Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (129 page)

Anna squeezed Megan’s hand again. “If the thieves got the money, then where are Pastor Fleming and Mateo?”

Chapter 9

Lucy liked Mateo’s Uncle Jorge. He was a man of few words, but answered her questions easily and gave her permission to track the company-owned cell phones, including Mateo’s.

First, he showed her the room Mateo shared with two of his younger cousins. A set of bunk beds, a twin bed, two bookcases—one overflowing with children’s picture books and toys, the other filled with a stack of used paperbacks, mainly action-adventure and sports figures’ biographies—and a single dresser were crammed into the small space. The walls on Mateo’s side of the room were filled with surfing posters, Ansel Adams’ prints, and photos of interesting-appearing buildings and houses.

After showing her Mateo’s room, Jorge led her to the rear of the house, past a carport sheltering two more landscaping trucks and a mountain of pine straw stacked in bales. They entered a toolshed that also served as an office with a laptop and phone perched on a workbench across from racks of carefully arranged gardening tools.

“Mateo must be all right.” Jorge sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact as he leaned over the computer—there were no chairs. Lucy had the feeling the Romeros were the type of family who rarely sat while they worked.

“The police are doing everything they can to find him. Did Mateo have his own computer?”

“No. When he needed one, he used this one.”

“How’s he been acting lately? Anything strange?” She reached past him to pull up the computer’s browsing history. Nothing exciting there.

“No. He gets good grades and is a hard worker. He’s a good boy.” Jorge’s jaw clenched and Lucy intuited that he rarely gave anyone such praise in person. He turned away, typed for a few moments, then the screen filled with a map. “There. He’s there. At the marina.”

Not far from them—a mile and a half, on the Intracoastal Waterway. Across from their hotel and the shopping center at the southern tip of the island. “I’ll call the police, let them know,” she told Jorge.

“We’re closer. I’m going over there myself.” They left the office and went back through the house. Megan was talking to Mateo’s mother and aunt on the porch but looked up as they passed.

“Where are you going? Did you find Mateo?” she asked.

“We found his phone. At the marina.”

Jorge took his sister’s hands and gripped them as if making a solemn vow. Then he broke away and headed toward his truck. Lucy followed. “Megan, wait here.”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

Lucy didn’t have time to argue. The marina was a public spot on a Sunday afternoon, about as low risk as you could get. Still, she didn’t like the idea of Megan being more involved.

Too late. They took off, following Jorge’s truck as it spun out from the gravel drive and onto the street.

***

The marina was on the other side of the shopping center at the far end of the island and faced the sheltered waters of the sound. The boats docked there ranged from small flat-bottomed bass boats to large sailboats and cabin cruisers. Only a handful of cars were parked in the gravel lot, most of them clustered around the rental kiosk. But one at the far end was a black BMW with plates that read: Pastor1.

“That’s Pastor Fleming’s car,” Jorge said.

“Do you know where his boat is docked?”

“No.” He jogged over to the car.

Lucy debated following him but Megan was already making her way to the rental kiosk where a lone attendant watched them. She rushed to join them.

“Have you seen this boy?” Megan asked, showing him the photo of Mateo on her phone.

He frowned, squishing his lips one way then the other. “Nope, can’t say that I have.”

Lucy took over. “Do the Flemings keep their boat here?”

“Of course. We’re the only marina on the island.” He jerked his chin in the other direction, toward the inlet leading to the sound. “That’s him going out now.”

Lucy squinted and shielded her eyes from the sun as she stared west into the sound. The water was a brilliant blue streaked with golden ripples. A mid-sized cabin cruiser was silhouetted against the blue of the water and sky. She couldn’t make out who was at the wheel. “Did you see him? Pastor Fleming?”

“Nope. But it’s his boat. Who else would be driving it?”

Damn. As soon as it reached the end of the no wake area and hit the open water, they’d lose him. She glanced around. “What’s the fastest thing you have to rent?”

“Got a Formula 400 Super Sport. If you’ve got an operator’s license.” Which she didn’t. “Or, if you want something that you don’t need a boat license for, I got wave runners.”

Perfect. “I’ll take one.” He fumbled below the counter for a clipboard and forms.

