Foolproof, page 21
She wiggled her hand. “I kind of have. I’m too skilled to stay at the rank I am for much longer. But I ducked out of it the past few years by switching assignments.”
“And if it works out?”
Elliot didn’t really want it to work out. She wanted to stay here. “I don’t know.”
Martine could end all this by giving her a sign that she wanted Elliot as something more, but she just sat there asking questions and giving nothing in return.
Elliot stood. “I need to take a shower and head into work. Let’s try to make it work for another week, okay?”
Martine’s nod and blank expression was all the confirmation she needed that she was doing the right thing.
* * *
Martine worked extra hours the week before Elliot was due to leave. Fantasy Fest created extra traffic at the distillery, so she had an easy excuse. But each morning that she came out to hot coffee, her heart cracked a little more. She didn’t know what to do. She cared about Elliot, but saying that she loved her? She didn’t know how to make those words come out of her mouth. And what was love, anyway? She’d made Elliot a priority in her life. She’d slept with her exclusively. Shouldn’t that count for something? What more did Elliot want?
Fantasy Fest passed in a blur. Without Cass, the parties lacked appeal. Martine had been looking forward to bringing Elliot, but now she could barely drag herself to anything. More than once, she turned to make some observation and then remembered she’d come alone. Once, she even brought Ana Sofia, who turned out to be worse company than she was. At least with Elliot, Martine didn’t have years of memories to drag her down. Ana Sofia had no such luck.
At the Blue Pelican, Martine nearly tripped over a woman on her way out.
“Briar Rose.” That Mississippi drawl brought back memories of being pulled over by a hot sheriff in the middle of nowhere.
Martine took in her crisp shirt, broad shoulders, and mirrored sunglasses tucked in her pocket. “Sheriff…I don’t think I ever got your name.”
“Dianne. It was on the ticket.”
“Really? I must have missed that.” She’d driven up to the Glades County courthouse a few weeks after Elliot had moved in. She’d been slightly disappointed that Dianne hadn’t been there and then had forgotten all about her. “What brings you to Key West?”
She waved around. “I got a few days off and thought I’d come and see all this for myself.”
Instant tour guide kicked in, and Martine said, “Well, it’s definitely one of our signature events.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Martine hesitated and glanced around. She’d been on her way out the door.
Dianne caught her looking. “I’m sorry. You’re not alone.”
Understatement of the year and yet completely wrong. “No, I’m…I’m…sure.”
“You don’t sound so sure.” Dianne gave her a half-smile.
Martine ordered an El Presidente, and Dianne ordered a daiquiri. Martine regretted it when it came, both for the poor quality—she should have known better—and the memories of the one she’d shared with Elliot on the beach.
“This is good.” Dianne hefted her red Solo cup. While not the same level of daiquiri snob as Ana Sofia, Martine didn’t care for the frozen concoctions.
After that, Martine didn’t know what to say. A beautiful woman, totally her type—sexy, available, and not local—and she had nothing to say. Her banter skills felt so underused after almost a year off the market. She hadn’t known she was off the market while she was sleeping with Elliot, but it felt like that.
“Do you dance?” Dianne nodded toward the floor.
Martine shrugged. “Not really.”
Dianne leaned in and said, “Do you want to go somewhere quiet and talk?”
Martine pushed away her drink and nodded. They wandered through the crowds with no destination in mind. Martine spotted some empty spaces along the concrete planters looking over the marina and took Dianne there. She didn’t pay attention to their conversation, mostly on autopilot until Dianne stopped.
“Am I boring you?”
Guilt spiked through her. “I’m sorry. I’m not good company tonight.” Or really, any night this week.
Dianne exhaled. “Oh, good. I thought it was me.”
Martine touched her hand. “No, you’re perfect.” And she was perfect. Perfectly uncomplicated.
“I was so surprised that you hit on me last spring. You threw me for a loop.”
