The Vanishing Angle

by Linda Ladd

  “Yes, I know. That poor girl never had a chance, did she?”

  “No, she didn’t.” Novak asked the question that had been plaguing him. “Did you bring down Blackwood’s network?”

  For the first time, she looked pleased. “We got him dead to rights. He’s sitting in federal prison right now, and all his fancy lawyers are scrambling. The news is full of damaging information coming out about him.”

  “I don’t get much news down in my cell. Just a lot of dirty looks and awful food.”

  “The bust went down perfectly. We got all of them that we knew of, and the evidence we gathered will be admissible.”

  “So do I get out of here, or not?”

  “Yes, but you’re on probation up here, probably forever. By the way, Claire Morgan and Nicholas Black came to your defense as well. Apparently, Nick has a lot of pull with some important folks in Washington.”

  “That he does. They’re good friends. They always have my back.” They stared at each other for a moment. “What about you, Lori? Are you going to write me off? You don’t look thrilled to be here.”

  “No, I am not thrilled.”

  “When do I get released?”

  “Not until tomorrow morning. The ambassador and I will escort you onto a U.S. military jet that will fly you back to D.C.”

  “I’ve got to get my boat. It’s in berth.”

  “Where?”

  “Nantucket.”

  “Well, you’re going to Washington first.”

  “You’re still mad.”

  “Hell, yes, why wouldn’t I be? But I always forgive you, don’t I? Besides, I did get a promotion and a lot of prestige out of this whole thing. You’ll get some glory, too, once we get you out of Canada. Their government now despises you.”

  Novak was hesitant to ask the next question. “What about Sokolov? Did he survive?”

  “He’s going to, we think, but it’ll take months to get him back on his feet. Much like it did you after that gunshot blast you took in Guatemala.”

  “They told me his daughter, Katerina, is in foster care up here with some total strangers.”

  “I’ve already arranged for her to be transferred to foster care near her father’s hospital. He’s in Portland, by the way. Maybe we can drop by and say hello when I get you out of here.”

  “We? That mean you’re okay with all this?”

  “Not even close.”

  “How long do you intend to be mad?”

  “At least until we get back home. Then I want that voyage to the Caribbean. I got a month off as a reward for my hard work. I’ll decide down there if I forgive you.”

  “You got it. By the way, I love you for getting me out of here.”

  “You better love me, after all the trouble I’ve gone through.”

  They shared a glance, and then she placed her hand on top of his, which was still handcuffed to the table. He patted hers with his free one. They smiled at each other. Yeah, he loved her. Apparently, she loved him, too. Something was finally going right.

  If you enjoyed The Vanishing Angle, be sure not to miss all of Linda Ladd’s Will Novak series, including

  IN THE DARK

  A pristine white beach near Sanibel Island, Florida, is an unlikely place for a murder, but that’s where Will Novak finds himself, knee-deep in salt water trying to save a life. Maybe the frantic woman is the client he’s supposed to meet. But there’s no question she’s got plenty of powerful enemies. And now they’re after Novak, too.

  IN THE DETAILS

  When he meets her again, her story opens a world of nightmares: captured women, stolen children, and “adoptions” forged in blood and death. The network that tore apart her family stretches across continents and corrupts the forces that should fight against it. And its leaders will do anything to silence her.

  IN THE LAST PLACE YOU LOOK

  From the alligator-infested waters of the Everglades to the Central American jungle, the fight to stop a ruthless conspiracy—and to find one mother’s child—will take Novak to the edge of hell itself . . .

  A Lyrical Underground e-book on sale now.

  Read on for a special excerpt!

  Chapter 1

  Off the west coast of Florida, a giant ball of flame sat atop the horizon. Blazing and brilliant, it slowly disappeared into the vast blue reaches of the Gulf of Mexico. Another magnificent Sanibel Island sunset was over, but it left a soft pink glow that colored the beaches. Will Novak was jogging along, nice and steady, heading south toward the Sanibel Lighthouse, when those faint golden spikes turned to black and a single star appeared. He liked sunsets, especially the ones out over the sea, but he was tired and ready to head back to his rental condo. The ocean winds were sweeping in, brisk and bracing, and drying his sweat-soaked skin as he ran along the hard-packed sand. It felt good to have a nice long run. He had been idle for a week, and he needed the surge of energy it gave him.

