The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 10

  “I’ll pay you. I can see your boat over there. You need to upgrade. Wouldn’t you like to have a nice yacht? Twin inboard engines with a maximum speed of fifty knots, three cabins, mahogany trim. It can be yours. I know just the place to get you your dream yacht.”

  The man stopped moving and stared blankly at Rick.

  “Then again,” Rick said, licking his lips with the desperate anticipation of closing the deal, “you may not want to deal with all that maintenance and overhead. What if I just paid you money? Straight cash, homey.” Rick tried to chuckle, then coughed, his lungs apparently responding to the icy water.

  The man stopped in his tracks and watched the ocean water slap Rick’s chin. “You think I’m your homey?”

  “Just a figure of speech. But I can see it in your eyes. You know I have something that you want. And that’s what Rick does. Rick takes care of his peeps.”

  “Now I’m your peep?”

  “I don’t know your name.”

  The man could feel the spotlight of the moon on his face. Surely, Rick could see that he wasn’t falling for the cheesy sales-guy moves.

  “How much do you want? I have a lot of money stashed away. You want a hundred grand? Anything. It’s yours. We can take all this crap off me, jump in your boat, and take me to my car. I have a checkbook in there. I’ll sign it right there. Better yet. I can have my financial advisor send it to the bank of your choice. I’d recommend an offshore account, just to keep the tax man from knocking on your door.”

  Finally, Rick shut his trap, and the man watched the moon shimmer off the rolling water.

  “Dude, did you not hear the offer of a lifetime?”

  The peaceful silence had lasted for all of thirty seconds.

  “It’s time to get back to work, Rick.”

  “Seriously? After all that?”

  “You’re starting to annoy me, Rick.”

  The man waded into the water and raised the cinderblock to his shoulder, his calloused, oversized hands maintaining a firm grip.

  “What are you doing? I thought we had something going here. A deal in the making. Everything is negotiable.”

  The man shook his head. “Character is all about doing the right thing when people aren’t watching.”

  Rick’s chin began to quiver as he raised his eyes to the cinderblock. “This isn’t right.”

  “You were given a chance to show strong character. You failed, Rick, plain and simple. You may have thought you could walk this earth and toy with those who couldn’t see the real you. But they will soon see the real Rick Lepino. And they will come to know what he was all about.”

  The man tossed the cinderblock into the gray funnel along with the other one, and Rick wailed like a million babies. “I…I don’t what to die. I repent. I repent. I repent.”

  “I’m sure you do. And now you will die.”

  The man sat back on his boulder and watched Rick struggle to crane his neck for another ten minutes. Slowly, water rose above his mouth and nose. Even under the water, eyes of terror caught the full moon’s glare. His strapped torso lurched until the water filled his lungs and the last air bubble made it to the surface. And then he began to sink—a cadaver with no soul.

  The man took a mental picture and stored it in his memory bank. Nothing could eclipse this kind of serenity. It was a feeling he planned to repeat over and over and over again. Just like everything else in his life.

  9

  Rippling ocean water rocked me back and forth as I lay on my back gazing at a clear blue sky. Two squawking seagulls glided by while crashing waves drowned out every other sound around me. Emptying my lungs, a gust of wind brushed against my wet body, keeping the summer heat at bay.

  This was my serenity, the only time I could ever feel completely happy inside. It was a peace I knew would be short-lived, so I immersed myself in the moment. It was all I had, and it kept me sane.

  A jab to my ribs, and I screamed out.

  “Mom, Mom, you gotta check this out,” Luke’s arms rammed against my chest and stomach.

  After an initial heart tremor to knock me out of my dream state, I took in a gulping breath and crouched into a defensive position while my eyes peeled apart.

  “I figured out this thing with my drone. It’s cooler than the other side of the pillow. Come on, wake up and watch me.”

  Had Luke already downed two shots of caffeine this morning?

  “Good morning, Luke.”