Martine smiled. “What? No one’s ever tried to seduce you out of a ticket?”
“That doesn’t happen as often as you think. Especially in Glades County.” Her face fell. “Oh, was that what it was?”
“Oh hell, no. There was no amount of flirting that was going to get me out of that ticket. I thought you were…are hot.”
Dianne blushed, actually blushed. “Then I missed your court date. I came down here on a whim. Thought if I ran into you, I might get a do-over.”
Tenderness welled up. “Oh, Dianne.”
She nodded. “I missed my chance, didn’t I?”
“I’m so sorry.” Were those the only words she knew anymore?
“Is there even a chance?”
Not even remotely. Not after Elliot. Who else in Martine’s life would she have agreed to move in with so quickly? Who else in her life would she have slept with almost without question? And while she didn’t know if she loved Elliot, she definitely knew that she couldn’t replace her.
Her silence answered for her. Dianne didn’t seem too upset, and Martine had to give her credit for trying. But how had this kind of hookup ever sustained her before Elliot?
Chapter Thirty-two
Two weeks in Miami and Elliot already hated it. Grace knew it and asked for another week before she sent her back. To what, Elliot had no idea. She hadn’t spoken to Martine since she’d left. No texts. No calls.
She strapped her boarding gear on and looked around at the three fresh-faced seamen facing her. Here goes. She squared her shoulders and shoved all extraneous thought aside, pulling a litany of procedures to the forefront. She walked along the deck, inspecting their gear and giving them an encouraging nod here and there. Poulson needed a buckle tightened. Greer had everything correct, but Elliot straightened her helmet anyway. Nelson had his hand wrapped so tightly around his gun that she needed to move it to check the safety.
They pulled up portside to the container ship registered out of Panama and owned by Tropical Shipping. A legitimate shipping business, Tropical moved cargo throughout the Caribbean. The captain had radioed the manifest over, and Elliot had already picked a couple of containers to inspect. They were the perfect practice boarding for her new recruits. She didn’t mind routine; it kept her mind busy and her feelings at bay.
“Look sharp, people.”
Elliot followed Lieutenant Chen aboard and greeted the captain but kept an eye on the crew’s movements while Chen spoke with him. The captain led them to the first container and swung it open. Elliot stepped inside, followed by Nelson, and they flipped their helmet lights on. Dark and humid, the container smelled of the wood and tar stacked on pallets throughout. “Wood and tar. Want me to open any of the barrels?”
“Yeah. Pick one.”
Elliot held out her hand, and Nelson fumbled for a crowbar. He dropped it twice before handing it over. She suppressed a sigh. If he’d shown any interest in being prepared for this mission, she would have had more sympathy, but he’d spent his downtime goofing off. So she only offered him a stern, “Steady, Seaman.”
Sweat dripped into her eyes and down her back under all the extra gear while she wrenched the top off a barrel and caught a whiff of the foul-smelling liquid. Glancing around, she spotted a long-handled broom and dropped it inside the barrel, sweeping it back and forth and all around. Nothing. Properly sealed, both guns and drugs could hide in these barrels, but the risk of ruining it with leakage made it unlikely.
“Want another one?”
“No. Let’s head to the next one.”
Elliot relished the sea breeze outside the container and felt the sweat dry along the edge of her hairline. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Nelson pointing with his gun at something along the deck. “Nelson, keep your weapon down.”
She didn’t bother to see if he paid attention. Her voice alone should have been enough. In the next container, she followed Greer in and let her take the lead. Bananas and coconuts. Elliot’s light cast spidery shadows along the back wall while she watched Greer work. One of those shadows moved, and Elliot grabbed Greer’s hands. “Careful.”
A large black tarantula sauntered up the banana crate.
Greer shuddered. “Ew.”
She called back, “We’ve got a spider in here. Can I get a plastic bucket or something?”
“We’re going to catch it?” Greer’s voice squeaked on the last syllable.
