Drowning Tides

  Maggie rushed to hug her husband. “It will be all right, Haze,” she choked out. “Everything will be all right.”

  Nick’s gaze slammed into Claire’s. She pressed her lips together and nodded as if to encourage him. Right then and there, he prayed that, sooner or later, everything would be all right between them too, because there was a big storm coming.

  * * *

  Nick had Haze out on bond in two hours, though he had to make a Sunday afternoon call to a bail bondsman he’d worked with before, not that the Hazeltons didn’t have the money for it, but the banks were closed today. He drove Haze back to Goodland and into Maggie’s waiting arms. Neither of them said a word about her extracurricular hiring of the WaveRunner rider. They were all so shaken that later would be soon enough for that.

  Nick sat in his car in the marina parking lot, just thinking. He guessed he believed Maggie about sending Jesse Winslow after him and Claire only to help Haze. But sometimes he wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. He was going to call the private detective the law firm sometimes used to locate and tail Winslow, first thing Monday. The guy could deny everything but not if he was caught in the act of following him or Claire.

  You might know, Dylan Carnahan was coming to the yacht for dinner this evening when Nick didn’t want to talk to anyone but Claire and Lexi—and Jace. All he needed right now was the “ghost of cases past.” He knew Claire was intrigued and annoyed by the fact that he’d gotten Dylan off but never proved who murdered a woman in the salon of the Sylph. She’d spent time she didn’t have looking into Sondra McMillan’s death when, right now, Mark Stirling’s was the only one that mattered.

  His cell sounded. He expected word of Haze’s arrest had reached his law team or Heck, but the caller ID said Jason Britten.

  Nick knew he should hustle back to the yacht, but he’d have to take care of this now, and if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have to explain—to lie—to Claire about where he was going. She’d assume he was still in town at the sheriff’s, and she could surely entertain Dylan until he got there. But, if this desperate plan of his came to fruition, would she ever forgive him, ever understand and believe how much she and Lexi mattered to him?

  He answered Jace’s call. They made plans to meet now at the Snook Inn on Marco. It was a stilted conversation, but Nick was thinking—maybe Jace was too—that surely, in a public place, no one would lose his temper. He put his phone on voice mail only and, watching in his rearview mirror, drove away from quiet little Goodland toward busy, glitzy Marco Island.

  30

  Nick saw Jace get out of his car in the parking lot of the waterside Snook Inn at the same time he arrived, but he waited for him at the entrance to the popular restaurant. Others were starting to arrive, and none of what he had to say should be in earshot of anyone else.

  “Jace.”

  “Nick.”

  They shook hands. Despite the fact there was an outdoor bar and tables, Nick said, “You mind if we sit outside on a bench along the water for a few minutes? The tables are pretty close in there.”

  “Fine. Lead the way.”

  They sat on the hardwood bench just as three dolphins swam past in the wide Marco River, heading out toward the Gulf. Lexi had said seeing dolphins was good luck, but Nick didn’t share that with Jace. It would sound like rubbing it in, and he needed this to go well.

  “Thanks for meeting me. I—Claire and Lexi too—need your help.”

  “Anything for them. How is Lexi’s chicken pox?”

  “She got upset when she looked in the mirror, but since her cousin has them too—”

  “Jilly.”

  “Yeah, Jilly. She’s okay with it. Look, Jace, I know how much they, especially Lexi, still mean to you.”

  “That’s right. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said, wondering how he’d ever do without them. “Just let me lay this out, okay, before saying yay or nay. I need help to keep them safe, and you’re the one to help.”

  Jace looked around, evidently to make sure they were alone. Only a couple of screeching seagulls and the dolphins circling back were in sight. Suddenly looking nervous, Jace kept his voice low. “Another kidnap threat? Clayton Ames again?”

  “I’m scared he could pull something like that. I need to convince Claire to take Lexi and hide out until this Mangrove Murder trial is over. Ames’s orders are that I not only get Haze off but promote his products in that public forum. Either way, win or lose for Haze, who’s been formally charged with murder today, Ames ends up with control of the Youth water.”

