by Karen Harper
Claire sat up straighter. Of course Kris would say that to hide top-secret Black Bog. She hoped Nick didn’t decide to breech her contract, but he only shifted in his seat and said nothing. “Yes,” she said. “Anyhow, when the two of us were shopping at the Waterside Shops on the Trail, I noticed a person who might have been following us and mentioned it to Kris.”
Nick sniffed in a big breath of frustration but didn’t interrupt.
“Description?” Jensen said, taking another long drink of coffee, then finally producing a notebook and pen.
“Kind of difficult to say, because I couldn’t actually tell if it was a man or a woman. Loose, nondescript black clothes. Baseball cap pulled low. Big dark sunglasses. Thin.”
“Did this person approach you or Ms. Kane?”
“No, but when I went out of the dressing room to a clothing rack, he or she was staring close through the window. We saw the same person when we went to our cars but he/she just walked away, and we left in a hurry.”
“Duly noted, but then both of you are attractive ladies. Besides, that shopping area had some shoplifters lately, stupid ones who stick out like sore thumbs but we just haven’t nabbed them yet. Let me know if either of you see that person again.”
Nick added, “And perhaps let your husband know too. So, Ken, can you tell us who the two guests at our reception were who might have been targets or had some link to a drone or whatever Sergeant O’Brien was alluding to?”
“Sure, because I want your help to find out more, maybe things you and Claire can get out of them the police couldn’t. Both seemed to be holding back on naming specific suspects we could talk to. I was surprised you didn’t know because you’ve been quite close to both of the people who consider they could be in some danger—Jason Britten and Hector Munez.”
* * *
Jace was annoyed that Mitch was late when he joined him at the back corner table of the Skillets Sunrise Café on Airport Road in Naples. They both liked the place, partly for the food, partly for the sounds of planes flying over from the airport just down the road. Frowning, Jace looked at his watch—7:30 a.m. Damn, even frowning hurt the cut on his face.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Mitch told Jace with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows.
“Very funny. I am starting to feel like we’re hiding out, though. You think that drone attack I told you about could have been meant for me?”
Mitch slid into the booth opposite Jace, who had positioned himself so he could see the restaurant. Let his former superior in the Stingray program look at the damn boring wall. He only hoped he could convince him of what he’d already set in motion. Mitch thought he held all the cards, but they were about to become equals in their next endeavor—he hoped.
“Sorry I’m late,” Mitch said. “Before I got your text about the drone attack—and the friend you want to set me up with—I was out like a light last night.”
“Yeah, well, we’re both going to be out for good if we don’t pull off this change of occupation and let whoever might be targeting us know we’re out of Stingray. Not only me, but you could be next on a hit list.”
“Yeah, especially if you lead the hit man of some drug czar we’ve been following to me at this restaurant. I took a roundabout way and watched to see if I was being tailed like you suggested. But, really, sorry everyone went through that attack—and thank God no one was seriously hurt.”
“I didn’t text this but a junior lawyer from Markwood’s law firm did get a broken arm when he fell to the floor in an awkward position.”
“Not the guy suspected of killing and freezing that woman?”
“You got it, sad to say.”
“How’s that rather obvious cut on your cheek? You texted you were going into an all night ER for stitches.”
“Fourteen of them. The only good thing was Brit was there to hold my hand. Hope I don’t look like Frankenstein’s monster when I get this bandage off.” But maybe, Jace thought, it would add to what Kris Kane had kidded was his “Top Gun and Viking allure.”
“So,” Mitch went on, “you’re thinking you could have been the target, because of the connection to the Stingray pilot killed by a drone in California? Tell me about this secret plan to let our enemies know to lay off—and tell me about this Kris Kane you mentioned.”
“Okay, but something else first,” he said, leaning closer across the table and lowering his voice despite the restaurant’s buzz of voices. He stopped talking entirely when the waitress came to fill their coffee cups and said she’d be right back. “I’ve got a reporter from The Naples Daily News joining me in about a half hour—or us, if you agree to my plan. If not, I’ll go solo with it.”
“You’re getting desperate,” Mitch said, leaning forward and keeping his voice down.
“I’m getting real. I’ve got a daughter and a fiancée here, and I’ll have to steer clear of both of them if I don’t get some life insurance—make sure that explosive drone wasn’t meant for me or else make sure they’re not in the next line of fire. You know those drug boys don’t mind wiping out related lives as a warning to others. So, yeah, I think a newspaper interview I mentioned before is the way to go—life insurance. We are now flying hurricane hunter planes as full-time work...yada, yada, yada...”
“Hell, we can’t let on about Stingray to a newspaper, even if we’re getting out of it.”
“Would you just listen for once? Here’s all the reporter—and anyone out to get us—needs to know. We are just retired Iraq war veterans who have been battling the Zika virus and citrus crop pests and blight, but now we have both been accepted to the government team that flies into hurricanes to save lives. It’s our new career, and we’re dedicated to that effort. The reporter already liked that slant.”
“But do we think a public story like that will—well, will fly?”
