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- Herausgeber: Orenda Books
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: Lori Anderson
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
With her lover, JT, behind bars and heading for death row, single-mother Florida bounty-hunter Lori Anderson takes on an off-the-books job that could threaten everything…'A real cracker' Mark Billingham'My kind of book' Lee Child'Like Midnight Run, but much darker … really, really good' Ian RankinA web of lies. A killer on the run. An impossible choice…Single-mother Florida bounty hunter Lori Anderson's got an ocean of trouble on her hands. Her daughter Dakota is safe, but the little girl's cancer is threatening a comeback, and Lori needs JT – Dakota's daddy and the man who taught Lori everything – alive and kicking. Problem is, he's behind bars, and heading for death row.Desperate to save him, Lori does a deal, taking on off-the-books job from shady FBI agent Alex Monroe. Bring back on-the-run felon, Gibson 'The Fish' Fletcher, and JT walks free.This is one job she's got to get right, or she'll lose everything…Breathlessly paced, and bursting with high-voltage action and edge-of-your-seat jeopardy, Deep Blue Trouble is the unmissable next instalment of the Lori Anderson series, featuring one of the most memorable and fearless female characters in crime fiction.Praise for the Lori Anderson Series'This is romping entertainment that moves faster than a bullet' Jake Kerridge, Sunday Express'If you like your action to race away at full tilt, then this whirlwind of a thriller is a must' Deirdre O'Brien, Sunday People'Stripper-turned-bounty hunter Lori, with her sickly young daughter in tow, gets into high-octane escapes when she sets out to bring her former lover and mentor to justice. Lively' Sunday Times'The non-stop twists and turns … draw in readers like a magnet and keep them hooked to the action right up to the emotional conclusion' Burnley Gazette'Sultry and suspenseful, it marks a welcome first vow for an exceptional new voice' Good Reading Magazine'Gripping, entertaining and utterly addictive, this is a cracking start to an enthralling new crime series…' Lancashire Evening Post'Suspense, action, romance, danger and a plot that will keep you reading into the wee small hours. I loved it' Lisa Gray, Daily Record'Fresh, fast and zinging with energy' Sunday Mirror' Readers will cheer her every step of the way' Publishers Weekly'A whole hell of a lot of fun' New Books Magazine'Fresh, compelling and beautifully written' S.J.I. Holliday'Fast-paced, engaging and hugely entertaining' Simon Toyne'Brilliant and pacey' Steve Cavanagh'Excitement and exhilaration flies off every page' David Young'A hell of a thriller' Mason Cross'A series that will run and run' Howard Linskey'A blistering debut' Neil Broadfoot'If you love romantic suspense, you'll love this ride' Alexandra Sokoloff'Deft and assured' Chris Whitaker'A stunning debut from a major new talent' Zoë Sharp'Delivers thrills at breakneck pace' Marnie Riches'One of my favourite debut novels for a long, long time' Luca Veste'A gritty debut that will appeal to Sue Grafton fans' Caroline Green'Great action scenes and great atmosphere' C.J. Carver'Crazy good … full-tilt action and a brilliant cast of characters' Yrsa Sigurđardóttir'Quite simply one of the best debut novels I have ever read' Angela Marsons
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PRAISE FOR STEPH BROADRIBB
Shortlisted for two Dead Good Reader Awards: The Kathy Reichs Award for Fearless Female Character and The Cat Amongst the Pigeons Award for Most Exceptional Debut
‘Lori Anderson is back with a bang in Deep Blue Trouble – a sharply written, fast-paced thriller with bucket loads of heart. With a heroine who jumps off the page and a fantastic supporting cast, this series is a sure-fire winner for anyone with a pulse’ Susi Holliday
‘This is romping entertainment that moves faster than a bullet’ Jake Kerridge, Sunday Express
‘If you like your action to race away at full tilt, then this whirlwind of a thriller is a must’ Deirdre O’Brien, Sunday People
‘With convincing, gritty local detail, unflinching violence, and a subplot of red-hot romance, all narrated by a likeable, fast-talking heroine, this punchy and powerful adventure will leave you wanting more’ The Mirror
‘Stripper-turned-bounty hunter Lori, with her sickly young daughter in tow, gets into high-octane escapes when she sets out to bring her former lover and mentor to justice. Lively’ The Sunday Times
‘The non-stop twists and turns draw in readers like a magnet and keep them hooked to the action right up to the emotional conclusion’ Burnley Gazette
‘Sultry and suspenseful, it marks a welcome first for an exceptional new voice’ Good Reading Magazine
‘Gripping, entertaining and utterly addictive, this is a cracking start to an enthralling new crime series’ Lancashire Evening Post
‘Fast, confident and suspenseful’ Lee Child
‘Like Midnight Run, but much darker … really, really good’ Ian Rankin
‘A real cracker … Steph Broadribb kicks ass, as does her ace protagonist’ Mark Billingham
‘Pacey, emotive and captivating, this is kick-ass thriller writing of the highest order’ Rod Reynolds
‘A relentless page-turner with twists and turns that left me breathless’ J.S. Law
‘Fast-paced, engaging and hugely entertaining’ Simon Toyne
‘Brilliant and pacey’ Steve Cavanagh
‘Excitement and exhilaration flies off every page’ David Young
‘An explosive, exciting debut’ David Mark
‘A hell of a thriller’ Mason Cross
‘A setting that zings with authenticity’ Anya Lipska
‘Fast, furious and thrilling’ Graeme Cameron
‘A series that will run and run’ Howard Linskey
‘A blistering debut’ Neil Broadfoot
‘If you love romantic suspense, you’ll love this ride’ Alexandra Sokoloff
‘Deft and assured’ Chris Whitaker
‘A stunning debut from a major new talent’ Zoë Sharp
‘Perfect for fans of Lee Child and Janet Evanovich’ Alex Caan
‘Powerful, passionate and packs a real punch’ Fergus McNeill
‘Delivers thrills at breakneck pace’ Marnie Riches
‘Assured and emotionally moving’ Daniel Pembrey
‘Crying out to be a Hollywood movie’ Louise Voss
‘High-octane and breathlessly paced’ Ava Marsh
‘One of my favourite debut novels for a long, long time’ Luca Veste
