Hotshot

  “I’ve been at this a long time,” he said. “I’ve got my own crews and I’ve worked out all the problem areas. Look around the island. All those beautiful high-rises are mine.” He didn’t sound as though he was boasting, just stating fact. “I’ve got a smooth operation, and I know how to make a profit. Bishop’s Cove has the most beautiful beach on the island. Eventually I’d like to develop the area, make it what it could be.”

  “We like it just the way it is,” Peyton said.

  Lucy nodded. “Perhaps in the future we’ll want to build a few more bungalows, but we aren’t interested in high-rises. We want to protect this little piece of heaven.”

  “It’s outdated,” Cassady countered. “Don’t you realize how much money you could make putting up just one high-rise instead of five little bungalows? Who’s your target customer? The superrich? Those people are fickle,” he rushed on. “Bishop’s Cove could be in one year and out the next. I build for the average man who saves all year for a memorable vacation, and I build for retirees who want to live out their lives on a beach. Second homes are still popular. I make them affordable. Well, not affordable for everyone,” he admitted with a wry grin.

  Christopher sat down next to Lucy. He leaned forward and asked, “What do you want in return?”

  “All of it,” he answered bluntly. “I’ll guarantee you’ll make a thirty percent profit, and at the end of the year when you take ownership, you sell it to me. We’ll sign contracts now so there won’t be any change of heart on either of our parts.”

  Peyton was finding it difficult to sit still. She wanted to send Cassady on his way. “Are you so certain my sisters and I are destined to fail?”

  “To be completely honest, I’d have to say I’d give you a ten percent chance of turning this place around. It would be a long shot.”

  “If you’re so certain—” Peyton began.

  Smiling, Cassady interrupted. “Ninety percent certain.”

  “Why not just wait until the year is over and then buy the resort from our uncle? You don’t think he’ll sell it to you, do you?”

  Scott shrugged. “There isn’t any bad blood between us,” he insisted. “But we have had our disagreements about the development of the island. I have blueprints for you to look over so that you’ll see I’m not going to bastardize the Cove. I’m going to enhance it.”

  He certainly was confident. Blueprints no less.

  “If you don’t take my offer, you run the risk of failing and losing it all. I’m a sure thing. If you commit to selling me the resort, I can promise you that you will not fail.” The sisters didn’t respond and he took their silence as a sign that they were considering his proposal. He pushed on. “You’ve already seen how difficult it is to manage one of these properties. Is that what you really want? To be tied to a place that needs constant attention? I’m prepared to offer you a great deal of money, more than you’d make in years of running this resort.”

  “You’ve given us quite a lot to think about,” Lucy said.

  “Would you like to discuss money now?”

  Both Peyton and Lucy shook their heads. “Not at this point,” Peyton said. “We will have to discuss our options with Ivy. All three of us have to make the decision.”

  “Is there a time limit on this offer?” Lucy asked.

  “No. Take all the time you need, but the sooner we get started, the better.”

  Cassady left a few minutes later. Lucy walked out with him and shook his hand. As soon as she walked back into the lobby, she said, “Holy crap.”

  Peyton nodded. “I know,” she agreed. “Holy crap.”

  Shaking his head, Christopher started toward his office. Peyton stopped him with a question. “Cassady strikes me as the kind of man who’s used to getting what he wants. When we tell him we aren’t interested, do you think he’ll make trouble?”

  “He’s already making trouble,” he replied. “The electricians we hired are now on a job at one of Cassady’s high-rises.”

  “I thought he had his own crews.”

  “He does.”

  “What are we going to do?” Lucy asked.

  “We’re going to bring in electricians from out of town, and we’re going to keep quiet about it. And for God’s sake, keep your cousin away from here.”

  Christopher disappeared around the corner, and Lucy sprawled on the sofa. “What do you think Debi is getting out of this? Cassady must have promised her something, but what?”

  “Money, of course. Won’t do any good to ask how much. We won’t get a straight answer from either one of them.”

  “Where did Finn go?” she asked.

