Safe in Her Bodyguard's Arms, page 2
“For fudge’s sake, seriously?”
“Yeah. Lee’s sent you an information packet on the situation and all the intel we could gather. The jet is gassed and ready to go. Ping when you land and check in with Lee as you go.”
“Van, this isn’t a job.”
“No, this is family. You know what that means,” Van said as he stood and came around the table, clapping Xander’s shoulder with his hand.
Van was tight-lipped about his own biological family, but Xander knew how hard the other man had worked to make all of them feel like they were one. How could he explain to Van that this found family was the only one that wanted him? That a long-ago mistake had cost him his place in the Quentin clan? And that Xander was okay with it? Because he knew that if he went back, there was a chance that he’d turn back into the rage monster he’d used to be.
* * *
Obie left the jail, driving through the midday traffic to the district attorney’s office. She’d called ahead and been told that if she was willing to wait, there might be a paralegal who could speak to her sometime that afternoon. Having already called in her assistant to cover her shift, Obie had the afternoon off.
She could have gone home and spent some quality time playing Dreamlight Valley on her Switch, pretending this never happened, but that would be selfish, and if there was the slightest chance she could help Aaron...well, she had to try.
Lost causes and all that.
Truth was, she liked trying. She just wished that one time her efforts would be rewarded. Though to be fair she had saved herself by adapting and leaving the swamp girl she’d been when her parents had died behind. Most days she didn’t even remember that her hair had a tendency to curl. She used a lot of product in it and had even splurged on that Dyson hair dryer that worked miracles.
So yeah, she was the heroine of her own story...ha. If changing everything about herself and making herself into a bland copy of everyone else was winning, then she was definitely a champion. Maybe that was why she was trying so hard with Aaron. Gator had asked her to come with him. To take a chance on the two of them making it. And she’d been too scared to leave.
Too scared to trust him, or herself, on their own.
Even though secretly she hated everything about her new life back then, it had still been secure. She’d needed that more than she would have ever admitted to Gator. He’d gotten pissed and said a lot of mean things, called her a coward and left.
She pulled her car into the parking lot of the building where the district attorney offices were. The address that Aaron had given her was on Key Largo as he said, but on the southern part of the long narrow Key. All the houses on Key Largo were pricey, not something that he could afford on the salary she paid him as a dishwasher.
Maybe the looming sense that Aaron had been keeping something from her was why she was reluctant to help.
But the moment the words La Familia Sanchez cartel had left his mouth, she was in. She didn’t have to be Junie B. Jones girl detective to see that something wasn’t right here.
It was scorching when she opened her door and the heat seemed to wrap around her. For a moment she was pulled back into the past and those hot, muggy summer days when she and Gator would run barefoot through the citrus grove that used to dot the landscape in central Florida. Fighting to find shade before darting into the Green Swamp and the playhouse their father had built for them up in a live oak tree.
She closed her eyes, and the longing and pain in her heart told her that unless the DA confirmed that Aaron hadn’t spoken to him, Obie was going to retrieve his evidence. It might not be worth anything and might not set him free, but she would bring it to him all the same.
She pulled the strap of her large purse up on her shoulder as she headed inside. The air-conditioning brought goose bumps up her arms and legs and she almost shivered at the coolness of it as she pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head.
The receptionist looked up when she came in and signaled her to wait. Obie realized the woman was on the phone. When she hung up, the woman asked who she was there to see.
“I spoke to Crispin Tallman’s office. They told me a paralegal might be free to speak to me this afternoon.”
“Okay, what’s your name?” the woman asked.
“Obie Keller.”
“Okay, Ms. Keller, have a seat and I’ll let them know you are here.”
The office was like many of the buildings in this area, kind of comfortable but worn down from years of use. It was clear any money in the budget for updating the interior design was being spent on prosecuting cases.
Obie sat down, holding her bag on her lap because the floor looked dirty. She took out her phone but she didn’t have any messages, and her socials were silent, just her looking at other people. So she put it back in her bag, noticing that the nail polish was chipped on her forefinger.
Ugh. Not going to make a very good impression with that.
But she didn’t need to make a good impression, she reminded herself, though Aunt Karen said a lady always needed to.
“Ms. Keller? I’m Crispin Tallman. I was free and had some time if you’ll follow me,” he said.
Crispin held himself tall and with confidence. She could tell he commanded authority. She smiled at him. He had a pleasing face and an easy grin. His hair had been slicked back and the suit he wore was slim fitting.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she said once they were in his office. They’d walked past desks with people working on files and on the computer and into an office that wasn’t huge but not too small either.
“No problem. I am the assistant district attorney working the Quentin case. If he has the evidence he’s hinted that he does, then I am interested in it.”
“Oh, that’s good. He gave me an address to go and retrieve it, but I wanted to find out what I was getting myself into.”
“How well do you know him?”