“See, that makes us community good guys, heroes again. I’m hoping, if the drug cartel we’ve been spying on realizes that we’re not living in the shadows but are public faces, they’ll lay off. Otherwise, they’d have public opinion and the press after whoever harmed us, as well as the police on their backs.”
“Okay, got to hand it to you,” he said with a sigh that made his usual erect posture and square shoulders slump. “Sounds like a plan, flyboy, and I’ll hang in as your wingman, even though I don’t like the ‘coincidence’ of the California Stingray pilot and his death by drone. But what if this reporter really wants to talk to you because you were at the site of the country club drone attack? Bet they do a story on that today or tomorrow.”
“They did today, but it was all about harassment of the golf club by the owner of the grove. The article had some interviews with golfers he’s bothered when they were on the course. The guy, Lavell, was arrested but posted bond already. He’s got to have a screw loose to use rotten oranges and drones to harass the players and club.”
Their waitress came back, all bright-eyed, which annoyed Jace. However exhausted and nervous he was, Brit had been all chatty this morning too, talking about how sad it was for Claire and Nick to have their reception ruined, how they had to be sure it didn’t happen to them. Of course, she had no clue that he could have been a target of that damned drone, but he supposed he had to level with her about that. She was going to have a fit if he said she should move out and avoid him until he was sure the coast was clear of more deadly drones.
They each got their second jolt of java, then ordered pancakes and eggs. “So,” Mitch said, looking at the cute waitress as she sashayed away, “I repeat, tell me more about this lady you talked to about meeting me. If this local media blitz of yours doesn’t work, I don’t want to endanger her.”
“See, now you’re starting to think like me. I passed you off as a vet who just never had time to settle down, not that you were a local kingpin of secret ops.”
“Okay. What’s she like?”
&
nbsp; “Kristen—goes by Kris—is probably about five-foot-five, around age thirty, good-looking. Much more petite than my ex, Claire, who’s a friend of hers from way back. Educated and well traveled. An archaeologist, though I think she’s just working with one of her former professors right now as a consultant—something like that. She did say to tell you she has a problem though and—”
“I knew it. Twice divorced? Actually hates men? Has three legs?”
Jace ignored that. Their food came. “Well?” Mitch demanded.
“She has what’s called face blindness, which simply means she can’t recall faces enough to remember who is who, so she looks for signs like hair color, clothing, voice recognition, stuff like that.”
“Wow. Never heard of it. Tough lady if she copes with that but has done well in life,” Mitch admitted as they tucked into their food. “Wonder what she’ll remember about my face.”
“That it has a smart mouth and roving eyes. Claire says Kris is very bright,” Jace went on while he poured maple syrup on his pancake stack. “Of course, if she puts up with you after one date, I’d have to question that.”
“Very funny.”
“You want me to set something up?”
“Just get me her number and ask if I can call her, okay?”
“I just happen to have her number here,” he said and dug out a business card Kris had given him. Yeah, he’d remembered right, he thought as he handed it over. Kristen Kane, Educational Archaeological Consultant.
“If this works out,” Mitch added with a little laugh while he studied the card, “maybe we could double-date. Sorry if I sound like I’m fifteen. It’s been a while for me since I met a lady I really cared about. And I won’t do more than phone her yet in case we’re targets.”
“Sounds good. We both need something good, right? Maybe wait to call her, though, until we see if our job-change declaration goes public. Hey, I think I see the reporter,” he said, squinting past Mitch toward the restaurant entrance. “At least he was willing to meet with us on Memorial Day. He’s got a camera too. We ready to really step out into the light with this?”
“It’s a gamble we don’t tick off the drug boys this way too, but I’m thinking it’s the lesser of two evils. If we pose outside for a photo,” he added as Jace half rose and gestured to the man, “let’s just be sure there are no damn drones in the sky.”
17
Claire had Nick’s breakfast ready when he came into the kitchen the next morning. She perched across the table from him and waited at least until he drank his orange juice.
“Nick, if Jace is being watched or targeted somehow, probably because of his Stingray flights, he shouldn’t be anywhere near Lexi right now. Actually, he should steer clear of Brit, too, until this whole thing is solved and settled.”
He put his juice glass down and narrowed his eyes at her. “Nor should he be near you or this house.”
“Right, but he’s not going to take any of that well, at least not to stop seeing Lexi. And just when the two of us were getting along better. Tomorrow’s his day to pick her up after school and take her to the zoo or on some adventure. But surely he’ll see we’ll have to cancel that.”
“Explaining it to Lexi will be just as hard.”
“She’s been through a lot because of us, and I’d just die if she was ever abducted or hurt again. She’ll freak out if I try to tell her that her father’s in danger. Jace is going to have to go along with us—say he’s busy, something. Maybe he can say he had to leave to be a hurricane hunter early, since Brit says that’s in his plans.”
She thought again of the Hunter of old. What was his relationship to Reaching Woman who had lain beside him all those centuries? Or was she tied somehow to Leader—or to both of them and that had led to her terrible fate?
“Earthman Nick Markwood calling spaced-out wife Claire. I said I have to take my coffee and go, sweetheart. Since Lexi’s not down yet, kiss her for me before Bronco drops her off at school. I told him to come into the office late, hang around here a little longer. If you feel you need to call Jace, go ahead, but if he’s being targeted, his phone could be bugged. How about I call him from the office?”
