Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller) (4 page)

7:40am, 86° F

Caldwell sat where he always sat, next to Oren’s stool at the short end of the bar. Strictly speaking, that section of the bar was service only, but since Rolly tossed most of the food through the window and Peg had never been overly committed to the service aspect of the job, Caldwell had claimed that section as his own private perch. Caldwell’s receding hairline shone with sweat and his pink guayabera shirt brought out the sea of freckles that covered every inch of his exposed skin. He was in the middle of telling Peg a story that made the normally cross woman pitch her head back and howl. Oren could only imagine how filthy the punch line had to be to elicit that reaction.

“Well take your time, son!” Caldwell took his drink from Oren. “It’s not like I have all day to sit here and get hit on by your staff.”

“You wish,” Peg said, slapping a bowl of peanuts down before the agent.

“You know I do, Peg. You know I do. Anytime you want to take me up on it . . .” He lunged across the bar, swinging and missing a chance to swat Peg’s behind as she turned away from him, still laughing. Caldwell was the only person in all of Florida Oren had met who could get the hard woman to laugh like that.

Special Agent Daniel Caldwell worked out of the Miami FBI office but spent most of his times cruising the Keys. He claimed it was his territory, but Oren knew Caldwell spent more time investigating the evolution of the mojito than he did the influx of drugs and guns across state lines. Not that he was crooked exactly, any more than Oren himself. As the agent liked to say, he had a broad understanding of the nature of business. He’d come through more than once for Oren over the years, distracting local law enforcement when Oren struggled to get his coke use under control, and Oren had repaid
the favor many times over. Caldwell had a weakness for wealthy women and volatile girls—a lethal combination—and had needed a place to hide more than once.

Caldwell always wanted to be kept distantly informed about the Wheelers. He wouldn’t meddle, Oren knew. He wouldn’t stage a bust at Jinky’s or bring any hint of law enforcement into Oren’s sphere of influence. He also let Oren know right away if any of his clients were misrepresenting themselves—men who claimed to be boat collectors who were actually mob enforcers; alleged diamond dealers moving large quantities of heroin. The exchange of information benefitted both Caldwell and Oren, keeping them both in good standing in their respective fields. Plus, Oren liked the crabby little agent. He was a hell of a fisherman.

Oren had told himself he was going to stick to orange juice this morning, but the combination of the Wheelers’ impending arrival and the sound of Caldwell sighing over his mojito made him change his mind. Peg had taken her bucket of ice back down to the bait shop so Oren called to Dani, who stood at the far end of the bar prepping fruit, as she always did in the morning. It was just too hot to get up again. “Dani? How about a vodka?”

She scraped the limes into the bin and wiped her hands on her towel. “Sure thing, boss.” She knew how he liked his drink—lots of ice, one lime wedge squeezed to death—and slid it before him in no time. Oren watched her small, tan hands settle on the bar, just a fraction of a second of a delay that seemed to him an act of composure, before she raised her gaze to Caldwell and scared the hell out of Oren.

She smiled. It wasn’t a big smile; it wasn’t shark-like. She didn’t leer, and her eyes didn’t glare coldly above her bare teeth. It was just the smile of a girl working a bar for tips, but it looked sort of wrong on Dani’s face.

“How’s your drink, sir? Can I get you anything?”

Caldwell turned to Oren in comic shock. “Sir? I know it’s been
a while since I’ve been in, but has it been that long? Have you instituted new house rules?”

Oren dismissed his anxiety. “You haven’t met my new wonder girl? Dani Britton, I’d like to introduce you to a man you must never let touch you. Daniel Caldwell or, as Peg calls him, Uncle Bad Touch.”

Caldwell bowed at the introduction and flashed Dani his signature lady-killer smile. “Don’t believe a word of it, sweetheart. I’m a scholar and a gentleman. Hey, we’re Dan and Dani. We could start a dance team.” He winked at her. “What do you say?”

Dani kept that strange smile in place but said nothing. Oren thought her eyes looked a lot like they did when she was climbing the rope. Caldwell continued, unfazed.

“So where are you from, Dani?”

Her lips whitened around the edges and Oren spoke up. “Oklahoma. Dani started out doing housekeeping and when Hesson got arrested, she stepped up and never looked back. She makes a mean mojito, you’ll be happy to hear. Better than mine.”

“You’re keeping her hidden from me? You lecherous bastard. I do like my mojitos.” Caldwell beamed at Dani, who hadn’t moved an inch. “And if I may say so, you are a vast improvement over Hesson in the looks department. Let’s hope you’re a little less larcenous too. Or at least a better judge of targets.”

“Poor Hesson.” Oren lifted his glass in salute. “Never did have a lick of sense.”

Dani watched them drink, her hands still folded on the bar. “If there’s nothing else, Mr. Randolph, I’m going to finish prepping the bar; then I’ll set up the room.”

“Thank you, Dani.” Oren watched her over his drink as she moved down the bar.

Caldwell watched her too, his focus on her ass. He arched an eyebrow. “Something you’d like to tell me? Like, are you hitting that? Because I have to say, making your piece call you sir takes some balls.”

“Do you practice being a pig, or does it just come naturally?”

