Second Chance (8 page)

It took a moment before he tossed my badge and phone onto the bed.

“Excellent. Now step outside.”

He continued to scowl at me as he dragged his bum leg out of the hovel. I tucked Lyndell’s gun into the waistband of my slacks and kept my Glock aimed at him while I grabbed my stuff.

“Back to the boat,” I said, shouting the order to him. I kept ten paces behind him and had the Glock aimed between his shoulder blades. He was enormous across the back—it was a bull’s eye I’d never miss.

“You’ll never find your way back across the ’glades,” he said angrily.

“Oh yeah, just watch me.” I knew he was right, but I didn’t have to find my way back on my own. All I had to do was stumble upon another boater. A huge part of the Everglades is a national park. There were pretty good odds I’d bump into someone with a compass and an ounce of human kindness.

Lyndell’s pant leg was soaked in blood, but he was a mighty oaf, and I wasn’t worried about him not being able to make his way back to the boat. Our surroundings looked completely different in daylight. It was only a few minutes before we came to the clearing and the small jetty to which the fan boat was tied.

“That’s as far as you go.” I stopped Lyndell before he could approach the jetty. I kept the gun trained on him as I climbed aboard the boat.

“You gonna leave me here like this? After I treated you like a gentleman.”

Really? I think he has a rather broad definition of gallant behavior.

“I could have—”

I interrupted him. “You think you’re scoring points with me because you didn’t attack me? Look, I know how the pecking order works. The only reason you didn’t rape me was because Donovan would’ve had your head. I doubt that Donovan is the type to be satisfied with sloppy seconds.”

“He’ll kill me now for sure.”

“As I said, life expectancy isn’t particularly long in your line of work.” I still had the gun aimed at him while I found and pushed the start button. The huge fan came to life with a surge of wind and noise.
Now if only I had a clue as to how to drive one of these things.
I was staring at the controls when Lyndell lurched toward the boat.

I crouched in a combat stance while simultaneously bringing my gun into position. A shot rang out. It wasn’t mine. Whoever had fired was playing for keeps. Lyndell took a bullet in the chest and collapsed backward, splashing into the water.

Chapter Fifteen

“Rick?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw him looking through the scope of a rifle. Smoke was still rising from the barrel. “What the—”

He lowered his rifle and turned to face me. It took a moment for my astonishment to wear off, and then I jumped into the water to see if Lyndell was dead. The giant gator knew he was gone before I did. I saw the beast moving toward us. I couldn’t tell whether the gator was looking at Lyndell or me, but he was moving as if someone had just set down a steaming dish of gator grits. I raced toward the jetty before I became part of his breakfast. Rick’s hand was outstretched, waiting to pull me out of the water.

“Where the hell did you come from?” I said as soon as I was safely on the jetty. I was soaked. Rick ogled me as if I was a contestant in a wet tee shirt contest (for all intents and purposes, I was).
Still staring. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Still staring. Three …
“Hey! Snap out of it. I asked you where—”

The gator grabbed Lyndell by the leg. He was a huge man, but he barely caused a ripple as the gator pulled him under. The water just swallowed him up.

Rick stepped onto the fan boat and reached for me.
Sure, now he’s moving.

“No time to explain,” he said as he manned the controls. I untied the line and went aboard. Rick swung the boat around, and we were off. I looked back and saw blood rise to the water’s surface above the spot where the carnage was taking place. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m thirsty as hell.”

He shrugged off his backpack. “There’s water and protein bars in there.” I’d gone a really long time without food or water. I tore into his backpack and had at his supplies.

I wolfed down a bottle of water and a Luna Bar. “You’re a godsend,” I said with great relief. “So how’d you find me?”

“No great mystery. I tracked your cell phone with Google Latitude.”

“Even down here in the ’glades?”

“Yeah, even down here. All it takes is a smartphone and some know-how. I stashed my boat half a mile away so I wouldn’t be heard coming.”

“I guess that’s where your army training comes in.”

Rick nodded.

Ambler had sent the right man for the job. “You’re a regular Daniel Boone.”

He blushed. He was even better looking with a bashful smile. “I’m just glad I got to you in time. I was talking to you on the phone when we both heard someone laughing. You said, ‘Someone’s here,’ and then I heard a thud. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.”

