Chapter Five
The following afternoon, Drea stood outside the white Miami Beach police station and pulled the flash drive from her purse.
She just knew it was connected to the woman at the café, and after talking herself into circles, she had to do this.
What if L.A. were her initials? Or what if the police could figure out who Walter was?
Mike MacArthur’s death and the content of the message were surely compelling enough.
She stifled a yawn, congratulating herself on surviving going from the afternoon shift at José’s to the night shift at the hotel then back to José’s to open up with only a couple of stolen hours of sleep in between.
But despite being run ragged, it wasn’t thoughts of the flash drive or her finances that kept her from sleeping well.
It was one annoyingly sexy tattoo artist that kept popping into her thoughts.
Underneath the heartache, she knew he was right.
She had been fighting a long time. And with all the time she spent in her mom’s company, she did come out swinging.
But worst of all, she was angry, and couldn’t wait to start her own life, instead of helping her mother live out hers.
Christ, she didn’t even know what TV shows she liked, because they always watched what her mother wanted to.
With a deep breath, she pushed the glass door open. She checked in with the duty officer, then took a seat as instructed. A little boy wobbled his way over to her and handed her his teddy bear.
“Hola pequeno, cómo se llamas?” she asked.
“Mateo,” he answered with a drooly smile. He whipped the teddy back from her hands and toddled back to his mom.
“Looking good today, Ms. Caron. I was just thinking about you.” Drea smiled as Detective Carter rounded the information desk, then shook her hand.
“Do you have a few minutes?” She smoothed the white blazer she’d thrown on over her dark-wash jeans.
“For you, I have all day.” Carter smiled at her. “Is this private or would you like to sit outside?”
“Private, but it’s beautiful outside.” September in Miami was a game of dodge the rain showers.
“Please.” He led them out to a park bench in front of the main building.
“I need to give you this.” She handed him the flash drive. “I found this the day after the incident. My coworkers are lazy eggs and never empty their uniform pockets. It was in the laundry. I just assumed it was one of theirs.”
Carter turned it over in his hand. “What’s on it?”
“Information about fracking. It’s about a drill site in the Everglades. I can’t make hide nor hair of some of it. But I guess Cleffan Energy applied for a permit and got one when they shouldn’t, and the governor was involved.”
Concern etched his face. “You think it’s connected to the woman?”
“I think so. There’s a letter to someone named Walter, signed with the initials ‘L.A.’ It mentions a journalist, Mike MacArthur, who died in northern Canada recently.”
Carter sent her a look out of the corner of his eye. “You know, you should leave the investigating to us. We’re kind of good at it.”
“I want to know if the woman is okay. I need to know. I can barely sleep. But the guy who held us up, he can’t know I went to the police. I’d hate to be the victim of your next nine one one call.”
“We’ll handle this with the utmost discretion, I promise, Drea. We know what we’re doing.”
She was certain he was one of the good guys. “I believe you, Detective Carter.”
“Please, I hope you’ll call me Ryan … when it’s just the two of us.” Was he flirting with her? He was definitely grinning.
Drea nodded and smiled. “Did you find anything out after canvasing the neighborhood?” In the eight days since the woman disappeared, the police had spoken to all the neighboring businesses and reviewed all the security camera footage they could get their hands on.
“Not yet. Those guys were like ghosts. But we still have a few leads to follow up on. Are you able to look after yourself? I can arrange a daily welfare check at your residence.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” Drea felt some of the tension leave her shoulders at the thought of not being in this alone.
With the sun on her face and the solid presence of Ryan Carter at her side, she felt almost back to normal.
While there was nothing else she could do, she had faith Ryan would figure it out. There was a long pause.
“How would you feel if I asked you out to dinner, Drea?”
How would she feel? Part of her wanted to say yes.
To remind herself that despite appearances, she could still play the part of a young and carefree twenty-seven-year-old.
Ryan was hot. It wasn’t just the way his broad shoulders filled out his shirt; his angular jaw would have been at home on a catwalk.
The way he studied her with those heavy-set tawny eyes was flattering, but they didn’t cause her to shiver like Cujo’s vibrant blue ones did.
More excuses came to mind; her mom needed her, and she had two jobs. But it kept coming back to Cujo. There was something going on between them. She’d felt it. His words from the previous evening wouldn’t have bothered her so much if there weren’t.
