Chapter 20
KAI
The Whistle was humming in that slow, steady rhythm it got before the late-night crowd.
Tables were half full, the rest waiting for locals who’d drift in once the more respectable establishments turned them out.
A couple of old-timers hunched over the pool table in the corner to the right, the click of the balls punctuating the lazy shuffle of the jukebox as “Sweet Home Alabama” bled into “Margaritaville.” The smell of stale beer and hot pizza mixed with the salty tang of fishermen who hadn’t yet gone home to shower.
Jasmine beamed from behind the bar, her dark hair falling over one shoulder as she pointed toward a high-top tucked off to the side by the dart boards.
A handwritten “Reserved” sign was taped to it.
The spot was perfect—secluded from the rest of the patrons, yet close enough to the bar that she could weave in and out of the conversation.
Reef and Spence were already seated across from me when she brought three cold IPAs, condensation glistening on the bottles.
“Thanks for meeting here, guys,” she said, sliding the beers onto the center of the table with a practiced sweep.
Spence gave a curt nod. “No problem,” he mumbled, though he’d argued against meeting in public given the nature of our discussion. Reef didn’t care, and I liked the idea of keeping an eye on Jasmine while we talked, so Spence had lost that battle.
He smelled faintly of diesel, his cap pulled low, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. But the restless energy coming off him told me Spence had something loaded and ready to say.
“I met up with a friend of a friend from Key West yesterday,” he said, lowering his voice. “Guy stopped in on his way up to Miami.”
“Was he holding?” Reef asked, leaning forward eagerly. “Because if he was, we could’ve skipped the small talk.”
Jasmine grumbled as a client waved from the bar. “Be right back,” she said, flashing me an apologetic smile before disappearing into the crowd.
Spence bent closer, voice dropping until it was barely more than a growl. “No, he wasn’t holding. But he said he could get quantity. The thing is, he stopped here because he wanted to look me in the eye before making the deal.”
“Makes sense,” I said, sipping my beer.
“Of course it makes sense,” Spence shot back, his volume rising though he tried to keep it down. “What doesn’t make sense is this plan. That’s what I realized.”
Reef snorted, tilting back in his chair. “What plan of ours ever makes sense?”
I slumped into my seat, bracing myself for another lecture that would only make us feel worse. Usually, Spence harping about how doomed we were didn’t accomplish much. But this time, his tone carried weight.
“Think about it,” he said, eyes cutting between me and Reef.
“This is suicide no matter how we spin it. We can’t bait someone in the Keys and throw them under the bus.
That tarnishes our family name and endangers our business reputation.
Not to mention the little matter of federal prison if we get busted trying to buy cocaine. There’s got to be a better way.”
“Well, if we’re not going to try to find their coke, then what?” I asked. “Just hope and pray they don’t come after us?”
“With them actively tailing you?” Reef said too loudly. “Yeah, that’s real likely.” He smirked. “Maybe you should drive slower so they don’t spill their cafecito on the dashboard while stalking you.”
I shot him a glare, raising a finger to my lips.
A couple of tourists glanced over from their pizza, but Jasmine was still tending to customers.
A burst of laughter came from the pool tables with the crack of another pool shot ringing across the room.
The ordinary noise of the Whistle grated against the dread knotting my stomach.
I still hadn’t told Jasmine about the Chrysler shadowing me, and now wasn’t the time.
“I’m open to suggestions, fellas. Do either of you have a better idea?
” My anxiety crept into my tone. “Believe me, I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder forever either. ”
“Time to rethink not telling Waylan?” Reef asked. “Bet he’d love to roll up like Wyatt Earp.”
“The more people we involve, the more are at risk. And if it’s the cops?
I’m as good as dead.” My pulse spiked at the thought.
I glanced toward the bar just in time to catch Jasmine balancing a tray of drinks, her expression exasperated as she caught my eye.
She hoisted the tray to her shoulder and disappeared toward the pool tables.
Behind her, the jukebox clattered as someone punched in a new song, and the low hum of conversation swelled around us like a tide.
Spence’s gravelly voice pulled me back. “What if Dad and Waylan know something?”
“What kind of something?” Reef asked. “About kilos of coke? What would those old codgers know about it?”
I’d been too focused on Jasmine to follow, but when I tuned back in, Spence’s claim made no sense. “What the fuck are you talking about? Dad and Waylan don’t know anything about this, and we’re gonna keep it that way.”
Spence’s scowl deepened, shadows carving lines across his face. “Dad and Waylan may not be as innocent as we think.”
“What kind of cryptic bullshit…?” I started, but he raised his hand, silencing me.
“There’s something going on with them,” he said firmly.
“I don’t know what. But Coulter caught wind of it just before Trouble’s wedding.
” He sketched out fragments of a story—relatives dying mysteriously, someone in prison named George who might be after them for money, another man called Mateo in Mexico.
Spence used phrases like chickens coming home to roost and I felt a tightening in my stomach like storm clouds gathering.