  He gave me a funny look. I cleared my throat. “Did you think I’d turned into a monster?”

  “Yeah, Mom. You had me.”

  “That phrase, ‘cooler than the other side of the pillow.’ I actually remember hearing that before. That’s pretty catchy. You’re creative,” I said, rustling his hair.

  “Can’t take credit for it. Stuart Scott from SportsCenter used to say it. He died from cancer, but I sometimes say it just to remember him.”

  “That’s cool, Luke. You’re honoring his memory.”

  “Yeah, sure. Anyway, Mom, can you come down so I can show you?” He picked up his drone and motored across the bedroom.

  Propping myself up on my elbows, I touched my head. Still intact, and the pain seemed a little less intense. Wiping gunk out of my eyes, I tried to think about my dream for a couple of seconds.

  “Erin, Luke, the Syd-mobile is about to take off. Can’t be late for school.”

  She was back. Damn. Should have known to actually think ahead to the morning. I could drive the kids to school. I was their mom, for goodness sake.

  Luke zoomed out of the room.

  Climbing out of bed, I took two steps then stopped and grabbed the bedpost. The room wasn’t spinning, but someone must have raised one corner of the house about a foot. A few seconds passed, then I gave it another attempt, reaching for the next bedpost. A few more steps, and I made it to the doorway.

  “Erin,” I called out.

  I could hear voices downstairs. Sitting on my ass, I scooted down the steps. Luke was waiting for me at the bottom. I knew I either looked resourceful or like I’d regressed about…how old was I? Probably wasn’t the right questions to ask my eleven-year-old son. He knew I had some memory issues, but he might wonder about his well-being if I went in that direction.

  “You came down, Mom. Cool.” He hopped into the living room, obviously excited to share his discovery with me, and that gave me a burst of energy.

  “Let me see what you got,” I said, using the banister to pull myself up.

  The drone lifted off the floor and pitched forward. “Now I can make tight turns,” he said. The drone with four propellers circled a lamp then came back to us.

  “Now watch this.” He pulled a switch, and a small screen came to life on his remote control panel. The drone then turned and motored out of the living room, curling into the kitchen. I leaned over his shoulder and watched it move above Erin, who was assembling her lunch.

  He started giggling. “Isn’t that cool?”

  “Get that thing away from me before I destroy it,” Erin yelled from the kitchen.

  I nodded at Luke, who steered his favorite toy left and down.

  “What is that?” He moved his head closer to the screen.

  Momentarily distracted by looking at the living room in daylight, I looked back at the screen. My eyes bugged out.

  “Luke, I hope you know you’re looking at my cleavage. I don’t really mind, but I think your mother might have an issue,” Sydney said from the kitchen.

  I snatched the control unit out of Luke’s hand.

  “What is cleavage?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just one of the silly terms girls use about their bodies. Ready for a good day at school?”

  He ran off to the kitchen. I followed, but at a much slower pace.

  “Thanks for taking them to school.” I threw out the olive branch to Sydney, realizing I needed her at least temporarily, until I could take care of my own business.

  “Sure,” she said, shutting the door
to the fridge, her big, brown eyes never turning in my direction.

  The kids headed out the door. “Hey, don’t I get a proper goodbye?”

  “Goodbye,” they said in tandem.

  “No. A hug.”

  “Really? I’m almost fifteen years old,” Erin declared. She slowly walked my way, but Luke darted around her, then came up and squeezed my waist. I kissed the top of his bushy head.

  “You need a haircut, fella.”

  “Later, Mom.”

  Erin put an arm around me, and I reciprocated. Short and almost sweet. “Keep your head up. And don’t listen to the haters.”

  “Okay. Whatever,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, I met Nick halfway down the front sidewalk. He held out an arm.

  “What did you get me, Nick?”

  “Your usual.”

  “And what is my usual?” It was hot, but that didn’t stop me from taking two sips.

  “Venti non-fat mocha with whip.”

