SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) (12 page)

Drew
shook his head and threw back another shot of Jack Daniels. “Frankie.”

I swung around to face him. He had my attention now. “What? You think Frankie would fuck me over?”

He shrugged. “She’s done it twice already. That bullshit murder wrap five years ago and now Nick’s murder. But you still trust and protect her. Playing hero is gonna get you killed.”

“
I’m not playing shit.” I pulled at the glue-saturated beer label. “None of this is her fault. Nick. Sal. None of it.”

“
If you say so.” Drew didn’t look convinced. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Frankie. Hell, I’m proud of what she did. Just seems funny to me…she takes your gun and all….”

“
If she wanted to pin Nick’s murder on me she could have waited a day. He was dead either way.” I rubbed my chin, considering Drew’s words. “Besides Frankie went there to help Mickey, not kill Nick.”

“
Huh, “ he said. “That ain’t what I heard.”

“What’d you hear,
Drew?” My eyes burned into his.

“
Nick had some dirt on her. Nasty pictures,” he said quietly. No fucking way. Frankie wasn’t the type. Drew continued, “I’m just saying trusting her is a dangerous game. She’s one hell of an actress that’s for sure.”

“
Listen up.” I thumped him on the back of his head. “I’ve known Frankie since she was six-years-old. I see through her bullshit just like I see through yours.” I stood, throwing down a couple bucks on the bar. “She’s the least of our worries.”

“Hiya
sugar.” A stunning, shorthaired blonde in a fitted pink sundress strutted toward me. I tripped over a bar stool and would have landed on my ass if not for the blonde’s quick reflexes. She grabbed my arm, teetered on her heels, while I caught my balance.

“Frankie?”
My eyes gave her a once over, shocked at the difference between the smart-assed redhead I knew and this blond-haired trophy wife standing in front of me, seemingly without a care in her golden world. What the fuck was going on?

“Guess you didn’t see this one coming?”
Drew chuckled, rising to his feet behind me.

“What the hell are you doing here?”
My fist clenched. “What did you do to yourself?” Frankie’s hair was bleached blonde and cut into a short bob, not to mention, styled to perfection. Heavy makeup covered the bruises on her face. Bruises Nick had put there. Some of my shock dissipated, replaced again with white-hot rage at Nick.

“
Those two lovely ladies chauffeured me here. I wouldn’t want to miss my flight to the Islands.” She gestured to Clair and Zoë who stood a few feet away. Zoë gave me a small finger wave. Frankie’s voice sounded rich, sophisticated, and cold. I hated it. I took a step toward her. She stood her ground, flashing me a wicked smile.

I
rubbed a hand along my jaw, debating my next move. Manhandling her in the middle of an airport full of cops didn’t seem like the best of plans, even if my fingers itched to do just that. “What the fuck is this about, Frankie?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Call me Bev,” she whispered.

The words sent a shiver of dread along my skin. “Clair?” I looked to her for help.

“
What can I say?” Clair smiled back, and then quickly sobered under my glare. “Frankie’s a much better actress. Besides, if she’s with you, she’s safe.”

“I
t’s true.” Another Judas in the form of Neil poked his head from behind Clair. “I love Clair, but her talents lie elsewhere. We need a Bev,” he motioned to Frankie, “and now we’ve got one.”

“No.”

“Ian, be reasonable—,” Frankie started.

“NO!”

“You need me—,” she tried again.

M
y temper rose to a dangerous level, but before I could unleash my fury the loudspeaker boomed, “Now boarding flight 686, non-stop to Grand Cayman.”

“What’s it going to be?” Frankie
asked.

If I said no, the whole thing was off. Shit. “Get on the fucking plane.”

“You won’t regret this.”

“I already
do.”

I gripped the armrest as the small plane shook with turbulence. We were flying thousands of feet above the ocean. I could see the bright blue reflection of sun against water. Frankie reached for my hand, squeezing it. “Want a drink? I’m buying.”

As mad as I was
I couldn’t help but smile. Drew’s words floated through my head, and I gave a small laugh. He was so wrong. Frankie would never fuck me over. “No. I need a clear head when we land. Things could get sticky fast.” The plane gave another violent shudder, and my fingers dug into the armrest. “That is if we live through this.”

I wasn’t afraid of dying.
I’d been there. But plunging into the ocean and then becoming shark bait scared the shit out of me. I hate sharks. My first year in the SEAL’s on a practice mission in the Pacific, a shark decided I looked like a nice snack. It took a large chunk out of my thigh. One hundred and thirty stitches later, I developed a strong dislike for sharks and a new appreciation for the Discovery channel. If not for a show about how to survive a shark attack I would have been an entrée.

“We’ll be fine.
” Frankie cupped my hand, trying to reassure me. “I’m sorry I tricked you.”

I tore my gaze from the water below and looked at her
. “Don’t ever do it again. You hear me?” She nodded, but the excited sparkle remained in her eyes. I shook my head. An hour ago, I’d moved past furious and into begrudging respect. I would have done the same thing in her place—minus the high heels and pink sundress, of course.

“So what’s the plan?”

“When we get to the island we’ll check into the Grand Hotel. It’s about a mile from the bank. They’re expecting us.” I held up a finger. “The rest of the crew will separately check in an hour later.”

“T
hen what?”

Patience would be a problem, but with
her, it always was. “Tomorrow morning we meet with the bank manager, Carlos Espinoza. You fill out the paperwork; sign on the dotted line, and bingo twelve million dollars is ours.”

“
Sounds simple.”

“
The best plans are.”

She smiled.
“So what are you supposed to be? Boyfriend or bodyguard?”

“How about financial planner?
”

Frankie laughed
, looking me up and down. “Good luck pulling that one off.”

