The Rich and the Dead (19 page)

For that moment, there was only him.

“So,” she asked, as their cheeks were pressed together, “where are you taking me?”

“Just a little barrier island way out in Biscayne Bay. It's one of my favorite places in the world. And we should have it all to ourselves.”

The sailboat gracefully cut across the water, and the skyline of Miami receded into the distance as they approached an island that looked like nothing more than a few palm trees hovering above the turquoise waters.

Lila marveled at Dylan's movements as he guided the boat in the right direction. Each gesture, step, and movement was full of ease.

“How long have you been sailing?” she asked.

“Forever. This is my granddad's boat.” He ran his hand along the steering wheel with tender care. “I've always loved this boat. But after he died, it was neglected. A few years ago, my brother and I decided to fix it up ourselves. Took us three years, but now she's a thing of beauty. Speaking of beauty,” he asked with a wicked grin, “do you have your bathing suit on under that dress?”

To answer his question, Lila slipped the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders and let the whole thing fall to the ground, revealing a small black-and-white polka-dot bikini.

“I'll take that as a yes then.” Dylan laughed and threw a large anchor overboard. “You don't mind swimming to the island from here, do you?”

“I'm game.”

Dylan took in the sails. Then he threw some sort of large trunk overboard and jumped in after it. Lila dove headfirst into the water.

“What's in the trunk?” she asked as they swam to the shore, Dylan dragging the object behind him.

“Lunch, of course.”

T
HE AFTERNOON WAS
perfect. They spent the day swimming, snorkeling, eating, laughing, and drinking the two bottles of champagne Dylan had packed on ice at the bottom of the cooler. There was not a soul around to share in the fine white sand and the warm azure waters lapping at the shore. It was just the two of them, alone in paradise.

On the trip back to Star Island, they stayed curled against each other the whole time. As Dylan steered, Lila stood behind him, her arms wrapped around his chest, her head pressed on his back, watching the setting sun slowly transform the sky into a rainbow of bruised purples and reds.

“When can I see you again?” Dylan asked as Lila climbed off the boat and onto the dock. He had his hand in hers to steady her as she jumped onto the land's reassuring embrace, but now he wouldn't let it go. She leaned in to kiss him once more.

“Thanksgiving is Thursday. . . . So, after that, I guess.”

“Saturday?” He was still holding her hand. She didn't want him to let go either, but her mind was already turning away from Dylan and back toward thoughts of the case.

“Saturday,” Lila said as she kissed his hand and then let it go.

After an afternoon of swimming and sailing, Lila's legs felt unsteady on the stable earth.
That's what love is like,
she thought as she walked toward the guesthouse.
You become so accustomed to its exciting textures and rhythms that solid ground begins to feel unnatural.

Lila noticed that the lights in Effie's master suite were all on. She stepped forward, curious. Was her host already back from New York?
Wait, did I just say love?

She shook off thoughts of Dylan and entered the house, climbing quietly up the grand staircase.

Effie's bedroom door was open. Lila called out her name. Upon hearing nothing, she stuck her head inside. No Effie. She was about to head back to the guesthouse when she heard muffled shouting from inside the bathroom.

“Effie?”

Still no response. She paused, quieting her senses so that she could hear even the smallest noise, a skill she'd honed during her years as a cop. Then she heard the muffled voice again. It sounded like Effie was crying.

She crept closer to the bathroom door to listen.

“How can you say that,” Lila heard Effie cry, “and say you love me at the same time?” The crying turned hysterical. “No!” Effie shouted. “I don't care what the others think.”

Never once in all their late-night talks about love and men had Effie even come close to giving Lila the impression that she had a special somebody. There were men in Effie's life—an endless rotation of attractive men going through the revolving door of her bedroom—but what Lila overheard was an Effie that she didn't know existed. Just as she was turning to sneak back out of Effie's room, the bathroom door opened.

Lila froze in her tracks. Effie stood in the doorway, her eyes red and a startled look on her face. Both women stared at each other.

“You're back!” Lila said. “So soon?”

“What are you doing here?” Effie asked peevishly, but Lila saw that her eyes were darting nervously around the room.

“I thought you were spending Thanksgiving in New York.”

“Plans changed. My family was driving me bonkers.” She scowled at Lila. “So I see you've made yourself quite at home in my absence. Thought you'd take over my room when I was gone?”

