Damaged

CHAPTER 41

"Did I tell you how good it is to see you?" Platt asked Maggie.

"Three times."

But she smiled when she said it, so he figured he must not sound as high-school annoying as he thought he did. She wore a yellow knit top that brought out the gold flecks in her brown eyes. And she was wearing shorts--real shorts, not the baggy athletic ones she wore on game day. And flip-flops. She never wore open-toed shoes. The whole package was distracting as hell.

They'd snagged a table looking out at the Gulf. Platt had been told that most of the tourists had left Pensacola Beach, but the restaurants and bars--the ones that were still open--were crowded with residents, tired from packing all day.

The Tiki Bar offered free drinks. Their waitress told them they could still order appetizers if they didn't mind an assortment chosen by the cook. In other words, whatever was left. When she delivered the platter, Maggie and Platt looked at each other like they had hit the jackpot: wild-mushroom spring rolls, grilled prawns with salsa, pineapple-glazed pork ribs. His mouth started watering from the aromas alone.

"You still can't tell me about your secret mission, can you?" Maggie asked him after devouring a spring roll.

"Probably not. It doesn't matter." He wiped the glaze from his chin, sat back, and sipped a mai tai. It was his second and the rum had begun to relax him, except that he couldn't shake Ganz's abrupt shift in attitude. His finger tapped at the yellow paper umbrella and bobbed the slice of lime poked at the end. "I gave them my opinion. They didn't like it and they sent me home."

"Hmmm." Maggie picked up one of the prawns. "Sounds like a government assignment. Was it one of the military bases here?"

"How do you do that?" he said before he realized that he had just admitted she was correct.

"Look, you really don't need to tell me. I'm okay with that."

"What about your case?"

"Coast Guard found a fishing cooler in the Gulf."

"With a body inside?"

She nodded with a mouthful. They were across the table from each other but close enough that Platt reached over and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

"Sorry," she said, grabbing her own napkin and wiping both corners now. He immediately regretted what had been an instinctive gesture. "Pieces of at least one victim. A man who disappeared after Hurricane Gaston."

"Gaston? I thought that one hit on the Atlantic side."

"It did."

"You think you might have a killer who preys on hurricane victims?"

"I don't know. It's possible. People go missing."

"There is a lot of chaos and now you're stuck here to experience it."

She shrugged. "You must know by now that you are, too."

"I was offered a ride to Jacksonville on a C-130."

"A military cargo plane? Wow. How generous of them."

Platt's turn to shrug. He still felt the sting of Ganz's dismissal.

"So just out of curiosity, what were the pieces?" he asked.

"A torso, one foot, three hands. Aren't you hungry? Because I'm about to consume all of this."

He smiled and plucked up a spring roll. He was hungry. But almost too exhausted to eat. He couldn't remember when he slept last.

"Three hands? So at least two victims."

"It could be two people or as many as five. Blood typing has already ruled out the foot belonging to the torso."

"So the killer's either messy or very smart. Do you think he was disposing bodies at sea?"

He could tell she was considering it then shook her head.

"The body parts were wrapped individually in thick plastic wrap, almost as if he was preserving instead of disposing." She drained her second Diet Pepsi. "What's worse is that the foot has pieces of metal embedded under the skin, deep into the tissue."

"Why did Kunze send you on this wild-goose chase? And into the eye of a hurricane?"

"Long story." She waved at the passing waitress and politely pointed to her glass for a refill. "Where are you staying?"

"My duffel bag is at the Santa Rosa Island Authority office. They told me there were no check-ins on the beach. No rooms available anywhere else."

"I have a suite at the Hilton. At least until tomorrow."

"Hmmm." He couldn't tell whether it was an invitation. They joked with each other so often that sometimes he wasn't sure where he really stood with Maggie O'Dell.

"Two queen-size beds."

Ah, okay. An offer from his friend. Was that relief he was feeling in his gut? Or was it disappointment?

"Minibar?" he sparred back.

"Yep."

"Big-screen TV?"

"It's a hotel room, Platt, not a sports bar."

"You sure you don't mind sharing? I think I snore when I'm overtired."

"Not a problem. I haven't been sleeping anyway."

"What do you mean you haven't been sleeping? Like at all?"

She looked as though she had revealed too much. "Bad case of insomnia," she said.

"For how long?" The doctor in him couldn't help it. Maybe that was the reason for their inability to move past friendship. They had begun as doctor and patient when Maggie was quarantined under his directive at USAMRIID.

"I sleep a few hours now and then." She hesitated then admitted, "It's probably been a few months."

"Well, I have just what you need."

"Look Ben, I'm not sure I want to get used to taking any meds."

"I'm not talking about meds." He raised his hands as if to show her. "My massages can work wonders."