Chapter Three
Mitch knew the drive to Sanibel Island from Fort Myers wouldn’t take long. But once Liz and he hit the island, traffic would slow as they made their way to San-Cap Road then across a short bridge to the safe house on Captiva Island. Even considering the late time of night, people would be out on the main road most vacationers used. Good thing he knew back roads. Bad thing was that no matter what, sooner or later he’d end up on the main road again.
“Once you’re on Sanibel, I can direct you to the house my dad leased,” Liz said.
“I know where you’re staying.” He glanced in her direction then back at the upcoming Sanibel Causeway toll booth, located right before the island. “The house belongs to Drake.”
She shook her head, followed by a long exhale, then a clicking of her tongue as she pursed her lips. From the tense set of her slender neck as she rolled her head from side to side, he figured she’d about reached her limit on being kept in the dark.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.
“Which one?” Hell, he knew which one he’d ignored. Had been waiting for her to ask again. At least now she’d calmed enough to listen and, hopefully, understand.
“Who were those two guys in the parking lot?” she asked. “Were they there for me?”
“Don’t know.”
Turning to face him, she drew her shoulders back in defiance. “You don’t know? Or you won’t tell me? This arrangement will work much better if we’re both on the same page all the time. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Fair enough. The sooner he gave her the specifics, the sooner she could do her crying or screaming or cursing jag, and he could get on with the job.
“Bottom line, until the police run them through the system and let OPAQUE know their identity, I have no idea who they are. They sure as hell didn’t attack like CT agents. Didn’t fight like them, either.” He shot her a sideways glance. No reason to tell her he doubted she and he were random targets. “Now, tell me about yourself.”
“Why?”
“Helps me understand what might be going on.”
“I thought Drake already told you everything.”
He’d need to figure out why she was so adamant about not talking about herself. Maybe if he asked her to write everything down, that would help her communicate better. “Drake told me about the case. Now, you tell me about you.”
“I grew up in Utah. I’m an only child. My mother died when I was in middle school.” Batting her eyelids, she stretched her neck and swallowed. “I went to college at UCLA. Came out with a major in journalism and political science. And, if it hadn’t been for French, I’d have had a 4.0 GPA.”
GPA? Was she kidding? College flashed in his mind, landing straight in the middle of homework, working two part-time jobs, and ROTC.
“And, if it hadn’t been for math, English, and science, I’d have nearly had a 3.0.” He laughed, then regrouped to protector mode. “What happened between middle school and college?”
“Since we’re sharing info, why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” she asked.
“That’s a need-to-know basis. You don’t need to know.” He raised his eyebrows as he shrugged. “I asked what happened between middle school and—”
“My dad just became more of an ass than when my mother was alive.” Her tone was now laced with venom. “A scholarship to UCLA got me out.”
She tilted her head in his direction, eyed him as if daring him to ask anything else. Finally, she turned back to watch the road.
Long, uncomfortable silence filled the drive. He made a note to ask Drake if he knew what had happened to her during that period in her life. This wasn’t the time to keep pressing the issue. Besides, crashing her world with what he had to tell her would be about all she could take today.
On his flight to Florida, he’d checked out her online presence. She was an award-winning journalist. One who did good research, didn’t back away from a good story, and was known for staring down anyone trying to feed her a lie. He wouldn’t.
“What did Drake tell you about all of this that’s going on?” she asked.
If he talked fast enough, they could have this all out of the way before they reached the house. “Once upon a time—”
“For all that’s holy. Now you’re going to tell me a story?”
“Yes, I’m going to tell you a story. And you’re going to pay attention. Got it?”
She crossed her arms over her seat belt. “Fine.”
After turning on one of the Sanibel side roads, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Looked clear. He eased on down the road, pacing his speed to hold back on getting to the next curve in the road.
“Close to thirty years ago, your dad was making good money working for a fast-rising tech company in the Chicago area. Gradually, he noticed some strange dealings at the company, so he shared his suspicions with Drake, his best friend from college, who’d gone into law enforcement.”
Mitch sped up once he saw his own surveillance car turn onto the road. “Drake convinced your dad to turn state’s evidence on what they thought might be some mob dealings.”
Liz nodded then looked over her shoulder and out the back window of his car. “Are we being followed?”
“The headlights you see are okay. That’s the team member who had been stationed outside the Mariner’s.”
She nodded again.
“Don’t worry, it’s the ones you don’t see who are the problem.”
“We saw the ones in the Mariner’s parking lot.” She pressed her hands against the seat belt tightened across her waist. “Seemed like a problem to me.”