‘A fast-talking, gun-toting heroine with a heart of gold’ Claire Seeber
‘A top crime talent! Unputdownable’ Helen Cadbury
‘Relentless, breathtaking and emotionally charged’ Jane Isaac
‘A gritty debut that will appeal to Sue Grafton fans’ Caroline Green
‘Great action scenes and great atmosphere’ C.J. Carver
‘Crazy good … full-tilt action and a brilliant cast of characters’ Yrsa Sigurđardóttir
‘Broadribb’s writing is fresh and vivid, crackling with life … Deep Down Dead is an impressive thriller, the kind of book that comfortably sits alongside seasoned pros’ Craig Sisterson
‘Fast-paced, zipping around the South Eastern US with chases, fights, ambushes and desperate escapes … It feels realistic and not over the top … there’s a sensitivity in the telling of Lori’s struggle to save her daughter that gives Deep Down Dead a bit more depth than other action thrillers’ Crime Fiction Lover
‘If you want an adrenaline rush of escapism, look no further. Deep Down Dead is an explosive, gun-slinging, fast-paced read that left me wanting more’ LoveReading
‘Steph Broadribb deals with the topical issues of child exploitation and sexual abuse with an intensity and maturity that leaves you gasping and with your heart in your mouth’ Shots Mag
‘Once I began reading Deep Down Dead I knew I was reading something special … might just be my favourite debut novel ever’ Book Addict Shaun
‘An action thriller with heart and compassion, combining the darkness of film noir with a family story and the ruggedness of a Western’ Finding Time to Write
‘Perfectly paced. Edgy. Tense and with a lead character you will want to root for. Deep Down Dead … will grip you as it has that elusive “one more chapter” magic’ Grab This Book
‘With constant twists and turns … a wealth of characters … Explosive action and a heroine who is absolutely perfect … Deep Down Dead is a cracker’ Random Things Through My Letter Box
‘A very engaging and exhilarating read … If you’re a fan of high octane thrillers you won’t want to miss this electrifying debut’ Novel Gossip
‘Deep Down Dead is pure entertainment. It has action, suspense, a touch of romance … and a cliffhanger ending that left me desperate for more … completely immersive and addictive’ Crime By The Book
‘A steadfast page turner of a first novel and if she can keep this up for the next couple of books she’ll set herself up as a force to be reckoned with’ The Library Door
‘Steph Broadribb has really blown my mind … the reader’s imagination is instantly grabbed hold of and dragged … onto a Hollywood set’ Swirl & Thread
‘Broadribb writes like she has been doing this for years. She has that special *something* that some authors may spend a lifetime trying to find’ P Turners Book Blog
‘I just loved it. Broadribb excels at creating atmosphere. She gives Lori a distinctive voice and makes you want to listen to her’ Blue Book Balloon
‘This is the book that every other book has to beat this year to become my favourite read of 2017 … Superb’ Damp Pebbles
‘It’s hard to believe that Deep Down Dead is Steph Broadribb’s debut novel … a slick, fast-moving race against time with a whip-smart sassy female bounty hunter’ Nut Press
‘Deep Down Dead takes the reader on a tumultuous, frenetic ride, one where the pace never lets up’ From First Page To Last
‘This is a fast-moving, adrenaline rush of a story with a relatable protagonist who it is hard not to cheer along … As you turn those pages, remember to breath’ Never Imitate
‘There’s some great debuts out there, but Deep Down Dead … is superb. Hard to believe its her first’ Neil White
‘Deep Down Dead is an ass-kicking thriller of the highest order. I can’t recommend it highly enough!’ Bibliophile Book Club
‘A fast-paced, nail-biting, hard-hitting novel which not only takes you on an all guns blazing action adventure but will also take you through the emotional ringer’ Chillers, Killers and Thrillers
‘This is abso-fluffing-lutely blinkin’ brilliant. Fast paced, high-octane action and with great characters’ Jen Med’s Book Reviews
‘Steph has delivered a *great* thriller, steeped in Americana with settings and characters which feel completely authentic and with a plot which insists that you don’t put it down’ Espresso Coco
‘Once you start reading this book, you won’t be able to stop’ Mrs Bloggs Books
Deep Blue Trouble
Steph Broadribb
To Karen, for everything
Kick-ass female. Publishing marvel. Amazing friend.
Contents
Prologue
They met just before dawn in the unremarkable parking lot of an out-of-town motel. Dodge arrived in his sedan dead on five forty-five; the man in the convertible showed a few minutes later. They parked hood to trunk, driver’s-side windows level. Neither wanted to get out.
The man in the convertible rested his elbow on the top of the door and leaned towards the sedan. His body language made it clear that he believed he was in charge. He had a sporty ride, better-cut suit and designer shades. He spoke with the authority of a man used to getting what he wanted. ‘Have you decided?’
Dodge chewed his gum real slow. Nodded. He spoke no more than was necessary – he was too smart and too cautious for chit-chat. He’d taken the job because it paid four times more than his usual commission, but that didn’t mean he trusted the man in the shades, not even a little.
‘Good.’ The showy guy took an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it out the window. ‘Half up front, as we agreed.’
Dodge took the envelope and slipped it inside his jacket. He was old school, didn’t like bank transfers and online whatnots. Cash was better. Less chance of being traced, getting identified. His business thrived on anonymity and he guarded his own fiercely.
‘Not going to count it?’
Dodge kept chewing the gum, a slow rhythmic grind. Shook his head. There was no need. The showy guy had been less careful about his anonymity. He’d sent emails to one of the many intermediary addresses. Lots of emails, with specific details. They knew everything about this man. They could get to him fast and easy, and if the money wasn’t right, retribution would be swift.
‘You don’t say much, do you?’
‘No,’ replied Dodge.
‘Don’t let them get too close,’ said the showy guy. He shifted in his seat and lowered his elbow from the convertible’s door; subtle signs he was getting spooked.