  Few people were around now that the sky show was over, no doubt worn out from a day romping in sun and surf. Lights were blinking on inside the hotels and restaurants he jogged past. When it grew darker along the sand, Novak had the beach to himself, which was the way he liked it. Since he had retired from the military, he had become a loner who enjoyed peace and quiet on the few occasions he actually could get some. His lifestyle made these isolated pools of serenity rare, but now he was ready for some action. Claire Morgan Black, his PI partner, had left him an intriguing voicemail ten days ago, relating news of a case without giving him any details. So he had come to the island and checked into Ocean’s Edge, waiting for Claire to make it home from Italy. While he waited, he was to watch for the arrival of a woman named Alcina Castillo and then keep a close eye on her. After that directive, Claire had pretty much ignored his texts. The mystery woman had not shown up. Will wanted the details explaining why he was hanging around that condo and doing nothing. Not that his stay in paradise was any kind of hardship. A beach bum existence was right up his alley, not exactly hell on earth by any stretch of the imagination. Sanibel Island was beautiful, and better yet, it was peaceful and quiet. Now the lights of Fort Myers Beach sparkled across the dark bay, the big luxury high-rise condos and hotels full of tourists. Restaurants over there would be packed with hungry visitors lingering over fresh seafood and imbibing fancy cocktails.

  Novak usually ran at night when he was away on assignment. When he was at home in the bayous of Louisiana, he worked out at dawn, on a specific course he’d laid out to increase his speed and strengthen his endurance. Novak was a big guy, six feet six inches, and weighed 240 pounds. His large size should have affected his ability to react to provocation, but he had worked diligently to overcome that problem and now could surprise opponents by how fast he could move. He couldn’t always sustain the quickness, but usually it didn’t have to last long to put another man down. It had done him well in many a barroom brawl.

  Here he had no reason to tangle with anybody because he spent all day watching for the woman to appear. It was a good gig, he supposed, sitting around on the sand or in his private screened lanai, relaxing, and waiting for something to pop. No such luck thus far. In a nutshell, he was bored. All was quiet, all the time. The other guests looked to be typical tourists doing absolutely nothing unusual or criminal, just nice normal people enjoying hard-earned vacations, so good for them.

  Tonight he was ready to hit the sack. He had run longer than he’d meant to, crossing the Sanibel Causeway and jogging down McGregor Boulevard on a circuitous route to Fort Myers Beach and the marina where he’d docked his sailboat. He liked to check it out every day or so. His boat, a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 379 that he’d had factory-built to accommodate his large frame, was his prized possession. His boat was sleek and fast, a beautiful forty-footer that was comfortable when he sailed south into the Caribbean Sea. He had wanted a big bed he could actually stretch out in.
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  The Sweet Sarah was secured at a berth in the biggest marina he could find because he liked the anonymity of being lost inside a forest of masts, just in case any past enemies were still thinking of exacting payback. It happened now and then, since he had made life miserable for a lot of bad guys, both as an NYPD cop and as a Navy SEAL and now as a private investigator. For obvious reasons, he made a habit of watching his back. Things had looked good over there, his sailboat shining from the scrubbing he’d given her a few days ago and battened down tight. He would have preferred to stay aboard the boat, but Claire didn’t do things on a whim. She had a good reason for him to hole up at Ocean’s Edge. He just didn’t know what it was.

  When Claire had left the message, he had already been in Florida waters, which saved time. He’d been anchored up north at Clearwater Beach, where he had been restocking supplies after spending an enjoyable month at sea with Lori Garner. Unfortunately for him, Lori had been called to New Orleans by some family thing and had boarded a plane home in Tampa. He’d met Lori on a job that brought down a corrupt state judge in Galveston, Texas. She’d endured some bad things there, including taking a bullet, but their weeks spent out on the drink had healed that wound. It had been good for him, too.