I rubbed my chin, feeling the stubble of my five o’clock shadow.
“Okay, bodyguard it is. Listen, once we land you need to stick close to me.”

“
You’re expecting trouble?”

“Let’s just say
I wouldn’t be surprised if Oscar wasn’t trying to find a way to get the money.”

“I won’t leave your side.”
Her voice went breathless and soft. “Day or night.”

“That’s cold.
” I squeezed her hand. “Now if Clair was here…”

“Asshole.”
She slapped my arm. I laughed, enjoying the easygoing banter. Whatever happened this week, it would be anything but boring.

******

We landed safely on Grand Cayman a few hours later. The heat amazed me as I stepped from the plane. Nine o’clock at night and my shirt was soaked within five minutes. Walking down the jet way I felt naked without my gun. First assignment: Find the friendly neighborhood arms dealer.

Just outside the airport,
I hailed a passing cab and gave the driver our destination. I helped Frankie inside, and we set off through the bumpy streets. The cab smelled of cigarette smoke and coconut, an odd but not unpleasant combination. I watched out the bug-splattered window at the passing landscape. I’d been to a hundred islands like this one in my Naval career, and after a while they tended to blend together.

“It’s beautiful.
” Frankie sighed. I smiled, seeing the island through her eyes. It was spectacular. Palm trees lined the streets. A gentle trade wind carried the sound of waves crashing against the beach. We pulled up to the Grand Hotel and I paid the driver. Once he left, I opened my cell phone and dialed Mickey’s number. “Meet you in the lobby in two hours.” He agreed and I hung up.

“Shall we?” I
took Frankie’s arm. We walked into the opulent hotel lobby and tried not to stare like a bunch of hicks. The place reeked of wealth and privilege. Every surface sparkled, and thousands of dollars’ worth of art graced the walls. Rich men talked million dollar deals while sipping scotch. The hotel staff smiled as we past, saying a friendly hello. It was a con’s dream come true and my fingers itched to rid some excess cash from the rich clientele.

“May I help you?”
An arrogant man at the concierge desk gave us the evil eye.

Frankie
jumped into her role. “I certainly hope so. I’m Bev Clark.” Looking down her nose at the little man she tapped her foot with impatience.

“Ms. Clark,
what a pleasure,” he said as he bowed low. “We’ve been expecting you. Please follow me to your bungalow.” The little man snapped to attention, gesturing to a bellhop. We followed him through a maze of bungalows, each one fancier than the next. After five minutes we arrived at our semi-secluded home, or what would be home for the next week. The concierge unlocked the door and gestured for us to enter. The bungalow was beautiful, decorated in a soft brown and tan. A plasma TV hung from the far wall. A huge basket of fresh island fruits and champagne graced the glass coffee table.

“I hope this meets your
needs.”

Frankie/Bev gave a sigh. “
I suppose it will do.” I hid a grin as he flushed. “You can go,” she ordered with a flick of her wrist.

I opened the door
and slipped the man and bellhop a large tip. Once they were safely on their way I turned to Frankie. “God, you’re a cold bitch.”

She
chuckled, stripping off her form fitted pink suit jacket. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” It was, in a way. This wasn’t the Frankie I knew. Every time I looked at her I longed for curly red hair, freckles, and a smart mouth. I touched her hair, and felt the crusty residue of gel.

“It will grow back,” she said
, as if she’d read my mind. “In a couple of months I’ll return to frumpy my former self. But for now, I’m going to enjoy the luxury of being a rich, spoiled bitch.”

“
Not much of a stretch.”

She stuck out her tongue and
threw a pillow from the brown leather couch at my head.

I caught it midair.
“I’m going to get the lay of the land. Do not open the door for anyone. I should be back within an hour.”

She
smiled, eyes turning the color of the deep ocean. “I’ll be waiting.”

S
uch a tease. I raised an eyebrow and took a step toward her. Two could play this game. Using my size to intimidate her, I backed her against the coffee table. When our lips were inches apart, hers parted, and my blood pressure rose. She drew in a ragged breath, eyelids fluttering. I reached out, and grabbed an apple from the basket behind her. I bit into it. “Don’t wait too long,” I said as I straightened and turned away. I heard a shoe hit the door as it closed behind me.

Round one
went to me, but the game was not over. Three nights of this torture. I wasn’t sure I’d survive. What I needed was a distraction, preferably one with red hair, and few morals.

Sometime later, I sat in a shady bar waiting for Pedro, the local arms dealer, to hand over a cache of automatic weapons. The dregs of society filled the room—hookers, gunrunners, and junkies. I felt at home with the exception of the smell, a mix of death and unwashed bodies. O’Malley’s smelling like roses wasn’t a bad idea anymore.

“My friends,”
Pedro said without sincerity. He’d have slit my throat for less than ten Cayman dollars—friends or not. “That’s a big order.”

“If you can’t handle it
we’ll find someone who can.” I tossed back a shot of island rum. The liquid slid down my throat like wildfire, and into my stomach like lead. My seventh shot in fifteen minutes. God, I hated this game, but Pedro refused to surrender so instead I drank another one.

“No, no.
” He countered by tossing back his own shot. “I can get what you need, but it will cost you.”

It usually
did. “How much?”

“
Twenty.” He paused, sucking on his lips like a lemon.

Game over.
My eyes went to Mickey. He nodded and reached for a stack of cash tucked underneath his shirt and passed it to the Pedro. Pedro scooped up the money and flipped through the stack with a smile. The flash of green through his dirty fingers turned my stomach. Half of our fucking stake for a few pieces of hardware didn’t sit right.

Mickey grabbed Pedro’s hand. “How long?”

Pedro shook him off, resuming his count of our money.