observed.
“Spoken like a communications graduate.”
Rainer continued to study them dispassionately until the waitress arrived with their food, then he turned back toward the bar and hunched over his drink. The material of his tent-sized jacket stretched tautly across his shoulders as he raised his glass to sip from it.
Carver had the tuna steak again, the meal he’d had for lunch yesterday, only the more expensive evening version was decorated with parsley. Beth had blackened redfish with a salad, baked potato with sour cream, and several huge buttered dinner rolls. Her metabolism made dieting no concern of hers.
After dinner they had coffee and key lime pie. With the first bite, she licked her lips and arched her eyebrows in surprise. “This is really good! Better’n any pie I ever had in Key West.”
“I wouldn’t take you someplace served lousy food,” Carver told her.
“Well, that’s a subjective point of view.” She forked another large bite of pie into her mouth, chewed and swallowed with enthusiasm. “One thing, with Walter Rainer here, we probably don’t need to be watching his place.”
“Probably not,” Carver said, “but don’t forget Davy and Hector. They do the muscle work.”
“I can see why,” she said, glancing at Rainer’s corpulent form overflowing the bar stool. “Shame to let yourself get that heavy.”
Carver thought that was easy for her to say; she could probably eat whale blubber and it wouldn’t show up as fat. But he didn’t feel like an argument, so he kept quiet. Beth could be difficult. The late Roberto Gomez had found that out in a big way.
“What’s the plan tonight?” she asked.
“I drive up to Miami so I can talk to the drowned boy’s parents tomorrow. You use the infrared glasses and set up surveillance on the Rainer estate, particularly the boat dock.” He ate the last bite of his pie, savoring it. “Rainer’s seen you with me, so be extra careful. Don’t stray from your vantage point with the idea of working in closer for a better view. These people are as bad as the folks you met when you were with Roberto.”
She nodded. “That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. Don’t waste energy worrying over me, Fred. You know I can do whatever’s necessary.”
He did know. Doing what was necessary, no matter how difficult, was what she was all about. It was what had enabled her to escape from an opulent but corrupt existence she knew was consuming her soul like cancer. Other women would have given up, drifted on the currents of cash and stayed with the animals that were Roberto and his associates. But Beth had fought and thought her way out of the slums of Chicago long before she’d met Roberto. Not giving up was her religion. Carver’s, too. Which was why they got along so well. They gave each other room. They had to. But at times they could work together almost as beautifully as they made love, obsessive personalities sharing an obsession.
The sun was still blazing well above the horizon when they left the restaurant and crossed the baking street to where the LeBaron was parked. Half a block down from the car was a dusty black van with tinted windows. Now it was wearing a Florida license plate. Davy was leaning against the van, the faithful servant waiting for his master to come out of the bar. He nodded to Carver and smiled. The smile reminded Carver of the shark in the observation tank at the aquarium.
Beth noticed Davy and her body stiffened. She didn’t have to ask who he was; she recognized evil when she saw it, and Davy wore it like a disease he took pride in.
Carver was relieved when the van didn’t follow the LeBaron as they drove out of Fishback.
But then it wasn’t necessary for Davy to follow. He knew where to find them.
13
C ARVER SHOWED B ETH the foliage-concealed vantage point from which she could maintain surveillance of the Rainer estate. He didn’t have to familiarize her with the army-issue infrared binoculars for
“Spoken like a communications graduate.”
Rainer continued to study them dispassionately until the waitress arrived with their food, then he turned back toward the bar and hunched over his drink. The material of his tent-sized jacket stretched tautly across his shoulders as he raised his glass to sip from it.
Carver had the tuna steak again, the meal he’d had for lunch yesterday, only the more expensive evening version was decorated with parsley. Beth had blackened redfish with a salad, baked potato with sour cream, and several huge buttered dinner rolls. Her metabolism made dieting no concern of hers.
After dinner they had coffee and key lime pie. With the first bite, she licked her lips and arched her eyebrows in surprise. “This is really good! Better’n any pie I ever had in Key West.”
“I wouldn’t take you someplace served lousy food,” Carver told her.
“Well, that’s a subjective point of view.” She forked another large bite of pie into her mouth, chewed and swallowed with enthusiasm. “One thing, with Walter Rainer here, we probably don’t need to be watching his place.”
“Probably not,” Carver said, “but don’t forget Davy and Hector. They do the muscle work.”
“I can see why,” she said, glancing at Rainer’s corpulent form overflowing the bar stool. “Shame to let yourself get that heavy.”
Carver thought that was easy for her to say; she could probably eat whale blubber and it wouldn’t show up as fat. But he didn’t feel like an argument, so he kept quiet. Beth could be difficult. The late Roberto Gomez had found that out in a big way.
“What’s the plan tonight?” she asked.
“I drive up to Miami so I can talk to the drowned boy’s parents tomorrow. You use the infrared glasses and set up surveillance on the Rainer estate, particularly the boat dock.” He ate the last bite of his pie, savoring it. “Rainer’s seen you with me, so be extra careful. Don’t stray from your vantage point with the idea of working in closer for a better view. These people are as bad as the folks you met when you were with Roberto.”
She nodded. “That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. Don’t waste energy worrying over me, Fred. You know I can do whatever’s necessary.”
He did know. Doing what was necessary, no matter how difficult, was what she was all about. It was what had enabled her to escape from an opulent but corrupt existence she knew was consuming her soul like cancer. Other women would have given up, drifted on the currents of cash and stayed with the animals that were Roberto and his associates. But Beth had fought and thought her way out of the slums of Chicago long before she’d met Roberto. Not giving up was her religion. Carver’s, too. Which was why they got along so well. They gave each other room. They had to. But at times they could work together almost as beautifully as they made love, obsessive personalities sharing an obsession.
The sun was still blazing well above the horizon when they left the restaurant and crossed the baking street to where the LeBaron was parked. Half a block down from the car was a dusty black van with tinted windows. Now it was wearing a Florida license plate. Davy was leaning against the van, the faithful servant waiting for his master to come out of the bar. He nodded to Carver and smiled. The smile reminded Carver of the shark in the observation tank at the aquarium.
Beth noticed Davy and her body stiffened. She didn’t have to ask who he was; she recognized evil when she saw it, and Davy wore it like a disease he took pride in.
Carver was relieved when the van didn’t follow the LeBaron as they drove out of Fishback.
But then it wasn’t necessary for Davy to follow. He knew where to find them.
13
C ARVER SHOWED B ETH the foliage-concealed vantage point from which she could maintain surveillance of the Rainer estate. He didn’t have to familiarize her with the army-issue infrared binoculars for
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