Silent Protector (13 page)

L
iz retreated into the forest. When she’d finished reacting to what she’d seen, and had splashed her face and head with the spring runoff water, she returned. She’d never seen a dead body before—animals’ bodies, yes, but a person’s, a human, no. Not ever.

Ian was on his cell phone, talking as he stood beside the body he’d flipped over and dragged up onto the shore.

“I don’t think he’s been in the water for very long. I had to pull him in or else the tide would have turned and dragged him out.” He paused, listening. “Yes, it belongs to him. I can see the blood spatter everywhere but where the belt was.”

Again, he listened. “Oh, yeah, I’d say he’s been murdered. Stabbed and strangled, from what I can tell. Some fish have started to nibble on him. He’s missing a finger.”

Ian looked up as Liz approached. His grim, anxious stare locked with hers, but she thought for a moment that he looked like a little boy lost, like someone who needed her to hold him as tightly as she’d like him to hold her. Then he turned away and finished talking. “Call me as soon as you can get someone down here.”

Closing his phone, he led Liz away from the water’s edge. She knew she looked a sight, with her pale face and the wind thrashing about her mess of damp hair, but she hoped he’d see past her state for the moment.

And just hold her. Only for a minute. That’s all she wanted.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and walked over to her. Without speaking, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.

They stood as close as two people could get, Liz resting her cheek on his warm shirt, feeling his right hand plunge into her hair. She’d planned to cut it short this month, but with the cool, wet summer they’d experienced up north, it hadn’t happened yet. Now it was thick with curls and sticking up all over the place.

“I’m sorry you had to see this,” he said quietly, still keeping her a good distance from the man. “Especially after all that’s happened to you.”

It felt so good to hold him. She could sense his strength, and somehow, it seemed to seep into her. She lifted her head, wanting to smile, but it didn’t come.

Instead, she parted her lips to speak, to say thank you for all he’d done for her and Charlie, but the words didn’t come, either.

Just as well. Ian dipped his head and touched her lips with his. A light kiss, barely above the slightest brushing of lips, a kiss that trailed over her cheek and swept upward like a feather, but it warmed her more than the oppressive heat and humidity could ever.

She wanted to hold him together until all the pain and fear drained away.

But now wasn’t the time for this.

She stepped out of his embrace, feeling embarrassed at the crazy yearnings that were popping up at the most
inappropriate moments. Ian was so much better at this—well-trained, strong in the face of death, while she was a mess.

A thought hit her. She expected to be able to take care of Charlie when she couldn’t handle this? No,
this
was too much for any regular citizen. She shouldn’t be so hard on herself.

But still, the little thought had already done its damage. Thankfully, they were far away from the dead man.

But she’d recognized the man from her first glimpse. He’d been the one talking to Leo the night before. And yes, she remembered the clothing. This man was—she recalled the name Leo had mentioned—Nelson Vincenti.

“At least we know who was wearing the belt that Poco found,” Ian said.

“Are you sure?”

Concentrating, she tried to recall if this man had worn a web belt last night. Was he? She remembered the short sleeved shirt, the light khaki pants with the pockets on the sides of the thighs. The shirt had been tucked in…

Yes,
there had been a belt. Not a wide one and not a light-colored one, either. Yes, he’d been wearing a belt that matched the one Poco had found.

Automatically, she glanced around. The shoreline here was narrow, the only decent sandy spot being where the creek fed into the gulf. Beyond that, the trees, those crazy alder-like trees that grew out of the water, along with spiky palms and scraggly, twisted pines.

She peered into the forest as much as it let her but saw no one. “Who could have done this?” she whispered, half to herself.

“Unless there were two people involved in finding Charlie, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, two people?”

“Sometimes a cartel or syndicate will send another person after the first assassin. That person is to kill the first if he is unsuccessful.”

She shook her head. “Why would Nelson Vincenti be involved with organized crime? You said he was a Christian and had started ‘The Shepherd’s Smile.’”

Ian’s expression was almost laughable, if she actually felt like smiling. He slowly shook his head. “You think this is Nelson Vincenti? Why do you say that?”

“Because Leo said so. This is the guy that was talking to him last night on the trail.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I recognize the clothing, and I saw the man’s profile. That big nose.”

She watched Ian peer at the man. He was laying chest down, but his face was turned toward the surf. As horrible as the sight was, she knew what she saw. A large, hawk-like nose. “Yes, I’m positive this is the man Leo was talking to. And he said the man was Nelson Vincenti.”

“No, Liz,” he answered quietly. “This is William Smith. I’ve met Nelson on several occasions, and I have several photos of Smith.
This
is Smith.” He paused, then dug out his phone. “And I can prove it to you.”