It didn’t surprise Dodge none, people usually got twitchy after handing over the money. It tended to be the moment reality hit them; when the guilt of what they’d put in motion kicked in. Not this guy though. He doubted this guy felt anything. It was something about the look in the man’s eyes, barely visible behind the tint of the shades, but still somehow empty and hollow.
Killing could do that to a man. Dodge recalled the pictures he’d been shown of the yacht’s interior: fresh blood splatter across a page of Vogue magazine; bloody fingermarks smudged on a half-completed Sudoku puzzle; two bodies – one male, one female – punctured with bullet holes; a child’s ragdoll saturated with blood.
‘Timeframe?’ asked the man in the convertible.
Dodge hated that question. It was impossible to be specific when so many variables were in play. ‘It takes as long as it takes.’ He glanced at the sky. The sun had started to rise. It was time to leave. He looked back at the man. ‘There’s a woman in the mix now – a hired professional. She could be a problem.’
The man grimaced. His voice was hard and cold as granite when he spoke. ‘Watch her. If she gets too close, end her.’
Dodge kept his expression solemn. Chewed the gum in the same steady rhythm. Nodded again. ‘Whatever it takes.’
1
‘If he’s so innocent, tell me why he confessed to multiple homicide?’
Special Agent Alex Monroe kept asking me the question. He looked real pissed, like I’d messed with him bad, yet he knew what’d happened on my last job right from the get-go. We were supposed to be confirming the details of a new, off-the-books job I’d agreed to do for him; instead, he seemed fixated on the recent past.
‘I told you already.’
Monroe ran a hand over his unruly brown hair. ‘You told me a version of what happened, but from the way Tate tells it, things went down a whole lot different.’
‘He’s lying.’
‘One of you is for sure.’ Monroe looked at me over the top of his shades. Frowned. ‘You want the deal we made to hold? Then convince me I’m not exchanging one killer on the loose for another.’
I looked away, across the coffee house to where my nine-year-old daughter, Dakota, was sitting cross-legged on a beanbag chair, reading a book about horses as she sucked her strawberry milkshake through a straw. The bruising across her left cheekbone had faded from blue-black to yellow-tinged purple. I knew it’d take a damn sight longer for the horrors of the previous week to pale, but she was alive; we all were. If James Robert Tate – JT – hadn’t been with us, none of us might have survived to tell any kind of version of the truth.
‘It’s not right for JT to take the fall,’ I said. ‘He didn’t kill those people.’
‘Convince me.’
I sighed. ‘When I took the job to fetch him back from West Virginia I hadn’t seen Tate in ten years. It was supposed to be easy money – just a collect and deliver.’
Monroe nodded. ‘I’ve seen the job details. Tell me, the two of you were real cosy back in the day. What happened?’
I held Monroe’s gaze. Knew he was trying to figure out the nature of our relationship. I could tell him in two words – damn complicated. Ten years ago JT had trained me to be a bounty hunter and we’d become lovers. Then it all went to shit.
Monroe cleared his throat. Sounded impatient. ‘Did you fall out?’
I looked down into my mug, swirled the dregs of my Americano around the bottom. Old Man Bonchese, the head of the Miami Mob, believed JT was responsible for the disappearance of Thomas ‘Tommy’ Ford – my husband, the Old Man’s enforcer, a man he thought of like a son. But the Old Man didn’t know the half of it. JT wasn’t the cause of Tommy’s disappearance; I was. Tommy murdered my best friend and, when I’d tried to take him in for it, he’d taunted me, threatened me, and I’d shot him dead at point-blank range. JT helped me hide his body, and we’d split soon after. Until the previous week I hadn’t known he’d taken the blame and lived with a price on his head, exiled from Florida by the Old Man, for ten years. I hadn’t spoken to JT in all that time, not even to tell him we had a daughter.
I looked back at Monroe. ‘We had a professional disagreement.’
‘But you’re backing him now. Why?’
I said nothing. I was fed up with going over it. What I needed right then was for JT to be free and out of danger. With him locked up in the Three Lakes Detention Facility the Miami Mob could reach him, kill him and get their revenge real easy.
Monroe looked irritated. ‘You came to me, don’t forget that.’
It was true. What should have been an easy job had turned out to be anything but, due to JT having been framed by a man named Randall Emerson – an amusement-park owner who made kiddie porn to order. When Emerson’s henchmen kidnapped Dakota we were forced to take the law into our own hands to get her safe, and the damage and body count kept on rising. That the Miami Mob had been gunning hard for JT as well had added a further complication. ‘We did what had to be done.’
Monroe raised an eyebrow. ‘We?’
I knew what he was implying. JT hadn’t been my prisoner the whole time, even though it’d started out that way. We’d gotten close again – emotionally and physically. I’d trusted him. We got Dakota back, brought Emerson to a rough kind of justice – one that meant he’d never harm another child – and then I’d had to take JT to jail in order to get the bond percentage that would help me pay some of the sky-high medical bills Dakota’s leukaemia had racked up. That’s when JT’d been charged with multiple homicide.
Monroe had offered me a way to clear JT’s name, and what with the DA saying they’d go hard for the death penalty, I’d been all kinds of desperate to get JT free. Without Monroe’s help, our only chance would be for the state trooper shot by Emerson’s man to wake from his coma and say JT was innocent. That didn’t seem likely real soon. I held Monroe’s gaze. Shrugged. ‘It’s just a turn of phrase.’
Monroe shook his head. ‘He’s confessed, and he looks guilty as hell.’
‘But he isn’t.’ I balled my hands into a fist. JT wasn’t supposed to take the fall. He was meant to stay silent. But if he’d confessed to things he’d never done I could guess why: he wanted to stop any blame falling on me, to make sure his daughter stayed with her momma. By confessing to stuff he hadn’t done, he thought he was keeping us safe.
He was wrong.