He ignored the barb to watch Dani. “She’s a little thing, isn’t she? What’s her story?”

Oren shrugged. “She’s not much of a talker. She can run like hell, I’ll tell you that. She runs the island every single day. Good worker, too. Keeps her mouth shut. Does her job.” He opted not to mention her helpfulness during his meetings.

“What do you think?” The agent crunched an ice cube in his open mouth. “Bad breakup? I’ve seen her around the property. She doesn’t seem inclined to make new friends. She’s ducked me a couple times. She ever pick anyone up?”

“Jealous?” Something in Caldwell’s tone made Oren want to change the subject.

“You said she runs. Maybe she’s been running a long time. You think Dani Britton is her real name?”

“If it’s not, it’s a hell of a cover. She’s legal, paid aboveboard. She insisted on it.” Under-the-table employment shocked nobody in this part of the country, not even a federal agent.

“Insisted, huh?” Another ice cube shattered in his mouth. “Why would she do that?”

“Because it’s required by law? And she’s a good citizen?” Oren sipped his vodka. “Look, I’ve got Rolly in the kitchen who has been shot no less than three times, at least once by Peg, who scares the hell out of everyone from here to Miami, including the alligators. I’m pleased as punch to finally have a legitimate employee on the payroll, one with half a brain.”

Caldwell’s voice took on a low and serious tone. “I’m not saying she’s bad news. I’m just saying you should know a little more about her.”

“What? I’ve got the Wheelers coming in and
she
makes you suspicious? It’s not like she moved in with a drug-sniffing dog. She’s a five-foot-nothing girl who keeps her mouth shut and does her job.”

“Then there’s no harm in running a background check.”

Oren emptied his glass. “I think the reason you don’t like her is because she doesn’t like you. She’s impervious to your devious charms.”

Caldwell shook his head at Oren’s smirk. “You have such a low opinion of me.”

Dani wiped her hands twice on the towel. She’d nearly cut her fingertip off, her hands shook so badly. She had promised to work the Wheeler meeting. She knew Mr. Randolph appreciated her ability to stay calm around the twitchy men who made everyone at Jinky’s nervous. Even Peg avoided them. She couldn’t say she liked them—she doubted anyone could—but they didn’t scare her. Even when wall-eyed Joaquin tried to slip his hand between her legs, she didn’t panic. She knew what he wanted and that made him easier to handle. A lot easier to handle than what sat at the end of the bar.

Caldwell. The very first time Dani had laid eyes on the balding man, the very first time she’d seen him climb onto the barstool and fold his arms over the lip of the wood, she’d known who he was. She’d known what he was. Dani’s employment by a government agency might have been unintentional, but she could recognize a willing employee of the state at a hundred paces.

He didn’t usually carry a gun, although Dani had spied the ungainly bulge at his back once or twice. He didn’t wear the ugly suits that seemed to be regulation for many Feds. He didn’t even flash his badge around like an extension of his dick.

What gave him away to Dani was the smug confidence that followed him like a smell, confidence that he had authority, immunity, the ability to arrest, and the security of never being arrested. The arrogance of authority showed itself in every peanut he tossed back, every filthy joke he told.

At first she assumed he was yet another agent sent to check on her like they had on Key West. That never seemed to get old for Uncle
Sam. Sometimes the agent or agents made a show of their presence, full suits and dark glasses, standing too close to her and looking down their badges at her. Sometimes they tried to slide in like locals, looking ridiculous in their idea of vacation clothing. They’d try to make idle chitchat with her. After the first few visits she realized they were just there to remind her that she was still in their sights.

She still hated them. She still had to resist the urge to run. She’d avoided Caldwell as long as possible but she knew she’d wind up having to serve the balding agent his drink. She’d have to let him run his line of patter that would inevitably end with “You being a good girl, Dani?” to which he would expect her to faint in terror. She thought she’d hide her eye roll and that would be the end of it. Then Mr. Randolph had shown up, slapped the man on the back and sat down for a lengthy, friendly conversation.

And Dani was stuck there with the man watching her like he thought if he stared hard enough he’d be able to see right through her. What did they tell her babysitters? Surely not the truth. From what Dani had been able to tell, nobody knew the truth about Rasmund. So why was Caldwell so interested in her?

“I’m going to go set up the room, boss.”

Mr. Randolph wanted a basic wet bar setup in Room Four, just the basics—glasses, ice, napkins, garnishes. Dani would run the liquor and the mixes herself. She knew his logic—her occasional interruptions served as punctuation to the meeting’s rhythm. Her boss used her service as an unspoken reminder that he controlled the scene. If tempers got hot, he’d break in with a suggestion of fresh drinks; if stony silence threatened to stall discussions, he’d send Dani to fetch food. He’d even smoothed over one potentially violent face-off by having Dani pour tequila poppers. Mr. Randolph knew how to control a room.

“Be sure to get the fan going,” Mr. Randolph said. “I don’t know what this Bermingham guy smells like, but in this heat, you can pretty much bet the Wheelers are going to reek.”

Dani would sooner be locked naked in a windowless room with every Wheeler in Florida than spend one more moment under the eye of a Fed.