Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [84]
But no, his parents had always had their sights set on the White House. His father’s greatest aspiration was to be the man in charge, president of the United States. Top dog, number one, as in the buck stops here. It wasn’t that he had strong political views or any vision for the country. No, his father just wanted the office, and his mother, to be the power behind the throne, not to say the First Lady.
Tyler had been nothing more than an inconvenience to his parents. Once, when he was twelve, he’d been home for spring break and overheard his parents talking when they thought he was in bed sound asleep. His father had stated quite clearly that he would’ve gotten rid of the little bastard had it not been too late and illegal. And his mother had agreed. It hadn’t been real complicated to put two and two together and come up with four. Pure and simple. He had been an accident. And his parents had to live with it, or rather, him. No wonder he was such a gutless wonder and a lowly coward.
He would never, ever let Kate Rush get away with humiliating him again. He’d hunt her down like a rabid dog, and when he found her, well, he’d do what they did to rabid dogs. He’d put the bitch down. D-O-W-N, as in dead. He smiled at the image but knew in his heart of hearts that he was not capable of killing her. He was simply too much of a coward, though it made for one hell of a fantasy.
He smiled as he visualized Kate running through a heavily wooded area with him right on her heels. Rivulets of blood would be streaming down her pretty face as branches scraped across it, then . . . well, hell, he was even a coward in his fantasies because he wasn’t sure what he’d do with her when he caught her. He didn’t see himself simply shooting her and putting her out of her misery. Besides, Rush would fight back. He knew all too well what she was capable of. A coward she was not. Deep down he had a warped sense of respect for her. She’d never backed down from him in all the years they’d worked together, even when he was her immediate superior and she knew she was risking her job. Kate Rush had the guts and courage he’d spent his entire life searching for.
He still hated the bitch.
Deciding that another trip to Mango Key was out of the question, and with the rest of the afternoon looming in front of him, Tyler decided he might as well go sightseeing just like all the other tourists in town. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would bump into Nancy Holliday, and they could have drinks together. First things first. He would take a refreshing icy-cold shower, then dress in his tourist garb to wander the streets of Key West. Maybe he’d go to the Hemingway house and catch a six-toed cat. He grimaced at the thought. Tyler hated cats.
Tyler grabbed his travel kit and was heading to the bathroom when his phone buzzed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer or not. His day had sucked enough already, but then he decided it couldn’t get any worse. He grabbed the phone off the desk, glancing at the caller ID before answering. It read UNKNOWN CALLER, PRIVATE NUMBER.
“Tyler here,” he said, with as much authority as one could muster after being crapped on by a bird.
“I see you came hightailing back to the safety and comfort of your room.”
The blackmailer.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asked with as much bravado as he’d ever had.
“Well, well now. Aren’t we getting a little big for our britches.” The caller laughed. “Speaking of britches, those shorts you bought at that tacky tourist trap, the ones in the second drawer next to those loud T-shirts you bought, have a rip on the left pocket, which happens to be the pocket where you keep your wallet. You might want to make use of the sewing kit the guesthouse supplied. It’s on the bathroom shelf; if memory serves me correctly, it’s on the top shelf next to those little bars of gardenia-scented soap.”
Tyler was totally speechless for a minute. Gathering his thoughts, he realized that the son of a bitch had been in his room. “How