“At least you’d be able to take the family. What about me, Muerto?”
“I’d send for you, Gus. Hell, I’m not letting John go either. He’s perfect in these times for going after the real enemies of our country. We can’t stop them with daisies fresh out of the garden. We’d start our operation again somewhere else with a coastline. We need to keep your boat in play.”
“How about the Keys, or even near your friends in Sarasota?”
“I hope I don’t have to live there. With the damn heat and humidity, all I’d feel like doing is fishing, and drinking ice cold beer.”
“Maybe that means you should go there to live,” Gus replied, holding his hands in a defensive gesture as Nick eyed him coldly. “I know… I know. It was me that talked you out of your retirement into full time writing. Look there, Muerto. Rachel’s waiting for you on the porch. She’s smiling, so I guess that’s not a bad omen.”
“Rachel is a surprise a minute since she hit the late term of her pregnancy. I have to fulfill my civic duty, so take off, and I’ll see you later if you want to sit in on the Tim and Grace meeting.”
“I do.” Gus waved at Rachel, and walked away toward his house.
“Hello, Dear. You look happy.”
“I was watching the news, and guess who had a starring role,” Rachel asked.
“That was quick. I made it into the ‘Breaking News’, huh?”
“Yep. What’s that do to our alone time?”
“I have to stop by the station, because I’m pressing charges, but after that, we’ll have a short time before I fetch Jean.”
Rachel invaded Nick’s air space, edging Deke out of the way. “I bet we could do a short time now.”
“Meaning my pantomime earlier has been haunting you?”
Rachel blushed, and bit her lip. “Damn you… yes.”
“Well now, I may be able to delay the long arm of the law for half an hour. I bet that will be enough time for you to alternate between no…no…no and then yes…yes…yes.”
“Quit gloating, and get inside.”
*
The police did an admiral job trying to throw Nick off during a lineup of suspects, but he picked each out in seconds with their lawyer present. The lawyer tried to engage him in conversation while he did it. Nick finally turned to Dickerson, who was standing with them.
“I was under the impression the suspect’s lawyer could monitor the procedure,” Nick said. “I was unaware the lawyer could interrogate and badger me while I participated in picking out the suspect.”
Dickerson turned to the lawyer. “Mr. McCarty is correct. You have been asked to refrain from speaking by the victim. If you continue to speak, I will have you removed Mr. Nagi. Do you understand?”
“Yes…yes,” Nagi answered, waving Dickerson off.
The procedure went smoothly after the initial interruption. Nick signed the papers Dickerson had already made available describing the arrest details. By the time he finished with the arrest procedures, two men in suits waited for him to finish. Dickerson made eye contact with Nick and nodded.
“Are you finished here, Mr. McCarty?” The medium built man with thinning brown hair asked. He showed Nick his FBI credentials. “I’m Special Agent Remy, and this is my partner, Special Agent Johnson. We’re here to discuss the disappearance of Milton Formsby.”
“We’d like to know what happened after you went for a ride with him,” Johnson said. The ebony skinned Johnson, stocky, and a couple inches taller than either Nick or his partner, appeared ready to slap the cuffs on Nick immediately.
“That’s a tough one, Agent Johnson. I didn’t go with Mr. Formsby after our initial ride. I turned the offer down he made me to ghostwrite his autobiography. We didn’t speak anymore after that.”
“Why is it you turned him down? Did he mention where he was going next after speaking with you?”
“He didn’t say much of anything after I turned down the job. He was disappointed, but I don’t write nonfiction… ever.”
Nick’s pleasant half-truths annoyed the two agents, and Nick began to wonder why. He knew the FBI were part of the operation to raid Formsby’s holdings, Gilbrech had told him would happen immediately. Suspicions Remy and Johnson may have been getting a piece of the Formsby pie began seeping through Nick’s consciousness.
“We’re going to need you to come with us,” Remy said finally.
“That’s not happening.”
“What makes you think so, McCarty?” Johnson moved into Nick’s airspace. “You think because you’re on the bestseller list that you can tell federal agents what they can or can’t do?”
“Nope. I’m wondering why two FBI agents, asking about Formsby, didn’t know all his holdings here and overseas were hit by your agency and the CIA abroad. Excuse me a moment.” Nick took out his phone, and hit speed dial to Paul Gilbrech, while Agents Remy and Johnson stared at each other, trying to cover for the shock Nick’s revelation caused.
“Nick?”