  “It figures. So, a show trial that will turn into a circus reality TV type show—a big infomercial.”

  Nick nodded. “But in case something goes wrong, before the trial even starts, I need to get Claire and Lexi out of here. And hidden, which is no small task considering the way Ames operates.”

  “So I’ve seen. That’s where the Witness Protection Program comes in?”

  “Patterson explained that?”

  “Mentioned it, more like, along with the Stingray project buy off for me so I would cooperate.”

  Nick bent one knee on the bench and turned more toward Jace. Their hard gazes met and held. After all the tense times in court he’d been through, he was scared he wouldn’t be able to convince him, much more than any judge or jury he’d faced.

  He told Jace, “Here’s what I’ve come up with in my desperation. And when you hear this, you’ll know I’m desperate, trusting you with this, when you could just give it all away to Ames.” Or try to win Claire back, though he didn’t say so.

  “But I won’t,” Jace said, “because you’re betting it might mean Claire and Lexi would be hurt or worse.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping, believing and trusting. For several years, FBI Agent Rod Patterson has wanted to get his hands on Ames for avoiding huge taxes and generally meddling in US commercial and dangerous foreign interests. Patterson contacted me about five years ago, realizing I held a grudge against Ames too. Patterson and I both know you’re flying for Ames, which could be a big problem for you with the FBI and Justice Department if you don’t change sides.”

  “I won’t waste time denying it. He threatened my life on Grand Cayman, said he’d have his goons feed me to the fish, and I took the only way out. I resent being under his thumb and I’m listening.”

  “The Justice Department is willing to give Claire WITSEC protection until this trial is over, and beyond until we can lure Ames back to the US where he can be arrested or extradited if we can find him abroad. He visits here rarely and when he does, he must go incognito. The Hazeltons have a quite recent photo of him on Goodland.”

  “They should have snagged him then, but he probably had some poor sap like me flying him in and out in a phony company plane.”

  Nick was surprised that Jace was so easily going along with this, admitting things, but then he was angry at Ames too. Or maybe that was the power of love. But was he agreeing too easily to all this? Nick had no choice but to forge ahead.

  “But here’s where you would come in,” he said. “As soon as possible, I’d like for you to fly Claire, Lexi, and two of our domestic staff, me and my tech assistant, to a secret destination site where the four of them will assume false identities and stay until this is over. When they’re settled, you and I—with my tech guy I can’t do without—would fly back.”

  “We wouldn’t fly direct to where they’d go, that’s for sure. Something roundabout, a diversion. Wish I could take you all in that bastard’s new jet, but I don’t know if I could swing that without getting caught. For all I know, he’s got hidden trackers on it. And you see that small plane circling over there?” he said, pointing.

  “So? Not Ames’s spies watching you or me, I hope.”

  “I’ll bet Patterson kn
ows we’re meeting. At least he knows our cell phones are. Tell him to explain more about that Stingray project to you. But are you sure you can trust him?”

  “Can I trust you? I don’t want to give Claire up, or Lexi either, Jace. You had them both longer than me, so I think you understand. I have to do this. I have to trust you to get them there, then later, that you’d head back to check on them when you can get away, because I’ll be stuck with this trial until we can lure Ames here somehow.”

  “Where are we taking them?”

  “Not a need-to-know for you yet. You’ll help?”

  “Not for you. For them, for me. I’ve acted like a jerk sometimes with Claire.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “You told her, and she’s on board with this?”

  “Not yet, and that could be the big snag. But she has to agree, for Lexi’s sake, at least. Desperate times demand desperate measures, and it’s the only way out I can see, whatever happens to me.”

  “You do love her. By the way, warn her that Ames’s man Thom Van Cleve is carrying around a cell phone photo of Lexi at the library story hour—with Darcy and Jilly in the photo too. If we could rent a 747, we could fly everyone Ames has ever threatened to wherever. But you got to tell me where.”

