Hot Spot (24 page)

"We're going to be late," Megan complained, pulling away from the curb before Stella had shut the car door.

"The slip is five minutes from here. It's twelve-thirty-five."

"Twelve-thirty-six."

"We're fucked then."

"Sorry." Megan shot her a rueful smile. "This is so bizarre. I feel like I'm fifteen and out on my first date."

Stella grinned. "Good. I like to see you excited."

"I'm probably stupid to get too involved. Buddy's single by choice. And always surrounded by tons of women."

"He looks bored when he's with them, if it's any consolation."

"Really?"

"Hey, the light's turning red!"

Megan brought the car to a screeching stop, and two pedestrians jumped back on the curb.

"Want me to drive?"

Megan shook her head. "It's only a few more blocks. I guess I'm more nervous than I thought."

"What's to be nervous about? Buddy's about as mellow as they get."

"That's what I keep telling myself."

"Good. 'Cuz it's true. Green light means go," Stella murmured, gauging the blocks to the river against Megan's current lack of driving skills.

They survived the remaining five blocks and parked.

"Stay by my side," Megan pleaded as they walked to the yacht.

"Will do." Stella smiled reassuringly. And she had every intention of doing just that. But the minute they stepped off the gang plank, Buddy was there with a smile for them both and a hug for Megan.

"Come take a look at my newest toy," he said, sliding his arm around Megan's waist. "You said you liked those reruns of
Sein-field
. Care to take a look too, Stella?"

"I'm going to get a drink first," she said, understanding her company was no longer required.

As Buddy led Megan away, Stella scanned the crowd on the deck. The usual display of tanned bodies, expensive sportswear, and the best breast implants money could buy. Was this her crowd or what?

DANNY HAD MADE PLANS TO MEET FRANK Stanchfield at the St. Paul Grill for lunch on Saturday. Insurance as it were, should he be tempted to join Buddy's boat party. Also a pragmatic choice, assuming broad daylight would assure him less likelihood of a break-in while he was gone. He'd been staying home at night since the last attempt.

When Frank called to cancel, Danny's best-laid plans were nullified, but he couldn't argue with the facts. Frank's contact in criminal records had been on vacation all week. His surveillance on Brian had revealed a lot of comings and goings at his house, but Frank suspected drugs were involved, not software. And in his estimation, Kirsty wasn't more than a babe who liked men with money.

"I agree. Even if she's a go-between, it's inadvertent. Thanks for the update. We'll reschedule when your guy's back." As

Danny hung up the phone, he was overcome with a niggling sense of unease.

He hadn't planned on staying home today; he hadn't wanted to.

There was always his new video game to work on, he supposed.

Or other office tasks like getting his personal checkbook and receipts organized for his accountant, who was starting to raise his voice on the phone. Maybe he'd actually start that miserable project today. Heavy rain like this precluded outside activities.

As though in direct contradiction, the rain abruptly stopped, the sun shone brightly through his office window, and a Goddamned rainbow rose over his pool. Even the frigging birds began chirping.

Calling his attention to the glorious day, in case he hadn't noticed.

Reminding him that Buddy's boat would be on the river in glowing sunshine now.

And one particular woman would be onboard.

Shoving back his chair, he surged to his feet and stalked from the office. He had to get out of here! Why not go and case Brian's place himself? Get the lay of the land, as it were. Frank had given him the address; Brian was most likely on the river today. He'd do a little reconnoitering himself.

And in the process, put thirty miles of city sprawl between himself and the St. Croix River.

IT WAS NEARLY noon by the time he reached Lake Calhoun. Parking his car on a side street, he approached Brian's home from the rear. The alley was deserted, as were most city neighborhoods on a summer weekend. Everyone drove out of town on Friday, heading north or into Wisconsin.

Cautious nonetheless, he slowly opened the back gate and eased into the yard. Not a sign of life. Perfect. The large two-story stucco house faced the lake, the backyard less used: a lap pool surrounded by well-tended grass, two chaises on one side, the tree-shaded yard enclosed by a six-foot-high fence. The usual security sign was planted in the flowers near the back door. Every home in the area had one. It didn't mean the police would respond quickly. Frank had mentioned the nearest station was twenty blocks away, and every precinct was seriously understaffed since the city budget cuts.

Danny moved toward the house, intent on a brief look inside and a quick exit before the squad car arrived.

"He's not home!"