“Not really. They were probably just a couple of thugs out to make a quick cash withdrawal from us. I said no.” At least that’s what he hoped. And until he knew different for sure, he was sticking to that story. Besides, once they’d crossed the bridge, there’d been no sign of the car he could have sworn had followed them from the Mariner’s parking lot.
“Finish your story,” she said, as if asking a classroom professor to repeat an assignment.
“In exchange, your dad and mom were put into the Witness Protection Program. You may have heard it called Witpro. Your family was relocated to Utah. Had some good years. There were no signs of being found, so they just lived their life. Had a baby girl they named Elizabeth. You’d have been eight—”
“My family was not in Witness Protection,” she snarled. “They’d have told me.”
“As I said, you’d have been about eight or ten the first time CT showed up at your home. And after your mother died of cancer when you were in middle school—”
“Stop it. Stop it…please.” She pumped her hands on the dashboard as she stared out the windshield. Tears made crooked paths down her cheeks. Her forehead scrunched in lines as she tightly squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
He hated parts of this job. Hated it almost as much as taking a bullet in the side. Both hurt like hell. Both left a mark on his soul.
Without thinking through his actions, he slowed the car, reached over, and laid his hand on her arm. Waited for her to regain some semblance of the woman he’d met at the Mariner’s. When she had herself under control, he sped back up.
“Look, I hate that I’m the one Drake put in charge of telling you your life story, but it’s my job,” Mitch said. “Understand?”
Nodding, she folded her lips in on themselves. “Go on. Get it over with.”
Moving his hand back to the steering wheel, he checked his rearview mirror again. “After your mother died, your dad contacted Drake. Evidently, he refused to tell you about Witpro—”
“Why?” She blotted her eyes with her fingers. Brushed her cheeks dry with the palms of her hands.
The same question kept running through his mind. “I have no idea. All I know is that he and Drake agreed to spend some vacation time together. Maybe your dad was afraid you’d be alone if something happened to him, so he brought someone he trusted into your life.”
Mitch rolled Drake’s earlier words around in his mind again. Remembered the pause when he’d asked if there was anything else. That pause had spoken millions, and he didn’t much like the conclusion he kept reaching. Drake had at least texted a few specifics on background so Mitch would be able to give Liz a few specifics. His boss might have had good reasoning behind his actions, but he’d screwed up by staying in contact with a Witpro person, especially since they’d been friends.
If any of that came out, he couldn’t begin to list the repercussions waiting to fall like bricks on his boss’s head. “So, tell me how you met Drake.”
She smiled slightly. Batted her eyes as she sucked in a breath. “After my mother died, my dad started taking the two of us on actual vacations. Once a year. Sometimes twice. We’d go to unusual places. Do unusual things. Spend time with Drake, who my dad referred to as his ‘friend from St. Louis.’ Said he was ex law enforcement turned security-firm owner.
“Anyhow, we’d all have fun. Was nice to have a little fun in my life for a change.” She paused. “One time, I asked Drake what type of security his firm handled, and he all-out ignored my question. Wouldn’t even look at me. Just grabbed his keys and took us to get ice cream instead.”
Mitch could see that happening. Last year’s OPAQUE annual get-together had had tubs and tubs of different flavors of ice cream. “Drake does like his ice cream. Especially on a hot summer day.”
“Tell me about it.” Nodding, she finally seemed at ease for the first time since they’d met. “Funny thing was, I had a scoop of chocolate chip with fudge sauce, and my dad ordered a small waffle cone with two scoops of vanilla. But Drake? He ate every last bite of an oversized banana split with four different ice cream flavors, five different syrups, whipped cream, lots”—she laughed—”with tons of maraschino cherries and extra nuts.”
Drake had done everything to help his friend during the past years. And now, everything to keep Liz safe at all costs. That spoke of his boss’s personal ethics when it came to risking his own well-being. Mitch could relate to that. Somehow, together, they’d all make this right in the end. It was the getting there that might be the problem.
She gulped a couple breaths, choked on a smile, as a tear ran down her cheek. “You know what he said?”
“What?”
“Enjoy life while you can. What if tomorrow never comes?’ That always seemed to be the way he lived, too.” Mumbling, she swiped her fingers at the runaway tear then braced her elbow on the center console. “Too bad I never remembered to live his advice.”
Reactively, he covered her hand with his own. He knew how she felt. “Hey, in hindsight, everybody has advice they wish they’d followed.”
“Even you?”
“More than you’ll ever know.” He stared at the road ahead, forced the past from his thoughts. “It’s how you live your future that matters.”