  “I can’t until right before the flight so you fuel up, get maps or whatever. Patterson’s rules, not mine.”

  “At least I know what size plane we’ll need.”

  “And here’s the kicker, the way you’ll know how much I’m willing to give up. Patterson thinks if Ames learns you’re in on this, you’ll go to the head of Ames’s revised hit list. He—we—think you should disappear quickly too, maybe even return to the site to guard Claire and Lexi while I get through the trial, and give the FBI and Justice more time to track Ames down. Actually, Patterson thinks he might have moved from Grand Cayman to Cuba.”

  “Cuba? No kidding? Cozy with the Castros, the way he operates. You know, when I flew Ames’s guy Van Cleve in here, I found a Havana communist newspaper in his seat on the plane.”

  “So maybe that’s where Ames is holed up now—no doubt, in style, like in some sweet hacienda on par with Nightshade.”

  “Hell, Nick, they say politics makes strange bedfellows, but so does this, you and me really working together, not separately like we did on Grand Cayman. You know Patterson’s taken a page from Ames’s book to dangle a government fly-and-spy career in front of me, but I’ll tell you this. If I never get a thing out of this caper but my girls safe—yeah, I know Claire loves you and Lexi thinks you’re a really neat stepdad—that would be enough.”

  He thrust out his hand toward Nick. They shook and meant it this time. Nick realized he’d never really known Jace Britten before, but then Claire had fallen in love with him and he was Lexi’s father. Now if only Claire would see the wisdom of all this—and if he could not only bear to part with them for a while, but, despite what he’d said, trust this man to care for them and then give them back.

  * * *

  Claire was really ticked at Nick. Not that he was, no doubt, having to spend more time with Haze after he got him out on bail, but that Dylan Carnahan would be here soon for dinner, and Nick was the one who really knew the man, and yet wasn’t here to receive him. Each time she tried Nick’s cell to remind him Dylan would be here soon, it went to voice mail. Considering she’d wanted their guest here so she could carefully learn more about Sondra’s death, she guessed she had only herself to blame for her unease at greeting him alone.

  Here he came up the gangway of his own yacht he’d been kind enough to loan them, and Nick was still nowhere in sight. She had planned for the three of them to have cocktails before the crab cakes, grouper and salad dinner she’d planned. At least, she could stall with the cocktails to give Nick time to get back.

  “Dylan, welcome to your own beautiful yacht,” she told him and offered her hand. He held it too long, and she pulled it back. She smelled liquor on his breath.

  “Nick will be back soon,” she explained, “but Haze Hazelton was arrested and booked this afternoon, so he’s with him and his wife. I imagine he’s out on bond by now.”

  “I can sure sympathize with another of Nick’s clients getting arrested. I know exactly how Haze feels, raw panic, especially if, like me, he’s innocent. I’m sure Nick believes he is and will prove it.”

  His frown lifted to a slight smile. When she gestured he should lead the way and assuming he’d walk the outer deck to the stern seating area she’d indicated, she was surprised that he headed inside to the salon, looked around and sat on the long couch. It didn’t seem to bother him, but she didn’t like the idea of being here where Sondra’s body was found.

  “Ah, it’s great to be back home!” he said, looking around.

  “Wine or a cocktail? Or we can wait for Nick for that.”

  “Jack Daniel’s with a splash of water would be fine. Here, let me mix it,” he said, popping up and coming over to the bar. “That’s right, Nick drinks Glenlivet Scotch.” Without looking down, he reached for a glass under the counter. “Oh, sorry for taking over,” he said, “and sorrier I didn’t ask what you wanted. Is there still Chablis in the little fridge here?”

  “Chablis would be fine,” she said, noting how adept he was with the drinks, but then this was his bar. “We could go out on the back deck. I’m sure Nick will be here soon,” she repeated.

