| |
Josie slept soundly as Steve dressed for his meeting with McClaren. His t-shirt was bunched up around her hips giving him a view of her well-rounded backside. He’d never gotten the opportunity to remove her shirt. Josie had quickly fallen into a deep sleep. He, on the other hand, hadn’t slept at all.
The minute they’d finished, he’d wanted her again. That hadn’t changed. Making love with Josie had always been off the charts but something stronger drew him to her. Something special that made him fall hard.
They had both needed the release last night. But he wanted more. He wanted his wife back—not just in his bed but in his life. What would it take to make that happen? He pulled the rumpled sheet from the foot of the bed and covered her body then left the room before he was tempted to wake her.
***
“You might want to let up a little on the gas,” Gib suggested as they barreled south on U.S. 41. “McClaren isn’t going anywhere. He’s expecting us.”
Steve eased his Mustang back to an acceptable speed for the busy, commercial six-lane highway. His thoughts had been racing, but that didn’t mean his car had to keep pace with them.
“You wanna tell me about it?” Gib asked.
“It’s none of your damn business,” Steve snapped, taking his eyes off the road long enough to sneer at Gib.
“I wasn’t talking about last night,” Gib laughed. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”
“Josie?” Steve’s eyes flashed from the road to his passenger.
“Who else would we be talking about?”
“I told you what happened between us. What else do you want to know?”
“Could the split between the two of you be connected to what’s going on now?”
The question had surprised Steve but Gib was his usual unfazed self. “I can’t imagine how. Why?”
“Just a thought. She’s in Florida. You’re in Florida and so is everyone else who seems to be connected to this shit.” Gib drummed his fingers on the arm rest of the passenger door.
“I’m relatively certain that Josie and I are both in Florida at the same time this ‘shit’ is going down is just a coincidence.”
“Why is she in Florida? Didn’t Josie live in North Carolina?”
“She moved right after she got the letter from the clerk’s office.” Steve shifted the gears with a little more force than was necessary.
“I still don’t understand that move,” Gib said.
“That makes two of us. Josie was always skittish about marrying me. Marrying anyone in the service, for that matter.” Steve kept his eyes on the road as he wove through the six lane, commercial highway.
“I can understand her hesitation to marry you.” Gib smiled when Steve gave him a cross look. “What’s her problem with the military?” he asked, more seriously.
“I’m not sure. Her dad was army. She didn’t talk about her parents much but what I do know isn’t pretty. They separated while she was still in school.”
“Why separate? Why not divorce?”
“An interesting question.” Steve said half under his breath. “She would never discuss it. I did ask if she wanted to wait to get married until her family could attend the wedding. She said they wouldn’t come so it didn’t matter.”
“She told me her mother remarried. They don’t communicate at all,” Gib told him.
Steve gave his friend a sideways glance. How had he managed to get that out of her? She never talked about her family.
Gib didn’t comment further so Steve asked pointedly, “What’s on your mind?”
“I spent time with her the other day before and after the attack. She’s no wuss. I wouldn’t tag her as a runner.”
Neither had Steve until he’d received her email telling him she’d relocated to St. Augustine.
“Turn here,” Gib told him. “Why don’t you drive a vehicle with GPS? You know they make them now, Steve” he chided lightheartedly, closing the directions app on his phone.
“You’re riding in a classic,” Steve reminded him with a knowing grin as they pulled into the lot of the luxury dealership. They’d driven the Mustang at Gib’s insistence.
Walking into the showroom, a young man sprinted past the other salesmen to greet them. “Are you trading that in?” he asked, his eyes locked on the Highland Green ’68 Mustang GT.
Steve smirked at Gib. “Told you. A classic.” The kid was all but drooling over the car. He was going to be disappointed. “We have an appointment with Mr. McClaren,” he told the salesman. “He’s expecting us.”
“Sure. Sure. I’ll take you to his office.” He gave the car a longing look. You’d have thought someone had taken away his puppy.
