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“I was thinking,” she said. “I’ve got to fly my new airplane back, so you could drive my Cayenne and rent one of those tow bars to pull your car behind.”
“Good idea,” he said. “And I can fill them both with my stuff.”
“How much stuff do you have?” Holly asked.
“Well, not all that much, really. I always make it a policy when I move to throw away as much stuff as I can do without.”
“That’s a relief,” Holly said. “I have only so much closet space.”
“Huh?”
“In my house,” she said. “You’re not going to turn down a free sack, are you?”
He kissed her on the neck. “Certainly not.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “It’s been nice having a roomie here, and I think it’s a good idea to continue the practice.”
“Why thank you, ma’am.”
“You’ll get a written offer from the Agency,” she said, “and they’ll ask you for a local address up there. Use mine.”
“Shall I sign up as Mr. Holly Barker?”
“Not just yet, buster; I’m a cautious woman.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“I’d rather have a long affair than a short marriage,” she said.
“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he replied, nodding.
“It’s the only way to look at it,” Holly said.
58
On Friday afternoon, Jimmy Weathers left his keys in his cruiser and walked the two blocks to the impound lot. The Mustang convertible, bright yellow and quite new, was sitting out, freshly washed, waiting for him. Jimmy signed the paperwork and got into the car, which smelled of new leather. The car had the hot V-8 engine, and when he turned the key it made a sweet noise. He tossed his service cap into the backseat and roared away, headed for the beach.
As soon as the Mustang passed the police station a man wearing coveralls with the local dealer’s GM name emblazoned on it got out of a van, got into Jimmy’s cruiser and followed his partner, who was driving the van. They drove to a state police garage in Melbourne, parked in an available bay and went to work on the cruiser, starting by removing the steering wheel and the entire dashboard.
Hurd was at his desk when his phone rang. “Hurd Wallace.”
“Captain Wallace, this is Mike Green. I just wanted you to know that your Orchid Beach police cruiser has arrived at our Melbourne facility, and work has already begun on it. I’m advised that they will be finished late Sunday afternoon, when it will be delivered back to the Orchid police station.”
“Thank you, Mike,” Hurd said, “but I and one of my people are going to want to check it out, especially for the placing of the weapons, before it’s delivered. Will you call me on my cell when it’s done, and we’ll meet you somewhere between Melbourne and Orchid Beach.” Hurd gave him the cell number.
“Will do, Captain,” Green replied. “See you then.”
Hurd called out to Lauren, who was walking past his office. “We’ve got Jimmy’s car,” he said, “and they’re already at work on it.”
“That’s good news,” Lauren said.
“Keep yourself available late Sunday afternoon; I want us to go over the car together and make sure you understand where everything is, especially the weapons.”
“I’ll be on my cell,” Lauren said.
Jimmy sailed along Ocean Drive in Vero Beach with the top down and the wind in his short hair. He hadn’t felt so good since he got the chief’s job. He pulled into the parking area in front of the Ocean Grill and parked in a spot overlooking the beach. He took off his uniform shirt and tossed it into the backseat, then took a Polo from his briefcase and put that on. Finally, he locked his shirt, cap and weapons belt in the trunk and stood, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. Half a dozen surfers were riding nice waves, and there were a few dozen people lying on the beach. He spotted a girl alone who was wearing a bikini, and as he watched, she untied the bra and lay on her stomach, letting the strings fall aside.
Jimmy put on his aviator shades, walked down the stairs to the beach and approached her. “Hey,” he said, stopping next to her towel. “You need somebody to put some lotion on your back?”
