Complicity in Heels (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T
he
Sea Coach Express
approached the dock slowly from its port side. Nikki waited until the small passenger boat came to a complete stop before she boarded with the rest of the passengers. It had been nearly impossible for her to find a trip pilot willing to run her up to Slip Island for a fair price on such short notice, so she settled for a tourist water taxi.

The tour guide wore khaki pants, a short-sleeve white shirt, and a life jacket. She also donned a yacht captain’s hat and pair of round-framed Ray-Bans. “My name’s Jenny Dillon,” she announced in a Southern drawl, handing out dry bags to each of the passengers for their personal belongings. “I’ll be guiding you along the Slip Island Coast, through the various pirate ruins, to the main island and ultimately to Captain Sidney ‘Cutthroat’ Scott’s stronghold.”

Nikki placed her phone along with her wristlet inside the bag then put on the life jacket she found resting on her seat. She glanced around. The thirty-seat craft was full. Most of the people were tourists, wearing sun hats, floral-print shirts, cargo shorts, and sandals.

Once everyone was seated, the pilot eased out into the water.

“Captain Scott,” Jenny continued, “was a nineteenth-century English sea captain, most noted for preying on ships off the Carolina coast then hightailing it down to Georgia to evade capture. Slip Island was Captain Scott’s main base of operation. Its name is derived from the raider’s unique ability to give the US Navy the slip while—”

“Everybody hold on,” the pilot warned as he pushed the throttle forward.

Nikki gripped the seat in front of her. The wind picked up, shearing through her hair and sending sea spray flying into her face. Instinctively she tucked her chin to her chest and held her head down low.

The
Sea Coach Express
quickly accelerated to thirty-one knots then dropped back down to twenty-three before leveling off. It took a moment for everyone to adjust to the variance. The endless jarring of the boat plowing through waves at a high rate of speed left some passengers feeling woozy.

Upon the boat’s approach, Nikki spotted Slip Island emerging from the abyss and breaking the line of the deep-blue horizon.

Jenny removed her hand from the steel canopy bar she used to brace herself and pointed out the brick ruins of a fort nestled on a bluff that overlooked the water. “Over to my left, high above, you can see the remains of one of Captain Scott’s interim fortifications. This fortress successfully kept authorities at bay, until his main stronghold farther inland could be constructed.”

Several tourists, seated on the starboard side of the craft, rushed over to the port side to take a look. Nikki gritted her teeth, suppressing the urge to scream, as people surrounded her. A large, sweaty man encroaching on her personal space tossed red warning flags throughout her mind. In prison, such an intimate violation would get you killed or, at the very least, seriously maimed. However, this wasn’t prison, and the responses of that world were no longer acceptable in mainstream society.

Nikki took a deep breath then exhaled.
Relax.
He’s not a threat
, she told herself. Another breath followed.
You’re safe.
She repeated those words to herself a couple more times until she calmed down.

A few minutes later, everyone was directed back to their seats. Nikki let out a sigh of relief.

“Eventually,” Jenny continued, picking up where she’d left off, “the US Navy apprehended Captain Scott, tried and convicted him of piracy on the high seas, then sentenced him to death by hanging. On July fourth, 1826, that judgment was carried out. At Captain Scott’s own request, he was strung up from the mainmast of his ship,
Poseidon’s
Plague
.”

Nikki raised her eyebrows in interest.

“During the Civil War,” Jenny continued, “Slip Island became home to freed slaves and was a site for schools taught by prominent abolitionists. After the war, it became a fueling station for the navy. Marines soon arrived to provide security for the new military installation. By World War I, Slip Island had become a forward deployment site for troops bound for the European front, and it remained as such until the end of World War II.”

The
Sea Coach Express
motored passed three small skerries that formed a chain and converged into a long white ribbon of sand that led to the main island. Nikki noticed a few more water taxis up ahead, approaching an extended modular dock. The
Sea Coach
cut across the water at an angle and into the dissipating wake of the other crafts.

“Today, Slip Island is on the National Register of Historic Places maintained by the National Park Service and is a favorite destination of Peach State tourists, as y’all will soon find out.”

