13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Michael
W hen Sabrina stepped out of the small storage closet at the end of the conference room wearing the borrowed clothes, I did a double take. She was a dead ringer for Gigi Mills in the short flowery dress and high sandals. Not ten minutes before I walked into this meeting, I’d seen Gigi on her way to our in-house shooting range with Derek Sawyer in a set of Smith Agency sweats.
Smith’s plan began to crystalize.
As far as an identity that would get Sabrina safely out of the building, it was a magnificent choice. Smith had planned well—always did, the sly bastard.
“Here.” Quinn passed a fancy handbag to Sabrina. “Put on the sunglasses. When the FBI agents ask for ID, use the one in the wallet.”
“Gigi’s car is in the lot. Her husband is waiting for you at the house on Star Island. Bags are already in the trunk.” Smith slid a set of keys across the table to me. The fob for Gigi’s Porsche was attached to a silver Tiffany’s key ring.
“Wait, what is going on? Who is Gigi?” Sabrina looked from me to Smith. She was breathing hard; her eyes were wide. An FBI warrant would make anyone nervous.
“No time. The FBI is in the lobby and the parking lot. Let’s go.” Quinn pushed me and Sabrina toward the door. I put my hand low on Sabrina’s back to steer her past any obstacle.
“My mom—” Sabrina dug in her heels.
“Is right here.” Minerva, with Oscar-worthy timing, swept into the room and engulfed her daughter in a hug. “Be safe.”
Safe, the word reverberated in my ears, and I affirmed my commitment to Sabrina. Hunting, arresting, killing, or whatever Smith and his spy contacts had planned for Sandoval wasn’t my mission. Sabrina’s safety was.
“And you too.” Minerva held out her hand for a split second before changing her mind and wrapping me in a hug as well. “I like the hair.” She whispered before letting me go. I smiled. Moms always like a man with a fresh shave and a haircut.
“You and ‘Gigi’ need to get moving.” Smith indicated the conference room door.
“Don’t forget the sunglasses,” Quinn reminded Sabrina as we stepped into the hallway.
Sabrina busied herself digging into the handbag for the movie star-esque shades. I took her elbow, guiding her down the hall, into the main office at a leisurely pace. The door into the reception area opened, and two FBI agents and Sydney entered. I squeezed Sabrina’s arm reassuringly when she faltered at the sight.
“This way.” We stepped around the cubicle where Simon sat, his fingers clicking away on a computer keyboard, to make way for the agents and the loudly protesting Sydney. I caught the words miscarriage of justice as they passed and stifled a grin.
Moments later, we pushed out the front doors and I led Sabrina to Gigi’s sky-blue Porsche Cayman. I pulled open the passenger door and helped Sabrina inside. The huge sunglasses totally hid her expression and, most importantly, her green eyes.
I slammed her door shut and exhaled. Almost there. I hustled to the driver’s side and tried to slide behind the wheel of the car, smashing my knees on the steering wheel. My muttered curse couldn’t be helped. I reached for the electronic seat controls and waited impatiently as the seat silently glided as far back as it would go. Better.
“John Smith knew this would happen. That’s why he had Kira do all this. I’m amazed he didn’t have someone come outside and adjust the seat for you.” She waved a hand at her bleached hair, borrowed clothes, and luxury car. It was apparent she was awestruck, and it niggled my pride.
“Smith always has a plan. And a backup plan. And a contingency plan. I bet he had seven other ideas for how to get us out of the building, but generally his first plan is the best. And he only shares information on a need-to-know basis. He believes in compartmentalizing.” I pushed the button to start the car and adjusted the rear-view mirror. Crashing a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car was not on today’s agenda.
“Compartmentalizing?” She tipped down the oversized glasses to look at me. “That’s one word for it, I guess.”
It was disconcerting to see Gigi and hear Sabrina.
“It sounds better than gifting him with godlike abilities of foresight.” I shrugged and pulled out of the parking spot.
Sabrina’s bark of laughter caught me off guard, and I tapped the brake pedal. “You okay?”
“Sure. No. Shit, I don’t know. At this point it’s laugh or cry, right?” She rolled her lips over her teeth and bit down like she was trying to hold everything inside her.
I patted her leg in sympathy. The skin was smooth and warm and not what I should be focused on. I withdrew my hand and gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel.
“One last checkpoint.” I jutted my chin at the pair of FBI agents waiting by the parking lot exit.
“Let’s be honest, this is just the beginning.”
I didn’t have a reply, at least not one that would make her feel better.
I pulled to a stop next to a guy in an FBI windbreaker and rolled down my window.
“IDs, please?”
Sabrina dug out Gigi’s ID and I passed it, along with my driver's license, to the man. The agent’s eyes widened when he scanned Gigi’s card. That was all the confirmation I needed. We were golden. I took the IDs back from the FBI agent.
I glanced at Sabrina and gave her a broad smile that she returned. We’d done it. She squeezed my arm and for a millisecond we were more like two teenagers breaking curfew than adults on the run from an FBI warrant. Damn, if only this were the end, not the beginning of this mess.
I resisted the urge to burn rubber as I accelerated out of the Smith Agency driveway and into traffic. We didn’t have very far to go to get to Gigi’s house.
“Gigi Mills.” Sabrina read the name on the ID I’d returned to her and whistled.
“You know of her?” I winced at the slightly ridiculous question. After the Moment in Time Gala jewelry heist, most of Miami knew of her.
“More like I know of them. She and Alexander are at the top of every guest list in Miami. Billionaires and philanthropists. I heard he’s going to run for president.”
“Alexander would never. He doesn’t need to.” The man oozed power from his pores like mere mortals oozed sweat in August. He’d never live under the magnifying glass of the presidency.
