Breach of Power (12 page)

"Mr. Elliot was Caucasian."

Jake stood and Francesca followed suit. "Sheriff, we need a copy of everything you have so far and we'll get out of your hair."

Sheriff Klicker handed Francesca his folder. "This was for you anyway. I have another copy at the station. One question though if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all," Jake said.

"Are you guys Feds or something? I got a call from the governor's office telling me to cooperate fully and assist any way I can."

"We're not Feds so I guess that put us in the
something
category. Our assignment came through different channels." Jake looked at Francesca then back at the sheriff.

"The governor said it came from the top. Does that mean what I think it means?"

Jake lowered his head momentarily and smiled at the sheriff's question. He gathered himself and said. "All I'll say is this. Two World War II soldiers' remains were disturbed at different United States national cemeteries within a three-day period. You take it from there."

J
ake and Francesca
made it to the airport hours ahead of schedule. Fifteen minutes later the Citation lifted off from Gainesville, Georgia destined for the Fernandina Beach Municipal Airport on Amelia Island, Florida. The club seat arrangement allowed Jake and Francesca to sit across from each other with a small table between them.

"Ever been to Amelia Island?" Jake asked.

"No. My only trip to Florida was last year when we were on assignment in Jacksonville." Francesca said. "Not one of our better moments. The lab blew up before we got there."

"I remember. We were lucky. We'll be north of Jacksonville this time. Fernandina Beach is on Amelia Island in Florida's northeastern corner. I think you'll like it. Throughout history it has flown under eight national flags. And at one point it was a haven for pirates. We'll be staying in the historic district, a couple of miles from the cemetery."

"What about food?" Francesca asked. "I'm getting hungry. Any good places to eat there?"

"Plenty of good restaurants. Afterwards we'll go by the fudge shop then relax with a drink at the Palace Saloon." Jake paused, then pointed to the folder. "What do you think?"

"I don't know, Jake. Just when I think we can draw a connection, new evidence raises more questions."

"Like what?"

"For instance, why were there no footprints anywhere but Dahlonega? Why was the glass broken on two caskets and left untouched on two?"

"The graves at Arlington and Andersonville were out in grassy plots. Whoever dug up those graves was careful not to step on anything but grass. No footprint evidence to lift. No telling what evidence was destroyed in Hiawassee. That investigation by the locals was a fiasco. The sheriff is either incompetent or just didn't care. In Dahlonega, the cops surprised the looters and they didn't have time to cover their tracks." Jake pulled out four photos, one from each cemetery. He laid them side-by-side on a table between the jet's club seats. He spun each photo around for Francesca to view. "Notice. Both Arlington and Andersonville have guards patrolling the grounds all night." He pointed to two photos. "These don't."

"Which seems to be another coincidence," she said. "Two black. Two white. Two broken. Two intact. Do you still think it's the same people or perhaps random acts of vandalism that are not connected at all?"

"I don’t' know. But my patience is wearing thin." He knew Francesca was right; it could be four unrelated incidents. But, Jake reasoned, more likely two. He was convinced the grave disturbances at Arlington and Andersonville were interconnected. He wasn't so sure the incidents in Hiawassee and Dahlonega were related to each other or to the national cemetery break-ins.

At Arlington, and again at Andersonville, the top liners in the caskets had fallen, or were pulled, from the same corner and folded underneath when the casket lid was closed. Too much of a coincidence not be connected. He didn't buy the story about the liners coming loose due to the caskets being buried in the ground and not in a vault. He didn't know much about caskets and decay or what years underground would do to the interior of the casket, but he did know that the lid had been opened because the liner was creased and folded back. That could only have happened if the lid was opened and then closed with the liner hanging down. What puzzled him was nothing appeared to have been removed from any of the caskets. The glass seals were never breached. So why would someone go to the trouble and risk going to jail if they weren't robbing the grave. What was he missing?

Jake opened the folder to review the crime reports again but within seconds his mind had wandered. He reminisced about Beth and the fun vacations they'd shared together in Fernandina Beach. Thinking about the casino cruises, picnics at Fort Clinch State Park, and the long romantic walks on the beach made him smile. He loved Beth. Her tragic death a year and a half ago left him feeling guilty and with an overwhelming emptiness inside. He never thought he could feel happiness again.