The water taxi pulled up to the dock and was quickly tied off by the shore party.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please gather your belongings,” Jenny announced. “This includes children and significant others.”

A few passengers burst into laughter.

“We’ll meet over by Randall’s Bait and Gift Shop, so please stay together.”

The passengers disembarked in an orderly fashion and made their way up the aluminum gangway to the cement pier. Nikki lingered behind on purpose, hoping to separate herself from the group.

“Stay together,” Jenny reminded everyone, as the group extended and contracted like an accordion.

Nikki removed her phone from her dry bag and called the lifeline.

The phone rang once and was answered immediately. “Touch of Style Salon, Janice speaking. How may I help you?”

“Agent 2294,” Nikki said. “Day code, business section, September seventeenth, identification procedure.”

“Proceed.”

“Consultant, transparency, merger.”

Janice took a few moments to verify the words. “Confirmed. What’s going on, Cousin Nikki?”

“Patrone is dead. Local PD put out a BOLO for his vehicle and got a hit down by the harbor. Suspect was found slumped behind the wheel—two shots, close range. Inside his trunk was a duffel bag with 1.25 million in drug money to be laundered up to New York. All preliminary evidence at the scene points to Lacey Johnson, an associate of Gemini Cordoza, as the perpetrator.”

“Noted.”

“Perp is believed to have fled to Slip Island. I’m currently in pursuit.”

“How can I help with your search?” Janice asked.

“Query the system for all possible locations where Lacey could have fled to. We’re dealing with a woman in her early thirties, in moderate to good shape, hauling approximately seventy-five pounds of bundled cash in a duffel bag. She’s got to be exhausted, in a frantic mind-set, armed, and potentially dangerous.”

“Stand by.”

Nikki waited while Janice conducted the search.

“Got it,” she announced several minutes later. “Birch Field.”

“What’s that?”

“A private airport, originally established by the federal government shortly after World War I. Deactivated in the nineties and deeded back to the island. Covers three hundred seventy-three acres, with two asphalt runways. Houses twenty-six single-engine planes and two multiengine aircraft.”

“Location?”

“Based on your cell-phone coordinates, exactly eleven miles from your current position. I’m dispatching a chase team as backup.” Two back-to-back alert tones interrupted the conversation. “Hold on,” Janice said, then returned a minute or two later. “Cousin Nikki, are you there?”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“Emergency break in the line. Harlan is patching through.”

“Nicole?”

“Yes, Harlan.”

“Janice brought me up to speed on your situation. If at all possible, the Crime Enforcement Task Force needs Lacey to be brought in without incident. This is our collar.”

“Understood.”

“She’s the linchpin that can testify that the money in question was drug money that Patrone was delivering on behalf of Quinn to be laundered to cartel leadership out of state. Without her, all we’ve got is a dead guy dropping off lots of cash but deciding at the last minute to keep it for himself.”

“Anything else?”

“The K-9 team has picked up a positive scent trail on your brother. They’re following it as we speak.”

Nikki’s face lit up. “Where?”

“Wooded area, a mile and a half from Paris Oaks.”

“That’s a bit far from campus, isn’t it?”

“Not according to the lead handler. Depending on conditions, human scent from a walking subject could easily travel hundreds of yards or more. Throw in little to no vegetation, heat radiating off concrete, the wind, and the melting pot of aromas intermingling in the middle of downtown Parkbridge, and we’re very fortunate to get a lead like this early on.”

“Exceptionally fortunate. I just won’t have peace of mind until Marty is found.”

“I’m on top of this, Nicole. Just stay focused.”

“I am, but it’s taking everything I’ve got just to hold it together. Sometimes I just want to scream.”

“So do it,” Harlan urged.

“What?”

“Scream.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Nikki looked around. Most of the tour group had gathered at Randall’s Bait and Gift Shop. She quickly covered the phone’s speaker and screamed as loudly as she could. The piercing sound startled the tourists, several of whom turned in her direction to see what the commotion was all about.

“Sorry, just found out I’m pregnant,” Nikki lied.