Ever since we’d split I’d been so determined to be independent, to prove I didn’t need a man to take care of me, be responsible for me, that I’d not told him about Dakota’s illness. Even when she was sick I kept putting off contacting him, telling myself I’d do it just as soon as she needed a donor – if she needed a donor. So I’d never told him about the cancer or that, if it returned, she’d need a bone-marrow transplant. Or that, as I’d already been tested and failed to be a compatible match, he, as Dakota’s father, would be her best chance of life. I realised now how selfish I’d been, but the mashed-up emotions of love and fear oftentimes threatened to overwhelm me. They made me vulnerable and I hated that. But still I regretted not telling him about Dakota’s condition. She needed him alive. I needed him alive. I couldn’t let him be sent to the electric chair.
So there was no way out. I’d studied it every which way and come up with a big fat zero. We might have been sitting there all civilised in that brightly lit coffee place, but metaphorically Monroe had backed me against the fence of the corral, ready to sack me out and get me broke. There was no play to be had. I was all out of options. I needed the deal.
‘Look, enough with the navel gazing,’ I said. ‘Let’s do this. You going to get me to sign something?’
Monroe pushed his shades up onto the top of his head. ‘Nope. You get our guy, your service gets recognised, and I’ll get Tate free. Screw up, and you’re on your own.’
Get their guy, not mine – Gibson ‘the Fish’ Fletcher. He’d been serving triple life in supermax until the previous week. After an emergency transfer to hospital for a bust appendix, he’d gotten free – killed three guards and disappeared. Monroe thought, because I’d caught Fletcher before, one time when he’d skipped bail, I could catch him again. I guessed it was probably true. Thing was, back when I’d caught him the worst I thought he’d done was some high-value thieving. The double homicide he’d been charged with – and found guilty of later – wasn’t a part of that bond ticket.
‘It’s high risk.’
Monroe shrugged. ‘It is what it is.’
I studied Monroe for a long moment. His words were don’t-give-a-damn tough, but there was a nervousness in his expression, different to his usual Kentucky cool. Seemed he needed me on the job, so perhaps there was a play to be had here after all.
I narrowed my gaze. ‘Before I do this, I want to see him.’
Monroe didn’t answer. He took a mouthful of coffee and swallowed it slowly. We both knew it was a stalling tactic. ‘Not going to happen.’
‘You’ve made me a deal that isn’t even written on a piece of paper. A deal I’m going to risk my life for.’ I glanced over at Dakota. She was still reading the horse book, her milkshake almost finished. ‘That deal means I’ve got to leave my daughter right after all the shit that just happened. The least you can do is give me and JT a little bit of time.’
Monroe’s jaw tightened. ‘It’s been three days already. Meantime Fletcher is still in the wind. I need you on him as of now.’
‘Tomorrow. I’ll start then, just so long as you get me a visit.’
‘Goddammit, Lori.’
I held his gaze. Didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.
Monroe exhaled hard. Flipped his shades back down over his eyes and stood up to go. ‘Fine. No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.’
‘There’s something else you should know.’
Monroe turned back to face me.
‘I think I’m being followed.’
2
I checked the rear-view mirror. The black SUV was still there. I inhaled slow, trying to keep my heart rate steady. Looked across at Dakota sitting in the passenger seat and forced a smile; didn’t want her to see I was worried.
But I was worried, real worried. The SUV had been tailing us for seven miles. I’d seen it idling at the side of the street as we turned out of the parking garage of our Clearwater Village apartment. They’d pulled out when we were five cars clear, and stayed at that distance ever since. No faster, no slower, no jostling for position like the other vehicles on the freeway. And they’d made no obvious moves; that’s why they stood out as suspicious.
Monroe hadn’t put any store in my concerns, but that didn’t mean I was wrong. That black SUV was following us, I just didn’t know why. My chest tightened as fear gripped me. After all that had gone down in the past week, I could not allow my daughter to get caught up in another dangerous situation.
Pulling across the freeway, I accelerated. Knew I needed to get rid of the tail before we got closer to our destination – Camp Gilyhinde. I’d figured the kid’s summer camp would be the perfect place for Dakota to stay while I was hunting down Gibson Fletcher; somewhere she’d be kept safe from danger. But that safety would be shot to shit if I couldn’t lose the tail.
Five cars behind us, the SUV pulled into our lane and matched our pace. My stomach lurched. I was going to have to take more evasive action.
I looked at the navigator on the dash, assessing my options. Glancing at Dakota, I tried to keep my tone light as I said, ‘I think I’ve found us a cut-through, might save some time.’
She said nothing. Stayed slumped in the passenger seat with her arms folded across her stomach, her eyes staring straight ahead, very pointedly ignoring me. The thing of it was, she didn’t want to go to camp.
‘Look honey, it’ll only be a few weeks. Three at the most,’ I said. In truth I’d no clue how long it’d take to hunt down Fletcher. It’d been hard enough getting Dakota a late entry to camp. Harder still to have them believe me when I warned them about her bruises and how she’d gotten them. In the end, I’d enlisted Monroe’s help, pacified them with his FBI credentials. ‘You’ll have fun, and I’ll be back before you know it.’
Dakota leaned forwards and turned up the volume on the radio.
I clenched my jaw. Looked in the rear-view mirror again. The SUV remained five cars behind.
Gripping the wheel tighter, I pressed the gas and set us head-to-head with a huge eighteen-wheeler. I assessed the distance to the next exit ramp and planned my next move. I’d have one shot at it. I had to get it right; it was all in the timing.
I turned down the radio, looked at Dakota, my concern making my tone sound harsher than I’d intended when I said, ‘Sit up straight.’
Dakota glared at me, rolling her eyes. ‘Why are you leaving JT in jail? He’s not a bad man.’
We were three hundred yards from the exit ramp. I glanced at Dakota again. ‘Because I have a job.’
‘That sucks.’
She was right. It did. So I didn’t pick her up on the cuss, not this time. ‘I wouldn’t be going if it wasn’t super important.’
‘I don’t get why you’re going. It’s like you don’t even care.’
‘I care.’ We were two hundred yards from the ramp. The SUV was five lengths behind us. We were neck and neck with the eighteen-wheeler. I needed to focus.
Dakota turned to me, pouting. ‘Then why are you leaving?’
