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.
