Picture Me Dead (46 page)

“And what then?” Jake demanded.

“I'm going to write one hell of a story,” he said.

Stuart cleared his throat.

“Okay, so we're going to share a byline,” John said, and they were all able to laugh.

They went to dinner as a group when they left the hospital. And then, for Ashley, there remained the wonder of being a twosome and returning to the
Gwendolyn
with Jake.

It was the next night, about seven, when they were arguing over the proper method of cooking the snapper they had caught, that Jake suddenly went silent.

Ashley frowned.

“Someone's out there,” he mouthed.

He walked silently to the door and threw it open.

Brian Lassiter stood there, his hand raised as if he had been about to knock.

“Hey. Have you got ESP, Jake?”

Jake shook his head. “Heard you coming.”

“Oh.” He glanced in and saw Ashley. She had seen him a few times at Nick's and knew he had been Nancy Lassiter's husband, but she didn't know him at all.

“Hi, Brian. I'm Nick's niece. Ashley.”

“I knew you looked familiar. Hi, how are you?” He looked at Jake again. “Can I come in?”

Jake opened the door wider.

“Want a beer?” Jake asked.

“Soda—I'm driving.”

Ashley went to the refrigerator for a Coke, then brought it to Brian. He nodded to her with a small smile and looked at Jake. “I came to say thanks.”

Jake shook his head. “No need to thank me for doing my job, Brian.”

“Yeah, there is,” Brian said. “I loved her, and it hurts just a little bit less to know the guy who did it won't be doing it again. And I know I owe you an apology.” He paused, then went on resolutely. “You may doubt me, and that's all right, but I'm quitting drinking…and I'm going to get married again. I hope you'll come.”

“Congratulations, Brian,” Jake said.

“Ditto,” Ashley agreed. “Hey, want some snapper?”

Brian looked a little uneasily at Jake. “I…Hey, why not?”

So he stayed. And though Jake was courteous, he was quieter than usual.

When Brian left, Ashley asked Jake what was wrong.

“He's rich,” he said simply.

“He's an attorney,” she reminded him.

“Yeah.”

“Do you still hate him for hurting Nancy?” she asked softly.

“No,” he said after a moment. “We all hurt her.” He turned away, retreating to his desk, then into the bedroom. Ashley decided to take care of the dishes. Later, she tiptoed into the bedroom. She was startled by the strength of his arms when he grabbed her.

Later that night, his phone rang. He rose and padded out to the living room, and she heard him speaking for several minutes. When he returned, she asked him what was going on.

“It was Franklin, my FBI guy. He's gathering some information for me.”

“Oh?”

He lay down beside her, pulled her close again and shrugged ruefully. “You'll be happy to hear that Brian Lassiter's finances are as clean as a whistle. He's a shark, out to get what he can, but he's a legitimate shark.”

She smiled in the darkness. She was happy, because she was certain the knowledge made Jake happy.

She knew he was still deeply disturbed, though. Thus far, the questioning of the men taken into custody during the drug bust had revealed little. They were all from South America, as were the drugs, and they denied knowing who had paid to get them into the U.S. or who was dealing the drugs in the States.

In other words, they still didn't know who'd been working with Marty.

“The answer is right there, in front of me. How can it be happening so close without my seeing the truth?” he asked her softly.

“You can't let it drive you crazy.”

“I can't stop it,” he admitted.

She let him be.

The following morning, she woke early, kissed Jake and told him she had to run back to her room to get ready for work. He mumbled something, and she left him, pausing to switch on his coffeepot before she left. Just then his phone started ringing, and she heard him pick up. She was curious who it was, but she had no time to waste.

She let herself out and sprinted across the lawn to her room, then quickly showered and dressed in the browns that were her forensics wear.

Her hours were later now, but it seemed that she was always running a few minutes late anyway.

Maybe they should set the alarm a few minutes earlier.

They…

She liked that concept. It was very nice being
they.

She hurried into the house, wondering if Nick had risen yet.

No. He and Sharon were sleeping later, too. She smiled, thinking it would be fun to tease Sharon about it being natural for old pregnant people to sleep late.

In the kitchen, she switched on the coffeepot, wondering why they didn't just buy a pot that turned itself on automatically. She drummed her fingers until the coffee began to drip, then moved the pot and slid a cup in its place, shaking her head at the mess she made but determined to have a quick cup of coffee anyway.

It was light. For a moment, all she saw was a figure in the doorway, eerily reminiscent of the black-robed figure she had seen standing on the other side of the highway at the scene of Stuart's accident. The figure moved, and she gave her head a shake. It was just Sandy, and he was actually wearing a pair of trousers, a polo shirt and a jacket.

“Hey, Sandy,” she said, “I'm running out. Nick and Sharon are sleeping. Help yourself to coffee, and make sure you lock the door on your way out. I'm running late, as usual.”

“It's love,” he told her.

She shrugged. That's what happened when you lived at a marina. Everyone knew your business.

“Hey, did Jake ever get anything back from that fingerprint fellow the other day?” Sandy asked.

“No, just prints of people he'd known had been there. You really do know everything that goes on here, don't you? Were you down at his boat when Skip got there? Did Nick have you let him in?”

“Naw. I just saw the guy from my boat. Well, too bad for Jake. It must be driving him crazy, knowing he's still missing a piece of his puzzle.”

He's still missing a piece of his puzzle.

That wasn't common knowledge. Of course, around here, people talked. Sometimes, too much.