He played with a few buttons for a minute, then showed her the phone picture he’d pulled up. “This is William Smith. It was taken two months ago in Guatemala City, by a mole the U.S. government has down there. Our government wants to keep a certain politician in power because he’s successfully fighting the cartels. Jerry Troop and William Smith were implicated in an attempt on the guy’s life—a test of loyalty for Jerry.”

Liz took the phone. Its screen showed the man at their feet, sitting at an outdoor café, his face in full profile. He
held a small white cup in his hand, and his companion’s arm was easily seen. It was a man’s skinny arm, with a tattoo similar to Jerry’s.

She swallowed. Last night, she’d been so close to Smith that if she’d moved even slightly her position would have been revealed. What would he have done, then? Shot her where she stood? The thought churned in her stomach.

She handed back the phone. “Leo lied to us?”

“It would appear so, but we have to consider another theory. That Leo was lied to, himself.”

“How could that be?”

“It’s unlikely that Leo would know the resort owner, much less carry on a conversation with him in the forest. He’d have been hired by an HR person on-site or even by the contractor or his personnel. And Smith was bold enough to try a lot of things. He once impersonated his cartel boss, Mario-Josef Sabby, and brokered a deal between Sabby and a British crime boss. Sabby put a contract out on Smith for that but rescinded it later, when the deal worked in his favor.”

“So it’s possible Smith lied to Leo. What did you say about a cartel sending another person after the first? To kill the first if he is unsuccessful?”

“That’s the way it works sometimes. But not here, I don’t think. Like I said before, this has a personal feel to it, like someone was mad at this man, rather than a necessary assassination. Besides, it’s only been two days. As much as Charlie has snuck out of the house, Smith couldn’t have been watching the place every minute of the day. He would have to be patient. At least to a degree. And we don’t know when he got here.”

“And you altered Charlie’s appearance. It’s possible that he isn’t sure which boy in the village is him.” She shivered.
“That must have put the others at risk. Stephen is closest in size to Charlie. Ian, all the boys in the village could be at risk!”

Ian nodded. She knew her words had a heavy impact on him, but still, it was scary to think that Smith might have considered killing all the boys to get what he wanted. She felt sick just thinking about it.

“So you think that the person who killed him wasn’t someone who thought Smith had failed in his mission?”

“That’s just an initial reaction. We can’t say for sure.”

She glanced briefly at the body, then turned away. “He must have been the one who tried to run me off the road.” She blinked at Ian. “But how did he find me? How did he get down here so quickly?”

“Your phone line had been tapped.”

“Do they know for sure that Smith did it?” Just the thought of having Smith so close to her. He’d followed her home, for sure…

She gasped.

“What is it?”

Biting both her lips, Liz peered down at the man, trying to see past the idea of a violent death. She tried to see the man as being alive. The hair was the same, the popular beard style. “When I saw this man last night, he gave me the creeps. I thought it was just because the whole thing felt sinister, but no, it wasn’t that. I think I’ve seen this man before.”

“When?”

She swallowed and gave a hasty shake of her head. “Last Sunday, after they told me Charlie had been killed. Once I got home, I called my pastor and walked into the village. I met him at the church and we talked for a bit.”

Pointing down, she continued, “I remember walking back and seeing this man in a car, driving on the road away
from my house.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “The road goes down to the water, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time—just that it was a stranger. You see, we don’t get too many of them, even in the summer. The people who can afford boats tend to hang out at coastal villages with good water access. We just have a few rickety stairs going down to the rocks.”

“It’s possible that he hooked up the listening device then. That means he knew who you were and where you lived
and
guessed that Charlie had been taken into custody and you might hear from him.”

“That seems like a lot to assume.” She grimaced. “Maybe he thought I had him.”

“Not really. He may have known about you for some time before he killed Jerry. Even known where you lived, especially since you had contact with Charlie and Jerry. Is your house secluded?”

“Very much. I have trees on all sides, and my neighbors aren’t close. I brought Charlie there once, and he really enjoyed the woods.” She looked up at Ian. “Was your agent able to find any fingerprints?”

“None. It’s obvious Smith wore gloves or wiped everything down.”

She cringed at the thought of Smith coming to her house.

The wind picked up then and buffeted Liz. She didn’t want to be out on the beach anymore. She should be feeling better now that Smith was out of the way, no longer a threat to Charlie, but comfort didn’t come. Someone had murdered this man.

“What now?” she asked Ian, surprised to find him looking at her closely.

“I’ve called my supervisor and the police. We shouldn’t leave the body here. We’re due to get a storm surge.”

“How bad will that be?”

“Historically, they’ve always predicted higher than what actually comes. The last big hurricane to hit had a much smaller surge than expected. But on this island, a storm surge of just a few feet could do a lot of damage. We’re right at sea level, unlike the resort, which is on a slight elevation.”