  “To get my car back. Technicians went over it again.”

  “Oh yes, the bullet holes from Dalton.” There was a hint of hysteria in her laughter. “Did you just hear what I said so casually? The bullet holes.”

  “I found another bullet hole in the roof.”

  Lucy straightened. “What are you saying?”

  “Someone took another shot at me. That’s what I’m saying.”

  Lucy looked sick. “When?”

  “In front of Van’s.” She didn’t give her sister time to react but told her about Drew showing up and what had been said. By the time she was finished, Lucy had tears in her eyes.

  “He’s behind it, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, I’m almost certain.”

  “Did you convince him you wouldn’t make trouble?”

  Peyton shrugged. “I think so.”

  “And you won’t make trouble, right?”

  Peyton didn’t answer. Lucy became irate. “You listen to me. Get rid of that recording, and let it go. Once he’s named CEO, he’ll leave you alone. Isn’t that what you said? You just have to be careful until then, and if you don’t make waves . . .” She paused to take a breath. “I’m calling Ivy,” she said as if it were a threat.

  “No, you are not calling Ivy,” Peyton countered. “There is nothing she can do, and there’s no use worrying her.”

  “Maybe she can talk some sense into you.”

  “Calm down,” she said. “You’re shouting at me.”

  “Someone’s trying to kill you, and you want me to calm down?” She took a breath and said, “You have a choice. Move forward and hopefully live a long productive life, or stay on this crusade to bring Albertson down and risk getting killed. You choose.”

  NINETEEN

  Late that afternoon Mimi called and snatched away any hope of moving forward. She didn’t do it on purpose. She simply caught Peyton up on the latest development.

  She eased into her news. “For some unexplainable reason Bridget has decided that I’m her new confidante. She’s been stopping by my desk more often to chat. She knows I have absolutely nothing to do but keep Drew’s calendar and fetch his coffee. When he’s out of the office I read. The other day she told me she’s madly in love with Drew. Like you and I didn’t already know that,” she scoffed. “And that’s why she stays so skinny. She thinks Drew only likes skinny women . . . and FYI, everyone else in the company thinks you quit because the job was over your head and you couldn’t handle it, but not Bridget. She knows the real reason you didn’t last is because you weren’t skinny enough for Drew.”

  “She’s a sad woman,” Peyton said.

  “Sad isn’t the word for it,” Mimi said. “Her worship of him borders on downright creepy. Everything she does is meant to impress him. She moved into his neighborhood, and she even drives the exact same car as his. I don’t think Drew notices her most of the time, so I sort of feel sorry for her.”

  “What else is going on?”

  “Glad you asked. HR has two employees out sick, and Bridget asked if I’d help them get caught up. The first task she gave me was to proof an employment ad.”

  “For a new food critic?” Peyton couldn’t hide her disgust at the thought
of Albertson looking for his next victim.

  “Not this time. Drew isn’t even pretending he wants someone who will learn the ropes and become a critic. He’s advertising for a personal assistant.”

  “I thought that’s what you were.”

  “Bridget told me I’m going to be transferred to production in the other building. I’d work under Parsons.”

  “Hand in your resignation today and get out of there.”

  “No, Lars and I have a plan, and I’m sticking to it. I acted thrilled about the transfer,” she added. “And Bridget bought it. I want to tell you about the ad,” she insisted. “No college degree necessary, no experience needed. He’ll only look at the female applicants, of course. Bridget says he’d prefer someone younger, maybe a girl right out of high school so he can train her. He must think a young naive girl is more likely to keep quiet. It turns my stomach.”

  “Okay, that clinches it,” Peyton said. “No more waiting. I have to let Randolph Swift know what’s going on at his magazine. Drew has to be stopped.”

  “Getting to Randolph is impossible. He’s surrounded now by Eileen’s people, and he’s caught up in this memorial for his wife. As far as the business is concerned, he’s already checked out. Your best hope is Erik. Send him the recording.”

  “There would be no way to tell what his reaction is. If he didn’t respond, I wouldn’t know if he heard it, if he ignored it, or if he thought it was just a funny prank.”

