The chill was turning to pain. Jessica pulled off the highway at an empty rest stop, parked off in the shadows near a picnic table, and killed the engine on the Kawasaki Ninja. Jessica lifted off her helmet and shook out her hair. Some fucking vacation, she thought.
The swamp in front of her was pitch-dark. The loud croaking of frogs and clicking of cicadas filled the night. Damn, it is late. She still had over an hour of riding left to get back to Fort Lauderdale and her children. She knew she still had to call Judd. Now was as good a time as any.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Hi, sweetheart, it’s me,” Jessica said.
“Oh, thank God . . . What number is this?”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah, my phone died. I’m using a new one.”
“Died? What happened? I’ve been leaving you messages.”
“It got wet,” she said, imagining her phone sitting at the bottom of the Florida Intracoastal. “I picked up a burner to use while I’m still down here on vacation. I’ll get a new phone when I’m back in Washington. I’m sorry, I didn’t get any of your messages.”
“A burner?” Judd scoffed. “You sound like a drug dealer.”
“You’re cute.” She forced a laugh. “Everything’s fine, Judd. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. You know how crazy it can get putting Noah to bed.”
“I’ve been waiting to hear what happened at the fund-raiser,” Judd said impatiently.
Jessica paused. “Yes, I went to your party in Las Olas. It was quite a house. A palace, really.”
“Did you find anything? Did Adelman-Zamora show her face?”
“Yes, she was there. Gave a rousing stump speech. Lots of cash changing hands. I’m sure she raised lots of money tonight.”
“So, what did you find? Any connections to Ruben Sandoval?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, I . . . didn’t see any. There were so many people there . . . so many rich people . . . I could have missed him. I don’t think I found you any new leads.” Lie Number Six.
“What about Richard Green? The maintenance guy on The Big Pig that you told me about. Any links to him?”
She paused again. “I’m . . . not sure. I mean, I gave you his name, but I don’t know what he looks like.” Lie Number Seven. “I thought you’d be looking into him, Judd. What have you found out?”
“Me? Nothing yet. I’ve been focusing on the hostages for Landon Parker. I’m working on a plan for some kind of quiet diplomatic negotiations.”
“I’m sorry, Judd, I wish I had more for you.”
“I’m sorry, too, Jess. I’m sorry I had to ask you to go to some stupid party while you’re on vacation with the boys. I shouldn’t have asked you to do it. I broke our rules of engagement by dragging you into my work problem. It was wrong. It won’t happen again.”
“You didn’t break our rules,” Jessica said. “We’re allowed to help each other. Assist, remember?”
“I’m just glad you called and you’re okay. I was starting to get worried.”
“I can handle myself,” she said, glancing down at the motorcycle.
“How did your phone get wet?”
“I was on a boat,” she said with a wry smile, thinking of the bowrider, now bits of scattered flotsam on the waters of Port Everglades.
“A boat? Whose boat?”
“Judd, sweetheart, I’m exhausted,” she said. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”
“Uh, yeah, that’s fine.”
“Love you,” she said.
“Love you, too.”
After ending the call, Jessica twisted her fingers in her hair, deciding if she should make the next call or not. There was only so long you could avoid the inevitable. She knew that was true at home—and at work.
She punched in a number that she had long ago memorized.
“Coney Island Pizza,” a bored woman answered.
“Coney Island Pizza? I have a special order for urgent delivery,” Jessica said.
“Would you like our special—pineapple and Italian sausage?” the woman asked flatly.
“Yes, extra-spicy,” Jessica replied.
The phone beeped twice, she heard a click-click, and then a gruff voice said, “Where the fuck’ve you been?”
“In Marathon,” she said, “running your little errand.”
“And?”
“I can’t work this issue.”
“What? Why the hell not?” the CIA’s Deputy Director of Operations snarled.
“I told you I won’t play my own husband. I told you I won’t run him. That was part of our deal.”
“Who’s asking you to run your husband? He’s not even in the game. Jack’s a goddamn civilian.”
“It’s Judd. And he’s working on Cuba,” she said.
“Not my goddamn fault. You were on this Cuba business first. Tell your Jack or Judd to go complain to Landon Parker.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“He doesn’t know. He still thinks I’m on vacation.”
“Again, not my problem,” he said. “What’d you find in Marathon?”
Jessica paused. “Looks like four fishermen got lost.”
“That’s all? You’ve been missing for the past eight hours and that’s all you got?”
“As far as I can tell, it looks like a straight-out mistake. Just like they said on the news.”
The Deputy Director grunted into the phone.
“What aren’t you telling me, sir?”