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“Yep,” Kelly told Jason. “And that’s illegal.”
“What’s illegal mean?” he asked.
“Wrong,” Kelly explained. “The man did something wrong, so he’s going to jail.”
“Jail?” Jason’s eyes widened. He knew what jail was. “For how long?”
“That’s up to a judge.”
“When you do something wrong, son, you’re punished,” Trey said.
Jason screwed up his face as he thought about that, then nodded and began eating again.
Kelly worked on her own food. Did Jason even know what punishment was?
“Are you planning to attend the Parkinson’s benefit at Vizcaya next month?” Courtney asked Trey.
“No,” Trey said.
“You should fly back down,” Carol said to Senior. “That’s always such a fun event. They’re bringing in an acrobat troupe this year.”
“Fabulous,” Jack continued. “And we’re taking the Bertram to Cat Cay for a week afterward. Why don’t you and Trey join us for a few days at least?”
“Please do,” Courtney said. “Jason would adore the big boat.”
“I doubt if I can find the time,” Senior said with a frown. “But Trey should go.”
“Sorry,” Trey said. “I’ve got a lot going on right now.”
Kelly tuned out the voices as the Gallaghers tried to convince the Wentworths to join them on their upcoming cruise to the Bahamas. She forced herself to eat, but the food lodged in her belly.
When dinner was finally, blessedly at an end, Kelly pushed back from the table with everyone else and rose.
“Let’s move out to the patio for after-dinner drinks,” Senior suggested.
Kelly suspected the location was chosen so she couldn’t enjoy her nightly swim.
“Please excuse me,” she said. “I have to get up early.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Courtney said in a saccharine-sweet voice.
She felt eyes on her back as she marched toward her room. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin high.
Sixty-foot yachts, fancy-schmancy parties at the most beautiful house in Miami, thousand-dollar-a-hole golf games. If she needed more proof that she didn’t belong on Collins Island, the evidence had just been deliberately flung in her face.
There’d be no good-night kiss tonight. Trey could tell his kid whatever he wanted.
This charade had gone on long enough.
* * *
THE NEXT EVENING, nursing a glass of aged whiskey, listening for Kelly’s return, Trey waited in the bar. He checked the time again. After midnight. Where the hell was she?
He hadn’t seen her since dinner last night. The meal had been brutal, deliberately choreographed by his pretentious father to demonstrate what he considered the difference between her and his friends, and she’d clearly been aware of what he was up to. Trey took a healthy swallow of whiskey.
At least the son of a bitch had gone back to New York.
He’d put his son to bed alone, explaining that his mommy didn’t feel good. Jason had fussed only a little. The child had always sensed the tension when Senior was around.
Trey had expected Kelly to emerge for her nightly swim, but she’d remained in her room. He’d wanted to knock on her door, but instinct told him to leave her alone. So, reluctantly, he had, fully intending to speak with her first thing this morning.
But according to Hans, she’d caught the 6:00 a.m. ferry. He’d called her numerous times, but she hadn’t picked up and hadn’t answered his messages. She’d sent a text at 4:00 p.m.: I’ll be late. Don’t wait for me.
But this late? And why hadn’t she returned his calls?
Had she been injured? He couldn’t even imagine Jason’s reaction if Kelly were killed or hurt on her dangerous job. His fragile son couldn’t handle more loss. She’d made an arrest yesterday of a man who had punched out his wife, for God’s sake.
Her department had made a media-worthy arrest today in a series of robberies at local electronics stores. He’d searched for her in the footage from the scene, but didn’t see her. According to the live report, shots had been fired during the confrontation, but nothing about an officer down.
