Ring of Lies (50 page)

He stood and pretended to answer his cell phone.
The dog man stood still.
Was he watching?
Then suddenly, the dog man clapped his hands, and the little vermin scurried back inside the house.
Their owner followed.
Praying again to the Virgin for small
favours
, Vasquez
continu
ed
on his way.

His instructions
were
very specific
. D
eal with the target and then return to Miami.
He
thought about that as he scanned the surrounding houses.
Most appeared empty
,
either
second
homes or rentals
,
and in such a quiet neighbourhood it would be easy to slip down
a
driveway unnoticed.
Old habits were hard to forget,
but
petty larceny
was a game for
amateurs
, not a
season
ed
professional
like him
.

He walked quickly along the deserted streets, but not so quickly
so as to
draw attention, should anyone happen to
look out
of
their window.
He looked back at the dog man’s house.
Nothing.
Good
.

He turned right a
t the intersection
.
The target
building
remained in darkness.
Vasquez smiled.
Snowbirds were p
redictable—
nearly
everyone was in bed by
ten
o’clock.
Despite his earlier misgivings, working in such a small community
wasn’t going to be so difficult after all
.

An intricate wrought iron gate and an equally impressive lock stood between him and the rear of the property.
A
fter a
quick look around to make sure no one was watching
,
he
took
a ski mask out of the
gym
bag
and pulled it over his head
, then
sprang
ov
er the gate
like a ca
t
,
landing soundlessly on
other side.

He waited.
He
list
ened.
But there was only
silence.

Confident
that the occupants
of the first floor apartment
slept on undisturbed
, he followed the path
down
the side of the
building toward the rear
.
H
e
inched
his way past a couple of windows and a side door
.

A light breeze rustled
through the
trees
.
Under the ski mask, Vasquez’s skin
itched and
dripped with sweat
.
At the edge of the building he paused.
Tied to
a
concrete
dock,
less than
fifty
yards away,
and illuminated by a
solitary
light,
was a single-engine seaplane.

A rush of adrenaline filled his body.
He
removed
a pair
heavy rubber
gloves from
the bag and pulled them on.
It only took a few
seconds
to open
the service panel and disconnect th
e electricity supply, plunging the dock and surrounding area into
semi-
darkness.

Under the ski masked he grinned.
It was almost too easy, but he was too much of a pro to be complacent.
He swapped the heavy gloves for a pair of
lightweight
exam gloves,
gently
easing the
thin
latex over his sweating palms.

He
waited for a count of fifty.
Satisfied that the sudden loss of
power
hadn’t attracted attention, he
sprint
ed
across the dock to the plane.
He
dropped
the
gym
bag
down on the edge of the dock, took out a small
flashlight
then
,
u
s
ing the
wing as
cover, stepped onto the float
.
When the plane sank slightly under his weight, he didn’t worry.

Balancing on the float,
and
guided by the narrow bea
m
of light, he edg
ed his way toward the propeller
.
He released
the three
engine cowling
latches
and pin locks
.
Whoever maintained the plane had done their job well, for hinges opened
smoothly and
silently.
Vasquez
rested the
rubber-encased
flashlight
on top of the battery and reached
blindly
into
the engine compartment.
Fear of being discovered, combined with the slight swaying motion of the seaplane and the smell of high octane
AvGas
twisted in his stomach
.
He swallowed the bile and tried to
keep his hands from shaking
.

Concentrate.
Concentrate.

The small wrench slipped from his fingers
, the noise reverberating in the stillness.

He froze.

Somewhere o
ff to
his right
a dog barked.
If its owners noticed, they weren’t bothered.
He cursed his clumsiness.
He shifted
position
and felt for the wrench
.
It was somewhere.
He knew it.
Finally,
his fingertips
touched it, but he
couldn’t get a grip
on it
.
He stretched until he was standing on his toes.
The float sank
,
submerging
his ankles
in
cold water.
Coño!
With his left hand, he grabbed the edge of the fuselage and hoisted himself up until he could reach down and pick up the wrench.
His body slick with sweat
and shaking
from the exertion, he worked quickly, aware that
time and
his
luck
were both dangerously close to
running out.

By midnight, a slow-moving storm shimmied in from the Gulf of Mexico and settled over
the island
just as the weathermen had predicted.
Grace lay in bed and listened to the rain lashing the windows.
She loved storms—something about the violence and the ensuing calm and
freshness
fascinated her.
It was if Mother Nature was renewing herself in a not-so-subtle way.
A thunderclap rolled over the house like a slow drum solo.
A flash of lightening briefly illuminated Jack’s face as he slept in the bed across from hers.
He stirred briefly, and then went completely still, his breathi
ng once more deep and rhythmic.

Grace plumped her pillow and rolled onto her back.
A soft sighed escaped her lips as she thought about her life.
She was different now
.
Daniel’s death had made her stronger, more determined to be her own person, other than
just someone’s wife and sister.

From the very first moment they met
,
she’d
been
swept along by
Daniel’s
self-confidence and determination to get what he wanted, to give any thought to her own needs and desires.
She’d
been too young, too eager to provide a stable home for
Catherine
when she fell in love with him to
realize
that under all that charm he was arrogant,
controlling, and manipulative.

Lightening lit up the room once more.
She turned to look at Jack, his profile dark in the eerie light.
He was so different from Daniel.
H
e
made her all too aware what love between a man and woman could be.
His very look held a promise of sultry heat and e
r
otic secrets to be shared.
She’d been totally unprepared for the emotions their one brief kiss had unleashed within her, the slow, sweet oblivion that made t
he rest of the world fade away.