Second Chance (9 page)

Scruff picked up one of the plastic restraints and examined it. He got down on his knees and inspected the frame of the old cot. The corner bracket was rusted and had a sharp edge. He ran his finger over the edge and noticed particles from the plastic wrist restraint directly under the frame. “She cut through the bracelets here,” Scruff said, pointing to the rusty corner bracket. “She got the drop on Dell in his sleep.”

Donovan shook his head with dismay, showing enormous disappointment. “Dell got sloppy. Now he’s probably dead.” He put his hand on Scruff’s shoulder. “Now you’re number two.” He turned and motioned for Scruff to follow him out the door. “Keep your head out of your ass. Don’t end up in another batch of alligator stew.”

They were back in the fan boat before Donovan spoke again. “I want that bitch. You hear me?”

Scruff nodded expressively.

“And I don’t expect to wait.”

“No waiting, boss. I’ll get everyone on it. I’ll find her quick.”

“Bet your skinny ass, you will.”

Lyndell had grown lazy. Donovan could not abide complacency in his rank, not if he wanted to survive. Reaching into the cooler, he grabbed a bottle of Red Stripe. He spied the snout of a large gator in the water nearby, raised his beer bottle, and toasted the big reptile. “Here’s to you, my friend. Only the strong survive.”

Chapter Nineteen

Sometimes we eat to nourish the body, and sometimes we eat to nourish the soul.
This time I ate for both of those reasons. My fingers were sticky with jelly. Peanut butter was stuck to the roof of my mouth. Outside, the storm had died down to a light drizzle, and the temperature had dropped. I was tired and under the spell of rainy-day hypnosis. I wanted to sleep, but there was no time to rest.

“More?” Rick asked.

I had eaten the caloric equivalent of a chocolate layer cake. My blood sugar was probably off the charts. “No, that’s enough. Thanks.”

“I think I could live on PB&J.”

“I did as a kid. It was in my lunchbox a good three times a week. What about you?”

“No. I grew up on rice and beans,” he said. “My parents worked in the orange orchards. Peanut butter and jelly was a luxury for us.”

“Pretty humble upbringing, I guess.”

Rick smiled. It set off his warm, brown eyes. “Screw humble. We were poor, dirt poor. The best I ever ate was when I enlisted in the army. It’s all-you-can-eat in boot camp. They work your ass off in there, and you need every calorie you can stuff in your face.” He polished off one last graham “I hear the NYPD police academy is pretty intense.”

“It’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure. Exhaustive training, testing up the wazoo—they actually try to fail you. They’ve achieved what they wanted to: NYPD is thirty-five-thousand strong and considered the most elite police department in the country. I’ve got the bruises to prove it.” I stood up abruptly. “I’ve got to wash my hands.” I touched my fingers together. “The jelly is driving me nuts.” I walked to the kitchen sink and turned the knob. Water shot out of the faucet like it was coming out of a fire hose. It splashed in the small sink and all over me. By the time I turned off the water, I was once again soaked.

“Shit. Sorry,” Rick said. “The strainer rusted out. I should’ve warned you.”

I had water on my face and my tee shirt, which seemed to make Rick pretty happy again. In fact, you could say he took delight in my misfortune. I folded my arms across my chest for modesty. He raced over to the drawer and grabbed a dry tee shirt.

I’m not an overly impulsive girl, but sometimes your intuition just tells you the moment is right. I was right behind Rick, and when he turned around, we were chest to chest. He was motionless for a moment, and then he looked into my eyes. I put my mouth on his and kissed him. He put his hand up my shirt. His hand felt so good that I moaned. It had been ages since I had been with anyone. I guess you could say that the moan was a long time coming. I couldn’t stand the feeling of the wet tee shirt any longer. I pulled it over my head and put my arms around his neck. His chest was warm against me, and it took my chill away. I kissed him again, an I-mean-business kiss. As if there’s any doubt about the intentions of a woman in your home who’s naked from the waist up.