Danny turned at the child's voice and looked up. In the leafy branches of a large maple in the yard next door, a tree house was faintly visible. "Are you sure? Brian told me to come over."

"He's gone. I'm guarding his house."

It was impossible to see who was speaking. But the word
guard
didn't portend success in entering the house. "He's paying you?"

"Fifty bucks."

The kid was proud of the amount, and taking his job seriously. Which begged the question why Brian would need someone to guard his house. "Do you do this often?"

"What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

"I asked you first."

The kid wasn't stupid. "Tell Brian Ed came over."

"I haven't seen you before."

It was bizarre speaking to a tree. It was equally useless. "Have a nice day, kid."

"Shut the gate when you leave."

Smart-aleck. He was good, though. Maybe he should think about having him guard
his
house.

As Danny walked back to his car, he pondered various reasons for Brian's interesting security arrangement beyond the drug connection. Driving slowly down the lake boulevard awash with apartment dwellers taking advantage of the beach and green grass, he was struck by a disquieting thought. Was Brian checking out his house? He might assume as Danny had, that everyone was on Buddy's boat. Grabbing his cell phone, he punched in Buddy's number.

Buddy finally answered. "I was about to give up," Danny murmured.

"Your sister left. You're comin' out. Right?"

"No can do." An ambiguous answer because he'd lied about his sister coming this weekend. "I was wondering if Brian was on the boat."

"I think so. Did you see Brian?" he asked someone. "Megan saw him come onboard with Kirsty," Buddy declared. "Hey, man, you can change your mind anytime. Don't let Kirsty keep you away. Stella's here."

The last two words burned into Danny's brain with the impact of those branding irons in the old westerns on cable.

"Hey, you still there?" Buddy asked.

"Yeah, the traffic's heavy." A small inaccuracy that avoided a larger lie.

"Get your ass out here, or won't your big sister let you come out and play?" Buddy mocked.

"I'm in Minneapolis."

"So?"

"So I won't be out."

"In case you come to your senses, we're stopping on that sandbar on your side of the river in about fifteen minutes. Megan wants to swim, don't you, honeybun?"

Honeybun? Danny didn't know whether to be more shocked by Buddy's sugar sweet tone or his immediate erection at the news that Stella Scott would be only a few miles from his house.

"Come on out, Rees. The water's fine!"

There were giggles and laughter and an abrupt ending of the call.

IT WAS A forty-minute drive to the river and another twenty minutes over back roads to the sandbar. During that hour, Danny tried to talk himself out of going where he was going for any number of reasons. Stella could be some homegrown Mata Hari who knew how to put out the lure, reel in her catch—in this case, him—and get what she wanted. She was mouthy as hell, too, and more bitchy than he liked. And the way she'd walked off in a huff the last time. Uh-uh.

He didn't need sex that badly. And if he did, he could call plenty of other women.

If he hadn't been parking in the trees above the sandbar at that moment, the option of other women might have held some merit. As it was, he was kicking off his shoes, transferring his cell phone to his short's pocket, and surveying Buddy's yacht anchored at the end of the sandbar with fornication on his mind.

Not sex in general.

But sex with a very specific woman.

BUDDY WAS SEATED in a canvas sling-back beach chair watching Megan paddle a small kayak upstream.

"You made it," he said with a grin as Danny walked up.

"Where's Stella?"

Buddy's gaze narrowed at Danny's brusque tone, but not one to ask unnecessary questions, he said, "To be honest, I haven't seen her since she and Megan came aboard in Stillwater. She's on the boat somewhere."

"Thanks." Brisk, curt, the sound of a man in a hurry.

Buddy watched Danny take the gangway in a loping run and came to the conclusion that there was one horny bastard, a curious pose for Rees, who could always take it or leave it. On the other hand, Stella was out of the ordinary in more ways than one. She had an edge; she didn't play games. Maybe that's what Rees liked.

Buddy contemplated Rees as he moved through the throng on the main deck, speaking to one or another guest in passing, asking questions apparently. A number of them shook their heads in reply. Danny moved up to the second deck and the bridge before he returned to the main deck and disappeared down the companionway.

As Danny vanished from sight, Buddy turned back to survey Megan paddling the kayak like a pro. There was one competent woman. She made him feel like a shirker. But she was relaxing as hell, too; he felt content when she was around. He liked her kids, too—which was even stranger. He didn't ordinarily see children as likeable. Maybe he was getting old. Or maybe he was thinking way the hell too much.