“Yes, all right. Then let me know somehow as I’m not going out to the bog until about two. This morning I’ll spend time with Trey. I plan to catch Brad Vance this afternoon since he seems to be the keeper of the keys to view the artifacts from the graves.”
“Sounds like a plan—one of them,” he said in a teasing voice, obviously trying to lighten her mood. As if they had not a care in the world, he tossed his keys in the air and caught them in a quick move behind his back, though he was in full lawyer dress mode: striped tie, cufflinks, power watch, suitcoat over his arm and newspaper under it. “Don’t you just wonder,” he said as he leaned down to kiss her goodbye, “what archaeologists would think of us and our artifacts if we were buried with our favorite toys?”
She nodded but didn’t answer. Had Leader with his striped robe and staff and dagger chosen to be buried with those items or had they been selected by someone else so he would have them for his life-in-death in the bog? She would never really know, but somehow she was going to dig deep into all their lives and present the Vances—and eventually the world—with the very best theory she could figure out.
* * *
Thank heavens Jace agreed with them about not seeing Lexi right now, Nick thought as he hung up his office phone after a short, intense talk with him. Nick’s phone had protection on it to scan for bugs or third-party eavesdropping. Jace was taking measures, he said, to end any relationship he’d had with the Stingray program. And he didn’t have to worry his contact wouldn’t take it well because the guy he referred to only as “his wingman” was also taking a new job as a hurricane hunter.
“As a matter of fact, check The Naples Daily News for a feature article announcing that to the world,” Jace had said. “Life insurance, though I’ll give it a little time before coming near Lexi or you guys again. But you and Claire have to promise to explain to her that it wasn’t my choice—without upsetting her. Easier said than done with that kid, I know, but Claire’s not a psych major for nothing.”
Nick wanted to call Claire right away to assure her Jace would stay away, but would that assure her? No, it would make her sad, and not only because Lexi couldn’t see Jace. Nick knew Claire still cared for her first husband, though he didn’t worry about that. Not too much, that is, especially now that Jace had Brit.
A knock on his door jerked him back to reality. Cheryl stuck her head in. What would he do without her? She was almost old enough to be his mother and sometimes treated him that way, but he gladly kept her on and would miss her when she retired. Besides, she was a link to his father. She’d been a temp here at the firm when his father had died so terribly. After law school, when he’d tried to fill his father’s very big, empty shoes, she had guided him through more than one complication of taking over the law practice.
“Is Heck here?” he asked.
“On his way.” She came clear over to his desk. “You doing okay after that chaos yesterday?”
“Not really, but one foot ahead of the other. I’m grateful you and the staff weren’t hurt—but for Dale.”
“Not an omen for his situation, I hope. He’s living in fear the police could arrest him any day. It did hurt me to see you and Claire suffering. You’ve both been through a lot. Oh, Dale called a while ago and insists he’s coming in soon, even though you told him to rest. I understand he needs to keep busy.”
“Yeah, I get that too. Speaking of which, Madame Secretary, I promised Detective Jensen that I would look through our files to see if there were any loose cannons from past cases who might hold a grudge against me or the firm. I can think of a few but I don’t want to miss anything.”
“You want me to look in my spare time—ha, ha—or just pull case files for you?”
&
nbsp; “All of the above.”
“How far back, Nick?”
“I’d say ten, fifteen years. I can’t believe someone wouldn’t act on a serious grudge by now if the firm or I let them down.”
“Got it. Got your back too,” she said, heading away. “Don’t know what you’d do without me,” she teased.
“You know me too well!” he called after her as she went out, but she popped right back in. He was expecting another rejoinder, but she said, “Hector Munez here to see you, Attorney Markwood.”
Heck came in without the usual swagger. He looked as if he hadn’t slept either.
“Sorry, boss, but I drove Gina back to Miami, and we left at four in the morning. Just got back. Hated to leave her there, but she’s adjusting. Can’t say I am without her.”
“No more bruises or hard knocks after that mess yesterday?”
“Only that I still worry I’ll lose her—to some guy, some med student or doctor over there. Anyway, I know what you want.”
“Tell me then. What did you tell Sergeant O’Brien that made him put you on the possible hit list for that drone? Something with that new facial recognition deal?”
“Yeah, caramba. I had no idea what I was getting into, the cut-throat part of it. Facial recognition is about to become the next big thing in security software. There’s ways to hack into digital devices and locations and the like with fingerprints, eye or voice recognition, but facial is a lot harder to fake. Whoever controls facial rec tech is gonna be filthy rich—big, big bucks. So maybe sharks are circling to scare away or knock off people who could help their competition.”
“So dirty play competition is of concern? And someone has figured out you’re good—and might go with a particular firm?”
“And maybe trying to scare me off. Or kill me and anybody nearby who might have a clue why. So sorry to tell you all this, that I might be a sitting bird on a wire.”
“I think the phrase is a sitting duck, Heck. But I get that this is going to lead to new frontiers of privacy laws.”
