Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [31]
“See that flash, Pete?” Tick said, changing the subject.
“Yeah, what is it?” Pete asked as he shaded his eyes to see better in the bright sun.
“It’s someone in the prefab building looking at us with binoculars. Look away, don’t let them see that we noticed.”
“Do you think they’re interested in you in particular, or are they watching the other boats or maybe just the water? They have a boat that’s half on the sand and half in the water. What the hell does that mean? Dumb as I am on all things maritime, even I know you don’t beach a power boat.”
“It means they aren’t seasoned boaters. There’s no dock. Off the top of my head, with just a quick look, it appears to be an old Boston Whaler. Good boat. Maybe there’s something wrong with it, or it’s just there for show. It’s probably outfitted to outrun this boat. Appearances can be deceiving, Pete.”
Pete snorted. “That’s the cop in you talking. See! That’s what I’m talking about. You can no more hang it up than you can stop breathing.”
“Shut up, Pete, I don’t want to hear it.”
Tick cut the throttle and allowed the Miss Sally to slide up next to his dock. Pete hopped out and secured the boat. Tick handed up the packages, then both men stood for a few minutes, looking down the beach. The sun was still glaring off the binoculars, which meant Tick’s neighbors were still watching them. He shrugged. “They must be novices or just plain stupid. I don’t like people spying on me. Do you like people spying on you, Pete?”
“Hell no!”
“Then maybe when the sun goes down, we’ll go for a walk on the beach and tell those fine people we don’t like being spied on.”
Pete sucked in his breath. Now that sounded like the old Tick. “Sounds like a plan. You said something about making lemonade.”
Both men hefted the cardboard boxes onto their shoulders as they made their way down the dock, then to the deep sand that would lead them up to the house. They made two more trips before they hit the beach for a swim to cool off.
Ice-cold lemonade, two comfortable seats on the porch, and Bird for entertainment were their rewards.
While the brothers were sipping their lemonade, probationary DEA agents Kate Rush and Sandra Martin were grumbling about the incredible heat in the metal building they were living in. “They saw us spying on them,” Kate fumed. “I just know the sun glinted off the lens. I saw them both looking right where we’re standing. Talk about dumb.”
“You can’t be sure,” Sandy said, trying to soothe her frustrated friend. “Look, both of us are just cranky. We’ve been up all night seven days in a row, and nothing has happened. I’m beginning to think this is all one of Tyler’s stupid bids for another promotion, and Jellard somehow got sucked in. Nothing is going on. Nothing. The guy was probably buying supplies, at least that’s what it looked like to me. I saw celery sticking out of one of the boxes. He has to eat, and he also has to buy toilet paper and paper towels. It’s the other guy we should be asking about. Who is he?”
“I can’t be sure, but the cop’s profile says he has a twin brother. Maybe it’s him. Damn, I don’t remember it ever being this hot,” Kate said, wiping at her forehead with a tissue from the pocket of her shorts. “Let’s go for a swim.”
“Sounds great. Tonight, if it doesn’t cool down, I’m going skinnydipping.” Sandy laughed as she moved off to one of the cubicles separated by folding partitions. “I really hate this place, Kate. Do you hear me, I really, really hate this place?”
Kate grimaced. “I hear you, Sandra. Hey, we can always quit and go back to what we were doing before we signed up for this gig. By that I mean being miserable and missing this cockamamie life.”
Minutes later, Sandy whirled and twirled in her brand-new sky blue bikini. She looked spectacular and knew it. “Do you think those two guys will be spying on us?” Not waiting for an answer, she