Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [91]
Jacob, barely six foot, with a slender build, a receding hairline, and wire-rimmed glasses, looked like any ordinary man. Elizabeth knew better. Not only was he brilliant, he was kind and had a quick wit about him that she and the governor admired and had come to rely upon. “Of course, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth touched Jacob’s arm. “This particular matter is very . . . delicate. I wouldn’t be too far off the mark were I to say this delicate matter could cost Thurman his bid for the presidential nomination.”
Jacob hurried ahead of her. “Then let’s not waste another moment.” He pushed the double doors open and entered.
Thurman stood next to the fireplace. He’d since removed his suit jacket. His hands were jammed in his pockets, his tie lay discarded on a settee beside him. When he heard them enter, Elizabeth saw him stand a bit taller. That was her Thurman. He was tough as shoe leather, always prepared for one crisis or another. One of the reasons she’d married him in the first place.
Thurman turned away from the fireplace. “Let’s have a drink.” He went to the bar opposite the fireplace and did the honors. Scotch on the rocks for himself, a white wine for her, and Jacob’s usual vodka martini.
Drinks in hands, they gathered around a small table in the kitchen, Thurman’s personal choice. Said it made him feel more at home.
“There isn’t time to mince words, so I will get straight to the point. Elizabeth, it has never been nor will it ever be my intention to hurt you or Lawrence. However, as is sometimes the case when one is in a powerful political office, one must do certain things.”
“You’re scaring me, Thurman,” Elizabeth said, her voice quivering. “What? What is it that’s got you so riled up?”
He took a sip of his drink, then placed it on the table. “I’ve had to stoop to a very low level. For the past eighteen months, I’ve had every office that Lawrence has worked out of monitored. Telephones, cell phones, video surveillance. Everything.”
Elizabeth just sat there, her mouth agape. “I don’t understand.”
Thurman reached across the expanse and took her hand in his. “It came to my attention a while back that Lawrence wasn’t the most popular or accomplished agent in the DEA. Rumors surfaced that he was backstabbing his colleagues, not following proper procedures. Recently, I learned the DEA has formed a special task force, and they’re planning to give the poor boy the heave-ho.”
Elizabeth placed her hand over her mouth. “But why? He’s an excellent agent. He’s been promoted repeatedly, to the point that, with the manpower shortages, he’s supervising three offices across the country, including the one in Miami. I discussed this with him just a few days ago. He said everything was fine and that he couldn’t be happier.”
“Then he was trying to protect his mother,” Jacob said.
“Were you aware of this?” Elizabeth asked Jacob.
“Yes, I was,” he said, without bothering to elaborate.
Thurman glanced at Jacob before continuing. “Time and again, I have called in favors, yanked on every string I’ve been able to tug for Lawrence. I’m afraid there isn’t anything more that I can say or do to help him this time around.”
“He’ll be devastated. I . . . Is this why you’re having him watched? Or is it something more?” Elizabeth took a very unladylike gulp of her wine.
“I’m afraid there is more. Apparently, Lawrence has gone in ‘deep,’ as the DEA agents call it. He’s in Key West now, but he’s been seen in Mango Key, that small island in the lower Keys. There is a large compound there that the Coast Guard has had its eye on for a long time. A drug lord used to own the place before he was busted and sent to prison. About a year or so ago, Lawrence received some intel that turned out to be useless. Now it seems this source has contacted him again with information, and he’s down there trying to make one last effort to salvage his career. I can’t say that I blame him. It’s the manly thing to do. A few of his former colleagues are also there on the island observing what, if anything, is taking place at that former drug lord