“The police will come soon, won’t they?”

“Yes, but some evidence may still wash away. Something we could be missing. I haven’t worked a crime scene before. My job was to take the witnesses and deal with them.” He flipped open his phone. “We’ll need to secure this area, and the resort can help with that.”

“Maybe you can ask them about Leo? Such as, has he ever met Nelson?”

Ian nodded. “Good idea.” He called the resort and talked briefly with them. Then he hung up. “They’re coming.”

Liz knew that they had to stay here until someone came but shivered at the thought. Then, she walked over the knoll and sat on an ancient log. The sound of water gurgling, barely heard over the wind and pounding surf, comforted her.

She watched Ian. Methodically, he searched the shoreline around the body—slowly, in great detail.

He was good at being a marshal. And despite the grim circumstances, she knew he appreciated doing that work.

Her thoughts returned to why they were here. Smith was dead. And because of that, Ian could give up his job as Charlie’s protector. Soon, Liz knew she’d get the chance to take the boy home. She’d love him, care for him and be the mother she’d wanted to be to him after her sister had died.

She’d leave soon. A short, hard pang of yearning hit her, and she swallowed down the lump it caused. Because she would soon leave Ian? Because Charlie might miss him?

That couldn’t be helped, she told herself sharply. Ian belonged here. He would give this town his all, and any personal relationships would have to take a backseat. What woman in her right mind would want that kind of relationship?

She knew she must take Charlie away, to start a new life that wouldn’t remind him of all he’d lost. After her father had died, her mother had moved the family out of the home that they’d all shared for fifteen years because the house reminded her too much of Dad.

Liz couldn’t allow Charlie to stay here.

She cast a long look at Ian, his slim form bent down to look at something in the sand. His expression was full of concern and concentration.

Again, regret hit her hard.

I
an was glad when security arrived from the resort. When Nelson had first offered to assist the village should they need some of the services being set in place, Ian had expected only firefighting and the occasional medical service would be used.

He hadn’t thought he’d need security to not only guard the rec center but also to babysit the remains of a killer.

The security chief arrived shortly after two of his men. Ian had met the man once and had checked out the company and the man the next day. They both came highly recommended.

Ian approached him. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. Just about one of your employees. His name is Leo Callahan.”

“Sure,” the chief said. “Do you think he’s involved in this murder?”

“I don’t know. You recently hired him from the village?”

“Not me, but HR did. I did a basic background check on him, that’s all.”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing unusual, no convictions,” the big Hispanic man said with a shrug. “He wanted work because he needed
the money, like everyone else. He said his last job was on board a charter boat up near St. Petersburg, but he was laid off when the economy collapsed. He helped paying passengers fish for amberjack and king mackerel. The passengers got to keep the fish after the crew dressed and wrapped them.”

Ian reacted to the chief’s words. So Leo would likely own a good filet knife. Mind you, Ian added to himself grimly, he probably had one in his own cutlery drawer. He’d been given the house after one of the longtime residents passed away and Annette Vincenti had bought it for “The Shepherd’s Smile” pastor.

Still, Leo would be comfortable using a filet knife, whereas Ian had never dressed a fresh fish. He twisted his mouth. Not a strong lead by any means. And it still didn’t discount Monica and her strange behavior.

“Has anything really unusual happened at the resort lately?” Ian asked.

“I’ve worked a lot of construction sites but, except for this here—” he pointed to Smith “—this site is fairly normal. Oh, we’ve had a few thefts here. First up, we had our petty cash stolen. It wasn’t much—a few thousand dollars.”

“That’s a big petty cash.”

The chief nodded. “We don’t get into the city often, and sometimes we need a worker for only a day or two. A temporary wage, plus other daily incidentals, can eat up a petty cash fund fairly quickly. The money was in a locked box, out of the safe for just a minute or two, and then it was gone.”

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“No one. The secretary who was responsible for it is extremely upset and has been with Mr. Vincenti for years. She was our most likely suspect, but I don’t think she did it.”

“You said there were other thefts?”

“Small stuff. A lunch here and there, and one worker lost his spare pants.” The chief shook his head. “We’ve been kept busy with the storm coming. The site manager has been told to prepare for possible evacuation, so we’ve been securing everything. We even moved the barricades away from the causeway in case we need to move the heavy equipment.”

That explained one mystery. “It’s risky work, building a resort in a hurricane-prone area,” Ian commented, fishing for a reaction.

The chief looked blasé. “The whole Gulf of Mexico is like that. But this resort is being built to withstand hurricanes and to still be eco-friendly. There’s a growing market for minimal footprint vacations, I’m told. And Florida is ripe for them.”

