Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [52]
Kate pondered Sandy’s words. She did have a point. “When this storm clears up, and it will eventually, what do you say to a little B and E down there. There won’t be a moon tonight, so if we’re careful, we just might be able to penetrate the building.”
“Great idea. We should have done that when we first got here. Can’t imagine why Jelly wants us to wait it out. Since we aren’t on the payroll, we really don’t have to follow his orders. And since there’s no official law enforcement on this Key, I think we might just pull it off. If something goes awry, we just say we were operating independently and not involve the DEA. The burden of proof will be on them, whoever them turns out to be, to prove we’re official DEA, which we both know we aren’t at this particular moment in time. What’s the worst thing Jelly can do to us? Fire us? When you’re in the field, you take every opportunity that presents itself. I’m okay with trying to scale that outer wall.”
“Then we’ll do it,” Kate said forcefully.
Farther down the beach, the Kelly brothers were also watching the storm from their nest in the oversize stilt house.
Pete’s voice was jittery when he said, “Do you get storms like this very often?”
“No, not like this. I haven’t seen a storm that produced hail like this one is doing since I’ve been here. It should cool things off a few degrees,” Tick said, as though he were explaining what he was going to prepare for dinner.
“Is this the beginning of a hurricane?” Pete asked, his voice still jittery.
Tick laughed. “Hardly. It’s just a bad storm because of the unusual heat. It will be over soon. Scaredy-cat,” he teased. “You always were afraid of storms when we were kids.”
“Yeah, yeah. Do you think it had anything to do with our house being struck by lightning? As I recall, you were over at Bobby Mitchell’s house when it happened and didn’t go through that am-I-going-to-die-or-not thing.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it. Still, don’t you think you should have outgrown all of that?” Tick continued to needle his twin.
“Well, yeah, but we’re sitting in a goddamn stilt house, and everyone with a brain knows lightning strikes the highest object. This house is pretty damn high.”
Tick just laughed. “Listen, I have an idea. Since this damn storm prevented us from screwing with that guy on the Sooner or Later, what say you that around midnight, if the storm is over, we head down to that thing at the end of the Key. No moon. No boats on the water. We can go in underwater. We have all the equipment.”
“Won’t the Coast Guard be running their boats? I would think a black night like this would be perfect for drug runners.”
“You’re right, it is a perfect night for all things illegal. But we’ll be underwater. I think it’s safe to say the weenie roast is off. Unless those women plan on cooking the wieners with a butane lighter. No dry wood anywhere once this rain lets up. Two more hours, and it should let up. And then a steady drizzle until morning. What’s your hip telling you?”
Pete forced a laugh. “The same thing. I was really looking forward to a little social time.”
Tick almost laughed. Almost because laughter didn’t come easy these days. He’d almost said he, too, was looking forward to the weenie roast. Almost because it just wasn’t in him ever to give his brother the edge. On anything, and that included attending weenie roasts.
The brothers shifted their conversation to other topics: speedboats, the high cost of fuel, the war in Afghanistan, the price of mangoes, and the nightlife in Miami compared to the nightlife in Key West. “No comparison,” Tick said with authority.
When they’d exhausted all available mundane subjects, Pete brought up the building at the end of the Key. “What’s your opinion, Tick? What’s the cop in you saying?”
“I don’t think it’s drugs even though this is the perfect spot for it. You asked