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I got out and looked both ways before crossing the glistening street. It had only stopped raining an hour ago.
As I walked past fashionable people enjoying a night out, I wondered if Derek was still actively tracking my car. Not that stopping to pick up sushi would be out of the ordinary for me. But after my disappearing act on Friday, I wasn’t sure if he’d be watching. Either he was pissed and didn’t give a shit, or my lack of communication would drive him to obsess. Watching and waiting for a way back into my life. Like the day he showed up at Mission Critical K9 with Betty. My heart ached at the memory; it had been a good day.
My goodbye note was harsh. He likely never wanted to see me again. Especially after everything else that came before the note on Friday night. He must hate me.
On the other hand, the way he clung to his promise to Ray was powerful. It had been decades, but he wouldn’t let it go. Fucking Boy Scout. More than loyalty, it almost seemed like guilt, and either might outweigh his anger at me.
I’d gone around different versions of this merry-go-round a hundred times since I left his bed. I couldn’t predict what he would do. And I hadn’t decided what path I hoped he’d choose. Chase me? Or ignore me?
I pushed away the distracting thoughts and turned down the deserted alley behind De Wispelaere’s gallery. I slid my hand into the purse compartment where the .22 rested and took a calming breath. I navigated carefully past the dumpsters and potholes turned to puddles, the click of my heels on the blacktop amplified by the rainwater.
I cursed and tried not to jump when something furry scurried from a pile of trash and across my path. Florida sucked. It was sauna-level steamy, and the mosquitos buzzing my face looking for their next meal were huge. I lived in a city, but it was basically a swamp.
Belatedly, I acknowledged I should have changed from my white suit and beige snakeskin heels. But I hadn’t expected a rustic hike in the posh shopping area. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and swatted away more blood suckers.
I muttered a few choice words under my breath. Charles was going to get a lecture on professional courtesy when I met him.
Ahead, a single gas lantern flickered in the dark. Only someone like De Wispelaere would bother with the expense of having a gaslight in the alley. The added ambiance must impress the garbage collectors when they came for his trash. I was being a bitch, but the snarky thoughts helped me keep up my nerve.
The back door had a pretentious brass plaque with the name of the gallery in the same script as the business cards. And next to the lock, an alarm keypad blinked in a strange staccato rhythm. Charles didn’t say anything about an alarm. I didn’t like it. I considered turning back.
Fuck. Fuck.
Bile rose up my esophagus at the thought of calling Uncle Jimmy to tell him I didn’t get the merchandise. He’d send Tony to kill me. I knew it.
I let go of my .22 to retrieve the key from my sweaty cleavage. I closed the key in my fist and pressed the back of my hand to my lips, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass. Not that there was much in my stomach. A few crackers and some soda were all I managed for dinner.
I fit the key in the lock, and it turned with a soft, dignified snick. I slowly pushed the door open.
“Hello, Charles?” I called into the near dark.
Thick velvet drapes lined the hallway. Behind the curtains, there was a tall industrial shelving unit filled to the brim with every kind of trinket imaginable. I could make out silver, china, and crystal in the barely lit storage space.
I called out again, louder. Nothing.
Every instinct I had screamed get out. I took a tentative step forward. A trickle of sweat slid down my back. I should have brought Onyx. He had better night vision.
My breathing was too fast and too loud. I shouldn’t be here. I called out for De Wispelaere, an edge of panic in my tone. The only reply was the echo of my footsteps as I traversed the long hallway toward a glowing red exit sign at the far end. I skimmed my free hand over the velvet drapes. The rich material undulated like a gentle ocean swell.
The only thing that kept me walking was the knowledge that these watches would buy my freedom. I promised myself when I turned forty that I’d get out. It was time to deliver on that promise. Damn it, I was going to fucking make it happen. Scared shitless or not.
If De Wispelaere was efficient, I could be back at Oleander working on melting down the first watches by ten tonight. It’s not like after this I’d be able to sleep. Destroying beautiful timepieces might distract me from thoughts of Derek.
At the end of the hall, I pressed open another door and entered what must be De Wispelaere’s main gallery space. It felt futile, but I called his name again. The room was a jumble of shadows. Only the barest light from outside filtered in. I’d get out my cell phone camera’s flashlight but wasn’t willing to let go of my gun.
I crept through the labyrinth of expensive junk; it felt like I was alone. It was quiet except for the street noise and my heels tapping on the floor with each cautious step. De Wispelaere was a no-show.
I couldn’t imagine trying to search this place for the merchandise. Despite the dark, I could tell it was packed to the rafters with stuff. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
The wet tap of my high heels in a puddle first alerted me that something was wrong. The scent was my next horrible clue. It had been years, but I’d never forgotten that smell. Growing up, I’d helped butcher enough hogs and chickens to identify the tangy iron smell in the air.
Blood.
I fumbled for my cell phone; light was more important than my gun. I clicked the light on and pointed the narrow beam at the ground. The pool of blood led directly to the lifeless form of a man that must be Charles De Wispelaere. I pressed my hand over my mouth, not sure if it was to stop me from screaming or vomiting.
Fuck this. I stumbled back and was about to turn and run when there was a crash from the front of the shop, and blinding beams of light burned into my retinas.
“Freeze. Miami-Dade Police! Hands up.”
