Serge shook his head again, but started talking anyway. Then the whole story gushed out, right up to the part about the fake DEA agent working for the person who was responsible for Felicia’s murder. That’s why he had hopes going to the house that night, but it didn’t pan out.
Brook understood; she had lost someone, too. She reached under the covers to hold his hand. Serge let her but didn’t grip back.
Brook wasn’t interested in sex, but she knew she was at one of those vulnerable moments and wouldn’t have objected if he made the overture. He didn’t.
Serge had his reasons. They differed woman to woman. Like Sasha. Serge was on her in a heartbeat. But that was just a violent collision of dangerous people swapping fluids the way NASCAR drivers trade paint. Brook was pure.
Serge became silent again, studying the ceiling. Danger affects women differently. Sasha was drawn to it; Brook found a safe harbor from it.
She scooted over and snuggled into Serge’s shoulder and felt secure.
They dozed off together.
THE NEXT MORNING
All the lights were on before dawn in an upper-floor suite of a high-rise on Biscayne Boulevard.
Enzo Tweel sat at the writing desk. His demeanor never betrayed emotion, but inside he was a lava pit. All those stupid idiots in their matching T-shirts just had to show up last night at the worst possible moment. But Plan A hadn’t been a total waste. The bright side was that Serge and his two companions would begin restricting their movements because of his ruse: After Enzo had shot the fake Rick Maddox, he dropped the DEA badge on the floor. And from the phone tap on Mahoney’s line last night, he learned that they had fallen for it. They thought they were being hunted for killing a bona fide federal agent when it was the scammer all along.
It motivated Enzo. He put pen to legal pad. Time for Plan B. There had been a flurry of late-night calls to Mahoney, all from the same number. Enzo heard a woman tell the PI that she had been trying to get ahold of Serge but he wasn’t answering his cell. Could Mahoney please ask him to call her? She wanted to meet with important information she couldn’t divulge over the phone. Tell him it’s Sasha.
Enzo looked up at the wall. The name rang a bell. He flipped back through his legal pad for notes from previously tapped conversations. Sure enough, there she was, in a phone call from Serge about cracking a dating bandit case.
An alert jingled on his smartphone. Another taped conversation coming in via satellite. Sasha again. The murder of her crime colleague Rick Maddox was too much. With the bloody winnowing of her gang, she wanted out. She wanted to meet Serge. Noon, the Fandango sidewalk café on Ocean Drive.
Another alert quickly followed. An outgoing call from Mahoney to Serge informing him of Sasha’s request. This time Serge was eager: She was now his best and only lead to track down her boss, South Philly Sal or Enzo or whatever his name.
“I’ll call her right after I get off the phone with you,” said Serge.
This was good. Fit perfectly into Plan B.
Enzo packed his leather satchel again.
Wake up.”
Brook’s eyes fluttered open. “What time is it?”
“Time to go,” said Serge.
“Go where?”
Serge was already dressed with duffel bag packed. “I need to get you someplace safe.”
“But I’m safe with you.”
Serge shook his head. “That was a federal agent last night. The heat’s going to be unreal. There’s all those witnesses, and by now the cops are looking for two men and a woman, so it’s better we split up until I can sort some things out and get you in the clear.”
Brook climbed into the Firebird again but without reservations. Serge drove a short distance to another roach motel and went in the office. He returned and led them to room 23.
Serge opened his wallet. “Okay, Brook, I’ve got you all set up. You’re registered under an alias. Here’s the room key . . .”
Brook Campanella took the magnetic card. “Why can’t I stay with you guys?”
“I already explained. And I have an important meeting that just came up.”
“Can I come along?” asked Brook.
“It’s someplace you can’t be,” said Serge. “For your own good.”
“But you will come back?”
“Right after the meeting,” said Serge. “You have my word. But whatever you do, don’t leave this room under any circumstances until I return.”
She nodded.
“I’d like you to say it.”
“I promise I won’t leave the room.”
“Good.”
Brook gave Serge a tight hug, and he left the motel with Coleman.
Brook picked up the phone. “Yes, I’d like a taxi . . .”
OCEAN DRIVE
The “it” address on Miami Beach. Trendy restaurants and hotels. Beautiful people walked around being beautiful. Rollerblades, champagne in ice buckets next to sidewalk tables, sprinting valets. Topless sunbathing was against the law but the law wasn’t enforced.
Sasha arrived an hour early, sitting alone at her table in front of the Fandango. Six times already she’d had to fend off another male model who wanted to join her. She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes till Serge.
