Caribbean Hustle (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain

into the room. All he hoped is that it wasn’t at the hands of Kovi-Ke. That would be too much to handle. That would be too ironic of an ending. That would be too much of an ultimate mistake.
    He fought with the ghosts in his head for some time before finally disappearing into a safe vortex where they couldn’t follow.

    31
    Day Five
    June 8
    Sunday Morning
     
    Teffinger bolted upright in bed, covered in sweat, the victim of a horrific dream where Kovi-Ke slit his throat from behind and then walked off before he hit the floor, not even bothering to look back; he was that insignificant. Dawn had broken, not by much, but enough to wash the room in a warm Caribbean glow. He fell on his back, grateful that his death was only a dream.
    Evil Angel opened an eye, rolled on her back and stretched her arms high above her head. Her Hong Kong skin was golden brown.
    Her body was perfect.
    Her nipples were candy.
    She rolled over, draped a leg over him and got her face close. “Good morning.”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s good to see you awake,” she said.
    “I don’t remember anything.”
    “You don’t remember making love to me?”
    “No.”
    She put disappointment on her face, then smiled and ran an index finger around his stomach.
    “Relax, you were unconscious,” she said. “Nothing happened.”
    “It didn’t?”
    “No,” she said. “We put it off until now.”
    She swung on top, her stomach to his, her chest to his, her legs spread, her breath hot on his face.
    “Time to pay up,” she said.
    “For what?”
    “For all the stitches.”
    “You did those?”
    She nodded.
    “Every one of them. I gave you a shot too, for infection. Now it’s time for you to show me how grateful you are.” She straddled his chest and then inched up until she was on his face. “Love it,” she said. “Love it like you stole it.”
    He complied.
     
    After a shower, Teffinger wandered downstairs to find Johnnie Rail outside by the pool with Evil Angel, drinking coffee and eating from a tray of pastries. The man had a classic front-man look, a modern-day Jim Morrison, with thick shoulder-length black hair, eyes that had seen the world from a path less traveled, and a lean but agile body that didn’t seem to have been beaten to death with bad habits.
    “Baby,” Rail said. “That was her name.”
    Teffinger sat down.
    “Whose name?”
    “The land cruiser,” he said. “She was the first vehicle I ever owned. Bought her for five hundred pounds back when I was seventeen, working the kitchens by day and trying to get a band going by night. Everyone thought I was crazy. They were partly right, I mean, who needs a 4-wheel drive in London, especially one with the steering wheel on the wrong side? But she had some swag and was big enough to carry gear. I’ll be honest, my instinct last night was to kill you for killing her, but I didn’t.”
    “Apparently not,” Teffinger said. “I’ll make it right. I’ll get her fixed, if that’s possible, or replace her; whatever you want.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” Rail said. “I’ve got the money and at his point we’re sort of related, anyway.”
    Teffinger wrinkled his face.
    “How’s that?”
    “Evil Angel,” he said. “We’ve both engaged her finer side.”
    Evil Angel smiled.
    Teffinger shrugged.
    “Do you have any extra coffee?”
    “Absolutely. Then you can tell me why you tried to kill me last night.”
    “I didn’t try to kill you,” Teffinger said. “I was only trying to get your attention.”
    Rail clinked his cup against Teffinger’s.
    “Well, mission accomplished.”
     
    Teffinger’s phone rang; it was Sydney. “The dead woman down by Tarzan’s place is someone named Nicole Carter. She’s an attorney in San Francisco in a mega-firm called Taylor, Robinson & Lee.”
    “Hold on.”
    He got up and headed for privacy on the other side of the pool, saying to Rail, “Excuse me a minute, I need to take this.”
    “No problem.”
    To Sydney, “What was