“We can’t have it coming to shore. If customs finds out we left it here, there will be words.” Elliot cupped it in her hand, glad to be wearing gloves. Spiders didn’t freak her out as much as snakes did, but holding a big one in her hand while projecting calm took all her bravado.
“Do we have to? Who’s going to know?”
Elliot knew she was speaking from fear. “I am. And so are you.” She handed the spider over and watched Greer suppress her revulsion and trap it in her hands.
“Coming in.” Nelson’s boots echoed on the steel floor, and his shadow danced along the walls as he weaved through the tight aisles of crates. He held out a bucket, and Greer practically threw it in. Nelson yelped. “What the fuck? That’s huge!”
“And it’s yours now.”
Nelson carried it out off to the side, as far from his body as his arm could get. His gun hung at his side, banging against the crates, and then it caught on the slats. Elliot saw the flash of light, heard the retort, and shouted, “Look out,” in the span of time it took to yank Greer to the deck. The bullet ricocheted off the metal walls and pinged a few times before it stopped.
Several lights appeared in the container, and Lieutenant Chen shouted, “Tillman, you okay?”
Elliot pushed to her feet, her ears still ringing and her stomach roiling with her anger. “Yes, sir.” Seething at Nelson’s incompetence, she glanced down at Greer. “You okay?”
Greer didn’t move, and Elliot dropped to her feet. Blood pooled around Greer’s head. “Shit. Medic!”
* * *
Martine hurried through the streets, weaving in and out of the crowds. A Cat 1 hurricane barreled toward the Keys, but that didn’t seem to deter the tourists or the locals. Cat 2 and below often got brushed aside as no big deal, but Martine wasn’t taking any chances with her inventory. And she wasn’t alone. A few stores had already been shuttered with corrugated metal or plywood. Key West was only a mile and a half wide and four miles long; the eye of a hurricane could be twenty to forty miles. If it was coming toward them, it would be hitting them. Seventy- to ninety-mile-per-hour winds could still do some damage if things weren’t tied down.
She hadn’t heard from Elliot in two weeks. Maybe she had been pulled back to Key West for hurricane duty. Maybe she’d be at home tonight. And what would Martine say to her? That brief glimmer of hope flickered and faded.
She opened the door and started to work. A few hours later, she’d burned out all thoughts of Elliot until Ana Sofia closed the door to her office and leaned against it. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re in a foul mood today.”
“Am I? There’s a hurricane coming.” She’d been too preoccupied with getting everything stored and stowed.
“And?” Ana Sofia folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. Apparently, something had showed.
Letting some of her sadness surface, Martine rubbed her face with her hands and sighed. “I haven’t been sleeping.”
Ana Sofia came in and sat, concern in her tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Elliot and I had a fight. I think.” Was it a fight? They hadn’t yelled or said hurtful things to each other, but she still felt bruised and beaten.
“You think?”
She exhaled. “Well, she left.”
“Left? As in, moved out?” Ana Sofia’s voice took on a sharp tone.
Confused, Martine looked up. “No. Not yet.”
“Then where is she?”
“Miami. Temporary assignment.”
Ana Sofia pointed at her. “You need to fix this.”
“I don’t think I can.” She could fix a fight, but this…she didn’t know where to begin.
Ana Sofia crossed her arms and shook her head. “Well, you better because she’s in love with you, you moron.”
“Did she tell you that?” Was that what they were talking about at Cass’s going-away party?
Ana Sofia frowned. “She didn’t have to.”
Martine looked up and saw the pain of Cass’s leaving on Ana Sofia’s face. Her vehemence made sense. If Ana Sofia couldn’t have love, she’d make sure someone else did. “I’m sorry about Cass.”
Ana Sofia dismissed her with a gesture. “We’re not talking about me. Start at the beginning, and tell me everything that happened. And then we’ll see how you can fix this.”