I didn’t answer. We were a hundred yards from the ramp and closing. I accelerated harder and nosed ahead of the eighteen-wheeler. Concentrated on the speed, holding hard for the perfect angle. Kept my breathing regular.
‘Momma?’
‘Hold on,’ I said, flooring the gas. We shot a length ahead of the truck and I yanked the wheel hard, turning across its path, my focus on the exit ramp. The tyres squealed on the blacktop. Dakota shrieked. The truck driver blared his horn as we cut across him. No warning, no blinker, and barely an inch to spare.
I checked the mirror. The black SUV was blocked by the eighteen-wheeler and a pick-up truck; it couldn’t switch lanes in time. It didn’t make the ramp.
We were free and clear.
I exhaled hard.
‘Momma … what … why did you…?’
‘Sorry, I nearly missed our exit.’
Dakota narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe me. Sounded sad as she said, ‘Won’t you tell me why you’re really going?’
There’s nothing harder than saying goodbye to your child, especially when you’ve just gotten her back. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her. I wanted to bind her to me and never let her out of my sight, but I couldn’t. What with tracking the fugitive – Gibson ‘the Fish’ Fletcher – for Monroe, and the mystery tail I seemed to have picked up, I figured she’d be a hell of a lot safer at camp than she would be with me.
I was too choked with emotion to answer her. Checked the mirror – no black SUV.
She put her hand on my arm. Squeezed it a little. ‘Please?’
I looked over at her. Nodded. Back when she was little I promised I’d always be straight with her. I, more than anyone, knew the hurt that could come from secrets; the damage and the danger they caused. ‘The truth of it is, JT’s in big trouble. The cops have him charged with murder and the only way for me to help him is to do this job as a favour to an important lawman who can help JT.’
Dakota’s eyes widened. Her lower lip trembled. ‘Murder? That means he could get—’
‘I can’t let that happen.’ I cut her off. Couldn’t hear her say the words death penalty. ‘That’s why I have to go.’
3
It wasn’t the most romantic of settings, but then I’ve never been a candles and roses kind of a girl. Armed guards, metal doors and security cameras do create a certain type of ambience, but it was nothing that I hadn’t handled before in my line of work. As a bail runner, you get familiar with the county’s law enforcement facilities. Still, going to that place to visit with JT made it feel real different. Personal. That time, I felt afraid.
Monroe had pulled strings and gotten me a visit at the Three Lakes Detention Facility faster than the usual seven-day wait. He made sure we were given a private visiting room, and for that I was grateful. Me and JT, we had a whole bunch of things to talk about, and I knew some of that conversation wouldn’t come easy.
‘Take good care of our daughter, you hear.’ They’d been the last words JT had spoken to me before the cops took him into custody. Eight words that told me he’d guessed the truth about Dakota, said in a moment that gave me no chance to explain. That’d been four days ago – a long time to think on the things I should have said.
But even now I still hadn’t managed to wrestle the words I’d rehearsed so they fitted together right. Yes, he had a daughter. We had a nine-year-old daughter; and I hadn’t told him. I’d decided before she was born that I’d never tell him. And, if it hadn’t been for my last job bringing us back into contact after ten years apart, he still wouldn’t know.
The sound of the door unlocking behind me jolted me from my thoughts. I turned and saw the guard – a younger guy, as tall as JT but maybe twenty pounds heavier – step into the room. He nodded towards the table and two chairs bolted to the floor in the centre of the space. ‘Take a seat, ma’am.’
I did as he asked. The guard pushed the door open wider and nodded. JT limped into the room.
He wore a grey sweater and training pants. Fresh bruises, in dark, eggplant shades of purple, were layered over the yellowing ones he’d got as we fought off Emerson and his men, determined to get Dakota safe whatever the cost. ‘What happened to your—’
‘It’s nothing,’ he said, sitting down.
I reached out to touch JT’s face. ‘Looks like a damn hard dose of nothing.’
The guard cleared his throat. ‘No contact, ma’am.’
I put my hand back on the table.
As JT eased himself back in the chair his gaze didn’t quite meet mine. Trouble had found him again for sure. The price on his head set by Old Man Bonchese – head of the Miami Mob – was still in force, so even if JT wasn’t speaking about it, as long as he was in jail, he would be in danger. There’d be plenty of people inside loyal to the Old Man.
‘Why’d you come here, Lori?’ he said. His tone sounded defeated rather than angry. I hadn’t expected that.
‘I needed to see you.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, gesturing to his face, and the arm he was holding all protective across his ribs. ‘Sure looks that way.’
He stared at me. Stayed silent. I couldn’t read his expression, but truth was he didn’t seem pleased to see me. I felt tension tightening at the base of my throat. Thought we’d gotten close again on those three days chasing Dakota’s abductors across the South. We’d gotten physical, and at the time it’d felt like it meant something to the both of us. I wondered if I’d made a mistake.
‘I’ve made a deal.’
He frowned. ‘Tell me.’
So, I told him what Monroe wanted me to do – about catching Gibson Fletcher – and why I’d agreed to do it, for the most part anyways. All the while JT stared at me, his expression unreadable.
‘So that’s the deal. I find Fletcher. Monroe gets you free.’
JT raked his hands through his dirty-blond hair, pushing it back from his face before letting it fall shaggy across his forehead again. He shook his head. ‘Walk away from this, Lori.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘You’ve got Dakota. You can’t take the risk, not now. Not for me.’
‘I can, and I will.’
‘I don’t want you to.’
‘It’s not up to—’
‘You only just got her safe.’ His tone was no-nonsense tough. ‘She had a hell of a shake-up – getting snatched by Emerson’s men, being held prisoner and watching a man die, almost drowning as Emerson’s boat sank into that swamp.’ He held my gaze. ‘Meeting me.’
I looked down at the table. Traced the cracks in the plastic laminate with my gaze. ‘The DA’s talking about going for the death penalty, making you his career case. I can’t let that happen. I had to get Monroe to—’
‘I didn’t ask for you to do that.’
‘You didn’t need to.’
He sighed.
‘I don’t get why you’re taking the fall. We had a plan, so why confess to a bunch of things that weren’t your fault? Why are you lying?’