“I owe you big time. Lyndell was expecting Donovan. After that … fish bait, I guess. My prospects weren’t looking very good.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. From what I saw, you had the upper hand.”

“Yeah, PlastiCuffs are lightweight and handy, but they’re no substitute for steel bracelets. Our recently expired friend cuffed me to the rusted frame of a cot with plastic ties. I cut through my bindings by rubbing them on a sharp piece of metal. Lyndell was passed out drunk … and the rest is history.”

“It won’t take Donovan long to put the pieces together. I hope you’re ready to tap your ruby slippers and go home to Kansas.”

Gee, he’s referencing
The Wizard of Oz
too. What a world, what a world.

I really wanted to go home and be on familiar ground, but there was still work to accomplish. Keyla was dead, and Flynn …

“Donovan has to be taken down,” I said.

“Christ, you’re as stubborn as a mule. Donovan is under investigation by the local police and the Feds. Why don’t you let them do their job? You’re a cop. You understand the process.”

I did understand the process. Rick had just killed Lyndell. We had to go to the police and explain what had happened. Donovan was already gunning for the two of us, and things were about to heat up.

“Donovan kills a lot of people,” I explained. “I don’t want to see either of us end up as a fatality. Me running back to New York isn’t the answer.”

“It’s half an answer,” Rick insisted. “At least you’ll be safe.”

“And you? Even if I bail on you, you’re still near the top of his hit list.”

“I can take care of myself, Chalice. Always have.”

The sky began to darken precipitously, and the wind kicked up. “A tropical storm is coming,” he said. He turned his focus forward and edged the throttle ahead. “I hope we can make it back before it hits.”

Storms clouds were rolling in quickly. I didn’t need a meteorologist to tell me it was going to be bad. Rick seemed intent on reaching our destination as quickly as possible.

“Where are we headed?”

“I’ve got a place,” he said, “a place we won’t be found.”

It began to rain long before I expected it to, but it didn’t matter. I had already jumped into the water. I hadn’t just put my toe in; I was in with both feet.

Chapter Sixteen

Flynn had prayed for death several times since regaining consciousness.
He had never known pain before, not real pain, not like this. There was only one escape that he could contemplate … sleep, peaceful eternal sleep. He thought about his wounds, wounds that had been inflicted on him savagely and without conscience. He thought about the scars he’d be left with, forever to remind him of the violence and brutality he had suffered, scars that would leave him mentally disfigured for life.

He could still see Donovan’s face, impassive as he wielded the power tools, his implements of torture. His ghastly visage would remain with Flynn forever. He would never forget the tightly pressed lips, the bulging eyes, and the scar that ran from the corner of his eye to the corner of his mouth.

Please take me
, Flynn prayed as he sat alone in the dark.
I can’t take this any longer.
The recent memory looped in his mind over and over again, becoming more vivid each time it played. He could hear the whine of the drill as its speed built to maximum RPM. He could feel the razor-sharp drill bit cut into his skin, as it pressed slowly, agonizingly deeper into his flesh. He could hear himself screaming as it cut into the bone. He kept asking himself,
why?
He had already told Donovan everything he knew about the policewoman named Stephanie Chalice.
Why didn’t he stop?
Intuitively he knew the answer. He saw it in Donovan’s expression. He didn’t stop because he didn’t want to stop. Donovan wasn’t torturing him for information; he was torturing him because he enjoyed it. He enjoyed inflicting agony and wouldn’t stop until he grew tired of it.

Chapter Seventeen

It didn’t have a rooftop pool, but it was our haven away from the storm.
Rick’s mobile home was nestled amongst tall palms. It was solid, and it was dry, and at that moment, it felt every bit as opulent as my high-priced room at the Perry Hotel. I could hear the high winds pound the exterior and the heavy rain pummel the roof.

Rick warned me that the water wouldn’t stay hot for very long, so I was in and out of the shower in scant minutes. Rick was even faster. I was still in a robe and running a towel through my hair when he emerged from the shower, dripping wet, with a towel wrapped around his waist. His damp, short-cropped hair glistened with moisture. He had soft, brown doe eyes that belied his formidable skills as a soldier. He was lean and muscular. If I had ever thought of sleeping with an older guy, I’d want him to look exactly like Rick.