He pushed me back against the kitchen counter. My fanny was right on top of my cell phone. Wouldn’t you just know it, the minute I tried to undo his belt, the damn cell phone began to buzz and buzz and buzz. I knew from the pattern of the vibrations that it wasn’t a phone call. I was receiving a series of messages, one after another after another. “What f-ing timing.” I reached under my butt and grabbed the cell. The caption on the screen read Flynn’s Photo Stream, followed by a series of thumbnail pictures. “Oh God.”

Rick was panting. “What? What is it?” I turned the phone so that he could see the screen. He sighed deeply, and then we both became motionless. My heart sank. That one solitary moan would have to hold me for a while. It was time to get back to business.

Chapter Twenty

Business was back on the table and I was off.

The photos and videos I had received from Flynn’s cell phone documented him being tortured. Donovan had been ruthless and brutal, using power tools on Flynn as if he were a piece of construction lumber. They were horrifying images I could not shake from my conscious mind.

Sometimes a one-trick pony gets a bad rap, and sometimes he’s all you need to get the job done. If Rick was able to use Google Latitude to track me down in the Everglades, we could use it to locate Flynn—or at least his phone. Whether they were in the same location or not was still in question. It was an impromptu plan, but one that we were committed to. Yes, I said
committed
, as in being locked up in a psychiatric facility, which is probably where I belong. We were intent on saving Flynn’s life and taking a real chance, instead of going to the police and letting all the cats out of the bag.

I looked myself up and down in the mirror before hoisting a bag of weapons onto my shoulder. I wouldn’t normally be caught dead dressed in men’s sweats and a denim shirt, not in public anyway, but these were extraordinary circumstances. I carried the bag out to Rick’s Grand National, pushed the front seat forward, and slammed the heavy sack down on the backseat. I guess I banged the bag down too hard because the rear seat cushion moved, and I could see that there was a hidden compartment beneath it. Now I had no reason to snoop … not on a man who had rescued me twice, and whom I had almost ridden like a thoroughbred at the Belmont Stakes. I could see Rick through the window. He was talking on his cell phone. Okay, just a quick peek. I reached in and found a loose, unfolded parachute and a large waist pack. The space was small. I could barely fit my hands into the opening, but I managed to unzip the waist pack a couple of inches. “Ah shit!” My heart sank. It was filled with pills.

Chapter Twenty-One

When a single woman meets a guy who seems too good to be true, it’s usually because he is in fact too good to be true.
Rick was ruggedly handsome, courageous, and down-to-earth, so at some level I should’ve suspected that he was too perfect. I never thought for a moment that he’d be involved in drug trafficking. I just didn’t see him as the type.
Gee, just when you think you’d found someone good …

He was at the wheel of the Grand National, his vision and his mind focused on saving Flynn’s life, someone he had never met, someone who might very well cost him his own life.
Strikes me as the heroic type, right?
I had replaced the seat cushion so there was no evidence that I had seen his stash. I stole furtive glances of him as he piloted the old muscle car.
I just can’t believe it. I almost let this guy into my life. I’m a cop, for crying out loud, a detective. I’m supposed to be a good judge of character.
I was so angry that I wanted to burst. I wanted to scream.

He glanced down at his phone to check the directions. The smartphone app was taking us to a domestic airport near Homestead. The storm must have scared a lot of drivers off the road because the expressway was empty and we were making great time.

“Hey, you all right?” he asked. “You look tense.”

Oh yeah, sure. I’m completely fine. Never better. We’re probably walking into a trap with a vicious gangster, and I almost gave it up for a drug runner.
“Yeah, fine, just putting on my game face.”
Just peachy.
It wasn’t a good time to go at him, but I had to probe just a little. “So what was your specialty in the army?”

He looked at me as if to say,
what
,
you want to make small talk now?
Yeah, it was an oddly timed request, but like I said, I wanted to explode and needed something to distract me. He shrugged and then spouted, “I was a jumper, a paratrooper.”

Ya see? He answered truthfully. “That sounds like a blast.”

“I used to night jump into the desert. It is a hoot, except that while you’re falling through the pitch black, Islamic zealots are trying to shoot you out of the sky. It kind of keeps you from kicking back and enjoying the ride down.”

“What have you been doing since you got out?”

“Oh, you know, this and that.”