  “What about calling him? That way you could talk to him.”

  “I can’t just call him and play the recording over the phone. He doesn’t know me from Adam. I really think I need to meet him face-to-face.”

  “He’s coming home for the memorial. Let me tell him. Send me the recording again, and I’ll try to get to him.”

  “No, I have to do this. I want to look him in the eye, and I want him to tell me what he’s going to do. If I have to threaten him, I will. I want him to know, if he doesn’t get rid of Drew, I’m going to sue, and I’m going to make it very public.”

  They argued about who should do what for a couple of minutes. Then Mimi conceded defeat. “Okay, you have to do it. I get it. But you can’t come back to Minnesota. It’s too dangerous.”

  “How else can I see him?”

  Mimi suddenly sounded optimistic. “I can help you.”

  “How?”

  “Erik will be flying home for the memorial. He doesn’t ever take the company jet. He believes it should be used only for company business. He flies commercial, and HR makes his reservations. He connects through Chicago. I could change that, and no one will ever be the wiser,” she boasted. “Flights get canceled all the time. How about I send him home through Atlanta and give him a nice three- or four-hour layover? I know it’s a bit extreme, but if you really need to talk to him in person, that’s the only thing I can think of.”

  “I’ll do it,” Peyton replied. “I’ll meet him in Atlanta. It will be a quick trip, and there are plenty of nonstop flights. I could go and be back in the same day.”

  “I wish I could be there when Erik finds out what his dear old brother-in-law has been up to,” Mimi said.

  “Don’t worry,” Peyton assured her. “I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s just hope that Erik has the guts to do the right thing.”

  ______

  The FBI technician handed the written report to Finn along with Peyton’s car keys.

  “I found a bullet from a two-seventy. It was in pretty good shape considering. That’s a hunting rifle, used for bigger game like deer and elk. Sorry I can’t give you more information, but if you find the weapon I can match it to the bullet.”

  Finn shook his hand. “I’ll find it.”

  The technician had a ride back to the lab, and as soon as he left, Finn drove into Port James to talk to the chief of police. He wanted the chief to be aware of Peyton’s situation. Finn knew he would be called away from Bishop’s Cove soon, and he wasn’t about to leave Peyton in harm’s way without protection, though he was hopeful that, by the time he left, the threat would be over.

  Port James was a small coastal town and Finn had no trouble finding the police station, a one-story stucco building that sat next to a strip mall. He asked the woman behind the counter if the chief was available.

  “No, he isn’t,” she answered with a friendly smile. “Tom and four other officers are in Jacksonville, attending a funeral,” she explained. “Officer Trace Isles is here. Would you like to talk to him?” She made the choice for him and shouted for Trace. The officer opened a door behind her and rushed into the tiny reception area. He was young. He looked as though he could pass for a high school kid, but Finn guessed he was around twenty-three.

  Finn introduced himself as a federal agent and shook his hand.

  “Chief will be back tomorrow,” Trace said when the receptionist told him of Finn’s request.

  A call came in then, cutting off the conversation. The receptionist went back to her desk and picked up her headset to answer the call. A few seconds later, she turned back to Trace. “There’s a man on the roof of the Port James branch of the First Avenue Bank.”

  “What’s he doing on the roof?” Trace asked.

  “He’s got a rifle.” She shook her head. “This couldn’t happen at a worse time, what with most of the officers up in Jacksonville. I’ll call out to neighboring towns.”

  Finn could tell that Trace was both excited and nervous as he rushed toward the door. “The bank is only four blocks away. I’ll head over.”

  “Do you want some help?” Finn asked.

  Trace stopped. “I . . . uh . . .”

  “Sure you do,” Finn said. “Where are the vests?”

  Trace frowned, looking flustered and not understanding what Finn was asking.

  “Bulletproof vests,” Finn snapped. “Grab two,” he ordered. “And you’ll want to bring a rifle with a scope and some ammo,” he added.

  The receptionist obviously approved. She nodded each time Finn gave an order.

