Any other place and the cabby might’ve asked about the police presence. But if what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, then it was safe to say the weird shit a person saw in Key West was standard operating procedure for Key West.
Wolf had once witnessed a man walking down the street wearing nothing but high heels and a feathered headdress. No one had given the guy a second look. Then there was the time two fishing boats collided in the marina. Both captains simply swam to shore, popped the top on a couple of cold ones, and sat in the sand to watch the vessels sink.
Seeing a police officer in a rocking chair likely didn’t even begin to wiggle the cab driver’s antenna.
While the man was distracted with parking the car close to the curb, Wolf covertly transferred the Glock from the bag to the back of his waistband, pulling the hem of his T-shirt over the butt of the weapon.
He wasn’t trying tohidethe Glock from Officer Ryan, necessarily. But neither did he want to advertise that he’d feel a lot better being armed should those warehouse assholes try to make another run at Chrissy.
“I got you as close as I could to the front door,” the driver said. “But you’re still going to get drenched.”
Wolf thanked the man and paid him. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed out of the vehicle and raced down the little brick paver path and up the front steps to Chrissy’s house.
The cabby was right. By the time he ducked under the porch’s wide roof, there wasn’t an inch of dry skin left on him. His grandmother referred to this type of rain as a “toad-strangler.”
“You’re wetter than an otter’s pocket,” Officer Ryan observed drolly.
Wolf shook his head like a dog shaking off water. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
In the short time it’d taken for the cab to arrive to take him to the airport, the two of them had sat in the rocking chairs and gotten to know each other a bit.
Turned out, Officer Rick Ryan had family in Oklahoma, was an OSU Cowboys fan by association, and had a great sense of humor. The latter of which was why Wolf felt comfortable busting the dude’s balls now.
“They teach those keen observational skills at the police academy, or do you come by them naturally?”
Officer Ryan grinned. “Little of both, I suppose.”
Wolf chuckled and then hitched his chin toward the front door. “Everything okay in there?”
“She’s been as quiet as a church mouse.”
“Thanks for keepin’ watch while I was gone. Can I bring you somethin’? A drink, maybe? I can take over guard duty if you need to hit the head.”
“Nah.” Ryan shook his head. “I’m good for now. But you might check back in an hour or so.”
“Roger that.” Wolf dipped his chin and opened the front door.
The instant he did, the rotten-egg aroma of natural gas hit him in the face.
“What the hell?” he thought he heard Officer Ryan exclaim. He couldn’t be sure since his racing heart roared in his ears. And if that wasn’t enough to impair his hearing, then add to it the sound of his own bellow as he called Chrissy’s name.
He waited a half tick, listening to his voice echo through the empty rooms. When she didn’t answer, fear caught his chest in a bear trap.
Natural gas was incredibly volatile. If it made its way to the pilot light on, say, her water heater or clothes dryer, the whole place could be reduced to a pile of ash quicker than he could spit.
He ran for the kitchen, figuring that was the most likely place to—
Bingo!
A knob on her stove were turned on, but there was no accompanying flame on the burner.
“Jesus Christ!” Officer Ryan skidded to a stop beside him, covering his nose and mouth against the awful fumes.
“Open all the doors and windows!” Wolf yelled, then coughed when the rancid gas filled his lungs. “I have to find Chrissy!”
He didn’t wait to see if the policeman followed his orders. He was already running for the hallway.
“Christina!” He heard the panic in his own voice as he dissolved into another round of coughing. The fumes made his brain throb inside the confines of his skull. His vision swam like the night the Iranian’s bullet had grazed his temple.