Then he met Kyli.

He wished Kyli was with him now. He felt cheated out of his time with her. He had put a wall around his emotions after Beth died, vowing never to let anyone in. Never to take down the wall. Was it too soon to let go of his feelings for Beth?

Kyli was different in so many ways. She made him feel alive. And it felt so damn good. Beth had been dependent on him, even needy at times, but he overlooked it because they always had good times together. Kyli was the polar opposite. Independent, light hearted, and a practical joker. A little on the wild side. Her tears at the Maldives resort was the first time he'd seen Kyli cry. Was it possible to fall in love with Kyli while he was still holding on to his feelings for Beth?

Their vacation cut short for this—investigating grave robberies. Not even robberies. Disturbances. Vandalisms. Never had anything been identified as stolen. He understood the President wanting to avoid a racial issue with the national cemeteries but why involve Wiley? Why couldn't Rudd's people handle this issue? It didn't add up.

The buzzer on the flight phone interrupted his thoughts. He picked up the receiver. "Yeah Mike?"

"We're starting our descent now, sir. We'll be on the ground in ten minutes."

Jake hung up the flight phone and looked at Francesca. "We'll be on the ground in ten so let's pack up this stuff." He paused. "You like seafood?"

"I'm from the southern tip of Italy. What do you think?"

B
y the time
Jake checked into the hotel and met Francesca in the lobby, the sun was disappearing in the western sky. The last of the day's burnt orange rays skipped across the waters of Fernandina Harbor. Shadows of sailboats moored in the harbor dotted the sparkling waters. Harbor sounds filled the air. Halyards clanged as sailboats rocked from the wake of a passing motorboat on the Amelia River. Its tiny engine hummed as it drove by. Screeching seagulls flocked behind an incoming shrimp boat, begging fishermen to throw scraps overboard.

Jake and Francesca walked down the sidewalk past the Palace Saloon, one of the town's feature landmarks.

"This is the place you wanted to come for drinks after we eat?" Francesca asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll pass. Smells too much like cigarette smoke."

"We'll just have drinks at Brett's Waterway Café." He pointed toward the sun. "If there is a breeze the gnats won't be bad and we can sit outside on the patio."

"I like that idea better."

They walked past a bookstore. An author sat at a table on the sidewalk signing his latest thriller novel. The setting sun glistened across beads of sweat on the author's bald head. Florida heat in early September was referred to as the dog days. And with 90% humidity, it felt like a sauna. Hot, sticky, and muggy.

The patrons sitting outside on the patio looked miserable, constantly wiping the sweat from their faces with their napkins. They opted to dine inside the cool air-conditioned restaurant.

"I'm sorry about your vacation with Kyli. She was really looking forward to it. I'm sure you were as well." Francesca brushed her hair behind her ear and smiled. "She had a big surprise in store for your second week."

"What was it?"

"Sorry. Not telling. She may still surprise you with it."

Jake ordered his second Margarita while Francesca drank white wine. While they waited for their drinks they sat silent, like an old married couple who had been together many years.

"Jake?" Francesca's voice went softer. "She's in love with you, you know?"

"We have feelings for each other but let's not get carried away. What makes you think that anyway?"

Francesca was about to speak when the waitress brought their drinks. Jake stirred his Margarita with his straw.

"Look, Jake. A woman can tell these things. I could see it in her eyes when she was telling me about the things she had planned for you two."

"I think she was just excited about the trip. Kyli wanted it to be an adventure."

"Wake up, Jake." Francesca's voice changed again. "Kyli is head over heels in love with you and you better start thinking about how you feel about her and how you're going to handle this when it comes up." She raised her finger. "And it will come up. Probably sooner than later."

"I'm a big boy. I can handle it."

"Well, keep one thing in mind." Francesca shook her finger at him. "Kyli is your boss's granddaughter and if it comes down to it, he'll pick her over you any day."

"I already know that." Jake took a long draw from the straw and swallowed. "He made that point perfectly clear last year on Ios Island."

"Then don't you dare break her heart." Francesca picked up her glass and took a sip of wine. "Or I swear to God I'll shoot you myself."