Lucy ignored him, grabbing a life vest from the rack beside the counter and throwing it over her head. She shook her head at Megan who was also reaching for a vest.

“Wait here. Call Hayden. Tell her to get the Coast Guard out—see if Fleming’s boat has GPS,” she added as an afterthought. Wouldn’t that make everyone’s life easier? She hung her messenger bag over her chest diagonally, made sure her phone and pistol were zipped safe inside where they’d stay as dry as possible.

“Mom, I want to—”

Lucy silenced Megan with a look. The attendant was frowning. “Now see here, I can’t—”

Lucy did something she’d never done before. “FBI. Official business.” She was so full of crap—if word ever got back to the office, she’d never live it down. “I’m going to find Mateo, get to the bottom of this,” she promised Megan.

She climbed on board the closest wave runner without waiting for the attendant’s permission. Megan cast off the line as Lucy started the engine. It’d been years since she’d driven one—last time she and Nick had taken a vacation just the two of them. Cancun. Four days of fun and sun.

Her ankle twinged as she leaned her weight on it, steering the wave runner away from the dock. So much had changed since that vacation. Megan waved. “Mom, be careful!”

The words were devoured by the roar of the engine as Lucy sped away.

Chapter 10

Megan watched her mom ride off on the wave runner and wasn’t sure if she was angry with Lucy for leaving her behind or glad that there was a chance to save Mateo. Both. Plus, a bit of fear—for Lucy and Mateo. Whoever had taken Mateo and Pastor Fleming, it was obvious they were out of control and not afraid to hurt people to get what they wanted.

Mateo’s uncle jogged over to the dock. He showed Megan a cell phone. “Found this near the car but no Mateo.”

“We think he’s out there. That’s the pastor’s boat.” She pointed to the boat that was gaining speed. Lucy was standing on her wave runner, leaning forward as if trying to get the most speed possible from it.

Mr. Romero shielded his eyes from the sun. “I can’t see him.”

“You with that crazy lady, Jorge?” the dock attendant asked. “What’s going on?”

Megan tried her best to make out the figure driving the boat, but it was too far away and shielded by the tinted glass of the cabin. Then she saw a pair of binoculars hanging from a peg inside the attendant’s shack. She grabbed them. “Okay if I borrow these?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, figured Mr. Romero would do the explaining, and ran to the end of the dock. The boat operator had spotted Lucy and sped up, defying the no wake signs. Lucy was struggling with the wave runner as she drew closer to the boat’s wake. Megan focused on the boat, trying to see the man at the wheel but the sun was starting to set, which meant she was looking directly into it.

Tall, lean, maybe dark-haired. That was about all she could tell for certain.

The two men joined her. “Y’all know she’s not going to get very far,” the attendant said. “That runner was just returned and I didn’t have a chance to gas her up yet.”

Megan shifted her focus back to Lucy who was bent over the controls of the runner but it was slowing, losing momentum as the boat wake tossed it. Then she looked back at the boat. The driver was making a sharp turn, aiming right for Lucy.

“He’s going to run her down. Mom!” she shouted. Not as if Lucy could hear her.

“Oh damn. I’m not responsible for this,” the attendant said as the boat headed at Lucy.

The all leaned forward, straining to see everything. The boat sped up, its bow rising in the water as it charged over its own wake. Lucy’s wave runner slowed, floundering in the choppy water. She kept working the controls, trying to maneuver out of the way.

Megan held her breath as the boat got closer and closer. “Mom!” This time it wasn’t a shout but more of a gasp. The boat looked so much larger compared to Lucy on the small wave runner.

Finally, at the last moment, Lucy dove off the wave runner just as the boat sped over it, raising enough white water that Megan lost sight of both the runner and Lucy. She gripped the binoculars tight, straining to see Lucy come up out of the water.

The boat sped away but still no Lucy. Megan stifled a sob but it caught in her throat, making it hard to breathe.
C’mon, Mom,
she urged the empty water.

Behind Megan, Mr. Romero and the attendant got a flat-bottomed boat ready to take out. “She has a vest, I made sure of that,” the attendant was saying. “I’m not liable for any of this.”

“Shut up, Freddy,” Mr. Romero said. The sound of an engine roared to life just as Megan saw what she’d been praying for. A spark of orange. Lucy bobbed up out of the water, coughing, waving a hand.

