1. Alexei #3
“Watkins dealt drugs to Kristi Hunter, the congressman’s daughter, in one of my clubs.
” I swallow a mouthful of beer. “According to Marty Hunter Jr., Kristi almost died of an overdose that night. Hunter didn’t want the cops involved.
Obviously.” I smile sourly. “Bad publicity and all that. He came to me instead.”
“Did you actually see Kristi Hunter overdose?”
“Not exactly.” I frown. “But I saw video footage of her deal with Watkins. She left the club before taking the drugs.”
“Or rather, she didn’t take the drugs at all.
” Renata shakes her head. “Less than twenty-four hours after the so-called overdose, she was randomly selected for drug testing before a track meet at Miami U. She passed with flying colors.” She meets my eyes.
“Marty Hunter Jr. played you. He needed Watkins gone, and he used you to do it. Now he’s framing you for it to cover his tracks. ”
Motherfucker. “He’s a fucking dead man.”
Renata winces. “Unfortunately, I suspect that might be a problem, Lex.”
I turn to her, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Marty Jr. is up for reelection next year. He’s propped up by half the biggest crime bosses in Miami, my family included. The FBI have been closing in on him for months. Watkins was part of that operation. Now he’s dead—and you’re firmly in the FBI’s crosshairs.”
Fuck.
I have a lot of law enforcement on my payroll, and more than enough dignitaries to dig my way out of most of the shit that inevitably comes my way.
But even I know this isn’t good.
“Who else has that?” I nod at her phone, meaning the recording.
“Apparently it was delivered to the FBI office anonymously, along with the video of Kristi Hunter being dealt drugs. I was given a copy a day ago.”
“Anonymously?” I give her a sour look. “That’s Marty’s fucking voice on the other end of that call, conveniently distorted. Surely the FBI can unscramble it?”
“They don’t want to, Lex.” Renata cuts me off.
“That’s the point. They’ve got you, and in an election year, that’s a prize too good to turn down.
I drove up here from the Cays as soon as I got the news that they had you in their crosshairs.
Luckily, my partner is delayed in New York for family reasons, so I’m here alone, which is why we’re having this conversation, instead of you having it with the Miami field office.
” She turns somber eyes toward me. “You’re going to need to get the fuck out of Dodge for a while, Lex. Sooner rather than later.”
“Not before I have a quiet fucking word with Marty Jr.,” I say coldly. It’s an annoyance, nothing more. I’ll find a way out of it. I always do.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not severely pissed off.
Renata grimaces. “I really wouldn’t recommend that, Lex—”
“Too bad.” Standing up, I pour the last mouthful of beer into the water. “Dima?”
His figure emerges silently from the shadows.
“Find out where Marty Hunter Jr. is partying tonight. And make sure he stays there.”
Dima hits a button on his phone and is already murmuring questions as I toss my empty bottle into the back of the boat.
“How do you know he’ll be partying?” Renata glances at the time on her phone. “It’s late.”
“Marty Jr.’s daughter might be clean as a whistle,” I say grimly, “but her father is a piece of shit who’s put half of Colombia up his nose, not to mention gambled away most of his campaign donations.
His hooker addiction is even worse than his coke habit, so by this time on a Friday night, he’s either holding cards in a back room or balls deep in some girl.
Either way, he’s not going anywhere until I’ve had a little chat with him. And neither am I.”
“Don’t you fucking kill him, Lex, or we’re both in the shit.” Renata glares at me. “Please listen to me and get the fuck out of town for a while. I can get you out of this. I just need some time.”
I grit my teeth, staring out at the dark water. “As it happens, I’m supposed to be heading to France anyway.”
Oh, and you’re really sorry about finding an excuse to go there, too, aren’t you, asshole?
“France is good.” She nods enthusiastically. “Can you find a flight that leaves before nine a.m.?”
I roll my eyes. “I guess I’m going to have to.”
“I’d advise it. Sunday or not, the FBI doesn’t sleep.” Renata gives me a small smile.
Dima opens the driver’s door to the truck.
“Found our congressman,” he says, starting the engine.
“I’ve got men watching to make sure he doesn’t leave, but he’s in the middle of a game, so there’s no rush.
I thought you’d want to go home first. Pack.
” He gives me a sly glance. “Give your father the good news.”
I shoot him a filthy look.
“If I were you,” Renata says as we walk toward the truck, “I’d stay in Europe for a while. The lower your profile, the better. Get your tech geek buddies to create a new identity that can withstand some scrutiny. And don’t take that yacht of yours—it stands out like a dog’s balls.”
“You’ve always had a way with words.” I shoot her a wry glance. “I guess this is where I should thank you for the heads-up.”
“You’re welcome, asshole.” She reaches up to give me a hug. “I’ll keep you in the loop. But fuck off, for Chrissakes, and stay that way until I give you the word. Okay?”
I nod as I open the passenger door of the truck. “Okay.”
“And whatever you do,” Renata says, putting her hands on the window and glaring at me, “don’t kill Marty Jr. before you leave, or I swear to God I’ll turn you in myself.”