And so she did. Every little detail that led up to her leaving excluding the more graphic parts.
“Well, there’s only one question. Do you love her?”
“I…I maybe.”
Ana Sofia threw up her hands. “You can’t even say it.”
Why couldn’t she say it? She loved Ana Sofia, she loved Cass, but that was easy. They were family. But love with Elliot meant something different. A level of trust and commitment that scared her. Love with Elliot meant changing the way she lived and the way she viewed herself. She didn’t want to change. She liked her life as it was.
“I just want it to be the way it was.”
“When you were friends, or when you were sleeping together?”
“Can’t I have both?”
“No, not anymore.”
“Why not?” she snapped. Why did those three words change everything?
“Don’t get pissed at me. What did you think would happen?”
“The same thing that always does.” But nothing about Elliot had been the same. As a roommate, as a friend, as a lover. Martine had ignored the differences because she’d craved the closeness.
Ana Sofia looked at the ceiling and sighed. “I wish Cass was here. They’d know how to say this to you.”
Martine braced herself and said, “Go ahead.”
“I watched you live this life of half commitments and never said anything because it worked for you. But, honey, these last few years have been hard to watch. Even before Elliot. It’s not working for you anymore.”
Her words hit the mark. Would Martine have chosen to live with Elliot so easily or jumped into her bed so quickly if she hadn’t already been looking for something different? She voiced the fear that lived close to her heart. “What if I lose her?”
“If you don’t talk to her, you already have.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Elliot left Miami after dealing with the aftermath of Greer’s shooting. Grace had been right. Miami was a mistake. Nelson’s ricochet had absorbed some of the velocity, making the shot less deadly but still damaging. Lodging in Greer’s upper chest, the bullet had splintered her collarbone, so she’d be in pain and out of commission for a while. The responsibility of her injury weighed on Elliot. If she’d been more focused, if she hadn’t taken the job, if she’d pulled Nelson off earlier, if, if, if.
Grace had shown up at the temporary barracks and had listened to her unload before she’d finally said, “You should go home.”
“But the operation…” The boarding party had been a routine part of Elliot’s temporary position at the station and wasn’t related to the work she was doing with Grace.
“I should never have let you come. Your heart’s just not in it.”
“I know it’s my fault. Greer—”
Grace had held up her hand. “Oh no. That’s not what I’m saying. Shit happens. Nelson’s superiors knew he wasn’t up for it. And Greer is going to be fine. You need to go home and deal with your personal life.”
“But I made a commitment to you.”
“If you still want this after a year, I’ll get you on my team. But for now, your CO needs you back in the Keys. That storm’s coming. Be safe.” Grace had clapped her shoulder on the way out.
She’d packed up and left. She breezed south on a mostly deserted Overseas Highway, all of the traffic headed north. She made good time, only coming across more cars as she drove in and out of towns where people scrambled to get last-minute supplies. Dark gray clouds amassed on the southern horizon as she finally pulled into the station’s parking lot.
She earned a few confused looks as she headed up to Harriman’s office. He glanced up and smiled. “Oh, good, you’re back.”
And she went to work. Portia had stalled over Cuba and had been downgraded to a tropical storm. Turning northwest, the edges of the storm clipped the Keys from Islamorada to Key West. As the storm hit and the night wore on, bands of rain and bursts of wind buffeted the island. Two calls came in, but another crew answered them. Finally, the day broke, and Harriman rotated Elliot out with another group. “Go home, but be ready to come back.”
She ran to her truck between breaks in the rain and drove home. All the feelings she’d avoided in Miami surged inside her when she pulled up in front of the house. Was Martine home? Would she be asleep? When had it all become so fraught? Instead of gaining perspective, two weeks had solidified her feelings. She wanted more. And if Martine didn’t want that? Elliot’s chest hurt thinking about it. She screwed up her courage and rushed up the stairs two at time. Once inside, she closed the door and padded into her room.
