Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [23]
“Tomorrow, I am going to Mango Key to talk to the elders there. It’s a rather strange place, and how Mr. Kelly fits in with their rules and regulations is something I do not understand. We plan to ask the elders if they will lease a strip of the beach where we can put up a prefab building. We can have it up and operational in three days if they agree. I’m planning on asking Evan White from the Coast Guard to go with me to make my plea. We want you girls to move in and watch things. You’ll be provided a cover, but as of this minute I don’t know what it will be. You will be on the book, but it will be my book. I can pay for your living expenses, but you won’t be getting a salary. When you officially go on the book, your pay will be retroactive. If I can’t make it happen, you’re right back here. You need to understand that going in. Jacobson and Levinson will be around a lot as your best buds, brothers, cousins, whatever they need to be.” Both women nodded in agreement.
“And the cop on the beach? What’s his role?” Kate asked.
“Gut instinct tells me the guy is just what he appears to be. He withdrew from something too painful to deal with. Tyler’s spin on it is that he’s into something up to his ears in order to get back at law enforcement for letting it happen in the first place. You pay your money and you take your pick. Personally, I think the guy just likes being alone.”
“And what happens if, when we move in, he moves out because his privacy was invaded?” Sandy asked.
“This isn’t about him. He’s just there. This is about that compound and what the Coast Guard feeds you. I don’t have to tell any of you how the guys swim in underwater on dark nights. Hell, probably half of them are SEAL aficionados. What that means is you’re probably going to sleep during the day and stand guard all night. That’s as much as we know right now. If you want out, now is the time to say so.”
“I’m in,” Kate said.
“Me, too,” Sandy said.
“Then we have a deal, ladies and gentlemen.”
Chapter 5
Tick Kelly walked down the steps from his house and looked around. The sun was just creeping over the horizon, the birds were chirping, the palm fronds dancing in the early-morning breeze. In another two hours it would be blazing hot, and the humidity would be creeping toward the hundred percent mark. In other words, a brand-new day. To do what, he didn’t know. He’d finished his latest novel ten days ago, spent a week revising as needed, then, yesterday, he’d fired up his cigarette boat and headed to Miami, where he sent it off by FedEx, with a disk copy enclosed.
At the bottom of the steps, Tick looked around as he tried to decide which way he wanted to run, left or right. He opted for left before he did some limbering-up exercises. He’d been lax about his physical regimen the last two weeks, working around the clock to finish his book on time. If there was one thing he excelled at these days, it was tuning things out.
He started out slow, then his bare feet picked up speed. He knew every stick of driftwood, every chunk of coral, every lone bush or weed on his run. He looked over his shoulder to see if Bird was following him. He was. Normally, to Tick’s amusement, he jabbered during the whole run. At times they actually carried on a conversation that made absolutely no sense at all. He’d tried these past years to ask the bird where it came from, who his/her owner had been, and other interesting questions. There was no response from the parrot. I’m a cop, for God’s sake. Ex-cop, he