Steve and Gib were led up a short flight of stairs to Anthony McClaren’s mezzanine office. A glass wall gave the occupant a panoramic view of the shiny, expensive luxury automobiles displayed on the showroom floor below.
McClaren stood as they entered the office. Steve estimated him to be in his mid-fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair was meticulously groomed and he wore a crisp, white button-down shirt as a backdrop for a striking hand painted tie. A navy-blue suit jacket hung over the back of his chair.
“Mr. McKay.” McClaren reached for Gib’s hand. “Good to see you again. How have you been?”
“Fine. And it’s Gib, remember?”
“Yes, of course.”
“This is my friend, Lieutenant Steve Brody.” Gib introduced the two men.
Steve took the man’s hand. He had a good grip.
“Happy to meet you, Lieutenant, and thank you for your service,” McClaren addressed Steve.
Steve simply tipped his head in acknowledgement.
“I gather from your call that this visit isn’t about photography or vehicles. What can I help you with?” McClaren asked, getting right to the point.
“As I mentioned, we’re looking into a problem on behalf of a friend,” Gib said. Steve had asked Gib to start things off since he was acquainted with the man. “Would you mind telling us if you knew State Representative Luis Esteban?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Steve responded to the question. “Your name had appeared on a list along with his and four others. We’re trying to find the connection. Esteban is dead,” Steve added.
At the blunt statement McClaren’s eyes widened and his head snapped back as if he’d been slapped. The information was news to him.
“What sort of list are you talking about? Where’d it come from and how did Mr. Esteban die?” McClaren fired off the questions in rapid order.
“The Representative was killed by a hit-and-run driver near his home in Central Florida. The state is investigating. At the moment, I can’t share information about the origin of the list as it’s part of an investigation. But the list is just that—a list. Regardless of its origin, we have no other information other than the names that are on it. We’re trying to connect them. Did you know Representative Esteban?” Steve asked again.
“The name is vaguely familiar. Of course, it could be because he was a public figure or I heard about his death on the news.”
Both were reasonable possibilities. Steve gave McClaren the list of names. The room was deathly silent as the man studied the paper Steve had placed in front of him.
“You know, there is something familiar about them but damned if I can tell you what it is.”
“What about college, organizations or a board you might have served on together?” Gib tossed out.
McClaren’s tanned brow wrinkled further as he fought a battle with his memory. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could help you but I can’t tell you whether I know any of them or not. Now, I have a few questions for you,” McClaren added.
“Shoot,” Steve leaned back in his chair. Sometimes questions were as good as answers.
“Why is this important to you? I’m as curious as you are as to why my name turned up on that list with these men but I’d like to know your connection.”
That wasn’t what Steve had expected but he answered it freely. “The list was sent to my wife.” The statement was simpler than explaining the convoluted relationship between him and Josie. “She was attacked by someone wanting it. I want to know why and by whom.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’s okay. Do you believe the people on the list are in danger?”
“To be honest, I have no idea.” Steve admitted. “To be safe, I’d watch my back.”
“I’ll do a little digging and if I find a connection,” McClaren said, “I’ll call you.”
Steve gave McClaren his number and he and Gib headed back to the car.
“You disappointed?” Gib asked.
“Disappointed? Yes. Surprised? No,” Steve said. “It was a long shot. The names could be connected for any number of reasons—or no reason at all. But there’s got to be a connection somewhere.”
The young salesman who’d taken them to McClaren’s office was hovering by Steve’s Mustang when they returned to the lot. Respectfully, his hands had remained in his pockets as he eyed the interior.
“She’s a beauty,” he told Steve.
“Appreciate you keeping an eye on her,” Steve said to the young man.
Gib slid into the passenger seat. “Do you believe McClaren?”
“I don’t think he was lying. His reaction to the news of Esteban’s death was sincere. We’ll be hearing from him if he remembers anything. He’s worried now.”