  Lori had promised to rejoin him soon, but Novak wasn’t counting on it. He hoped she would. She was younger than him, and it had taken some time getting used to her slangy banter and fierce independence. She was a bit abrasive at times, but somehow that had a way of calming him down. They ended up as lovers out there alone in the vast sea, something he hadn’t minded one bit. In fact, he missed her more than he thought he would.

  Now he was on his own again, working a case he knew nothing about. The woman he was after was a Guatemalan national. Alcina Castillo was young, barely in her twenties, pretty, dark eyed, and dark haired. Claire was holding her cards close to the vest this time, which was unlike her. He didn’t like being kept in the dark much, but maybe Claire didn’t know the particulars yet. Perhaps this Alcina woman was supposed to fill them in. He wished to hell somebody would.

  By the time he made it to back to the condo, the exterior night-lights lit up the place as bright as day, too bright for people trying to sleep. It was a good thing they turned them off at a reasonable hour. Looking forward to a hot shower and grabbing a bite to eat, all Novak wanted was a good night’s sleep with the windows thrown wide so the sound of the pounding surf would soothe him. He was ready to get home to Bonne Terre, the old plantation he had inherited on the day he was born. There was plenty of work he could have been doing on his dilapidated mansion, instead of sitting around here and waiting for something to pop.

  Dark and rolling and eternal, the ocean crashed to shore on his right. The breakers were wild and loud, pushed inland by a storm he could see out at sea. The waves curled and crested in pale ghostly lines that stretched down the beach. He slowed when he hit the condo and walked past the four buildings to the nature preserve on the far side. Everything looked peaceful. Nobody was in sight, nothing out of the ordinary, just like every other night when he’d come home from his run. He turned to face the cool ocean breeze and tasted the salt in the air as he sat on the wood bridge that led into the pitch-black, tangled preserve. He sat alone there and let his pulse slow to normal.

  A wide strip of small white shells reached out in both directions on the beach. Sanibel Island was world renowned when it came to seashells; at least that’s what he’d been told. Storms like the one tonight brought in treasure troves in every hue and shape and color, dredged up from their resting place on the outer shelf that protected the coast. Novak could see flashes of lightning forking down out of backlit clouds to strike the sea.

  The Ocean’s Edge complex still glowed under soft yellow-infused spotlights on the tan stucco walls. The condo was old but recently refurbished; he liked the 1950s feel of it and the thick walls and private porches. One could walk a matter of feet out its breezeways and wade into the shallows. It was a homey place, and employees were courteous and helpful. It hadn’t taken long to figure out which residents were full-time and who was visiting for a week or two. Truth be told, he had settled in with a pair of binoculars and spied on all of his unsuspecting neighbors.

  Mopping sweat off his face and torso with his forearm, he relaxed there. After letting his body cool down a bit, he kicked off his Nikes and waded out into the surf. He swam about thirty yards out, well past the breakers, and then floated out there on his back, relaxing his muscles and staring at the stars as incoming waves pushed him back to shore. When his feet touched sand, he walked out and sat back down on the bridge.

  Novak felt good sitting there alone. He liked the dark and the solitude, and he hadn’t had enough of it for the last month. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed Lori’s company; he had. He hoped she might be waiting at Bonne Terre when he got home. He rarely invited anybody to his plantation—never, actually. He liked her, and they fit together well. She was a former military cop and a trained Army sniper. He liked that about her, too. They understood each other and what had to be done.

  When he heard a distant shout, he turned and looked up the beach. He could just barely make out three people, maybe thirty yards away. Nobody else was in sight. In the residual yellow glow that didn’t quite light the sand, he could see a big guy heading out toward the water. Problem was, he was dragging what looked like a kid with him. The boy looked young, maybe twelve, maybe even younger. He was no match for the man or his long, angry strides. When the boy fell to his knees, the man just dragged him while the boy attempted to regain his feet. The other person was a woman trying her level best to stop what was going on. She looked even smaller than the kid. They had come out of the first condo building, but Novak didn’t recognize them from his surveillance. What it looked like to Novak was a case of domestic violence. The woman grabbed the back of the man’s shirt and dug in her heels in a fruitless effort to slow him down. That’s when he stopped, spun on her, and shoved her hard enough to put her on her back in the sand.