JT flicked his gaze towards the guard and gave a tiny shake of his head.
Never trust no one. That was JT’s first rule. Either he didn’t want to speak on it, or the men inside loyal to Old Man Bonchese included some of the guards. From the way JT was acting, I figured what we had going on was most likely a half of both.
Frustration and the fear of what would happen next fireworked in my stomach. I slammed my hands down on the table. Watched the plastic top vibrate from the blow. Wanted more than a one-liner-style conversation, and needed JT to answer me straight. The stakes were top-dollar high; there wasn’t room for ambiguity. ‘Enough of the silent act already.’
He slid his hands across the table towards mine, stopping them so our fingertips were a couple inches apart. ‘How’s Dakota?’ he asked, his tone softer.
I exhaled hard. ‘Honestly? Not so great. She won’t talk about what happened.’
‘I get that. Those three days, they were a whole lot for anyone to deal with, and she’s just a kid.’ He looked real thoughtful. ‘But she’s strong, like her momma. You give her time. She’ll talk when she’s ready.’
I nodded. I knew he was right, I’d been telling myself the same thing, but it didn’t make it any easier.
I looked into his eyes. ‘What you said before, about Dakota being your—’
‘Don’t, Lori. Okay? Not here, not now.’
I stared at him. Thought about telling him why I’d never told him about his daughter; that it was easier to rely on myself because, in my experience, men always let you down; better to never depend on them in the first place. I knew I should tell him about her illness; about how, although she was in remission, there was the ever-present threat that the cancer could return, about how, if she needed a bone-marrow donor, he would be her best shot at a match because I wasn’t a viable candidate. But I didn’t want that conversation to be this way: him with his barriers up, me all angry and confused. So I said nothing.
He exhaled hard. ‘You should go.’
‘I only just got—’
‘You coming here, it ain’t right.’ He sounded real determined. ‘Go, Lori. Please.’
His rejection stung like a bitch, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to show the hurt. ‘I’m doing this to get you out faster. To stop them—’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to take the deal.’
‘Yeah, I hear that.’ I felt the anger building inside me. Pushed my hands against the table and stood up real fast. ‘But it doesn’t mean I’m going to listen none.’
I strode away from JT. Left him sitting in that dreary box of a room with the table and chairs bolted to the floor. As I passed the guard he nodded. I tried real hard to ignore the pity in his eyes.
I went back through the security checks and the airlock doors in a daze. I was taking the deal, whatever JT said. It was the right thing to do, the necessary action to take. And sure, I knew I should have told him about Dakota’s illness, but he frustrated the hell out of me. I didn’t have time for his strong-and-silent bullshit; I needed him alive, for our daughter’s sake, and I was going to make damn sure that happened. Everything else, I would just have to leave to fate.
The final set of doors clanked shut behind me and I emerged blinking into the sunlight. I inhaled the fresh, hot air – it sure tasted a whole lot sweeter than the stale environment of the detention-centre compound. The image of JT, battered and bruised in his jail-issue sweats, floated into my mind. I pushed it away, fought the urge to feel sorry for him, knowing I had to stay strong. I’d got work to do.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I was almost at my truck when I noticed. My breath caught in the back of my throat. I halted. Looked around.
The driver’s door was open.
I drew my Taser from its holster and stepped towards the truck. Scanned the area for signs of life.
Saw nothing.
What the hell was going on?
4
The mutterings had started the second day JT was there. Nothing concrete, just rumours relayed to him during exercise, always by the more squirrelly, nervous types, looking to get in with the hard men for protection.
‘There’s a price on your head.’
For sure, tell me something I don’t know.
‘Price just got doubled.’
Just means the more stupid of you will try your luck.
‘They’re saying you didn’t kill Thomas Ford. They’re saying a woman did it.’
He’d said nothing. Walked away. Clenched his jaw so tight his teeth started aching. Pretty soon the fidgety, anxious types left him alone. Realised he wasn’t going to give them protection. That he didn’t pick favourites. That he kept himself to himself.
He didn’t go looking for trouble. Made a habit of that, just like when he was on the outside. But if someone else chose to start something, he sure as hell would be the one finishing it. He’d said that to the few who’d gotten all up in his face. Seemed that they hadn’t believed him.
He looked at his knuckles, purple and black against the grey marl of his sweatpants. Remembered the look on Lori’s face when he’d batted away her questions about the bruises – hurt and confusion, mixed with irritation. He knew that if he’d answered she’d have fired more questions at him. Questions whose answers he wouldn’t have wanted to say in that room; answers for no one else to hear but her. Given the situation, it had been better to say nothing.
He flexed his fingers. Winced. Knew it’d be a couple of days before the swelling went down.
Trouble had found him a couple of hours before Lori’s visit. The cells had unlocked for morning exercise and his cellmate, who snored like a hurricane but was bearable enough, scooted out fast. Moments later two guys – one tall and stringy, one heavy-set and bulky, both shaven-headed – entered his space. They looked wired, ready for action.
‘What?’ JT had said. He’d stayed sitting on his bunk. Acted casual.
The stringy one spoke first, his voice nasal with a whiny twang. ‘Word is you been killing our brothers. Started with Thomas Ford.’
JT didn’t respond. Kept his expression neutral, showing no reaction to the name of Lori’s former husband, the man she’d killed. A murder JT had covered up ten years before.
The stringy guy continued, ‘Gunner Zamb. Richie Royston. Johnny Matthews.’
JT recognised the names – soldiers from the Miami Mob. They’d held him captive in West Virginia the previous week, waiting for Ugi Nolfi, one of Old Man Bonchese’s top enforcers, to come collect him. Lori had bust him out before Ugi arrived. They’d left the three men tied up and alive.
‘They were still breathing when I left the ranch.’
Stringy glanced at the heavy-set guy then back to JT. ‘What about Ugo Nolfi? Heard you left him shot up in an amusement park. That’s kind of sick.’
JT clenched his jaw. Ugo Nolfi had been a good guy. They’d talked and struck a deal, but Ugo had been shot by Emerson’s henchmen before he could tell the Old Man. ‘Not me.’