  Finn stood by the door while Trace rushed back to gather what they would need. When he returned, he handed Finn a vest and tossed his own into the backseat of the police cruiser, then slid into the passenger seat. Perhaps it was an automatic response, Finn thought. If Trace wanted him to drive, that was fine, but they weren’t going anywhere until the kid put on the vest.

  “We’re wasting time,” Trace responded. “I’ll slip it on when we get there.”

  “No, you put it on now.” Finn backed the car out of the slot and threw it into drive.

  “Three blocks straight ahead, then left.” Trace gave instructions as he dove over the seat to get the vest from the floor. He had it on before Finn reached the corner.

  “Make sure the rifle’s loaded,” Finn told him.

  “It is,” Trace assured him, even as he double-checked to make certain. “Yes, it is.”

  The dispatcher came over the radio. “The bank manager reported that the suspect on the roof is Roy Jones. His wife, Kathy, is inside the bank. She says her estranged husband is waiting for her to come out so he can shoot her. He told her he was going to kill her. She said he’s been threatening her for over a week.”

  “I know all about Roy,” Trace said. “He’s a mean mother, and Kathy’s a real sweet woman. I knew there’d be trouble when she finally got up the nerve to leave him.”

  “Did she report threats?”

  “No. He isn’t bluffing,” he blurted. “If he says he’s going to kill her, then that’s what he’s going to do.”

  “We’re not going to let that happen. I’m assuming Kathy is smart enough to stay inside the bank.”

  Finn turned the corner and discovered that the bank building was actually eight blocks away, not four. There were three cars in the customer parking lot. One was an old Honda Civic that obviously belonged to Kathy Jo
nes because it was now riddled with bullet holes. All four tires were slashed; the windshield was shattered; and the hood was nearly destroyed.

  The roof of the three-story building was flat, and Roy Jones was hunkered down on his belly, the tip of his rifle visible. Finn planned to park at the entrance to the lot so that no other cars could enter, but he hadn’t even put the car in park before Trace jumped out. A bullet hit him square in the chest and he was thrown back. Had he not been wearing his vest, the shot would have killed him. Finn dove across the seat, grabbed the officer by his arm, and pulled him into the car.

  “I’m okay,” Trace gasped.

  “You stay here,” Finn ordered. “You’ll get your head blown off. Shots fired. Call it in.” He backed the cruiser up a slope next to a cluster of trees. None were tall enough for Finn to climb to get a clear shot, but the branches hung low and obstructed the shooter’s view.

  “What are you going to do?” Trace grimaced as he asked the question.

  Finn reached for the rifle and extra ammo. “I’m going to shoot the bastard.”

  He ran to the cover of the trees. Pressing his back to the tree trunk, he swung the rifle up and took aim. Then he patiently waited.

  Roy was shouting his wife’s name, taunting her. “I’ve got enough ammo to kill half the town, Kathy, and I’ll do it while I’m waiting for you to come out.” Several seconds of silence followed and then he shouted again, even more enraged. “You think you can walk out on me?” Still no answer. “I’ll shoot until you come out, Kathy. I already shot a cop.” Now he sounded as though he was boasting. “Here comes a jogger. I’m gonna kill him next.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Finn could see a young man in the distance running along the sidewalk toward the bank. His attention immediately went back to the roof of the building. The rifle tilted in the direction of the runner, then gradually a baseball cap appeared, then an arm and a shoulder. That was all Finn needed. One shot and Roy was down.

  It was a hell of a day.

  ______

  While Lucy and Christopher walked through each bungalow making lists of what needed to be replaced, Peyton was stuck in the business office with mounds of paperwork. Sifting through all the invoices, contracts, change orders, requisition forms, and inventories, she was nearly overwhelmed by the enormity of what they had taken on. Every discrepancy required a phone call, and it seemed no one was available. Automated recordings of very pleasant voices offered to place her on hold while they tended to other callers, and she thought if she had to listen to the mind-numbing, synthesized, wait-your-turn music for one more second, she would go stark raving mad.