Intentionally vague. He was hiding his other life, the one he didn’t want me to know about. Some women go for bad boys. I like to put them behind bars. He was so devilishly intriguing though. I wanted him
and
I wanted to put him away. I guess that’s what those in the psychiatric trade call being conflicted.

He stared at me for a moment. “You know they’ll be waiting for us, right?”

I nodded. Certainly Flynn hadn’t sent me the pictures. Donovan or one of his emissaries of evil had sent them. It’s some world when gangsters can set you up by sending you a photo stream of their dirty deeds, knowing you’ll be able to put the pieces together and fall into their ambush.

It was dark by the time we entered the airport complex. Our super smartphone was still throwing off a signal and leading us toward a row of aircraft hangars. My adrenaline was pumping like crazy. It was as if the handle on the spigot had broken off. The combination of being angry with Rick and my anxiety over our imminent altercation with Donovan had me bent out of shape.
Take some deep breaths, girl—in and out, in and out. Stay calm. Think about buying shoes.
I pictured a closet full of Blahnicks
—ah, that’s so much better.

There were several hangars in a long row. Our phone was smart but not intuitive and wasn’t able to lead us to the exact building. We stashed the car and loaded up our weapons. We’d have to check the hangars, one by one until we found Flynn. I prayed that he was still alive.

Most of the hangars were dark. I didn’t think the lights would be out in Donovan’s hangar so we stole silently up to the one that was burning electricity and found the door unlocked. I peeked in through the opening, hoping not to be seen. Donovan was seated in a chair. Scruff was next to him holding an Uzi. Flynn was lying on the floor in front of them. I saw him move. He looked bad, but at least he wasn’t dead. I was glad that we had arrived in time … but in time for what? I backed away from the door.

“Flynn’s alive. Donovan is in there with Scruff. Scruff’s holding an Uzi. I can’t see what Donovan’s carrying.” I took a deep breath. “We should have gone to Miami Metro. This is not going to end well.”

Rick seemed cool, almost too cool. “Maybe and maybe not.”

“I don’t see how we can come out of this on top, or alive for that matter. We can still back away and call for help. Airport security will be here in minutes.”

“That’s almost a good idea.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah, almost. There’ll be a lot of explaining to do once the police get involved.”

“It goes that way. There’s no way around it.”

“I killed Lyndell,” he said. “Remember.”

“He’s a gangster with a rap sheet a mile long and he was about to—”

“It doesn’t matter that I shot him because he was about to attack you.”

“Granted. So what’s your plan?”

“I have something they want.”

“What’s that?”

He put down his gun and yanked open the hangar door. “Me,” he said decisively and walked in.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I felt helpless.
I didn’t know what Rick was doing, but he had obviously played the scenario out in his mind because he moved without any hesitation whatsoever. What did he have that Donovan wanted? What was his bargaining chip? He showed them his empty palms, indicating that he was unarmed. Scruff aimed his Uzi at him as he approached. I provided cover for him from my position behind the sliding hangar door.

Donovan remained seated. He showed little emotion as he beckoned Rick to approach. “Ricardo Andrade,” he said. “How are you involved in this messy business? I thought you were much smarter than that. You know what happens to anyone who crosses me.”

“Does it matter?” Rick said. “The point is that I’m involved.”

“Lyndell is dead. Who is responsible, you or the woman?”

“Me.”

“Lyndell sat at my right hand for years, and you … He was probably eaten by a gator. That’s a terrible way for a man to die, any man.”

Rick directed his gaze at Flynn, whose mouth was taped. His face was swollen and bloody. “Lots of bad ways for a man to die.” He lifted his head and met Donovan’s gaze. “I know the score has to be settled. I’ll jump for you—you’ve been after me for years—but you have to let this man and the woman go. Those are my terms.”

I now understood what Donovan wanted. Rick was to help him smuggle drugs into Miami—night jumping from small planes with narcotics, an area in which I already knew he had extensive experience.

Donovan laughed. “You’re a funny man. Who are you to dictate terms to me?”

“Just putting my cards on the table, Donovan. Can we make a deal?”

“Such a shame that your brother Pablo had to lose his life before you came around. Must be terrible watching your brother go down in a burning plane. Maybe you’ve lost your mind.”