Lifeguard - James Patterson [62]
Chapter 73
ACROSS THE STREET from Ta-boó, the man in the tan car had watched the whole scene unfold, and he didn’t like one thing about it.
The first Mercedes pulled up, the doors flung open, and one of Stratton’s men dragged Liz Stratton into the backseat.
He squinted into the camera. Click, click.
Then Stratton’s boys in the Hummer peeled out after Ned Kelly and that Kiwi cowboy on the show-off bike.
“Dangerous folks,” he muttered to himself, clicking off one more shot. That son of a bitch better be able to really ride.
Then two of Stratton’s goons got out of their car and went up to Ellie Shurtleff.
For a second, that made him reach for his gun. Didn’t know if he should interfere. Some kind of argument took place. They started to get a little rough with her. The Shurtleff gal flashed her badge, standing up pretty tall in the saddle.
She had spunk, the man in the car had to admit. He’d give her that.
Setting up this scheme to get to Liz Stratton. Cavorting with a murder suspect.
“Spunk,” he chuckled, but not exactly a lot of shrewdness. All he’d have to do was pass along a print to the feds across the street and it wouldn’t exactly be a gold star for her career. Or the rest of her life, for that matter.
Stratton’s men backed off. Flashing the badge seemed to work, because after some jostling, they got back in their car. They drove the Mercedes close to the other car, then sped away. He took his hand off his gun. He was glad he’d decided to wait. This could get even bigger.
Maybe he should just pass along these prints. The guy was a wanted killer. She was taking a hell of a risk. What if she was involved in some way herself?
He watched the FBI gal get back in her car and drive away. “Not shrewd,” he said to himself again, tucking away his camera. He flicked a matchbook between his fingers.
But a shitload of spunk.
Chapter 74
ABOUT 3:30 that afternoon, Ellie met us back at Champ’s garage.
I was happy to see that she was okay and gave her a hug. I could tell by the way she held on to me, she’d been worried about me, too. We told her about the motorcycle chase.
“You’re crazy.” Ellie shook her head at Geoff.
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, as if reflecting on it. “I’ve often found the line between crazy and physically irresponsible to be quite blurred. Anyway, I thought it was a far cry better than having to party up with those guys in the Hummer. Given the circumstances, I actually thought things went pretty well.”
I shot a glance to the clock on Champ’s garage wall. It was getting to be that time. A lot could play out for us in the next hour or so. We could find out who stole Stratton’s art. I could be cleared of the murders. “You ready to go to Liz’s? Ready to nail Dennis Stratton?” I asked. Ellie seemed nervous, though—for her, anyway.
“Yeah,” she said. She caught my arm, her expression tight. “Just so you understand, that’s not the only thing that’s going to happen at Stratton’s today.”
She opened her jacket. A set of handcuffs dangled from her waist.
I felt my stomach shift. I’d felt strangely free for the past few days, following up on the crimes, maybe getting closer to catching a killer. I’d almost forgotten she was an FBI agent.
“If it all goes like we hope in there,” she said, that law-enforcement look back in her eye, “you’re going to turn yourself in. You remember the deal?”
“Sure.” I looked at her and nodded, but inside I was dying. “I remember the deal.”
Chapter 75
WE CROSSED OVER the middle bridge to Palm Beach mostly in silence. My stomach was twisting inside. Whatever happened at Stratton’s, I knew my freedom was about to end.
The town was eerily quiet for a Thursday in mid-April. There were only a few tourists and shoppers on or around Worth Avenue seeking out the late-season sales. A white-haired doyenne crossed in front of us at a light, in a fur wrap despite the April heat, her poodle in tow. I looked at Ellie and we smiled.