Reef whistled low, shaking his head. “Great. Ghost stories and chicken metaphors. That’ll keep us up at night.”
Another cheer went up from the pool table.
The sound clashed with the heaviness of Spence’s words, making the whole conversation feel darker against the backdrop of neon lights and beer-stained wood.
The Whistle carried on around us, oblivious, and that normalcy only made the weight of what he said feel heavier.
“Maybe we ought to loop Coulter in and see what he thinks,” Spence said, steady now. “He won’t tell Faith if we ask him not to. But he knows more than we do.”
My gaze locked on my oldest brother. “Anyone who knows more than we do should keep their mouths shut too.”
Jasmine reappeared, cheeks flushed, her smile bright as she slid three fresh Heinekens onto the table and scooped up our empties. “It’s been dead all evening, and as soon as you guys show, everyone needs a drink.”
“Lucky you,” Reef quipped, smirk firmly in place. “You didn’t miss Spence trying out his doomsday podcast voice.”
“Thanks. Really helpful,” she fired back, tossing him a lethal side-eye.
I couldn’t help grinning at the way they sparred like siblings already. My hand slipped around her waist, drawing her in close. “What you missed is a whole lot of nothing. That’s what we’ve got.”
Her brows knitted together in that adorable way she gets when she’s thinking hard. “You keep telling me that’s a good thing. Why do you all look like someone just killed your cat? I mean, we haven’t found the coke, but we haven’t seen the bad guys either.”
Reef rolled his eyes, and Spence let out a sarcastic chuckle. The jukebox switched to Tom Petty, his voice floating through the air like an omen.
Rubbing her back, I kept my voice low. “We need to decide if we’re sitting back and letting this play out, or if we’re taking steps. Right now we’re leaning toward letting it play out.”
“As in stop searching for the stolen coke?” Jasmine clarified.
“Yeah. It’s gone on too long. Afraid it’s only going to bring heat down on us.”
“No complaints here. I’ve been worried about losing my job—or worse. How am I supposed to know if it’s an undercover cop I’m asking?”
“Exactly. There’s a million reasons that’s a bad idea. We can’t keep that up. So for now, we wait,” Spence said, and it sounded like a smarter idea when it came from my eldest brother.
“Great. My favorite part.” Jasmine turned on her heel and slipped back behind the bar.
“Why’d you want her here if you’re not being honest with her?” Spence asked, his accusation hanging like smoke between us.
“Mind your own business,” I groaned.
“That’s rich, coming from you right now.” Spence lifted his beer, eyes hard. “Rich indeed.”
“Fair,” I admitted. This was my mess, and I’d dragged them into it. “Okay, that story about Dad and Waylan sounds suss as hell, I’ll give you that. But it can’t have anything to do with the square grouper. That’s insane.”
“We can’t know for sure unless we ask them,” Spence pressed.
“What about the feds?" Reef offered. "They interviewed you about the bale.”
I stared between my brothers, disbelief curdling in my gut. “If we tell a cop,” I said carefully, “their priority is catching the guys, right?”
Neither Spence nor Reef responded, because the answer was obviously yes.
“My point is, we don’t give two shits about taking the smugglers down. We do not want to poke that bear. No cops. And especially no feds. That’s a death sentence—unless you’re interested in Witness Protection. And come on, that’s no solution.”
“Neither is hoping for a miracle,” Spence said with a dry laugh. “But I get your point. The question is, what happens when they get tired of waiting?”
“If they show up, I’ll give them the rundown of our efforts to find the half bale, apologize that we couldn’t deliver, and assure them we want no part of their business.” Deep down I hoped, against all reason, that this impossible outcome might actually be true.
Reef thumbed the rim of his bottle, muttering, “You’re so fucked.” Then he tipped his bottle toward me with mock cheer. “But hey, maybe they’ll appreciate the apology.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
“He’s right,” Spence added. “But if you refuse to go to the authorities, that’s where we’re at.”
Spence drained his beer. “Either way, watch your backs. And hers.” His chin jerked toward Jasmine.
I didn’t need the reminder. Every nerve in me already tuned to her like radar.
Jasmine came back, a faint flush on her cheeks just as my brothers stood. “Leaving so soon?”
“Yeah, not much else to say,” Spence said, clearly irritated. “And 5 A.M. comes early. What do we owe you?”
Scooping up the empties, Jasmine winked. “Don’t worry, these are on me.”
Reef’s grin lit up like only free beer could provoke. “Sell a few paintings to a fancy resort, and now it’s drinks for all my friends, huh?”
“More like drinks for my boyfriend and his brothers. Even the annoying one.”
Spence ignored their banter, his expression steady. “Shoot, that’s right, Jasmine. Congrats. Trouble told me you’re going to make bank off that job.”
“We’ll see. If it all pans out, it could be life-changing.”
“Glad to hear some good news. We’re due,” Spence said—but the shadow in his eyes told me he didn’t believe our luck would last.