  “Damn good choice,” I said, feeling the warm drink in my chest.

  “Hey, can we take some time to visit a couple of the museums that were robbed?”

  “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

  “You’re so gallant, Nick, in a Brooklyn kind of way.”

  We shut the doors on his Impala, and Nick paused before turning the ignition. “Your little mystery is second on our list. First up, we’re heading north a bit to visit with Christopher Barden’s wife. She’s expecting us.”

  I wondered if I should bring up the fact that I wasn’t carrying my FBI credentials.

  “Oh, one thing.” He reached into the center console, then handed me a leather fold-over wallet.

  “Jerry knew you’d insist on tagging along with me, so he couldn’t risk you not having your creds.”

  It was nice to know someone knew how I thought.

  The edges were worn and bent. Opening the wallet, I saw my mug shot on an ID card. I rubbed my thumb across the brass eagle at the top of the badge.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking another jolt of caffeine.

  “Jerry says you owe him one.”

  “Is he only saying that because he knows I’d have no recollection if he really owed me a bunch?”

  Nick shrugged his shoulders and pulled out from the curb. “It’s possible.” We hit a quick light, and the brakes squeaked as we stopped. “Before you ask, Jerry said the only way you get your weapon back is when you’re officially released by your doctor and speech therapist.”

  Oddly enough, I hadn’t thought much about not having a weapon. Maybe safety wasn’t a natural concern of mine, or at the least, I didn’t have a propensity to be paranoid.

  “Was I decent shot?”

  “You just looking to get your ego stroked?”

  “It’s either ask you or I steal your weapon from you and start shooting out streetlights.”

  He chuckled.

  “So, was I?”

  “Could you knock out a streetlight if we were moving forty miles per hour down the road?” Nick smacked his forehead as if I’d just asked the most outrageous question. “Actually, there was this one time. We had this kidnapper pinned behind a hotel; at least we thought we did. He took off into the woods just as the sun had set. You hit him on the run with one shot, about a hundred yards away, and all we could see was a vague outline of him.”

  “Impressive.”

  “You had a reputation.”

  “I hope you’re not talking about the kind of reputation that involves creeps like Randy.”

  “Nah. Your reputation gave most people the vibe that said, ‘I’ll kick your ass if you don’t give me the information I need.’ But I knew you were soft inside, like the jelly inside of a donut.”

  “I must have a fair amount of aggression somewhere in this body.”

  “I think it’s mainly because you’re a woman. Any other guy who acted like you, said what you said, we’d just call him a damn good agent.”

  “And me? What did people call me?”

  “To you or behind your back?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Hey, it’s the real world out there.”

  I turned and stared him down. “I might not remember how old I am, but after interacting with Randy and his sexist, demeaning attitude, and then watching Sydney act like she’s Mrs. Giordano, I think I’ve lived to experience the real world. And that’s all in the last twenty-four hours. That doesn’t include taking a swim with a cadaver.”

  “Sorry, that came out the wrong way.”

  “You know where you can—”

  “No need to be so graphic,” Nick said with a hearty smile.

  I tapped my hand on the center console, and Nick flinched.

  “You going to tell me?”

  “You going to kill me if you don’t like what I tell you?”

  “Maybe. Now, spill it, Radowski.”

  He blew out a breath. “I was stupid. Nothing good can come from this. I’m supposed to be your fairy godfather.”

  “You got the fairy part right.”

  We both hollered with laughter.

  While wiping tears from his eyes, Nick put a hand on my leg and said, “Some of the guys would call you rich bitch.”

  “Rich bitch. So, it’s obvious I’m a bit direct. I’ve recognized that in myself since I’ve come back to life. Sue me. Guys just looking to chop me down because they don’t like me calling them out?”

  “There’s probably some of that,” Nick said, turning west onto Wilson. “They see that Mark has done very well, and you guys live a pretty damn good life, if you haven’t noticed. How many agents have nannies?”

