After reading everything from the waterproof case, I’d lain in bed for a couple of hours fighting a fool’s sleep. Twice I found myself wide awake, nowhere near the murky borderlands of dreams. But eventually I managed a few hours of fitful rest.
I rose from the bed a little before 8:00 a.m. and flexed my shoulders to relieve the early stiffness. In the bathroom I doused cold water against the sleepy numbness on my face. A shave would be great, but I had no razor or shaving cream. A toothbrush and toothpaste would be even more welcome. I called housekeeping and asked for all four, which were delivered a few minutes later. I dressed and was ready for something to eat when a hard knock sounded on the door.
“Malone. Open up.”
Coleen.
I did.
She burst in. “We have company.”
We both bolted to the window, which overlooked from the second floor the back side of the building facing the river and the dock where we’d left the boat last night. A warm, rosy flush of sunrise lit the ground. Cruising out in the river was a familiar inflatable. Probably the same one from last night, only now patched.
Three guys were inside.
One face I knew.
“The man in front is Valdez.”
Who did not looked pleased.
“He has no fear coming ashore,” I noted. “That means Oliver and friends are looking out for him.”
“How in the world did he find us?”
She had a point. There were too many places where we could have beached the boat for these guys to come straight here to lovely Stuart, Florida, the Sailfish Capital of the World, as the sign at the dock proclaimed.
Only one explanation made sense.
A leak on Stephanie Nelle’s end that made its way to Tom Oliver.
The inflatable eased close to one of the docks.
The three men hopped ashore.
I gathered up the case and the gun. The Double Eagle was tucked safe in my pant pocket. Strange how carrying around a multimillion-dollar coin was becoming an everyday thing. I almost regretted not taking Stephanie up on her offer of help.
We fled the room and found the stairwell, descending to ground level, and exiting into a humid morning. We were standing in a small parking lot on the far side of the building.
I had an idea.
“Our boat is the only way out of here,” I told her. “We need to get around this building and make it there while they’re looking for us.”
We headed for the street, avoiding the side of the hotel that faced the water. I’m not sure what Valdez planned to do, but I had to assume that it wasn’t going to be good. My guess was that whoever sold us out to Tom Oliver had also learned our specific room numbers. Once again, the decision had apparently been made to let Valdez clean up the mess. Thank goodness Coleen had been vigilant—a trait I should learn to mimic.
We came to the main entrance and were careful when we passed, but the windows and glass doors did not open directly into the lobby, which offered us some protection. We hustled past and headed for the docks, crossing the street, which was light on traffic. I kept glancing back over my shoulder to see if Valdez had noticed our escape.
So far, so good.
Few people were out this early.
We approached the dock entrance.
A car roared in behind us and squealed to a stop. I looked back to see a man emerge from the driver’s side. He rushed forward and tackled me from behind. We both slammed into the pavement and I lost my grip on the waterproof case, which clattered away. He had me in a bear hug, squeezing tight, and he was strong for a retired guy. We rolled a few times and I could feel the gun nestled at my waist as it pressed to the pavement. I freed my right arm and elbowed the bastard in his ribs, then a little lower to the kidneys. His grip weakened enough for me to break his hold. I knifed my other elbow into his gut, then rolled off him and pounded my right fist into his jaw. I had no time to linger, so I sprang to my feet but stumbled in my haste, rolling over, scraping my hands and knees.
I looked for the case.
It was gone.
My gaze searched the concrete.
Nothing.
Then I focused out to the dock.
Coleen was in our boat, drifting away, the outboard revving.
She spun the wheel and powered off.
No question where the case had gone.
A voice came from behind me.
“Cotton.”
I turned back.
Stephanie had stepped from the car. “Let me handle this.”
I was beyond pissed. “No way.”
I bolted onto the dock and leaped into the inflatable that had just arrived. It too came with an outboard—not near as much horsepower as the other boat, but enough.
I yanked the cord and fired up the motor.
The man on the dock was starting to stand, still dazed.
I pointed at Stephanie and yelled, “You lied. I still have a day.”
She stared back but said nothing.
There were a few other boaters around, all looking on in astonishment at the mayhem. Valdez and his men were nowhere to be seen. I angled the inflatable away from its mooring and headed off in Coleen’s direction. A quick look back and I saw the guy on the dock reaching for a weapon. I freed my own gun and fired a round his way, scattering both him and Stephanie.
Which bought me a few seconds of confusion.
More than enough to motor away.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Now I had a real problem.
The files were gone.
And Coleen’s boat had disappeared around a bend in the river ahead, past where two tall bridges littered with cars spanned north to south. I glided beneath them and managed to just catch sight of her wake, headed north, farther up the St. Lucie River. Thank God I caught a peek as I could have easily headed south down the river in the wrong direction.
I angled the steering column and twisted the outboard’s throttle to full power. The bow lifted from the water and I sped ahead. Houses, apartments, and condos lined both banks. More houses and a golf course could be seen ahead. I was worried about streets running close to the water’s edge, places where Stephanie or Valdez could catch up to us by car.
Coleen had seized the first opportunity she’d found to grab the files and go, leaving me to fend for myself. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was a total stranger to her. And besides, I’d been a thorn in her side since the moment we met. What was it about partners in work or life? I had a hard time keeping either.
The river widened.
Maybe half a mile across now between the banks. We were headed due north to God knew where. I kept glancing back but saw no one in pursuit.
Stephanie had apparently tracked my use of the credit card, deciding that giving me a little rope was not a good idea. So she beat a trail straight to Stuart, Florida. Who could blame her? A rookie in the field had gone rogue. No reason at all for her to trust me. She knew little to nothing of my capabilities. Still, a deal was a deal. Not to mention that she might have serious security leak within her ranks. The smart play was for me to continue forward. Explanations could come later.
But shooting at my new boss?
That might be a problem.
I sympathized with Coleen’s agitation. Her father was someone she surely admired. Once he’d been a warrior in a great struggle, close to Martin Luther King Jr. himself. But his insistence that the past be forgotten was frustrating. I was frustrated by his deliberately leading me into a trap. I could partially understand his duplicity toward me. But to her? Why would he not want to tell his own daughter how he helped change history? And there was one other curiosity. Based on what I’d read last night, I could not understand why he’d want those files burned. On the contrary, it would seem he’d want every word to see the light of day. They revealed truths that the public should know. Nothing was incriminating toward Foster. So far I’d shared nothing with Coleen, thinking I was honoring not only her father’s wish but Stephanie’s, too. But for the life of me I could not fathom why.