“He works at a coffee shop I manage as a dishwasher,” she said. “I wasn’t aware about the drug dealing and I have to tell you, I never saw any of that behavior at the coffee shop.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t. He’s not a street dealer. Our investigation revealed he was more midlevel in the cartel. In fact, that’s the only reason I’m willing to offer him a deal. If he has the information on the higher-ups, then we can talk,” Crispin said.
“So what do I need to do? Get the files from his home and bring them to you?” she asked.
“Yes. The cops searched his place and didn’t find anything, so I’m not entirely sure what you are going to find, but maybe you’ll see something we didn’t,” Crispin said.
“Do you think this is a waste of time?”
Crispin shrugged. “In my experience most people will say anything to get out of going to trial.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll be in touch if I find anything.”
Obie left Crispin’s office not confident that Aaron was going to get out of a trial...or jail time.
Chapter 2
Obie double-checked the address several times but this seemed to match the one that Aaron had given her. The houses in this neighborhood were spendy like she’d expected. But this one looked somewhat homey. Not at all what she expected someone who worked for a drug cartel to live in. In her head they were all living in a lux mansion like on the TV show Bloodline.
She parked her car under the car park. It was early in the afternoon and quiet. She had gone home and changed into a pair of shorts and tank top since the summer Florida heat was rising. Plus there was no one to impress on this errand she’d given herself.
What did she think she was going to find in Aaron’s files? Someone who could potentially confess to having her father and mother killed, or at least being involved at the time? She knew that was unrealistic but had spent the drive down rehearsing what she’d ask Aaron if this worked out. Surely he’d have the connections to find out if the cartel had been involved in her parents’ deaths.
Each of the properties was waterfront and all of them had docks behind the houses with boats in the back, including Aaron’s. Having grown up in the swamp, Obie was at home on water and a part of her envied Aaron that he had this place. How could her dishwasher afford this place?
Crispin had said that Aaron was a drug dealer and pretty high up in the organization. She was still dealing with that reality. Her gut had been so wrong about Aaron. He wasn’t a lost soul. Not at all. In fact he might be the one tempting people to leave behind their lives.
And he worked for La Familia Sanchez cartel. That was the only way he’d have evidence to get an indictment against the crime family that been notoriously hard to make convictions stick. Maybe she would get some answers about the cartel’s involvement in her parents’ deaths. She’d just tell Aaron that, if he wanted her to turn his evidence over, he had to tell her what he knew about her parents’ deaths.
Which even in her head sounded impossible. It was a long shot, but she was definitely going to ask. She had to.
There were some lush hibiscus bushes growing on either side of the carport. The smell of the flower was so familiar. Like the heat, it wrapped around her and she was feeling nostalgic for the family she’d lost today.
This might have started out because she’d thought that Aaron reminded her of Gator, but Obie had the feeling this was more than wanting to help her brother. It felt like she was stuck in the shell of a Miami urbanite for too long—doing the right things, looking the right way but not feeling anything.
She shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other, feeling like someone was watching her. She glanced around. The road was empty.
Probably just her imagination.
She entered the house. Though Aaron had been in jail for a few days, the house was cool so he must have an automated air-conditioning system. Aaron had told her he’d hidden the files on an SD card that he’d taped under the wooden knife block in the kitchen.
She walked on the tile floors trying not to be envious and a little resentful that a drug dealer was living better than she was. Not exactly a huge surprise. But she worked hard to make ends meet and tried to bring something happy and good into people’s lives...
She shook her head, trying not to get caught up in her assumptions. Aaron had made her laugh more than once. Maybe he was just as caught up in playing a role as she was.
The kitchen, like all the living spaces in this house, was on the second floor. This part of Florida was prone to flooding during hurricane season.
Aaron wasn’t a bad man. Maybe he was lost, she thought, then shook her head. It would be nice to think he needed her help, that she could fix him with this one errand. But the truth was he’d probably be back to his old ways of making money. He’d probably taken the dishwasher job as a cover.
Who cared, right?
She entered the kitchen disgusted with her own conflicted feelings where he was concerned. The kitchen led directly into the open-plan living area, and there were floor-to-ceiling doors that overlooked the pool in the backyard and the dock with a boat on the waters of whatever bay was behind his house.
She set her bag on the counter, glancing around for the knife block but didn’t see it at first. Walking around the kitchen she finally noticed a butcher block cutting board and saw the knife block next to it. Pulling it toward her, she held her breath as she took the knives out and then flipped it over.
Taped to the bottom was a small micro SD card.
That was what she’d come for. She removed it.
She heard a heavy footstep and pivoted, taking the large chef’s knife in her hand as she did so. There was a huge man running toward her. She dropped the knife as she freaked out, turning to run, moving toward the door she’d come in from. She shoved the SD card into her pocket so she’d have both hands free to fight him. She didn’t get very far before she was tackled to the floor.
