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His entire being shrinks. “I’m hearing you, Beau. I just want you to be okay. I love you.”
“I love you too. And Dexter. I’d be lost without you both. You know that. But judging me or the men I see is not supporting me. It’s just making me feel like shit.”
He looks ashamed. “I’m sorry.”
I nod and carry on to my room, shutting the door, and start wrestling my way out of my dress, turning in circles to find the zip. My eyes land on the piles of apartment details.
I forget the zip and drop onto my bed, scooping up the stack and starting to flick through. And, weirdly, most of the properties I’d previously dismissed suddenly aren’t so bad anymore. One in particular is giving me good vibes, a lovely two-bed top-floor apartment in Biscayne Bay. I pout when my stomach performs a little flip. Excitement?
I grab my cell and call the agent. “Hi, my name’s Beau Hayley. I’m interested in viewing a property you’re marketing.”
“Sure,” the guy replies. “Can I ask what your position is? Anything to sell?”
“Nothing.”
“And are you financing through a bank? Mortgage?”
“I’m a cash buyer.”
“Available this afternoon?”
I smile and stand, reaching back for my zip again. “I’d prefer late evening.” And not only because it’ll keep me busy while I try to avoid gravitating back toward James’s apartment. It’s time to take some positive steps.
On my own.
40
JAMES
“What is she doing there?” I ask Goldie as I scan the beach, watching the busy space as I sit, relaxed, sipping a coffee, my laptop before me.
“Right now, she’s admiring the water.”
She’s not at home. She’s not at the supermarket. She’s not at the diner or at my place. She’s out there, exposed, and that makes me feel immensely uncomfortable. “I don’t think Beau knows about a safety deposit box.”
“She must know,” Goldie says. “Her mother surely left everything to her.”
“Well, I pressed as best I could without rousing suspicion and got nothing.” What if Beau doesn’t know Jaz left a key for it? What if she’s completely unaware? “Watch her until I get there,” I order, my eyes falling to the two beach chairs not too far away, each with a beach towel laid across them and a suitcase nestled in between. “Closely.”
“Got it. How’s it going?”
“I’m watching.” I look up when a man approaches my table, his feet shuffling, his face overgrown, his clothes tattered. “I’ve got to go.” I set my mobile on the table, scanning the area.
“Got a spare smoke?” he asks, motioning to my full packet of Marlboros on the table.
“No,” I answer flatly, going to my laptop. I feel tense, and it isn’t because of this exchange with my new contact.
“You have, right there, look.”
I glance up at him. “You want a cigarette?” I ask, picking up the packet, passing it from hand to hand.
“Yeah.”
I hold them out. “Here.”
He falters, unsure, and slowly takes them as I cast my eyes across the sand. I reach into my pocket and drag out some notes, slapping them on the table and setting my lighter on top. “You want this too?”
He slips the smokes in the pocket of his tatty coat. “What are you, my guardian angel?”
I smile. “One good deed deserves another. There’s two beach chairs down there with yellow towels. Bring me the suitcase that’s in between them. Simple.”
His greedy eyes rest on the pile of money. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He shrugs and leaves, ambling down to the beach, and I rest back, collecting my coffee and sipping, watching him. He plods through the sand, moves in on the case, and starts to drag it away from the chairs.
And as I predicted, two guys nearby abandon their volleyball game and move in, flanking the down-and-out on either side, escorting him from the beach.
My lip naturally curls, I snap my laptop shut, swipe up my cash and lighter, and leave the café casually, dialing Goldie. “Trap,” I say, not looking back.
“Surprised?”
“Not at all.” A criminal that’s not in The Bear’s pocket seems to be a rarity.
So I’m rare, but, frankly, the Russian, Sandy, is the least of my worries right now. Knowing Beau’s out there is making me uneasy. Her predictability has been a comfort. And while a sense of pride fills me, because she’s getting braver, more like her old self, I never considered how that might make me feel.
Nervous.
I have a purpose to rid Miami of the sewer rats. I don’t feel like control has ever slipped from my fingers, and yet, as Beau stirs back to life, I feel like I’m dancing on a double-edged sword.
Either way I fall, it’ll be the end of me.
41
BEAU
I stand on the edge of the bay at seven fifteen, leaning against one of the railings, taking in the magnificent sight. The walkway lining the water at the foot of the apartment block is wide and spacious, the people still milling having plenty of room to hurry to wherever they’re going. Little cafés and a few restaurants spill out onto the pedestrianized area, and benches are dotted sporadically along the route. The water is peaceful, boats chugging up and down, and the chaos of the city seems so far away. It’s more perfect than I thought.