Scattering praise and shouts of congratulations emanated from the crowd.

Nikki waved, acknowledging them, then got back on the phone.

“Now how do you feel?” Harlan asked.

“Much better.”

“Good. We’re almost across the finish line. Stay the course.”

“Harlan…”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.” Nikki hung up before he could respond. She placed her phone inside her wristlet, discarded the dry bag, then climbed up the gangway to the pier.

A handful of tourists were staring at Nikki, their faces smeared with curiosity. She ignored them as she walked past the bait and gift shop toward a group of cabs lined up at an adjacent taxi stand.

“Everything okay?” Jenny shouted.

Nikki whirled around. “Yes, I just really need to find the guy I’ve been sleeping with.”

“Handle your business, girl, but don’t be surprised if turns out not to be worth the hassle.”

Nikki forced a smile and got inside the first cab. The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Where to?”

“Birch Field.”

“Birch Field it is,” the driver said, hitting the meter. “Business or pleasure?”

Nikki reached underneath her oversize shirt and removed a Glock 27 subcompact pistol concealed within a body holster that also functioned as ladies’ shapewear. “Business.”

“Look, I don’t want no trouble here,” he pleaded, watching her in the rearview.

The cab swerved into the opposite lane, nearly sideswiping an orange pickup truck.

“Pay attention to the road,” Nikki yelled.

The driver diverted his attention away from the mirror and regained control of the cab.

Nikki reached inside the pocket on the opposite side of her body holster, removed her official wallet badge, and held it up. “Special Agent Nicole Frank. Relax.”

“Oh, oh, okay. Sorry.”

Nikki placed her credentials back inside her holster.

The driver chuckled.

“Something funny?”

“Yeah, you identified yourself as a federal agent then told me to relax, as opposed to saying, ‘Federal agent…you’re under arrest.’ That’s oxymoronic.”

Nikki smiled. “We don’t utter that phrase very often, so count your blessings.”

The driver didn’t reply but kept an eye on her in the mirror while he continued to drive.

Nikki released the magazine from the semiautomatic and placed it on her lap. Pointing the handgun away from the driver, she racked the slide back. He jumped.

“Chill,” she said, retrieving the chambered round. “Just a routine equipment check before I take a suspect into custody.”

The driver perked up a little. “Oh.”

Nikki emptied the rounds in her magazine and reloaded them. When she finished, she inserted the magazine back into the semiautomatic and racked the slide a second time to chamber a round. This time the driver smiled widely.

“Is the situation serious?” he asked.

“Always.”

“What did he do?”

“It’s a she,” Nikki corrected. “Possible murder suspect.”

“Oh.”

“You sound surprised.”

The driver shook his head. “I am. What’s this world coming to?”

“It’s a cold, dark place out there,” Nikki said. “And everyone’s doing whatever they can to get over on somebody else, and sometimes that leads to murder. We might not like it, but we damn sure have to deal with it.”

“Better you than me.”

Nikki reholstered her weapon. “Point taken.”

The driver drove swiftly through the tourist town, taking the less-traveled roads. When he saw traffic congestion or pedestrian activity, he changed course. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the airport’s main terminal.

“Here you are, Birch Field,” the driver announced.

Nikki removed her phone from her wristlet and clipped it to her side then pulled out her driver’s license and credit card, leaving only cash inside the small purse.

“And might I add,” the driver said, smiling at her in the rearview mirror, “I got you here ten minutes faster than it would normally take, ma’am.”

Nikki checked the price on the meter then tossed him her pocketbook. “Thanks, everything inside is yours.”

He caught it and quickly thumbed through it to verify the amount. “Good luck catching your criminal.”

Nikki exited the vehicle then dashed through the terminal doors, quickly scanning the small waiting area for Lacey. She noticed her right away, clutching a zipped-up duffel bag and talking to a member of the flight crew. When Lacey’s eyes caught Nikki’s, she scowled. Nikki approached her with caution, questions forming in her mind. “We need to talk,” she told Lacey.

Lacey moved in the opposite direction. “No, we don’t.”

“Lacey,” Nikki admonished. “I’m here to help.”