For The Love Of Laurel (11 page)

“We’ll see about that. Thanks for the sandwich, Mari.”

After Mari left, Laurel dialed Dylan.

“Kraft.”

“Mari just told me you are going to D.C. for a few days and are making arrangements for someone to take your place. I’d like to know just what you mean.”

“It seems pretty clear to me.”

“A few days isn’t what I had in mind.”

“I’m quite aware of that, believe me. I do have to go there and was planning on going soon anyway. Your ultimatum just pushed the timeline up a bit.”

“Um-hmm. But you do understand that your time here is done?”

“Perfectly.”

“Also, please don’t make arrangements for someone to take your place. I’m sick of this and just want to be left alone. I don’t need protection. If I do, I’ll get a dog, I’ll go to the shooting range and the dojang every day, get an electrified fence, whatever it takes. But no more bodyguards. Are we clear on that?”

“Perfectly.”

“Then why don’t I think you are taking me seriously?”

“I couldn’t say. You’ve had protection around you all your life. Maybe you feel threatened by the idea that you and Mari will be two women alone on a large estate that could easily be penetrated by anyone inclined to do so.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“No. I’m trying to talk some sense into you. It’s possible you’re right and there’s no danger to you and Mari whatsoever. And if you want to take that chance with your own life, you have the right to do so. But, do you have the right to put someone else in danger?”

“Of course not. It’s just that I don’t feel there
is
any danger.”

“Even after everything I’ve told you?”

“Dylan, you are a government agent. You look at the world as if the next bad guy is right around the corner. I can understand and even admire it. But I don’t see it that way. I’m not naïve. My father has been dead for long enough that if someone wanted to get to me, they would already have tried.”

“Not if they knew you had protection.”

“Not true. You come and go all the time. All someone has to do is watch from the street to know when you leave. Or they could get me at work or fool with my brakes. I don’t have to tell you this.”

“Okay. I don’t like breaking my promise to Gerald, but we’ll play it your way for now. As soon as I get back from D.C., I’ll clear my things out of the apartment.”

“Thank you.” She felt a moment of fear then it passed. “And no replacement?”

“No replacement.” The phone went dead.

“Like hell!” He snapped his phone shut. All this because of what she didn’t know. While it was true she was a target in public, it wasn’t as likely as in a private place. These guys didn’t want to be seen or get caught. Fooling with the car was not an option, either. Did she think he hadn’t allowed for that contingency? Besides her car alarm, he had installed four tiny cameras underneath the chassis, four under the hood, and four in the trunk which gave him constant access to her car and he’d know if anyone tried to alter or add anything. He hadn’t been able to put any inside the car because they would be too easy to spot if he placed them so he could see who was in the car. He could only hope she never let anyone she didn’t know in the car.

Neither did she know that the first five feet from the fence to the grounds around the perimeter of the property contained sensitive wiring just underground that would set off an alarm if anything heavier than a hundred-fifty pounds jumped the fence. His checking the perimeter everyday was partly for show, but also to make sure no small animals had disturbed the wiring. But mostly, she didn’t know yet that Gerald wasn’t dead and she wouldn’t know until she decrypted the message. She couldn’t decrypt it until Gerald gave him the okay, unless she installed encryption software and guessed the key. With luck, she wouldn’t even know she could do that.

“Oh, yes, sweetheart, like it or not, you and I will be doing the tango for some time to come.”

Chapter 15

Dylan sat staring at the message on his computer—the message Laurel couldn’t decrypt.

What a mess. Whose idea was it anyway? He knew Gerald had to go under deep cover and the best way was to make it seem as though he’d been killed. He also knew Gerald was taking a big chance even contacting him. He wondered just what was in the urn delivered to Laurel. Bird’s ashes? Monkey ashes? God only knew. He hoped it wasn’t the ashes of one of Gerald’s victims. Naw. Gerald was a bastard but even
he
wouldn’t do that to his daughter.

He was beginning to think about retiring. He was thirty-five and had been with the DEA for far longer than Sandy had lived with drugs. Had he paid his debt to her? Mostly he thought he hadn’t, but there were times he longed for a life without secrecy, without the fear of this kind of danger. And no matter what anyone did, the drug traffic seemed never-ending.

Why did Gerald stick with it? How could he bear to be away from Laurel so much? Even now he was emailing because he needed to know she was all right. He wanted her to know he was alive, but only when he felt it was safe.

What would it be like to fall in love, to have a wife, kids? Would he be content or quickly tire of non-action? Somehow, he couldn’t imagine himself as a suit. Gerald did investments for Chaber, but he had a more exciting and dangerous life, too. Dylan couldn’t see himself continuing with his present occupation if he became domesticated.

Of course, Gerald wasn’t married and he had others he trusted to take care of Laurel, but Dylan didn’t think he could live like that. Had Gerald ever been married? He must have had someone in his life because he had a daughter. And his daughter must look like her mother because she sure didn’t look a thing like Gerald. If that were true, he could understand why Gerald would be attracted to Laurel’s mother. If Laurel was any indication, her mother must have been one beautiful woman.