  “I volunteer to give her to anyone who wants her.”

  At that moment, we passed Salem High School. I said, “They’re called the Witches? Can’t imagine how the rival schools respond to that mascot.” I gave Nick an arched eyebrow, then I glanced back at the campus, wondering if Erin was having to deal with more mean girls today. Part of me wanted Nick to stop so I could pull the kids who’d teased or bullied Erin out of class and scare the living crap out of them with all sorts of federal threats as I flashed my FBI badge. I could even borrow Nick’s Glock as a point of emphasis. But I knew that would only be a temporary fix for Erin, not to mention the lawsuits that would follow from the overprotective parents who coddled their teenage brats. She and I hadn’t exactly hit it off, but I knew it had more to do with her environment, both at school and home. Resolving the nanny issue—really, the Sydney issue—had to be at the top of my list when I spoke to Mark.

  “Are you wishing you could go back to high school?” Nick asked, turning north on Route 107.

  I snapped my fingers. “There’s another advantage to having memory issues right there. Everyone has horror stories from their high school years. I can easily convince myself that my teenage years were smooth sailing.”

  Releasing a quick chuckle, my words echoed in my mind, and I wondered what, if anything, was buried inside, something that might not want to escape from the memory-loss prison.

  I forced my attention away from the soul-searching to the changing landscape, trees, and homes. The tires changed their sound pattern, and I saw water as we crossed a bridge.

  “This leads us into Beverly.” Nick pointed a finger straight ahead like a tour guide.

  I nodded, thinking more about my colleagues’ jealousy—my damn good life, as Nick called it. I couldn’t recite many facts about my own life or anyone else’s, but wealth wasn’t helping the happiness factor at home. I wasn’t sure what could help bridge some of the gaps that existed. I felt empty inside. It was possible I just needed more time.

  Maybe Mark and I could sit down, focus on each other, and have a real conversation, not just about the facts of my life, but to try to understand what moved us in our relationship. Then I’d hopefully feel a true connection. The pictures of us around the house seemed authentic. We’d been happy at one point. At least it s
eemed that way. Maybe my accident and resulting memory loss was an opportunity—no, the opportunity—to rescue our relationship, if that was needed, for us and our family.

  The blue water disappeared briefly as Nick veered right, and I saw a sign for Route 22. It only took a couple of blocks of idle time before my curiosity got the best of me, just like it had earlier when I waited for Nick to arrive. I had tried playing with the obese cat, Pumpkin, dangling feathers dipped in catnip. He’d just eaten, so he’d only managed to roll over like a beached walrus.

  Pulling my phone from my purse—I’d found a simple Kate Spade bag in the top of my closet—I spotted the email Jerry sent me the night before. I thumbed through the notes again, as sparse as they were. For a reason I’d yet to specifically identify, I believed my crash was connected to one of the open cases I’d been working. Nothing else made any sense.

  The embezzlement and wire fraud case piqued my interest at first glance. An asset management director at a local IT company, Netsix, had dipped his hand into the corporate coffers by skimming money from their vendors. Allegedly, he complicated his life even more by sending the money to offshore accounts.

  Open-and-shut case, right? Not so fast, my friend. Leaders at Netsix became very fickle when four FBI financial analysts and I dug deeper into the company’s records. Then lawyers got involved, asking for exceptions to the growing list of documents that needed to be reviewed. When we didn’t agree to their conditions, we were forced to have a judge issue a search warrant. Threats ensued, and FBI lawyers tangled with Netsix lawyers, and from what I could surmise from the notes, I’d lost interest in playing nicey-nice with lawyers.

  The sexual harassment case was more of a slow burner, mainly because everyone had lawyered up, either to protect themselves from being sued or to push members of the other side into a corner that would cost them millions. Apparently, working through in-house corporate lawyers required an insane amount of patience and thick skin, since lying was a required skill in that profession. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to Jerry to receive that case. Or either case, for that matter.