“Oh my God, these are her clothes and her Hermes bag. Does she know what’s going on?”
“Relax. The Mills are clients. I’ve worked with them extensively. Alexander and Smith are…” I struggled to find the right word. It wasn’t friends. But the two men shared something more complex than a simple professional relationship. The two ruthless bastards respected each other and for men like them, it was rare. “Close.”
“They won’t get in trouble for helping me, will they?” She bit her lip, obviously thinking about Lewis Wright.
“No, they are well insulated by money and power. And I doubt Smith told them anything. Remember compartmentalization.”
I turned off the MacArthur Causeway and onto a narrow two-lane bridge over the Intracoastal that ended at a security checkpoint. I stayed to the right and the transponder on Gigi’s car opened the gate. The security guard in the small hut waved as we drove onto Star Island.
I followed the curve in the road toward the Mills estate, passing tall hedges and stately front gates.
“I catered a party at that place.” Sabrina tapped on the window. A ten-foot-tall white stone wall covered in a riot of hot pink bougainvillea hid the estate from the road.
“Star Island. Nothing but the best for the Mills family.” I pulled up to a keypad at a black and gold gate of intricate scrollwork that would have been a fitting entrance for a Venetian palace. The Mills estate wasn’t far from it. I’d worked at the home enough to have my own code to gain access.
I parked Gigi’s car in the circle drive under the shade of a large date palm. The house towered over us, a monument to wealth in pale cream stone and terracotta barrel tile.
“Are we really going to Cuba?” Sabrina asked in a small voice that sounded incredulous.
“Yes, we are going to Cuba. When we get there, you will identify one of the most dangerous criminals in the world, and I will get you the hell out of there.” Getting two Americans into Cuba without papers wasn’t exactly like ordering take-out; it required planning. And thus far, Smith hadn’t filled me in on the details. My patience with flying blind was waning.
“Pinch me.” She held out her arm.
When I hesitated, she shook her forearm at me and nodded emphatically. So I did it.
“Ouch.” She rubbed the spot I’d squeezed.
“Yeah, you’re not asleep. This is not a dream.”
“Fuck.” She dropped her head into her hands and whimpered. I wished my pinch would have woken her from this nightmare. She didn’t deserve to have her life derailed by a man like Sandoval. No good person did.
I got out and moved around to open her door, stopping to pull our pre-packed overnight bags from the trunk. Smith had planned for everything except our mental health.
“Steel, you made good time.” Alexander Mills walked down the front steps of the house to shake my hand. He wore a navy suit that I knew was custom made.
“Traffic wasn’t too bad.” I helped Sabrina from the car. “You don’t mind if we skip introductions, do you?” I looked between Sabrina and Mills.
“When Smith calls in a favor, I know there will be stipulations.” He nodded toward Sabrina and quirked one silver eyebrow at his wife’s doppelg?nger. “You wear that outfit almost as well as Gigi.”
“Ah, thank you, sir. I left her handbag in the car. Is that okay?” Sabrina looked from Mills to the car to the massive house. I half expected her to pinch her own arm this time to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. The desire to drop our bags and hug her grew urgent.
“Not a problem at all. If you both will follow me.” Mills led us around the side of the house under a dense canopy of tropical vegetation dotted with hanging orchids. He entered a code on the keypad to open the side gate into the estate’s backyard. We skirted around the resort-style pool and the guest house that was bigger than many Miami homes.
Back at the office, Quinn and a few others would be following our progress on the security feeds from the estate. Overhead a video camera under the guesthouse eves caught my eye, and I gave the Smith Agency gang a smile.
My smile didn’t last.
Sabrina staggered to a halt as we rounded a corner. Dumbfounded, I stopped and gaped along with her. Bobbing at the end of the Mills’s private dock was a seaplane. The urge to pinch my own arm suddenly rose.
It was one hell of a way to get to Cuba.
“It was lovely to not meet you, miss. Steel, always a pleasure, and tell Smith he owes me.” Mills side-stepped the two of us and returned to the house without another word.
“We are going to Cuba in that?” She curled one hand around my arm and squeezed.
“Apparently.” The plane was silhouetted against the vibrant blue of the water and the downtown skyline like it was a promotional photoshoot for the lifestyles of the rich and fabulous.
“Is it bad I’m kind of excited? I’ve never flown in a seaplane before.” The salty breeze blowing off Biscayne Bay whipped away her words.
I chuckled and adjusted my grip on our bags. “Better than scared.”
Her inner spirit of adventure rising to the front despite all the shit we were facing was impressive. I’d seen plenty of well-trained operators balk at an unexpected situation. She’d embraced it. Damn, what a woman.
Sabrina and I followed the paved walkway to the seawall. At the end of the private dock, a man had gotten out of the plane. He checked the moorings and waved for us to hurry. I gestured for Sabrina to precede me down the walkway.
Our pilot looked like he’d stolen his look from Magnum, P.I . circa 1983, from the shaggy hair and Hawaiian print shirt to the beat-up boat shoes without socks. The only thing missing was Tom Selleck's mustache.
“Hustle up,” he shouted.
Sabrina and I lengthened our steps. She shot a smile over her shoulder at me, and I couldn’t help but return it. Her excitement was infectious.
“I want to get out of here before we draw attention. This seaplane is on the wrong side of the Causeway.” Despite his laid-back island look, he sounded like a drill sergeant.
“Who is this guy?” Sabrina whispered. The brisk comment had dimmed some of her enthusiasm.
“My guess? CIA.”
Her jaw dropped at my reply.
“Get your shit on board and buckle up. It will be less than two hours' flying time to the rendezvous point in Cuba.” The pilot untied the mooring lines as we climbed into the plane.