“No, Ef. Don't be crazy. I just saw your light on, so I came to see if you were home.”

“And now you've got your answer.”

Lila didn't understand why Effie seemed so angry.

“Plus, I wanted to ask if I could borrow a dress,” Lila lied. If there was one tangent she had found that could distract Effie from a bad mood, it was clothes.

Effie frowned, then ducked back into the bathroom. “Take whatever you want,” she said as she began to draw a bath. “You always do.”

Before Lila could ask her what she meant, Effie closed the door on her.

CHAPTER 18

D
ESPITE THE HIGH
of her day sailing with Dylan and her low of fighting with Effie, all Lila really wanted to do was get back to searching Javier's files. She couldn't believe that a man with his fingers in so many black markets had no dirt on him. Finally back in the comfort and safety of the guesthouse, Lila could return to reviewing his files.

Once again, she plowed through the usual stuff. Invoices. Texts for various gallery openings. E-mails to and from artists. Then she stumbled upon something alarming. A subset of files were under military-grade data encryption. Whatever Javier had saved there was something he wanted to keep very, very secret.

Lila didn't bat an eye at the heavy encryption. When she was still a cop, she'd been part of an investigative team that went after Shadow, the notorious ringleader of an international hacking collective. He'd been convicted of more than a hundred counts of identity fraud, grand larceny, and conspiracy in 2015. But this was still 2014, and Shadow was a free man. She knew that, for a fee, he'd crack this encryption.

It would be easy, but expensive. Of course, Lila didn't care about the money. She remembered from the investigation how to get in touch with him. She typed his e-mail address, [email protected], into her computer with the message “i walk through the Va11ey of the shadow of d3ath” and hit Send. Seconds later, he e-mailed back. The terms were quickly established, she wired the money, and he downloaded the files. Hours later the encryption was cracked.

It surprised Lila how little she cared about giving money to a known criminal. Perhaps the laissez-faire attitude of Miami was infecting her. Then again, it probably helped that she knew she'd be throwing him in jail soon enough.

As she reviewed the files, Lila quickly understood why Javier was so anxious to hide this information. She was staring at concrete proof that Miami's elite art dealer was also a world-class arms dealer.

It all made sense. The mystery. The money. The secrets.

“So that's the source of all his wealth,” Lila muttered as she pored over page after page of documents detailing the acquisition and shipment of assault rifles, machine guns, and large quantities of ammunition. The destinations for these weapons of minor destruction read like a UN conflict list: Sierra Leone. Honduras. The Ivory Coast. Bogotá. The Congo. Syria. Places of human suffering, mayhem, revolution, and repression, where arms trafficking was internationally prohibited. There was an incredible number of records detailing wire transfers from global bank accounts to one in the Cayman Islands, which Lila presumed was Javier's.

But there was one file that didn't fit with the others. In it were a number of documents with detailed information about a man named Frederic Sandoval. It was an entire dossier on his movements. Where he was. What he was doing. Lila looked at countless surveillance photos showing a long-faced man who appeared to be around sixty, with thinning hair and stooped posture. Javier had been compiling this information for several months.

Why is Javier so interested in this guy?
Lila wondered.

She turned to the exhaustive database compiled by Teddy and typed in Frederic Sandoval. There was nothing. Nothing under Fred. Nothing under Sandoval. She then typed the name into an online search. There were plenty of Fred Sandovals in the digital universe, with their Facebook pages and LinkedIn profiles, but none of them resembled the man exhaustively watched by Javier.

Never since she'd left the Miami PD had Lila wished she was still a cop as much as at that moment. If she was on the force, she could have access to background checks, credit card activity, and anything else she'd need to uncover a possible connection between Sandoval and Javier. But that was all in the past. She wasn't a cop anymore.

Wait,
Lila thought, shaking her head.
This
was still the past. She was still a cop.

And suddenly she knew how she would find out who Frederic Sandoval was.

CHAPTER 19

P
RETENDING TO BE
someone else is a difficult task, but Lila discovered that pretending to be herself was even harder.

She needed to figure out how Sandoval and Martinez were connected, and she knew the best way was to access the Miami Police Department's criminal records database. And the only way to do that was by becoming her old self, Detective Lila Day, so that she could sneak into the police station.