  Novak tensed up. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like seeing a man beat up on a woman. He didn’t care who that guy was or what the problem was. It looked like he was a bully, and he looked twice the woman’s size. Novak stood up and watched them. The man had on some kind of leather vest over a white T-shirt. Novak could see the big skull patch on the back of the vest. It appeared the guy might be in some kind of motorcycle gang.

  Although the woman looked tiny up against him, she had guts. She sprang back up, ran into the surf after the guy, and grabbed his shirt again. Novak started walking toward them. The man grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair and dragged her out deeper into the water. They were all yelling now, screaming stuff that Novak couldn’t make out. Their words were flung away with the wind. Nobody inside the complex seemed to notice the altercation, but it was dark at the water’s edge and the heavy surf was deafening. Whatever was going down was strictly none of Novak’s business. On the other hand, that woman just might be the one he’d been waiting for. She basically fit the description, and she definitely needed help. Maybe his case had finally found him.

  The trio was knee deep in the crashing waves. The man and woman were screaming at each other, and then he pushed her away and jerked the kid out deeper. The woman didn’t give up. That’s when the man backhanded her, knocking her backward under the water. A big wave hit them and took her bodily in toward the beach. Then the man concentrated on the kid. He held him under so long that Novak knew he meant to drown the boy. Novak took off running toward them as the kid flailed desperately but ineffectually.

  The woman had fought her way back to them and was slugging the big guy in the back with one fist and trying to pull the kid’s head out of the water with the other. She jumped on the bully’s back, but he shrugged her off like a bothersome gnat and held the boy submerged. At that point, Novak was dead certain that man was going to drown them both. They didn’t see Novak coming. Tha
t was good for Novak but bad for the big thug. Novak grabbed the guy by the back of his vest and spun him around. Novak had better luck getting the guy’s attention than the woman had.

  Shocked by the force of Novak’s grip, the man dropped his victim in a hurry. Novak had learned a long time ago never to waste time or expend undue effort in a fistfight. If you’re going to mess it up with somebody, mess it up hard and fast. He doubled his right fist and punched the guy in the nose, a hard, quick jab, the kind that put all the strength in your shoulder behind it and would send blood gushing like a geyser. Let a bully face a man bigger and stronger, a man who gave no quarter and played by no rules, and see how long he lasted. Novak’s blow was brutal enough to knock the guy off his feet. He went over backward and under the water and came up choking on the blood and the briny seawater.

  Novak felt the urge to hold him under the way he’d done to the boy, let him endure the kind of panic the boy had no doubt felt as his breath ran out, but decided to forgo that unless it became necessary. Sometimes a punch that brutal would end the game before it got started. Novak shoved the goon under again, and the guy floundered around a bit, perhaps drowning, but maybe not. Novak didn’t really care, but he got a hold on the back of the stupid leather vest and towed the limp man back onto the beach. He dropped him on his face in the sand, where he lay hacking and strangling.

  Once the guy got his breath back, he unwisely decided it would be a good idea to engage Novak. That meant he was not only a big bully but stupid, too. Novak watched him struggle to stand up and then stagger drunkenly around with his fists up like a gentleman boxer in the 1890s. He threw a punch so wild that Novak didn’t have to move, but then his opponent made the mistake of grabbing Novak’s arm. So Novak sent another hard jab into the guy’s solar plexus. That did the trick. The guy grabbed his belly, gasping and coughing, and appeared to pass out on his back in the shallows. Novak dragged him up farther onto the sand, dropped him there, and then looked around for the woman and kid. He was pretty sure now that they were Claire’s clients. He could barely see them. They were hightailing it up the deserted beach at a full run.