Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [51]
The unknown voice cackled with laughter. “Can’t say as how I blame you. How about this . . . the house, that big ugly thing at the tip of Mango Key, is being renovated or, at the very least, cleaned up. Company is coming shortly. Actually, the guests are about seven months late according to my intel, but with things being what they are, I think you will understand once you know what’s going on. By the way, those clowns on the beach have no clue. People have been going in and out of that fortress for weeks now.”
Tyler chewed on his lower lip. How does this guy know this shit? “And you know this . . . how?”
“I’m one of those people who watch and listen. Can’t make any money watching and listening unless I have a buyer interested in buying the information I’ve stored in my brain.”
“That’s not enough incentive,” Tyler snapped. “What’s going down?”
The unknown voice cackled again. “Now, you see, that’s what you’re going to be buying from me. Do we deal or not? Oh, one more thing, I was just funnin’ with you when I said I was going to spill your secret. I know you’re not gay even if you have friends who are. That was just to get a rise out of you to prove to you that I know everything there is to know about you. I know things about you, Agent Tyler, things you yourself don’t even know.”
A zigzag of lightning lit up the sky, and moments later Tyler literally jumped out of his chair when a boom of thunder erupted overhead. He moved then, slamming himself against the wall of the porch and sucking in his breath. Hail the size of a nickel pelted the steps leading to the porch. One by one, the ferns hanging from the rafters shot outward like rockets, propelled by the wind rushing through the right and left sides of the porch. The paddle fans sparked, telling him the power was out. A transformer probably blew out at the corner, he told himself. For a few seconds, he thought it was the end of the world. His heart, beating trip-hammer fast, finally slowed. He inched his way to the door and went inside. He called out, but no one responded.
Ten minutes later, he could see that the sky was starting to turn lighter, but the rain continued to river down on the guesthouse. He thanked God he’d had the good sense to head to shore when he did. He looked down at the phone in his hand, knowing the connection was dead. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that at the moment.
Feeling his way along the dim hallway, Tyler inched his way to the stairway that would take him to his room on the second floor. It wasn’t that he was frightened, but discretion, as everyone knew, was the better part of valor. Besides, he was thirsty, his throat and tongue bone dry.
Safe in his room, with the door locked behind him, Tyler opened the minifridge and pulled out a bottle of Evian water. In two gulps he finished the bottle. Then he reached for a frosty bottle of cola. This he sipped as he reclined in the deep, comfortable chair by the window. He sighed mightily as, the rain still slashing at the windows with tropical force, he started to consider his immediate options. He sighed again and, within seconds, drifted into sleep, the relentless heat and sun of the day taking their inevitable toll.
Back on the beach at Mango Key, Agents Rush and Martin stared out at the storm as they huddled together inside the metal hut. “This is worse than that hurricane I went through last year. I wonder where that bastard Tyler is.” Kate said.
“He’s probably back in California, dining with his flavor of the month under some cactus plant with a fan circulating hot, dry air all over him. I was really looking forward to that weenie roast. Wonder what the Kelly brothers are doing.”
“The same thing we’re doing, only they’re probably guzzling beer. Those winds are pretty ferocious, and I haven’t seen hail like that in years.”
“You know, Kate, this would be the perfect night for something to happen at that house on the tip of the