It was none of his business now or ever. If he was thinking like that, Laurel was right. It was time for him to move on. While he was in D.C. he would see about getting a replacement. Laurel didn’t want him or a replacement, but maybe she’d settle for half a deal. If not, he would have to contact Gerald and see what he wanted.

Gerald grimaced. “I’m playing doctor,” he said to himself. Oh, not like he did as a kid. He was playing at being a real doctor. He worked in a small clinic in the village of Tiquería, Colombia run by an American doctor, Sam Kingsley, who had gone with the Doctors Without Borders and decided to stay. He kept Gerald’s secret and after a crash course in giving injections, taking temperatures, and bandaging wounds, Gerald was able to come off as a respectable physician. It wasn’t hard because, of the seven-hundred or so people who lived there, most had never gone to a doctor and didn’t even know the extent of a doctor’s expertise.

When he wasn’t playing doctor, he spent his time doing recon. It was a long way from Cartagena to Medellín. He thought drug czar Alejandro Madeira was closer to Cartagena, though he couldn’t have said why he believed that. His superiors thought Madeira was in Medellín. Between both cities were many villages like Tiquería that dotted the hillsides. In truth, Madeira could be anywhere—evidenced by the fact that Gerald had yet to find him. The only positive was that Madeira didn’t know Gerald was here or he was certain he would have tipped his hand before now. Gerald prided himself on being thorough and making no mistakes—even if it took years to find the mark.

He sat in his cramped room with its dirt floor and grubby windows. As different as it was from his estate at Rancho, he didn’t mind. He’d grown up in a place nearly as bad with an alcoholic father who regularly brought whores home. He hardly remembered his mother. She’d died when he was six, and his only recollection of her was that of a skinny, unattractive wimp of a woman who never once gave him any affection. No wonder he was screwed up.

When in his late teens, he realized he was different. He didn’t have the same feelings other people seemed to have. Indeed, becoming a freelance assassin was easy. He made tons of money knocking off enemies of private businesses like Chaber Pharmaceuticals. One incident got the attention of the DEA, who convinced him that working for them would be better than serving prison time. Gerald never knew how they fingered him for the Markham murders, but suddenly he was killing people with the tacit approval of the government.

When he was recruited by the DEA, psychological tests labeled him as a borderline sociopath, but he didn’t agree. He’d checked the symptoms. Admittedly, he had most of them, but not all. Sociopaths didn’t feel love for anyone, but he loved Laurel; thus the borderline part, he supposed.

Did he love her? He’d never doubted it, but he wondered what his true feelings were. Sociopaths felt no guilt or regret, but he did because of her. So his feeling for Laurel had to be love. His entire life had changed because of her. Where would he be today if she weren’t in the picture? Probably in prison or dead instead of in some hellhole waiting for orders from a government he hated.

Dylan packed two suitcases. He had no idea how long he’d be in D.C., especially if he got a replacement to guard Gerald’s estate. They could reassign him to anywhere on earth. He took some measure of comfort from that, thinking he must be feeling wanderlust now that Laurel had put her foot down. It was the catalyst he needed.

He was tired of drug raids in San Diego County—a border county—and the occasional foray into Tijuana. He wouldn’t miss playing nanny, either. Though, with all the hardware attached to Laurel’s car, he didn’t need to spend much time at the estate. If he had, he’d be a nutcase by now. If Laurel thought about it, she would realize he was here only through the night. He spent parts or all of his days doing what he thought of as his real job. Did she think he just sat in his apartment twiddling his thumbs while she was at work or play?

He finished packing and took his suitcases to the Jeep. Laurel came out of the house and walked toward him. She wore navy shorts—his favorite shade of blue—a white tank top, and no shoes. She waved.

“Heading out?”

He nodded and gave his full attention to his suitcases. He needed a few seconds to recover from her long legs and braless chest. Why couldn’t she at least have the decency to say goodbye wearing that awful robe? He finally turned to her.

She stepped up to him and stood on tiptoe. Grabbing his shoulders, she pulled on them until his face was even with hers and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Instantly, he had his arms around her and found her mouth with his. His kiss was deep and unlike anything she expected. It said hello, I want you, this is so right, this is so wrong, I don’t need you, goodbye.

She pulled away at last, her face flushed. “That was a surprise,” she murmured. “Kind of reminds me of how quick you were to grab me that time I wanted to spar with you in Tae Kwon Do. You didn’t play fair either time.”

He smiled. “Ah, but as the saying goes, ‘all’s fair in love and war’. At least this time you didn’t push me away.”

“Don’t make too much of it. Since this is neither love nor war, think of it like I am: A goodbye kiss for someone you know you’ll never see again.”

“I’ve never had a goodbye kiss like that, but I’ll try to remember your advice.”

They stood looking at each other for a moment. Was she learning to trust him? Or was she right that he shouldn’t make too much of it? She wished she knew.

Inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away with her hands and laughed. “Never thought I would get emotional about a parting I asked for. But, you’re a good guy, Dylan, and I respect what you do. Have a good life. Stay safe.”

“You, too. Tell Mari goodbye for me.”