The breath was knocked out of her by the fall, the man supporting most of his weight with his arms. He was big and hot pressing against her back. The forearm braced next to her head was thick, corded with muscles.
“Don’t move if you want to live.”
Her heart was racing so hard, all she could hear was the pounding of her own pulse in her ears.
“Fuck that.”
She started to squirm underneath him just as a bullet hit the glass door, shattering it. The man above her wrapped his body around hers and rolled her farther from the door behind the kitchen island. He moved off of her. “Stay low.”
Her hands were shaking as she watched him pull out a gun and then leaned around the island for a better position.
“Who are you?”
“Xander Quentin.”
“Aaron’s brother?”
“Yes. This is a fine mess. Did you get what you needed here?”
“I did,” she said. “Are they shooting at me or you?”
“Well, no one saw me come in here, so I’m guessing you, Ms....?”
“Obie Keller.”
“The woman who left the message for me. What kind of mess did Aaron get you into?”
* * *
Another shot was fired. He’d get to the bottom of what was going on later. First he had a job to do: protect Obie Keller and get her out of the line of fire. If he was on his own he might try to track down whoever was shooting at them. But with her at his side that wasn’t an option.
He reached up to grab her bag off countertop to see if they were being watched from the back of the house. A shot hit right as he drew her bag down. She flinched.
He handed her bag to her. “Can you run in those shoes?”
She glanced down at her feet and just slipped off the flip-flops, putting them in her bag. Then she tugged the bag over her shoulder and across her body, and nodded at him.
“Which way are we going?”
“We have to get out of here—we are sitting ducks. Go to the door but keep low. I’ll go first and tell you when to come. Move fast and get behind me.”
She went low on her belly. For a split second the masculine part of him noted the curve of her hips and remembered how she’d felt underneath him, but he immediately shoved that aside. Now wasn’t the time.
Moving cautiously, he got on his stomach, inching his way toward the door, but another shot went a little high and wide, hitting the wall next to his head, sending debris into his face and eyes. He hurried into the entryway not visible from the back of the house, rolling to pull himself out of view as more shots were fired.
He visually scanned the entire hallway. It was clear. Was there just one sniper outside? Or was he working with someone else closer to the house?
Xander estimated that the sniper to be within three thousand feet of them. And probably on a boat since all that was in the direction the shots had come from was open water, uninhabited Keys and then mangroves and the swamp. The sniper was accurate and must be well trained.
The house was quiet.
“Obie, when I tell you, run toward me,” he said.
“Aren’t they going to fire at me?” she asked.
“I’m going to give them a bigger target,” he said dryly. He wished he had on a Kevlar vest, but honestly, coming to his brother’s last known address, he hadn’t anticipated being shot at.
“Be careful.”
“You too,” he said. “Go now.”
She darted out and moved quickly toward him. Her shoulder-length brown hair swinging around her face as she did so. She concentrated, her face tight with tension as she slid around him and into the hallway without a shot being fired.
“Maybe they left,” she said with a hopeful note in her voice.
Doubtful. But he didn’t want to scare her. He was pretty sure, given the fact that there was a trained sniper firing at them, that whoever was out there meant business.
“Or they are moving closer. Let’s get out of here. I parked my rental car down the street,” he said.
“My car is out front,” she said, opening her big bag and digging around in it for her keys. She looked scared but game to do whatever was needed. She had on a pair of shorts that ended at the top of her thighs and a halter neck tank top that was in a bright yellow color. Not the best for blending into the environment but he’d keep her covered.
“Stay close to me. When I do this—” he held up a closed fist “—that means stop.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen movies with that in it,” she said.
“Good, then you know what to do.”
He started moving down the stairs, and outside the heat wrapped around him, reminding him how much he hated it. There was a scatter of shots as two men came up the drive from the street.
Xander grabbed Obie’s arm and pulled her with him as he ran around the back of the house. There was a large pool with one of those underwater pool cleaners working in it. Xander quickly ruled out making a run for another house as he heard someone approaching behind them. Xander had cased the place before he’d gone inside. He knew there was a high-powered speedboat on the dock. He had even put the key in the engine and checked that it had gas.
Xander never went into a situation without having a backup plan and it was paying off. Part of the reason why he had been reluctant to come and see Aaron was that one backup plan where his brother was concerned was never enough.
For this woman’s sake, he hoped it would be today.
It was one thing for Aaron to drop him in this shit, but it was something else for him to put an innocent civilian in danger.
“We’re going to take the boat and get out of here,” he said. “Run toward the dock as fast as you can.”
He suspected the sniper would need time to set up for another shot now that they were on ground level. The sniper was now the secondary threat, the men on foot were a more immediate danger. Everything settled around him as he focused on his mission. Protect the woman, get her to safety. That was all he would allow himself to dwell on. Later he and Aaron were going to have words.
