Letty forced herself to take a bite of the sandwich.
Javier said, “Now we haven’t even discussed the most important part of this. The reason we’re all here.”
“Skull with a Burning Cigarette.”
“The painting is hanging in Fitch’s office on the wall behind his desk. My intel is that there’s no theft-security system. You just have to cut it out of the frame.”
“Cut it?”
“Careful. Like shooting heroin into your femoral artery, careful. There’s a razor blade hidden on the bottom of your handbag under a piece of black electrical tape.”
“I’m not comfortable with that,” Letty said.
“Why?”
“Because they’ll probably search the handbag, don’t you think?”
“Where do you want to hide it?”
“I’ll think of something. What kind of bag is it?”
“Try to control yourself. Louis Vuitton.”
“Up to this point, the accessories are far and away the best part of this job. That, I keep.”
“We’ll see.”
“And once I get the canvas out of the frame?”
“Roll it up. You’ll find a plastic tube taped to the underside of Fitch’s desk. Stick the rolled-up canvas inside and get yourself to the eastern edge of the island.”
“What about cameras?”
“None.”
“What about the people who actually see me up close? Who can identify me and describe me to law enforcement?”
“You’ll be a redhead tonight.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want, a latex mask? This isn’t Mission Impossible. This is the price you pay for a shot at four million dollars.”
Letty felt something go cold at the base of her spine.
Without exception, this was the most dangerous job she’d ever signed on for.
Javier said, “You wondering why I don’t just slip in there while you’re distracting Fitch?”
“Now that you mention it.”
“Because that would turn this into a very different kind of job. People would die. I assume you don’t want that.”
“No.”
Javier tossed his napkin onto the table. He stood and looked at his watch.
“It’s almost two-thirty. They’re picking you up outside the hotel at four.” He pulled out his money clip and dropped two twenties on the table. “Go back to your hotel. Study your maps. Get your head right for this.”
Letty had barely touched her food.
Javier stared down at her through a pair of aviator sunglasses.
“You forgot something,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“My name. Who will they be expecting?”
“Selena Kitt. S-E-L-E-N-A-K-I-T-T. But you won’t be carrying any identification.”
“And my back story? Should he be so inquisitive?”
“Thought I’d leave that to you. Bullshit seems to flow so freely from your lips. Moments like this don’t come along very often,” he said.
“I know.”
“Ship sails at four. Make me proud, Letisha.”
6
Riding down to the lobby, Letty watched herself in the reflection of the elevator doors. So did the twenty-year-old boy with an obvious hangover standing beside her. She didn’t blame him. She looked stunning. The little black dress was Chanel. The fuck-me pumps were Jimmy Choo. They made her legs look like stilts. She’d worn wigs before but nothing as finely-made as this one—wavy red hair that fell just past her shoulders. Javier certainly had a well-developed sense of style, but she couldn’t imagine he’d put this ensemble together all by himself.
The elevator doors spread apart. Letty tried to steady her breathing as she walked out into the lobby past a grouping of palm trees in planters.
She glanced at her watch.
3:58.
As she approached the revolving door at the entrance, a man stood up from a leather chair. He wore a black suit and carried the beefy build of a bouncer. Bald, graying goatee, and a sharp skepticism in his eyes. She figured the extra padding under his jacket for a shoulder holster.
“Ms. Kitt?”
“The one and only.”
The man extended his hand and she shook it. “I’m James. I’ll be taking you to Mr. Fitch. Right this way.”
He led her outside to a silver Yukon Denali idling on the curb and opened the rear passenger door. Letty climbed in. The driver didn’t bother to introduce himself. He wore sunglasses and a black suit almost identical to James’. He was younger with a buzz cut and a strong, chiseled jaw that Letty associated with soldiers.
The radio was tuned to NPR and turned down so low that Letty could barely hear it.
James sat beside her.
As they pulled out into traffic, he reached behind them into the cargo area and emerged with a black leather pad. He opened it and handed Letty a sheet of legal size paper. At the bottom, she noticed a line for the signature of Selena Kitt.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A Non-Disclosure Agreement.”
“For what?”
“For anything that happens from the moment you climbed into this vehicle until you’re returned to Key West.”
She studied the document.
“Looks like a bunch of legalese.”
“Pretty much.”
“You wanna give me the cliff notes since I didn’t go to law school?”
“It says that you agree not to disclose any details regarding your time with Mr. Fitch. Not in writing. Not in conversation with anyone. And if you do, you can be sued for breach of contract in accordance with the laws of the State of Florida.”
“You mean I can’t write a tell-all book and then sell the movie rights about Mr. Fitch’s last night of freedom?” She smiled to convey the intended humor, but James just tapped the signature line with a meaty finger.
“Sign right here, please.”
# # #
They parked at a marina on the west coast of the island, not far from the hotel. Letty walked between her escorts to the end of a long dock. Waited for several minutes while the men took in the mooring lines on a fifty-foot yacht. When they’d prepped the boat for departure, the driver climbed to the bridge. James offered Letty a hand and pulled her aboard. He led her up several steps and through a glass door into a salon.
The pure luxury stopped her in her tracks and took her breath away.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” James said, gesturing to a wraparound sofa.
Letty eased down onto the cool, white vinyl.
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked.
She knew she shouldn’t, but she felt so jittery she figured just one wouldn’t hurt. Might even help to calm her down.
Letty peered around James at a wet bar stocked with strictly high-end booze.
“I see you’ve got Chopin,” she said.
“Rocks?”
“Yes.”
“With a twist?”
“No thank you.”
James crossed the teak floor to the freezer and took out a bucket of ice. Letty leaned back into the cushion and crossed her legs. The engines grumbled to life deep inside the hull. At the bar, James scooped ice cubes into a rocks glass and poured. He brought her drink over with a napkin.
“Thank you, James.”
He unbuttoned his black jacket and sat down beside her.
She could feel the subtle rocking as the yacht taxied out into the marina.
There were windows everywhere, natural light streaming in through the glass. The view was of a colony of sailboat masts, the dwindling shoreline of Key West, and the sea.