Выбрать главу

Skink said, "We should be quiet, just in case. Certain noises do attract them." He sounded serious.

"How quiet?" Lightly she brushed her nipples along the lines of his ribs.

"Very quiet. Not a sound."

"That's impossible." She felt his hands on the curve of her bottom. He was lifting her, keeping her in a gentle suspension. Then he was inside her. Just like that.

"Hush," he said.

"I can't."

"Yes you can, Edie."

They made love so slowly that often it seemed they weren't moving a muscle. All sense of touch and motion came from the warm summer tide that rushed past and around and between them. In the mangroves an outraged heron squawked. More silver mullets jumped toward the shallows. A long black snake drifted by, indifferently riding the slick of the current as if it were floating on jade-colored silk.

Edie Marsh was good. She hardly made a sound. For quite a while she even forgot the purpose of the seduction.

Afterwards she wanted to dry off and take a nap together, but Skink said there was no time. They dressed quickly. Without a word he led her through the tangled woods. Edie saw no particular trail; at times it seemed they were hiking in circles. Once they reached a paved road, he took her arm. They walked another mile to an intersection with a flashing traffic light. A sign said that one road went to Miami, the other toward Key West.

Skink told her to wait there.

"For what?"

"Somebody's taking you to the mainland. He'll be coming soon."

Edie was caught by surprise. "Who?"

"Relax."

"But I wanted you to take me."

"Sorry," said Skink. "This is as far as I go."

"It's going to rain again."

"Yep."

"I heard lightning!" Edie said.

"So don't fly any kites."

"When did you plan this? Dropping me out here ..." She was angry now. She realized he'd always meant to let her go-which meant the sex-in-the-creek had been unnecessary.

Not that she hadn't enjoyed it, or wouldn't love to try it again, but still she felt tricked.

"Why didn't you tell me last night?"

Skink flashed her the politician's smile. "Slipped my mind."

"Asshole." She picked a leaf out of her wet hair and peevishly flicked it into the wind. Swatted a horsefly off her ankle. Folded her arms and glared.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Look on the bright side, girl. You got over your fear of crocodiles."

CHAPTER THIRTY

At half past noon, a police cruiser stopped at the intersection of Card Sound Road and County Road 905. A broad-shouldered black man in casual street clothes honked twice at Edie Marsh. As he motioned her to the car, she recognized him as the cop whom Snapper had shot outside Paradise Palms.

"You might not believe this," she said, "but I'm really glad you're OK."

"Thanks for your concern." His tone was so neutral that she almost didn't catch the sarcasm. He wore reflector sunglasses and had a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. When he reached across to open the door, Edie glimpsed a white mat of bandage between the middle buttons of his shirt.

"You're Jim, right? I'm Edie."

"I figured."

He took the road toward Miami. Edie assumed she was being arrested. She said, "For what it's worth, I didn't think he would shoot."

"Funny thing about morons with guns."

"Look, I know where he is. I can show you where he is."

Jim Tile said, "I already know."

Then she understood. The trooper had no intention of trying to find Snapper. It was over for Snapper.

"What about me?" she asked, inwardly speculating on the multitude of felonies for which she could be prosecuted. Attempted murder. Fleeing the scene. Aiding and abetting. Auto theft. Not to mention insurance fraud, which the trooper might or might not know about, depending on what the governor had told him.

"So what happens to me?" she asked again.

"Last night I got a message saying a lady needed a ride to the mainland."

"And you had nothing better to do."

From miles behind the sunglasses: "It was an old friend who called."

Edie Marsh kept trying to play tough. It wasn't easy. No other cars were in sight. The guy could rape me, kill me, dump my body in the swamp. Who'd ever know? Plus he was a cop.

She said, "You didn't answer my question."

The toothpick bobbed. "The answer is: Nothing. Nothing's going to happen to you. The friend who left a message put in a good word."

"Yeah?"

"'Jail will not make an impression on this woman. Don't waste your time.' That's a quote."

Edie reddened. "Some good word."

"So you get a free ride to Florida City. Period."

After crossing the Card Sound Bridge, the trooper stopped at Alabama Jack's. He asked Edie if she wanted a fish sandwich or a burger.

"I'm barefoot," she said.

Finally he broke a smile. "I don't believe there's a dress code."

Over lunch, Edie Marsh tried again. "I got sick when Snapper pulled the trigger," she said, "back at the motel, I swear. It's the last thing I wanted."

Jim Tile said it didn't matter one way or the other. To appear friendly, Edie asked how long he'd been assigned to Miami.

"Ten days."

"You came for the hurricane?"

"Just like you," he said, letting her know he had her pegged.

On their way out of the restaurant, he bought her an extra order of fries and a Coke for the road. In the car, Edie tried to keep the conversation moving. She felt more secure when he was talking, instead of staring ahead like a sphinx, working that damn toothpick.

She asked if she could see the bulletproof vest. He said he'd had to turn it in at headquarters, for evidence. She asked if the bullet made a hole and he said no, more of a dimple.

"Bet you didn't think hurricane duty would be so hairy."

Jim Tile fiddled with the squelch on the radio.

Edie said, "What's the craziest thing you've seen so far?"

"Besides your geek partner shooting at me?"

"Yeah, besides that."

"The President of the United States," he said, "trying to hammer a nail into a piece of plywood. Took him at least nine tries."

Edie straightened. "You saw the President!"

"Yeah. We had motorcade duty."

Thoughtfully she munched on a French fry. "Did you see his son, too?"

"They were riding in the same limo."

"I didn't know he lived in Miami, the President's son."

"Lucky him," the trooper said.

Edie Marsh, sipping her Coke, trying not to be too obvious: "I wonder where his house is, somebody like that. Key Biscayne probably, or maybe the Gables. Sometimes I wonder about famous people. Where they eat out. Where they get their cars waxed. Who's their dentist. I mean, think about it: The President's kid, he still has to get his teeth cleaned. Don't you ever wonder about stuff like that?"

"Never." Fat raindrops slapped on the windshield. Still the trooper stayed camped behind the sunglasses.

Edie didn't give up. "You got a girlfriend?" she asked.

'Yes."

Finally, Edie thought. Something to run with. "Where is she?"

"In the hospital," Jim Tile said. "Your buddy beat her to a pulp."