“It is. See you, Sandy,” she said, and headed out the door. As she started to close it, she looked toward the water. From where she stood, she could see Sandy's boat. Jake's was much farther down, across from her wing of the house.

Sandy couldn't possibly see the cabin door of Jake's boat from his own.
Of course, he might have seen Skip leaving with his oversized briefcase. And he might be lying, he might have been down by the end of the docks, just being nosy.

Suddenly she remembered standing just where she was now, talking about cops.

I listen to the cops in Nick's place,
he had said. He knew them all. Jake Dilessio hadn't come around all that much until he had moved his boat, and yet Sandy had been able to tell her all about him.

Air seemed to escape from her lungs in a whoosh. Sandy? Impossible. He was a fixture. He was…ancient.

I listen to the cops in Nick's place.

Right. He talked to them all the time. He was always with one of them. No one would ever notice if he spent time talking with Marty Moore. No one would ever realize he was listening because he needed to know what was going on with the Miami-Dade force.

As the thoughts crossed her mind, she became uncomfortably aware that he was behind her. She stiffened, then started to turn, but stopped when she felt a gun against her ribs.

“Does that beat all or what?” he said quietly. “All this time, and I slip up on something really ridiculous. But that doesn't matter. I didn't come for coffee this morning. I came to get you. You barely gave yourself away, Ashley. If I hadn't come specifically to take you for a nice long ride, I'd have had to wonder if you actually figured it all out or not. You see, I'm all set to fly away, Ashley. Far, far, away. I've taken things here as far as it's safe for me to go. Made some good money, that's for sure. But…it's gotten way too hot. It started to unravel when that friend of yours didn't die on the highway like he was supposed to. Then there was Bordon. I should have had him killed years ago. Counted on Marty, though.” He laughed. “He was a damned good partner. Got shot and went down without giving me away. Someone else is going to figure it out eventually, though, maybe soon. Dilessio, probably. Too bad I couldn't have killed him. Ashley, no work for you this morning. You're coming with me. Be real good and quiet, and I might let you live.”

“When I don't show up for work, people will start looking for me. In fact, when they see that my car is still here—”

“It won't be here. You're doing the driving. We're going, Ms. Montague. Now.”

She didn't protest; she had just seen an entirely different side of a man she had thought she knew well. His voice was different, the way he talked was different, even his stance was different. It was as if the years had dropped away.

“Where am I driving you?”

“An airstrip.”

She took a deep breath, twisting slightly, trying to get a glimpse of the gun.

“Glock,” he said. “City of Miami has been known to issue them, but maybe you've never handled one, since Miami-Dade doesn't much like them. No safety. Pretty powerful weapon. It gives a clean kill.”

“Want me to call in late to work?” she asked, trying to overcome her sense of shock and fight down a rising wave of desperate fear. She had thought Marty was cold-blooded, but the change in Sandy was more than chilling. Marty had done the killing. Peter Bordon had conspired with him. But this was the man who had given the execution orders.

“You've got a cell phone. We'll call from the road. We should really go, before Jake or your uncle shows up. I need one hostage, not two. I won't blink to shoot either of them, and I think you know that.”

She had no chance of living if she went with him, and she knew that, too. But the thought of him seeing Jake or Nick—or Sharon!—and shooting them like dogs was far too vivid in her mind.

“Hey!” came a sudden cry. She was startled to see Jake, wearing only bathing trunks, come walking around the far edge of the terrace.

The gun jabbed more deeply into her ribs. “You've got two seconds to get rid of him,” Sandy said. “Cry out and you're both dead. Trust me, a Glock is a damned good weapon. I can kill two people in a matter of seconds.”

“Sandy, hey,” Jake said, smiling pleasantly. “The coffeepot on the
Gwendolyn
is broken. What the heck did you do to it, Ashley?”

“What did I do to it?” she repeated.

“Did you make coffee?” he asked. “Sandy, look at you. Spiffy. Hey, did you come by for coffee, too?”

“Coffee's made,” Ashley said quickly.

“Great. I'll just go pour myself a cup. Have a good day at work.”

Sandy had maneuvered her just outside the doorway, hiding the gun with his body. Jake was smiling as he started past them. “Sandy, why don't you have a cup with me?” he asked.

“Can't, I'm in a hurry.”

“Oh?”

“As a matter of fact, Ashley was going to drop me at the bank on her way to work.”

“Is that a fact?” Jake started into the house. Ashley felt the gun at her ribs edge away as Sandy shifted his hold so as not to be seen.

Jake paused in the doorway. Ashley gritted her teeth, desperate not to give herself away.

“Ashley,” he said suddenly, his eyes steady on hers. “I needed to ask you about something. I was talking to John Mast, and he was telling me about another talent you have. In fact, you mentioned it to me one day—suggesting that you could give me a demonstration.”

She frowned, then realized what he was saying.

She smiled. “I showed John.”

“Show Sandy.”

“Jake, I haven't got time,” Sandy said impatiently.

“Now!” Jake said.

Ashley slammed her leg back, her heel catching Sandy hard between the legs. As he gasped for air, Jake made his move. Fast. So fast that she screamed, not a warning, but a startled cry of surprise. One minute Sandy was standing at her side and Jake was in front of her. The next second, Jake had thrown his full weight against Sandy, and the two of them were down in the sand and the gravel.

Sandy was trying to aim the gun. A shot went off, flying wild. Jake slammed Sandy's wrist hard against the ground. Another shot went wild.