sammie headed for the First Bank of Florida, where Jack had his mortgage. According to the documents she’d found, there should be some room to borrow against the equity he’d accumulated over the years. Not only that, but Jack had put her name on the documents, so she should be able to access the money.
So there she sat in the office of the vice president as he examined the information she’d brought in. If Jack could be freed on bond, this whole process would be a lot easier.
“I just want to be able to access the line of credit. The teller indicated I’d need approval from you.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing left. He made several withdrawals over the last year amounting to two hundred thousand dollars.”
The words took about thirty seconds to sink in. Those were betting slips! What had Jack done? That meant she had to find another way to get her uncle out. “The business was going well. Maybe it’s worth more than when it was last appraised.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Ms. Murphy. That’s something we wouldn’t revisit this soon. The line of credit was only taken out last year.” His condescending tone made her want to rail at him. “I expect you’ll be able to keep up the payments established by your uncle.”
“Count on it.” She stomped out of his office. Even the blistering heat outside felt better than the stuffiness inside the office.
By the time she’d returned, the bar had just opened for business, and she had little time to dwell on any new complications. Wiping down the bar for the fourth time in as many minutes, Sammie eyed the entrance. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t show. That would definitely make her life much less complicated. But the other, more self-destructive part, hoped he did.
