Accidental Bodyguard. Sharon Hartley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ wounded,” he said, deliberately making his voice aggrieved.

      “No. You’re curious and you won’t let it alone until you figure out what bothers you.”

      “I have work to do,” he said, and disconnected.

      Which wasn’t a lie. He wanted to complete the paperwork documenting the alarm this afternoon. Even as a deputy sheriff, Jack’s work habit was to get the paperwork out of the way immediately. Putting off drudgery only made a boring task loom larger and harder to initiate.

      He pulled up the form on the flat-screen monitor, renamed a file for today’s incident and stared at the blanks he needed to complete. Lola had labeled him a liar, a dig that bothered him. She knew how much he valued the truth. What she didn’t know was he was about to file a false report, something he’d never done in his career.

      And why was he doing it? What P.J. had done was not only against every Collins Island rule, but criminal. Although, yeah, no harm done except to Louise Clark’s mental health. Would it be better to fire the kid to teach him a hard lesson about following the rules? That lesson could alter his life. He might need the money for tuition and have to drop out of school. Jobs were still hard to come by for kids. An angry teenager could turn sullen and bitter.

      Jack closed the file without entering a single word. He wanted to think about what he’d put in his report a little longer. Maybe he’d watch P.J. for a few weeks, see what happened. The report wasn’t due until the end of his stint as director.

      Jack’s gaze drifted to the surveillance feed switching from camera to camera around the island. Everything remained calm. As usual, he thought, mimicking Lola’s comment.

      When the stream landed on Villa Alma’s impressive front gate, he froze the image on a secondary monitor and leaned back in his chair. Was he considering cutting P.J. a break because Louise Clark had asked him to? He thought about his time inside the walls of Santaluce’s estate, searching for anything unusual, out of place. He hadn’t seen the junker car Ms. Clark had driven to her new home. Likely she’d secreted it in Santaluce’s garage. She’d indicated she didn’t plan to drive anywhere.

      Surveillance cameras took a snapshot of every car loading the ferry. It’d take some digging, but why not get the car’s license plate and run her down from there? She could have switched plates, but maybe not. At least he’d have more information.

      He pulled up the database from the date of her arrival, accessed the log and found the name Louise Clark on the 5:00 p.m. ferry. The camera time stamped every photograph, and the shot would have been taken around that time. In case the clock was off—a common occurrence with surveillance cameras—Jack began his search with photographs after 4:00 p.m. He scrolled through photo after photo, and finally found what Louise Clark called her devil car. Her twenty-year-old clunker was easy to spot among the Bentleys, Porsches and Teslas.

      He enlarged the screen and wrote down the name of the tag, double-checking the digits. He sure didn’t need to start this little treasure hunt with bad intel.

      Remembering the happy hour in the clubhouse, he glanced at the time. He was already late. The phone would ring any minute and Dr. Diane Kirkman, the home owners’ association president, would demand his presence.

      Entering Ms. Clark’s tag number into the Florida Department of Motor Vehicles database would have to wait.

      Jack slipped into his blazer and walked to his cart deep in thought. He wanted to skip this cocktail party, another giant waste of time. He was expected to mingle with the socialite island residents, be available to answer any questions about security protocols, listen to them outbrag each other about their latest investments.

      He’d much rather continue his investigation into Ms. Clark, but the answers would have to wait.

      Lola was right. He couldn’t let it alone until he unraveled the mysteries of the new tenant.

      Who was she? What was she doing on Collins Island? His gut told him something was going on with Louise Clark, something he needed to know about.

      * * *

      AT 2:00 A.M. Claudia dressed in black jeans and a black sweatshirt with a hoodie and tucked the Glock in her waistband. She moved to Villa Alma’s front gate.

      A brisk northeast wind, the leading edge of a strong cold front sweeping into south Florida, whipped palm fronds. It would start raining in an hour, maybe less. Clutching the cool wrought iron, she scanned the street in front of the estate and saw no one. She looked up at a clear night sky with thousands of stars and heaved a huge breath.

      The Weather Channel claimed this front would drop the temperature close to freezing, a rare event in Miami. There might even be frost by dawn. Hopefully that meant nobody would be out.

      Good. Because she couldn’t stand it any longer. She felt like a bird in a gilded cage and needed to break out of her prison for a short time. She’d be back inside before the rain started.

      She entered the security code and cautiously stepped outside with her back flat against the wall. The catch relocked with an automatic click when she closed the gate. Staying close to the wall, wary of anyone else out at this ungodly hour, she jogged toward the ocean.

      As she neared, she could hear waves crashing on Collins Island’s private beach. The wind had also stirred up the surf.

      She slowed her pace, breathing hard. God, but it felt good to get her blood pumping. She scanned the beach nervously, but quickly determined the area was deserted except for the hull of an empty beached boat. No one sat at the many lounge chairs and tables.

      That’s what she had hoped. The moon was only the thinnest silver crescent, so it didn’t provide much light.

      She’d be too obvious if she relaxed in a lounger. A line of coconut palms dotted the sand, and she collapsed in front of the thickest one hoping no one would see her from the street. She wouldn’t stay long. A few minutes.

      She lowered the hoodie and stared at the water. The endless ocean stretched out before her, whitecaps bouncing on the waves.

      She’d been miserable and lonely ever since Jackson Richards left late this afternoon. After her plunge in the pool, she’d stood by the gate for a long time, listening to the faint sounds from the happy hour in the clubhouse. People were laughing, talking, enjoying themselves. She’d longed to join the party, but of course couldn’t.

      This was bad, very bad. She’d been in exile less than a week and was already going crazy. What would she be like at the end of a month? This is what Carlos had done to her. She’d become a pitiful recluse hiding on a deserted beach in the middle of the night. She used to love people. Now she didn’t trust anyone.

      Not even the US Attorney who’d convinced her to testify.

      She brushed away a tear. Yeah, great, Claudia. Just what you need, a pity party.

      Her hatred for Carlos Romero threatened to swamp all that remained of the old carefree, fun-loving Claudia, the woman who wanted to help the hurting people of the world. That was why she’d become a nurse. Was there anything left of that person?

      Sometimes she thought her quest for justice was all she had to live for, her belief that someone had to ensure Carlos was punished for his irrational violent rampage. Yes, she’d been stupid to marry him, but he’d lied to her. He’d pretended СКАЧАТЬ