The heavy-set one cocked his head to the side. ‘Not you, huh? So tell us about the bitch.’
JT clenched his fists. He wouldn’t tell them shit about Lori. ‘Don’t start something you can’t finish.’
They didn’t take the warning. The skinny one grinned. Cracked his knuckles. After that JT knew it could only end one way. He was going to have to fight.
Two guys were easy. Like a walk in the park on a Sunday, even with him still bashed up after the business that went down with Emerson. Even though the bullet wound in his thigh wasn’t fully healed. Hadn’t mattered. Two men, one of him – a quick one-two to the heavy-set one to get him dazed; an uppercut and roundhouse to the stringy one, and he went down. The first came back for a little more, and a triple right hook finished him off.
JT doubted either got more than a single punch in but he didn’t feel bad. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t warned them. He lived by the motto: You throw the first punch, it’ll be me that throws the last.
He could take care of himself, always had and always would. But Old Man Bonchese’s men were asking about Lori. They’d linked her and the killings, and that made him real twitchy. Because, problem was, now they’d connected her name to the Mob men who’d died, JT knew it wouldn’t end there. And from the inside of a jail cell there was nothing he could do to keep her safe.
5
‘Did they take much?’ Monroe slid onto the bench beside me and held out an iced tea. It felt like a peace offering of sorts, showing he was taking my concerns about being followed more seriously, now that it was too damn late.
I took the go cup, shook my head. ‘They’d tossed my stuff, but nothing was missing.’
‘We swept it for bugs. Found this.’ He passed me a black box, a couple of inches long by a half-inch wide. ‘They’d stuck it way back under the dash.’
‘A GPS tracker?’ I guessed that explained why I’d seen no sign of a tail when I’d left my apartment that morning. They could track me on-screen, no need for a visual. ‘Why’d they break in? Why not just use a magnetic one under the wheel arch?’
He shrugged. ‘Could be they thought you’d be less likely to find it inside. Guess you coming out of your visit early surprised them and they had to abandon the vehicle before they’d finished.’
‘You heard about that?’
‘My contact told me you stayed less than a half-hour…’
‘Yep.’
‘You get what you needed?’
I took a sip of the iced tea. Had I got what I needed from my meet with JT? No, not even close, but that shouldn’t have been a surprise. No good ever came from dreaming on a man, I knew that, but the thing was, I’d let myself get caught up in the moment, thinking on the possibility of some kind of happy ever after. I knew it was fantasy – some bullshit peddled by hopeless romantics and greeting-card sellers. The best I could hope for was guaranteeing a straight plain after for JT, and so safeguarding one for Dakota.
I met Monroe’s gaze. ‘I told him about our deal.’
Monroe nodded. ‘So you’re ready?’
I studied him a moment. He was wearing his trademark shades, which made his expression hard to judge. His suit looked a little more crumpled than usual. I wondered why he’d chosen this spot on the edge of Palatlakaha River National Park to meet. Me, I preferred to sweat in the heat than kowtow to formality and air-conditioning, but I had a feeling he’d rather have been sitting inside. ‘Why aren’t we meeting at your field office?’
‘Because this isn’t an official operation – you’re an asset, not an operative.’
Yeah, that was for sure. I was expendable, a means to an end, he’d already made that clear. And I kind of appreciated his frankness – meant I knew where I stood. ‘So tell me, what’s the deal on Gibson Fletcher?’
‘You know from when you chased him before that his rep is as a largely opportunist jewellery thief, taking from boat owners and tourists along the Florida coast. That changed when he tried to rob a Chicago businessman, name of Patrick Walker, who was vacationing with his wife, Ailsa, and their eight-year-old twin girls, Hayley and Ana, on the Keys. Fletcher misjudged the timing of his break-in, got spooked when he was interrupted by the family coming on board the yacht. He killed Mr and Mrs Walker. Left the kids covered in blood and catatonic.’ Monroe took a gulp of iced tea. ‘The inside of that boat looked like a goddamn abattoir.’
I bowed my head, thinking of those two girls witnessing the brutal murder of their parents. They’d been just a year younger than Dakota was now. No wonder they’d been catatonic.
‘What happened to the kids?’
Monroe gave a wave of his hand, like it didn’t matter. ‘They went to live with Mrs Walker’s parents. Had a tough time adjusting I heard, they hadn’t had much contact with their grandparents until then.’
Parcelling those girls off to virtual strangers straight after such a tragedy seemed cruel, although at least, as twins, they’d got each other. My stomach flipped as I realised that was exactly what I’d done to Dakota in sending her off to camp. Except she didn’t have a sister; she was alone in a strange place with strangers.
I swallowed down the guilt. Told myself it wouldn’t be for long. That, after what had happened on the last job, I would never take my daughter with me on any kind of job, easy or not. Still, it had been crazy tough to leave her. When we said our goodbyes, her lower lip had trembled as she said, ‘Keep safe, Momma.’ It’d felt like my heart was being squeezed to busting.
I took a breath and pushed the memory from my mind. Needed to focus on the job – have it done fast and get back to Dakota.
I looked at Monroe. ‘So what made him freak? He didn’t have a history of violence; I checked that out when I took the skip trace on him before.’
‘We don’t know. He said nothing in his defence at the trial, and nothing since. But there’s more to Fletcher than small-time thieving. Stuff that isn’t on his official file.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
Monroe waited for a group of hikers to stride past, arguing over the best trail to take, and then said, ‘He had another line of business that was more niche, kept off-the-record: specialising in antiquities – finding and liberating unique items to order.’
It was news to me. ‘Like what?’
‘It’s a long list, but the thing that got him on our radar was the theft of a set of chess pieces that were used in a special game in Vegas between two legends back in the eighties; showcasing the old guard and the newest talent. It was the fall of ’89: Christophe Lenon vs Bradley Eston. It was the victory match that made Eston the household name he is now. Back then the match was the most glitzy, expensive one in history. The set itself was a work of art.’
I nodded. Had a vague recollection of it. ‘The Billionaire Face-Off match?’
Monroe nodded. ‘Yep.’
