Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [42]
“Okay,” Nancy called over her shoulder as she sprinted toward her car.
An hour later, Tyler turned left off the highway onto Duval Street, headed to the Southernmost Point Guest House, where he’d made an open-ended reservation since he didn’t know how long he’d be staying. It would be his home base. He assumed that Nancy Holliday wasn’t staying at the same place since she hadn’t said anything about what a coincidence. He didn’t want anyone watching his comings and goings. He knew, though, that he’d do his best to meet up with her at Sloppy Joe’s tomorrow if it was at all possible.
There was a bounce to Tyler’s step when he parked his rental, yanked out his duffel and laptop, and made his way into the guesthouse. He registered under his own name and was shown to his room, which thank God had its own bathroom as well as an Internet connection. The room was huge, neat, and cozy. It would work. Oh, if my parents could only see me now, he thought. The thought made him laugh out loud.
Tyler unpacked, laying out his used clothing in one of the lavender-scented drawers. For a moment he thought he was back in his own town house with his own dresser drawers, which Talaga lined with what she said was lavender-cypress drawer liners.
He fired up his computer and sat down to read his e-mail to see if the boat he’d reserved would be ready in another hour. He used his cell phone to check in with the Coast Guard and was told there was still nothing to report. He shrugged as he brought up Google Earth and zeroed in on Mango Key. He wished now he’d made a trip down earlier to check out the Key in person. Well, he was here now. The big question facing him was, did he check things out in the daylight or wait for darkness? The boat he’d requested would have running lights, but he’d have to notify the Coast Guard if he was going to take to the water in darkness. “Always cover your ass,” he mumbled under his breath. But then again with the cover of darkness, he could move at his own pace, do what he needed without fear of discovery.
Screw the rules.
He also needed to check out the cop on the beach. A straightforward house visit should do it, he told himself. Face-to-face, he’d get a measure of the man, then make his decision as to whether he was who he appeared to be on paper.
Tyler never fooled himself, at least not in private. He knew his one strong point was his ability to have total recall of events and occurrences. He remembered every single word he’d ever read. He remembered every little nit-picking detail of cases he’d worked on even years ago. His father had always been surprised at his phenomenal memory, with his mother saying he inherited his memory from her side of the family, which was all bullshit as far as Tyler was concerned.
He hit Google Earth again and homed in on the structure at the end of Mango Key. But before he sat down to study the pictures that were popping up on his computer, he raided the minibar under the television stand. He withdrew a bottle of Evian water and drank half the bottle in one gulp. He was back at the computer within minutes.
Tyler studied the huge structure, surrounded by a high brick wall, from all angles as he tried to figure out what it was going to be used for. Mango Key was the perfect place for all manner of illicit enterprises, and one couldn’t forget it was a mere ninety miles by water to Cuba. He gulped the last of the water and leaned back to think, his mind racing a hundred miles a minute.
If he could only remember what it was about the voice of the unknown caller, disguised or not, that made him think he knew who it was. Sooner or later, when he was least expecting it, something would come to him. He was sure of it. His thoughts still churning, he glared at his cell phone, which had the audacity to pick that precise moment to ring. He looked down at the caller ID and winced. He clicked it on. “Tyler,” he said succinctly.
“Mr. Tyler, please hold for the governor,” a flat-sounding voice said coolly. Like he had a choice? As far back as he could remember, he’d never refused