“Tell her yourself.” They watched as Mari came out of the house and hurried in their direction.

“Dylan Kraft, you didn’t expect to leave without telling me goodbye, did you?”

Dylan hugged her. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You take care of Laurel and yourself.” Then he whispered to her, “If you ever need me or even imagine you need me, call anytime.”

“I heard that,” Laurel said. “I take it that means you are honoring your promise of no replacement.”

“I won’t request one, but the final decision isn’t made by me. Just know that if someone shows up and says he’s the new bodyguard, it won’t be my doing. If that happens, I don’t have to tell you to check his creds thoroughly before you let him through the gate, even though the DEA will inform you ahead of time. They’ll tell you his name, describe him down to the mole on his left elbow, and when to expect him. You get the idea. Don’t ever let your guard down. There’s no such thing as being too careful.”

“Don’t worry about us. I know what to do. After all, I am my father’s daughter.”

“That you are.” He climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Buckle up,” Laurel reminded him.

He saluted. “Yes, dear. So long, ladies.” He shut the door and started slowly down the driveway.

“Godspeed, Dylan,” Mari said.

He waved as the gate opened.

Though Tiquería wasn’t far from bustling Cartagena, the village’s electricity was sporadic at best. They did have several portable generators, but didn’t use them often because someone—usually Dr. Kingsley—had to get gas for them.

Gerald had become accustomed to candlelight. The only time he used electricity was when he needed to charge the battery in his laptop. That was essential because heaven help him if he missed an email. The last one he had received enraged him. Laurel insisted Dylan leave for good and the asshole complied. Even now, Dylan was on his way to Washington, leaving the estate unguarded. Of course, there were things in place to prevent break-ins, but no system was perfect.

A spate of messages went back and forth among Gerald and his superiors. He demanded protection for his daughter and threatened to quit if he didn’t get it. He was curtly reminded there was no statute of limitations on murder so he could posture all he wanted, but he was theirs as long as they chose to keep him; however, they did agree to see what they could do about some protection for Laurel. He had no choice but to accept.

He wondered what had happened that caused Laurel to make Dylan leave. He could imagine she would think of him as superfluous. She always had, only putting up with him because she thought that’s what her father wanted. Dylan could hardly push the situation without it looking peculiar. Laurel was mistress of the estate now. If she wanted Dylan gone, he’d be gone. He’d shown her Gerald’s letter, for all the good it did. Laurel was kicking him out even if he did own the apartment. She was certainly bull-headed.

He went to the clinic. As he stepped inside, the doctor glanced at him and gave him a warning look. Gerald left and went to an outdoor marketplace, moving as though looking at produce but keeping one eye on the door to the clinic. Finally, just as the proprietor was coming his way to see if he needed help, a man left the clinic, his left hand swathed in bandages.

“My God,” Gerald muttered as he turned and walked away.
Alejandro Madeira! What is he doing in this forsaken little town?
Had he gotten word I’m here?
Madeira was the last of Gerald’s marks, but he was always hidden behind layers of ruthless men. Madeira had an extensive spy network. Had one of them come to Tiquería, perhaps to see a relative, and noticed him?

That Madeira searched for him, he had no doubt. Gerald had taken out three drug lords and word would get around, even among rival cartels. They had to know Madeira was next on the hit list, and Madeira would most likely know his pursuer was in the country—maybe even where. Maybe Madeira’s visit to the clinic was on purpose just to let Gerald know he was nearby. He needed to talk to the doctor to find out if the man was really wounded or if it was all an elaborate ruse to flush Gerald out.

He went back to his room and checked his semi-automatic pistol. He couldn’t use his rifle in town. He put the pistol on the table. If Madeira was looking for a confrontation, better here than in the street.

He waited a tense hour but Madeira didn’t show. Maybe he was hurt after all, but Gerald didn’t trust that. Why would he come to an out-of-the-way place for treatment? Surely, he had his own doctors.

While he waited, he typed an encrypted email to his boss:

Madeira is here. Waiting to see what develops. I have the upper hand because he doesn’t know I know he’s here. He soon will. It will be the last thing he ever knows.

He sent it then sat at the table, his hand on the gun.

And waited.

While Dylan waited in the reception area to be debriefed, he thought about Gerald nearly two-thousand miles away—him near the District of Columbia and Gerald in Colombia. Dylan could imagine Gerald’s panic when he learned what had happened at home. He was a bit panicked himself, but he hoped people were at work to get some protection for Laurel.

He wished he hadn’t kissed her. It made leaving much harder and his need to go back more keen. She said she would miss him. What did she mean by that? Would she miss him or was it just something to say? Maybe he could read her better when he went back to clear out the apartment.

Assuming they let him go back. They could easily send him somewhere else and have others do that job, or place someone there who would take over his stuff. Not his father’s books, though. He’d be sure those were properly packed and stored.

He got up and went to the receptionist. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know, sir, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got no place I have to be.”

He sat back down and closed his eyes. He was tired and needed sleep. He nodded off for a few moments, but a noise roused him. The receptionist was coming toward him with a steaming cup of coffee.