“I’ll take the silence as a no,” he said.
“It’s a don’t know,” she said, honestly. “Can I take a rain check on answering that?”
“Does the rain check have anything to do with Mr. Matthews?”
Obviously it did, but Drea wasn’t ready to discuss it. “I always keep my promises, Ryan. I promise I’ll come back to you with an answer.”
She smiled and stood to leave.
“Well, in that case, I await your call.” He reached for her hand and shook it, holding onto it for a fraction longer than was professional. “And please, for your own safety, leave the detective work to us.”
Drea checked her watch. The laundry was done. Aunt Celine was with her mom and had offered to prepare dinner. There was a prescription at the drugstore she needed to collect but that could wait until she went to the hotel to start her night shift.
She’d slept for three hours between getting home and helping her mom out of bed, but was ironically too awake to go to sleep.
Lummus Park Beach was a short walk away. The water always gave her a sense of peace. And she was long overdue for a break from all the crazy thoughts racing through her mind on a daily basis: the missing woman, Mike MacArthur, and Cujo.
* * *
Bundled in neon-orange life preservers and white retro swimming goggles, Amaya and Zeph sat cross-legged on the front of Cujo’s paddleboard. An hour of splashing and squealing with excitement had tired them out.
“What does ‘get lucky’ mean Uncle Jo-Jo?” Zeph looked up at him.
Cujo paused mid-stroke. He really hoped she meant that in a different context.
“What makes you ask, Zeph?”
“Because Mommy told Daddy he was going to get lucky tonight.”
Cujo rolled his eyes and kept paddling. Of course she meant it the way he thought.
“It probably means Daddy is going to win whatever game they’re going to play.” He took the twins overnight whenever he could, but he didn’t need a visual on how Devon and Elisa used the time.
“Go faster, Uncle Jo-Jo.”
His miniature passengers made for a good core workout as he fought to keep the board afloat. The focus and physical effort provided an outlet for the frustration Drea’s escape the previous night had caused.
He needed to call her. He’d put it off in the morning, not wanting to do it in front of the girls, but once they were in bed, he would.
Cujo jumped off the board, grabbed a twin under each arm, and set them down on the sand.
He picked up the paddle and put the handle between the two of them. “Why don’t you each hold on to one side of the handle and drag it behind you?” It would get all sandy and he’d need to clean out his truck when he got home, but it was worth the silly grins from his nieces.
Cujo rubbed his hand along the scar that ran down his abdomen. There were moments, more so since the twins were born, when he came close to revisiting his decision to never have children. Usually when one, or both of them, looked at him like he walked on water.
They trekked back to the truck, stowed the equipment, and dried off with thick towels.
“We’re hungry, Uncle Jo-Jo,” Amaya said once the twins were dressed.
“I bet. Try this.” He rummaged in the cooler and handed each of them a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off.
Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted Drea walking toward them.
He tried to ignore the tightening in his chest at the sight of her.
Clearly she hadn’t seen him. Heck, he didn’t think she saw anyone.
Lost in her own world, gazing wistfully out to sea, she made no contact with anybody, not even a smile.
He threw on his zip-up hoodie but didn’t fasten it.
“Girls, come here.” He grabbed one in each arm and jogged across the boardwalk. “Drea, wait up,” he called. She didn’t respond. “Girls, shout “Drea” as loud as you can.”
“Drea, Drea!” they screamed in unison, waving their hands. Amaya splatting her sandwich on Cujo’s forehead. Please God, don’t let there be peanut butter in my hair.
Drea turned, and Cujo saw her smile. A breathtaking smile that quickly dissolved into fits of laughter.
“Amaya and Zephyr, this is Drea. Drea, these are my nieces.”
Drea managed to stop giggling, but every now and then her eyes would flit to his PB&J-smeared head. “Hello cuties … what have you been up to?”
“I hit Uncle Jo-Jo with my sandwich and dropped it,” Amaya said with tears in her eyes.
Cujo kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry about it, Ya-Ya, I’ll get you another.”
“I thought it was kind of funny,” Drea added, taking a tissue out of her purse. “Jelly,” she said as she stood on tiptoes to reach it. Cujo stooped forward, still holding onto his nieces tightly.
He could feel her breath against his cheek and watched as she bit her bottom lip in concentration. Her eyes caught his in a heated exchange and suddenly he didn’t want her to continue to wherever she was headed.