Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [43]
The voice, when it came through, was booming, just like the man himself. It was full of authority and cheerfulness. To a point. “How’s it going, son?”
Tyler sucked in his breath. “Depends on what you mean by it, Dad.” Was the old man finally going to get around to telling him he knew his ass was on the line, that he was soon going to be an ex-DEA agent? Not likely. He was probably already pulling and yanking strings behind the scenes to make sure it didn’t happen. Someone should tell him this time around, no matter what he did, it wasn’t going to work.
“You DEA agents are all the same,” the voice boomed. “Overworked and underpaid. Where are you, son?”
Tyler’s antenna went up. His father had never asked him where he was on an unsecured phone before, so why now. Unless he had someone watching him. To what end? Lie or not lie. He opted for the high road, and said, “Circumstances being what they are, I’d rather not say over this phone, Dad.”
His father’s voice still boomed, but it seemed to Tyler that it had lost some of its luster. “That serious, eh?”
“Afraid so, Dad. Company phone.” Something was up with his father. He knew this particular number wasn’t secure. Tyler focused on a vase of fresh purple flowers on his nightstand. He wondered what they were called. He just bet Nancy Holliday would know what they were. Now, where did that thought come from? “Is there anything in particular that you wanted?”
The voice still boomed. “Just staying in touch with my only son. However, I did want to ask if you would be joining your mother, me, and Carlton over the Labor Day weekend? I thought we might go sailing on the Chesapeake. Make a day of it, have a picnic on board, a few drinks, see the fireworks they shoot off at the harbor.”
The last thing he wanted to do was go sailing with his parents and Carlton, his godfather, whom he’d despised from day one. Nor did he want to picnic or watch fireworks with them. He wondered if the old man knew he’d be out in the cold by Labor Day. Probably, he decided, and that was the reason for the invitation. Probably wanted to negotiate another trade-off.
“Sorry, Dad, can’t make it.” An inner voice warned him not to make an excuse, but he was sick and tired of the lies, tired of being his father’s lackey. Sorry, I can’t make it would have to suffice. “Listen, Dad, I’m being paged. Gotta run. Tell Mother hello for me.”
Sweat dripped down Tyler’s cheeks. He swiped at his face with the sleeve of his shirt. What the hell was that all about? His father had the ability to surprise him still.
Something suddenly pinged at his memory, but he couldn’t quite bring it to the surface of his mind. No matter, it would come to him eventually just the way the identity of the unknown caller would come to him. It always did.
Tyler walked over to the window and looked out. If he wanted to, he could go to the marina now and take out the boat he’d rented, but he hadn’t notified the Coast Guard. One phone call would be all it would take. But should he do it? Second-guessing himself had always been one of his major problems once he joined the DEA. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed his canvas bag and left the room. He called the Coast Guard on his way to his car.
July in Key West was hotter than the fires of hell. Residents strolled the streets in flower-printed shirts and worn-out flip-flops. Didn’t they realize how silly they looked? Obviously not, he decided. On a whim, he illegally parked in front of a tacky tourist shop. Inside, he purchased clothes like all the tourists wore. He would fit right in. He kept his temper in check as he made his way, mile by mile, to the marina. The high temperature and equally high humidity weren’t helping matters. He couldn’t wait till he was out on the water to cool down. He regretted now that he hadn’t