  “The October wind’s a bit chilly,” he said, handing her a goblet of wine, then clinking ice into his glass. “Let’s just sit in here. Really—despite what happened here—my fave spot on the Sylph except for that mirrored master bedroom, eh?” he said and winked as he mixed his drink. He took a big swig of it, then immediately refilled it.

  He carried his glass over to the couch. “Yes, a woman, a stranger, died here,” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “But I like to face my ghosts because I had nothing to do with that, Claire. Nick’s a great defense attorney but he had an innocent man to defend—as I’m sure he does with Hazelton too, as I said. So, sit down.”

  She did, not close, crossing her legs, feeling awkward and—for some reason, slightly scared, maybe just because Nick wasn’t here, maybe because, in her mind’s eye, she kept seeing the photo of the outline of a body here, which became her own body in that terrible dream.

  “So will you sell the Sylph?” she asked, copping out when she had meant to steer the conversation toward his ideas of who could have strangled Sondra.

  “My wife wants me to. I’m waiting for her to serve me with divorce papers and then I’d probably have to with big-time alimony. Actually, I think she’s afraid of me now.”

  “Surely, she doesn’t think you did it.”

  He shrugged. “I was having an affair but not with poor Sondra McMillan, though she was evidently going through men like—like I go through Jack Daniel’s.”

  Claire wondered if that list of men included Ada’s grandson or great-grandson Jimmie Cypress. Once Nick got past the Mangrove Murder case, maybe she should ask him to look into Jimmie’s possible part in Sondra’s murder. But she nearly spilled her drink at Dylan’s next comment. Had she heard what he just said?

  “What?” she asked him.

  “I said, Mark Stirling was on Sondra’s hook. It didn’t come out in my trial, but I found out later when someone told me why he’d been fired from the paper he worked for. Obviously, Nick can’t look into her as a possible suspect for eliminating Stirling since she’s gone. But I’ve heard since my trial that Sondra and Stirling were a really hot item.”

  “He—had he known her long?”

  “Long enough,” he said and took another big swig of his drink, then stared into the amber liquid as he swirled it in his glass. “It was in covering my trial that he ran afoul of the powers that be and got fired when they found out one of their own reporters had been in lust with the wom
an who was also sleeping with a Seminole casino insider and then somehow managed to get herself murdered on my yacht. The stupid slut caused me a lot of trouble, considering I didn’t touch her, didn’t even know her! I just found her here like that—dead on the floor—and tried to help her, and look at the grief it got me.

  “And you can tell Nick—who is almost never late,” he said, glancing at his expensive watch, “that I wish he could convince my wife I’m innocent like he did the jury.” He raised his glass to Claire before draining it. She could tell that he was going to ask her what she thought about it all. He was going to get another drink and keep drinking. She took the first sip of her wine, but it tasted bitter.

  She got up to call the cook on the intership phone to tell him not to hold dinner for Nick but to serve it now. She needed to get some hot food in this man, who seemed as tense and edgy as she was.

  Not a good idea, Claire, she scolded herself, to dabble in Sondra’s murder, nor to have this man here on a day like this, except for the fact that he’d spilled the beans about Mark Stirling’s relationship with Sondra. That could have biased Mark’s coverage of Dylan’s trial. But, offhand, she couldn’t fathom any way the two murders could be connected.

  “You know something strange?” Dylan asked. Her heartbeat kicked up and her pulse pounded harder as he got up and came after her toward the bar.

  Without waiting for her reply, he went on, “A couple of years ago—probably four or five, when I took some friends fishing on Fin Taylor’s Reel Good Time, Fin introduced me to Haze in Stan’s Idle Hour bar. When I heard his claims about the springwater, I asked him if I could bottle some of it and try to sell it in South Florida, for starters. But he said no thanks, that he had a hot prospect for that, and I guess he did! Ironic, huh, now that the water business has gone bonkers internationally, and I’m here still wishing I had it—but not holding a grudge.”