Liz had, at one point, walked up beside Ian, prompting him to cut short his talk. “One more thing, if you don’t mind? When was Nelson Vincenti on the island last? Would Leo know him by sight?”

“He was here briefly two weeks ago, so I doubt Leo would know him. He’s returned to London. That’s where his head office is. Mrs. Vincenti is due to come next week to visit friends in Fort Myers, so I imagine Mr. Vincenti will accompany her. He’ll want to see how the buildings have survived a storm.”

Ian knew Annette Vincenti was due to come. He was supposed to have several program proposals ready for her. He thanked the chief, who promised to call the minute the police arrived, and with that, Ian steered Liz away.

“Let’s go back to Moss Point.”

Liz followed him onto the trail that led from the stream to the spring and then to the trailhead. As they approached the end, Ian stopped and turned to her. “I need to find Monica.”

“Why? Do you think she killed that guy? Ian, if it’s to turn her over to the police, first we need to talk to her—”

“No.” Ian worked his jaw, then added, “There is one other thing that troubles me. Monica needs money—a lot of it. And I don’t know if you heard, but—”

“Yes, I heard. The petty cash box was stolen from the resort. How would she be able to steal a cash box? She’d have to know where it was, and as a woman, she’d stand out at a construction site, even if she did work there.”

“I know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s the only lead.” He stopped abruptly. “A pair of pants was stolen, too. Maybe she dressed like one of the workers. She’s about the same size as Leo, and Leo’s working there.”

She pressed her lips into a thin, skeptical line. “I don’t know. She seems awfully feminine to me.”

“She’s reserved. Maybe because of her background. She came to Florida as a refugee from Central America with her parents when she was a little girl. She told me they’d had no contact with their homeland after that and that her family was very private. That’s all I know of her right now, but you can rest assured, I’ll know more by this time tomorrow.”

“So there’s no obvious reason why she’d need the money. Do you think she has a drug habit? Maybe she broke into the clinic looking for drugs?”

“I don’t know enough about her. But I’ve learned that things are sometimes not what they appear. People sink to the lowest points, people who you wouldn’t expect.”

“We should also find Leo. Smith may have lied to him but then again maybe Leo lied to us.”

“
We
aren’t going to find anyone. Let me deal with Monica and Leo. But not until after the police arrive. If either of them have something to do with Smith’s death, I don’t want to tip them off beforehand.”

With that, he turned and stalked out the end of the trail and into the area near the front of the rec center.

Just then, a police car rolled to a stop in front of them. Ian introduced himself. They’d been on their way here to respond to the breaking and entering, and were hurried along by the murder. They talked briefly for a moment, Ian learning that the FBI were also on their way, and the officer said he was only too glad to turn the investigation over to them. They wanted a quick look at the rec center before heading to the beach. With a federal case starting a quarter mile away on the beach, the police asked that the center be left as it was until the FBI looked at it, and the security guard agreed to stay.

Over an hour later, Liz and Ian were finished and were allowed to leave. To Ian, the air was depressing, heavy, hot and thick with impending rain. The police said they were expecting the call to evacuate, because Sandy, as the storm was now called, had strengthened quickly.

“I have some information that needs to be distributed in case of a hurricane,” Ian told Liz. “I took it home with me last night. I’ll need to dig it out and photocopy it.”

She nodded. “I’ll help.”

“And I’m hungry,” he added. He imagined Liz was, also. All they’d eaten today was a bit of breakfast and the granola bars he’d taken late this morning after Charlie had been bandaged and sent back with Elsie.

“I don’t feel much like granola bars or juice,” he said quietly. “But I make a mean tuna sandwich, if you’re interested.”

She lit up. “I love tuna.”

They walked down to his house, Liz pausing at the Wilsons’ house for a moment. The curtains were drawn, with only a lamp on in the living room to counter the cloudy evening.

Along the side of the house, Ian noticed Charlie’s bedroom light still glowing. He came to stand beside her. The warm sea breeze felt burdened with rain as the evening dragged into night. The wind had increased, its whooshing howl now almost hurting the ears.

“I’ve been gone most of the day. I wonder how Charlie is,” Liz mused.

“Elsie would have called us by now if he’d suffered any ill effects. You can go if you want to, but I need to check my messages and the position of the storm.”

“No, I’ll check later. If I go in, he’ll want me to stay, and Elsie will want to feed me. I’m already a burden to her.”

“You’re not. But instead of eating her great food, how about you make the sandwiches while I search for those papers?”

She smiled at him, however brief the warm expression was. “Deal.”

Ian walked ahead and unlocked his side door. It opened easily, and he stepped into the dark house.

He was shoved hard into the kitchen counter. As he grappled for his balance, he watched a black-clothed body race toward Liz.