T
he doorbell caught
him by surprise, especially at this late hour. Evan Makley glanced at his watch and strode toward the door, pausing only long enough to check his appearance in the foyer mirror. His still had on his slacks from earlier in the day; his starched dress shirt untucked but still holding its press. He was barefoot, but it was his apartment after all.

The box above the door chimed again and again in rapid succession. Whoever it was, wasn't very patient. He stuck his eye to the peephole and saw a familiar woman's figure standing in front of the fisheye lens, Abigail Love. A flood of worrisome thoughts made him shudder.

Makley jerked the door open. "Abigail, what are you doing here?" He leaned out of the doorway and craned his head left and right. "Did anyone see you come in the building?"

Love pushed him to the side and walked in his apartment. "For crying out loud, Evan, give me a break. I'm not an amateur."

"Of course, of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply—"

"Shut up and close the door."

Makley turned around and closed the door. She was wearing a long black trench coat with black leather boots that disappeared mid-calf behind the fabric. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her brilliant green eyes bore in to him. "Do you have any news?"

"Not yet." She tossed her bag on his couch. "What about you and the President? Anything new happening that could be of use to me?"

"No. Rudd is worried about a few graves being disturbed in a couple of national cemeteries, that's about it." Makley let his eyes run up and down her torso. Her trench coat was cinched snug at the waist accentuating her figure. "If you don't have any news, why are you here?"

"A couple of reasons actually."

"I'm listening."

Love stepped closer to him. "I heard about your wife leaving, Evan, and taking your girls with her. You know, I can take care of her if you want me to…but it'll cost you."

"No. As tempting as it sounds, I'll pass. The girls need their mother, besides they're older now. One's even driving so I get to see them more often. The divorce really wasn't unexpected either. We hadn't been together as husband and wife in over a year before we split."

"Over a year? Damn. You are a frustrated man." Love removed the tie around her ponytail and let her hair fall to her shoulders. She shook her head to give her hair an unkempt look. She stepped close to him. "Which brings me to the other reason I'm here."

She was close enough he could smell her perfume. She put her hands on his chest, palms flat, and gently worked them in small circles. An instant twinge of excitement

"You know, Love's Desperate Desire can help with that too. And for you, Evan, it's on the house."

"What about your rule against getting involved with clients?"

"That's the good thing about being the boss, I can change the rules whenever I want."

"But—"

Love put her finger over his lips. He watched her systematically unbutton his shirt exposing his modestly hairy chest. She stroked her hands from side to side, top to bottom. By now his slacks showed visible signs of his arousal, but he didn't care. He'd already dreamed about a moment like this with the beautiful Abigail Love. Despite her line of work, despite the fact that she was a cold-blooded killer, he wanted her. He longed for her.

"Bedroom," she said.

More like a command.

He pointed to a door.

She grabbed his hand and led him across the room.

When they entered his bedroom, Love pulled him in front of her and slipped his shirt off his shoulders and then let it fall to the carpet. She turned him around and backed him toward his bed.

Love took two steps back and slowly loosened the belt on her coat. This was really going to happen, he thought. She let the coat hang open for a few seconds as if deliberately taunting him. He took it all in. From what he could see, she wasn't dressed underneath. Not in clothes anyway. She pulled her hands back, shrugged her shoulders, and let the coat fall to the floor.

Abigail Love had the best body he'd ever seen. Totally unblemished. From head to toe. Perfect in every way. She wore only a black lace bra and matching thong. Her boots, the ones that disappeared behind her coat, rose above her knees.

She stepped close to him again. He started to speak but she gave him the look. He knew to stay quiet. He wanted to get involved. He wanted to grab her and throw her on the bed, but he resisted. She ran her hands across his waist, working them forward until she came to his belt. He closed his eyes and felt her unlatch his belt and pull it through the belt loops. He heard it land on the floor. He felt her unbuttoned his pants and slowly unzip them. She pushed him backwards onto the bed.

She climbed on top of him. He opened his eyes when she kissed him. Her lips were wet, and warm, and sweet. Better than he ever imagined.

She pulled back and started kissing his neck, swirling her tongue below his ear.

She whispered. "Now, tell me more about these graves."