He pulled open a drawer, grabbed a pair of sweats and a tee, and threw them to me. They were way too big for me, but they were worn and had been laundered so many times that they felt like cashmere.

“I’ll hardly make a fashion statement in these.”

“It’s those or the robe. I don’t have a clothes dryer, and it’s kind of damp to put out a laundry line. I suppose I could throw your wet things in the oven and bake them like a turkey.”

I held up the sweat pants and smirked—I was about eye level with the crotch.

“They’re clean,” he insisted. “Freshly laundered.”

“No problem.” I mean it’s not like I had many choices. It was either hold the robe closed indefinitely or go commando under his velvety-soft fleece sweatpants.

“I know you’re hungry, but I haven’t gone shopping in about a month, so you’ve got a choice of peanut butter and jelly or peanut butter and jelly.”

“Crunchy?” I flashed a huge smile. Other than the Luna Bar, I hadn’t eaten in about twenty-four hours.

“Of course, crunchy. What kind of wimp do you think I am?”

“Are we talking grape jelly?”

“Feast your eyes on this.” He opened the fridge and took out a huge jar of Welch’s Grape Jelly and an unwrapped gift set of tiny jelly jars in tropical flavors no one ever eats, like guava and papaya. “I’ve got a veritable smorgasbord of jellies to choose from.”

“You can put away the esoteric froufrou stuff. I’ll stick with Welch’s. I’m a purist. Now if you’ve got a loaf of Martin’s Potato Bread in the freezer …”
I’d be willing to offer my body. Actually, he could have me for a slice of Wonder Bread, but I can’t just put myself out there like that, now can I?

“Bread? Shit!” He pulled open the freezer and looked back toward me with an awkward grin. He opened a cabinet door and pulled out a box. “Graham crackers?”

“PB&J on graham crackers. You certainly know how to woo a girl.”

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s perfect.” In an odd sort of way, I found the scenario utterly romantic: two good guys tucked away in a mobile home while a storm raged and menacing forces pursued us, dining on crackers and jelly and wearing his cottony-soft sweats. I marched into the bathroom to change.

Chapter Eighteen

The storm was a fast mover.
It had blown by South Florida in a scant few hours and was now moving up the coast toward the Carolinas.

Donovan saw bloodstained moss near a tuft of marsh grass as they approached the small jetty and wondered what the gators had just eaten. He was no stranger to the Everglades. He knew that the gators were fierce predators and that they didn’t live upwards of a hundred years by pushing a cart through the local supermarket or ordering takeout. He had seen gator butchery dozens of times over the years and didn’t become alarmed when he saw a little blood near the shore. In the next moment, however, he noticed that Lyndell’s fan boat was not tied to the jetty. His eyes opened wide with surprise.

Scruff was Donovan’s next in command after Lyndell. He wasn’t powerful like Lyndell, but he was savvy and had eyes in the back of his head. He was the one who had originally noticed Flynn’s return to the club and the brunette who had accompanied him. Scruff said, “Hey, where’s Dell’s ride?”

“That’s the question, now isn’t it?” Donovan said. He stared at the jetty and saw that blood had dried on the old wooden surface. He pointed for Scruff’s benefit. Donovan pulled his gun, wiped the safety, and chambered a round. Scruff did the same and then stepped ahead of Donovan to lead the way to the old cabin.

Scruff stopped short, about one hundred feet down the path. He knelt to examine the ground. “Someone’s dragging a bum leg,” he said. “You can see where the mud is smeared.” He noticed an alternating pattern of shoe impressions and mud smudges. The shoe print was large, too large to have been made by a woman.

Donovan observed the impressions in the mud and then noticed blood on the leaves of a nearby plant. He made eye contact with Scruff. They both knew who had been wounded.

“We’re too late,” Donovan said as his expression became angry.
How?
he wondered.
How did that little girl get the drop on Lyndell?

They rose and continued down the path to the old shanty. They found the door wide open. Once inside, the story unfolded before Donovan’s eyes. He saw bloodstains on one of the cots and an empty bottle of rum. On the floor near the other cot were the shredded wrist restraints. He had only caught the most fleeting glance of the woman as she raced from his club but had seen enough to know that her appearance was formidable.
Formidable enough to get to Lyndell?
he wondered. Lyndell had shown tremendous willpower in the past.
Was this one he couldn’t pass up?