Alex’s skepticism showed on her face. “The Baitfish Bandits?”
Wolf’s right eyebrow arched. “Is that what they’re called?”
“That’s what the editor at theKey West Citizendubbed them because they approach the vessels under the guise of selling baitfish. But I thought that was two guys with pistols. And none of the fisherman who’ve been robbed reported actually being shot at.”
Wolf lifted a hand and let it fall. “The cops are thinkin’ maybe these assholes brought in a third partner and the new guy upped their game.”
“I suppose that could be true,” Alex allowed, still not completely convinced.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Wolf said. “While you and Mason were belowdecks gettin’ fixed up by the doc, the Coasties were fishin’ two of the bodies out of the water. I’m sure they’re runnin’ the men’s prints and dental records through the databases as we speak.”
“Not sure how much dental work will be left on that one guy.” Alex’s empty stomach filled up with bile at the memory of Wolf making a head shot at close range.
“If nothin’ pops on the prints or the dental work,” Wolf continued, “then hopefully the cops can get a hit on their DNA.”
“So that brings me back to my original question.” Chrissy looked around the group expectantly. “What now?”
Wolf scrubbed a hand over his face. “Now, we find a place to lay our heads for the night. And cross our fingers that by tomorrow mornin’ we have some answers.”
Chapter 10
9:02 p.m.
“Hey.” Wolf placed a hand on Chrissy’s arm. She’d taken off like a shot as soon as they exited the large government building near the docks. He was having to jog to keep up with her. “Is there some sort of invisible race we’re runnin’?”
“No,” she answered stiffly. “You just have short legs.”
“I’m over six feet tall,” he scoffed. “And most of that is—” That’s as far as he got before he saw who was waiting for them on the other side of the chain-link fence. The ham sandwich the local cops had fed him during his questioning instantly petrified at the bottom of his stomach. “Oh, hell,” he groaned.
That was enough to have Chrissy slowing down. “What?” She glanced from him to the quartet gathered near the parking-lot gate and back again. “Am I missing something?”
It was one of those perfect subtropical nights. The moon was high and full. The sky was a black sheet dusted with silvery specks of starlight. And the breeze played with the palm trees, making them cackle in delight.
But all of this was lost on Wolf, because he knew—call it instinct or, hell, call it experience—that the brunette standing between Doc and Romeo was none other than Mason’s itch-scratcher, a.k.a. the mysterious Donna.
This is bad.
“I think the brunette is Mason’s…uh…occasional workout partner,” Wolf murmured from the side of his mouth, loud enough for Chrissy to hear, but hopefully not loud enough for Alex and Mason to hear since they were a dozen paces behind, waiting for Meat to make his slow, waddling way across the lot.
“His workout partner?” Chrissy’s face showed confusion a split second before realization dawned. “Oh.” Her mouth rounded, right along with her blue eyes. “Sothat’swhy he rejected Alex.”
Wolf didn’t comment that there was more than a cute, curvy brunette keeping Mason from agreeing to Alex’s offer. Instead, he glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, wondering if Mason realized Donna was on the scene, and quickly discovering the sorry sod was too busy shooting fleeting—And might I add longing?—glances at Alex to have clued in to what lay in store for him beyond the fence.
“This is goin’ to go bad for him,” Wolf muttered, and winced in commiseration with his old swim partner.
Chrissy crossed her arms and grumbled, “He deserves whatever comes his way.”
“Mmph” was all Wolf was willing to allow.
“Mmph? What’s that supposed to mean?” Her full mouth pulled down in a frown. Chrissy had one of those classic faces that, no matter the decade or era, was always considered beautiful. Such perfect proportions. Such symmetry and harmony. Wolf could’ve spent the rest of the night staring at it, using the moonlight to catalog the different striations of blue in her irises, or count every hair in the perfect arches of her eyebrows, but he was going to have to file that under Another Damn Time because things were about to get dicey.
“It’s complicated” was all he said as he searched for a way to warn Mason that—
“Mason!” Donna squealed.
Too late, Wolf thought as Donna’s shriek hit his ears like grinding metal.Cue the drama.
Donna skirted the gate in a flash of Daisy Duke shorts, long hair, and bouncing body parts. Wolf thought it a wonder she didn’t come out of her halter top when she jumped on Mason, wrapping her arms around his neck and her shapely legs around his waist.