She flipped her hand over and intertwined her fingers with his. Squeezed for a couple seconds then released. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“Any time.” The warmth of her touch melded with his body’s heat. Not something he felt very often. Not something he needed in his thoughts. He moved his hand back to the steering wheel.
They were quiet after that, which was just as well. She had to process, and he had to stay alert. Some places on the island were darker than dark on moonless nights like this. Navigating Sanibel Captiva Road near the J.N. “Ding” Darling National Wildlife area could get tricky. Out of nowhere, gators and lizards and raccoons were apt to appear. First, as beady eyes in the brush. Then, full-blown critters in the middle of the road.
At least, the closer they got to the Captiva beach house, the less the traffic. Mitch knew the property well from previous times he’d used it for a safe house on assignment. It was one of OPAQUE’s places to disappear for high-profile cases.
Leaning her head against the headrest, she blew out a slow sigh. “Why would my mother agree to never telling me? And, my dad… What was he thinking?”
Her questions required answers he didn’t have, so he stayed focused on navigating the curve to Captiva Drive. “Tell me about your job. I read a couple of your recent magazine articles. They were…”
“Fluff.” She straightened in her seat. “I used to be good. Got some big awards. That was before I let the idea of big money enter into my reporting.”
“What do you mean?” He didn’t like the sound of that, but maybe he was being too cynical.
“A different publisher offered more money, so I hired on with them.” Her tone softened. “Ends up all they ever gave me were fluff articles to write. Always in Texas or Arizona or New Mexico. That was until five days ago, when I got fired for questioning my sources.”
“Shouldn’t you always question your sources?”
“That’s what I thought. Evidently, I made the mistake of asking too many questions to a big shot in town.” She steepled her fingertips together then pushed them upward and outward like an explosion. “No more job.”
“Sorry.”
She turned to the passenger window. “That’s okay. Think of the story I can write when this is all over.”
He didn’t have the heart, or guts, to tell her none of what was happening would ever be for public consumption.
Slowing, he turned into the driveway leading to the two-story salmon-colored beach house with white trim. The iron-railed upper porch, wicker furniture, and arched French doors were beautiful and inviting during a normal day. Tonight, they were a secure haven.
At least they’d made it to their refuge for the next few days without any problems. Maybe this case wasn’t as involved as Drake thought. Once he checked in with the other members of his team, he’d have a better perspective as to what he might have missed on the drive over. Keith had driven shadow behind him all the way from the Mariner’s, but lagged far enough back to not be seen. He’d know if they’d been followed.
“How long has Drake’s security group been watching me?” she asked.
“Since you landed at Fort Myers Airport.”
“You?”
“No. I was sent in special. Took me some time to get here.” He stopped the car in front of the beach house. Immediately, the front door opened, and one of his team members stepped onto the porch.
After releasing her seat belt, Liz reached for the door handle. “That’s my housekeeper.”
“Yeah, so I see. Don’t get out until I come around to your side.” Gun in hand, he stepped from the car and made his way to the passenger side. He sheltered Liz with his body as they walked the short distance straight up the steps to the front door.
Once the three of them were inside, the purported housekeeper quickly closed the door behind them, turned the lock, and checked out the peephole, before settling her gaze on Mitch. “Contact Drake. There’s been chatter from Coercion Ten.”
Liz turned her head in their direction. Not questioning. Evaluating. One corner of her mouth quirked upward, along with a barely heard grunt. The more he watched her, the more he realized how aware of her surroundings she seemed to be. Probably went along with being a journalist.
His own instincts ratcheted upward with the mention of Coercion Ten. What the hell did Liz and her dad have to do with CT?
He shoved his Glock in the shoulder holster then motioned toward the housekeeper. “By the way, Liz, this is one of our operatives.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. At this point, nothing would surprise me. Next, you’ll tell me her name isn’t Shauna,” she responded, tossing her purse onto the entry hall chair.
“That part’s true. My name really is Shauna. But everyone calls me Cat.” She held out her hand.
Liz smiled weakly as she grasped the offered hand and held. “Of course. One syllable. Fast to say.”
“I see Mitch has done the name game with you.” Cat shot him one of her classic you’re-an-ass expressions. “Probably convinced you to go by Liz instead of Elizabeth.”
He didn’t have time for chitchat, least of all if he might be the center of the conversation. “We call her Cat, because she’s deadly silent when she wants to be.”
“And graceful as a tiger when I pounce on my prey,” she stated with pride.
“Yeah, there’s that, too.” He snarled.
Cat pointed toward the dining room. “I set your equip bag on the table.”
“Thanks. First I need to call Drake.” Mitch turned and walked away. “See what you can do to make the client look different.”