‘So what happened to the chess set?’
‘It was bought at auction by a private collector, and that was it, until it disappeared from the owner’s collection ten days before Fletcher was arrested for minor thefts from tourist cabins on the commercial vacationers’ yacht, Sunsearcher. It hasn’t been seen since.’
‘I’m guessing the set was worth a lot. How come its theft got the attention of the Bureau, though?’
‘Sorry. That’s need-to-know.’
He did look kind of sorry, but I wasn’t tolerating any bureau bullshit. ‘And I don’t?’
‘It’s not relevant to the job you’re doing.’
‘Is that right? Because it sounds real relevant.’ Irritated, I tried a different angle. ‘So if you knew he was lifting this high-end stuff, why didn’t you arrest him?’
Monroe exhaled. Pushed his shades a little further up the bridge of his nose. ‘We’ve got no evidence. Nothing that ties Fletcher beyond reasonable doubt to the antiquity thefts.’
I took another draw on my iced tea. Frowned. ‘You were working the case before he got busted though, am I right?’
Monroe shifted awkwardly on the bench beside me. Didn’t answer.
‘Yep, guess I am right.’
He gulped down the rest of his drink. Tipped the ice out onto the grass and scrunched the plastic cup into a ball in his fist. ‘Look, whatever I was or wasn’t doing at that time, I can tell you the trail went cold as soon as Fletcher got arrested.’
I looked at him sideways. ‘So me finding Fletcher, it’s not just about taking a dangerous man back to jail is it?’
Monroe stayed silent a long moment, then shook his head. ‘I need some time with him – off-the-record kind of time – before he goes back to supermax.’
There was something about his tone, and the way his voice broke slightly as he said the word ‘time’, that made me think this wasn’t just about work. It was personal too. ‘Why?’
Monroe stared at me, silent, his expression impassive aside from the frown lines between his brows. The dark lenses of his shades masked the look in his eyes.
‘Yeah, yeah, don’t tell me. Need-to-know, right?’
He nodded. His expression stayed unreadable.
I figured I needed to play the long game to find out what was going on behind those shades of his. From what I’d learned about Monroe in that last week, he was as smart as he was guarded, and that’s a hard combination to crack. So, much as I wanted to push him harder, I didn’t force it, not just then, even though a personal element between fugitive and lawman introduced an extra layer of complication that had me feeling real uneasy.
I switched topics. ‘So you told me Fletcher got loose after an operation?’
‘Yep. After a kerfuffle in the yard he was diagnosed with a bust appendix. The medical on site couldn’t deal with the complications, so he was transferred to the hospital for urgent treatment. The op was successful. But a few hours later Fletcher killed three guards and shook off the marshals.’
‘How’d he kill them?’
‘Faked collapse. Took the first’s weapon when he came over to check his breathing and shot him point blank. Uncuffed himself then took out the other two when they stormed the room. Emptied the gun at them. Messy, not economical.’
‘Same as on the Walkers’ yacht?’
‘Close enough.’
‘That’s pretty special for someone who’d just had major surgery. You sure he didn’t have help?’
Monroe shook his head. ‘Cops found no trace of it. They never got him in their sights.’
I narrowed my gaze. ‘The cops didn’t. What about you?’
‘We got in on it late. Almost twenty-four hours after the fact. The usual jurisdiction bullshit, local PD didn’t want to give up the case.’
‘And now?’
‘We have confirmation Fletcher crossed the state line. It’s a federal case, no question.’
I nodded. ‘So when he hightailed out of state, do you know which way he was heading?’
Monroe gave a half smile. ‘I can do better than that. I’ve got a confirmed destination.’
‘So why’d you need me? You could go fetch him yourself.’
The smile on his lips died real fast. ‘It’s not that simple.’
It never is, but the more complicated a situation, the more chance there is of things turning out bad. I felt a twist of tension in my stomach, and fixed Monroe with a hard stare. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know, you need a time delay. If you catch him, you’ll have to bring him straight back; no detour, no off-the-record chat. You use me, and the timeline can be a little more flexible. And “use” is the key word here, am I right?’
‘Lori, it’s more—’
‘It’s damn messed up, is what it is. You’re using me – exploiting JT’s situation as leverage, so you can appear to keep your hands clean.’ I clenched my fingers tighter around the iced tea. Heard the plastic start to creak. ‘I don’t like it, and I do not like being a part of it. Whatever’s gotten a burr in your saddle about Fletcher, I need your assurance that once I have him you’re not gonna go all vigilante. I will not have another person’s blood on my hands, you understand?’
‘It’s not like—’
‘I asked you a question. You give me your word, or I walk now.’
Monroe stared at me, most likely trying to figure out if I was bluffing. He ran his hand over his wayward hair – a nervous tic of his – and exhaled hard. ‘Alright, agreed. You have my word. Fletcher will be returned to jail in one piece and with a fully functioning pulse. I just want to talk to him.’
I held his gaze a couple more beats, then nodded. ‘Okay then.’
The bluff had paid off, so long as Monroe’s word held good. It was the only guarantee I had that JT would be exonerated and that whatever grudge match Monroe and Fletcher had going on wasn’t going to turn deadly. I was pinning a whole lot more than was wise on a promise, but still I had to take the risk. The only other living witness who could confirm JT hadn’t shot the state trooper was the man himself, but he was in a coma and the doctors said things didn’t look good. Unless he came right, and could remember what had happened to him out on the shoulder of the highway in Florida, the deal with Monroe was the only way I could get JT free.
‘So where is Fletcher?’ I asked.
‘As of this moment, I don’t know. We tracked him to a small airfield outside San Diego two days ago. Trail ended there.’
I figured Fletcher was most likely heading for the border. Wondered what business had caused him to stop in California. ‘Tell me about your eyes in San Diego.’
Monroe stayed silent.
‘What, that’s need-to-know, too? Enough with the bullshit, give me something to work with here!’
Monroe looked thoughtful. Nodded. ‘A local informant. Young guy who works cargo at a storage place near the airfield. He took a photo on his phone.’
‘Message it to me. The guy’s name, too.’