“She’s okay!” Relief broke through her dam of fear. Megan dropped the binoculars to wave with both hands. The wave runner floated on its side in the choppy wake. The boat was in the distance, skimming over the water, almost out of sight.

Sirens sounded behind them in the parking area, but Megan ignored them as she watched Mr. Romero skillfully maneuver the flat-bottomed boat out to where Lucy was treading water. He helped her in and began heading back to shore.

“Could’ve at least towed my runner for me. Now I’m gonna have to go after it myself.”

Megan handed the binoculars back to the attendant with a glower. “That’s my mom who almost got herself killed trying to save two men. I think your wave runner can wait a few minutes.”

“She’s really FBI?”

“She really is.”

He hooked his thumbs in his waistband. “Well, okay, then. Guess the FBI can pay for this mess.”

Megan restrained herself from slapping him. As the adrenaline fled her system, anxiety took its place. Lucy hadn’t saved anyone’s life. The bad guys got away. They’d lost Pastor Fleming and Mateo.

If they were even still alive.

***

Mateo woke to darkness. And strange smells: gasoline and salt water and sweet, too sweet, lilacs. The world churned around him, bouncing up and down, side to side, but he couldn’t see why. Everything was black.

Nausea gripped him and he clenched his jaws to hold it back. He was lying—no, that wasn’t right—he was sitting on a rough floor. Scratchy like sandpaper against his jeans. If only it would stop moving.

A violent roll tossed him onto his side. He tried to brace himself but his hands were caught behind him. Handcuffs? How the hell… Why couldn’t he remember anything?

Panic dulled by a weird sense of lethargy made every thought a struggle, as if his mind were caught in the pluff mud that acted like quicksand in the island’s tidal marshes. When trapped in pluff, you couldn’t struggle. The only way out was to relax to try to float free or to have someone help pull you out.

Help. That’s what he needed. He tried to call out, but his mouth was dry and only a cough emerged. Drugs. Someone must have drugged him. Was that why he was handcuffed? Was he under arrest?

Then why couldn’t he see? He rubbed his face against the rough wall beside him. Felt cloth. That’s where the sickly sweet lilac smell was coming from. Okay. Not blind. Just in the dark with a pillowcase or something over his head.

Cops didn’t do that. What happened?

He tried to stretch his body out to explore his prison but couldn’t. The walls weren’t far enough apart for him to roll over without banging his shoulders and the length barely allowed him to curl up or sit halfway up, legs bent. He couldn’t tell where the ceiling was.

Another sudden lurch, as if the entire vehicle—he was moving, moving fast and there was an engine roaring above the pounding in his head—had jumped a curb. Not a curb. Waves. Boat. Water.

That wasn’t right, was it? He remembered being on his bike. Had to hurry, he was meeting a girl. Pretty girl. Young but interesting.

Fear surged through the fog and he sat up. Was she here, too? “Megan,” he called, his voice muffled and barely carrying. “Anyone there?”

No answer, just the boat bouncing as it slowed. Think, he told himself. Remember. What happened?

Megan. He was going to meet Megan. But first… his mind sloughed through muck thicker than pluff… first… What had happened first?

A vicious roll, as the boat spun, sent him reeling, headfirst against the compartment wall. The pain flashed red against the black that smothered him.

Blood. That’s what happened. He couldn’t remember how or why or where or who but he remembered blood. Lots of blood.

Fear spiked through the drug-induced haze that held his mind captive. All that blood. Someone was dead.

He shuddered. And he might be next.

Chapter 11

Lucy knew she had many faults—leaping before looking being among the top ten—but an easily bruised ego wasn’t usually one of them. Of course that was before she’d let their subject get away with two hostages, at least one potentially gravely injured. Not to mention needing to be hauled out of the water and ferried to shore sopping wet.

She was surprised Officer Gant didn’t burst out laughing when she stepped back onto solid ground. But he was too busy grilling Megan.

“You couldn’t see anything? Freddy said you had his binoculars.”

Megan was shaking she was so upset. “I’m sorry. The sun was in my eyes and the windows were tinted. I couldn’t see his face. Only that it was a man.”