It's a Sweet Life

Chapter Three

“Okay, this looks like shit. Tell me again why I had to dye my hair?” It was after eight o’clock Friday evening, and Allan Donohue felt more exhausted than he had in his entire life. They’d just checked into the hotel a few minutes earlier after making their way up the state from Miami, using back roads all the way.

He turned from the mirror over the vanity and shot an evil glare at his twin brother, Benjamin. Before they’d left Miami early that morning, Ben had dragged Allan down to Homestead, where the hairdresser wife of a retired cop friend of Ben’s had turned Allan into a blond beach bum in her bathroom.

And beach bum was a look he despised. He had an image to maintain, and scruffy wasn’t it.

To be fair, Allan wasn’t the only one who’d changed his appearance. Ben had shaved his thick beard and moustache, which he’d worn for three years. The same friend’s wife cut Ben’s flowing brown hair into a short, neat yuppie style. Years working undercover meant Ben’s face hadn’t even had time to catch up. His lower face looked far paler than his tanned forehead.

“Because no one expects to see Mr. Preppie Lawyer as a scruffy, dirty blond surfer dude,” Ben snarked. “No offense, Counselor.” The edges of his blue eyes crinkled in amusement. “Sorry it’ll conflict with your South Beach party boy persona, but it’s not like you’re going to be hitting the nightclubs anytime soon.”

Allan looked in the hotel mirror again and tried to ignore the jibe.

“My eyebrows are darker. It’s obviously a dye job.”

“That’s okay. In a couple of weeks, as your hair gets longer, 28 Tymber Dalton

you’ll look totally different. Just wear a hat.”

“I can’t help but notice you now look like me.”

“You mean you missed that while we were growing up? We’re identical twins. Duh. For a prosecutor, you can be awfully freaking dense. Those club girls you hanging out with sucking your brains dry instead of your dick?”

Allan swallowed back another retort as he ignored the shot and turned to his brother again. “I meant it’s odd that you now look like I used to look.”

Ben grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels without answering.

Allan wouldn’t let it drop. “Dude, did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

Allan recognized the stubborn set to his brother’s shoulders.

“Then what the fuck?”

Ben finally looked at him. “If one of Victor Bianco’s goons does manage to find us, I’d rather they come after me than you.”

Allan shook his head as he realized what Ben had done. Some of his anger over his brother’s potshots melted away. “You stupid jerk.

Do you really think I want you taking a bullet for me?”

Ben smirked. “I’m hoping neither of us take any bullets.” He poked himself in the chest, where he wore an oversized button-up Hawaiian shirt. “I, however, have been wearing my vest like I’m supposed to.”

“Won’t help you if they shoot you in the head.”

Ben’s gaze returned to the TV as he shrugged. “I don’t intend for the Biancos to find us. That makes it moot. Once we’re settled and I’m sure no one’s followed us, I’ll be able to stop wearing it. For a while.”

Most of South Florida’s criminals were on the lookout for the thirty-year-old Donohue brothers, who had a million-dollar mob bounty on their heads, if underworld scuttlebutt could be believed.

Allan had headed the Miami-Dade County prosecution team that It’s a Sweet Life 29

originally took down Victor Bianco’s cousin. In lieu of sentencing considerations, that cousin had flipped on Bianco, which triggered a cascade of charges both local and federal against the head of the Bianco crime family. Charges that could effectively dismantle the mob organization if successfully taken to trial.

Ben was the undercover detective who’d spent nearly three years entrenched in the Bianco organization. His work had brought the Bianco cousin to justice.

Add to all that the fact that apparently the entire New Jersey contingent of the Bianco crime family had suddenly headed south for the winter two days earlier.

Destination—Miami.

When the Feds discovered that little factoid, they’d offered the Donohue brothers two options—willingly disappear and stay hidden until the trial, or be taken into protective custody. With several local, state, and federal law enforcement and prosecutorial departments entwined in the biggest mob trial in Florida history, the two brothers had opted to voluntarily disappear.

Their limbo would be spent in Brooksville, Florida. Large enough to hide out in, and small enough to stay off the radar, the little town an hour north of Tampa would be their temporary home.

For now, they were holed up in a Holiday Inn at the corner of I-75

and State Road 50, with Ben registered as Ken Dougherty and Allan listed as Charles Stackhouse.

Allan turned back to the mirror, feeling both guilty that his brother had tricked him into changing appearances to put him at less risk, and loving the big goon for it. “I still hate the blond.”

“Keep it up, you’ll wake up with a reverse mohawk and have to shave it all off,” Ben shot at him.

Allan sighed and grumbled under his breath. “Fucker.”

30 Tymber

Dalton

Libbie awoke earlier than normal, at 3:37 Saturday morning, before her alarm even went off. The first thing she noticed was that her hands didn’t hurt nearly as badly as they had the day before.

She didn’t know if that was due to Dr. Smith’s prescription, Mandaline’s unconventional concoctions, or a combination of both.

She wouldn’t question it.

As she shut of her alarm clock and sat up, she realized her whole body felt better than it usually did.

That alone was enough to make her smile.

With coffee brewing, she grabbed a hot shower and dressed, taking her mug of coffee downstairs after swallowing a pain pill.

Ruthie arrived at four to help. When Grover arrived a little after five, they had half the day’s normal offerings underway, including several red velvet cakes for Libbie’s unpaid volunteer movers.

Grover offered Libbie a smile. “Well, look at you. Ain’t you the chipper one this morning?”

“I actually saw her smiling before her third cup of coffee,” Ruth gently teased.

“I feel really good,” Libbie confirmed. “I’m not going to question why.”

He grabbed a clean apron from the cabinet and put it on before washing his hands. “You look better than I’ve seen you in a few weeks.”

“And I had an idea last night.” She detailed her plan to him, receiving his approval.

“I think you’re right. That’s a good idea. It means less stuff to move out of there, too.”

By eight in the morning, the entire Johnson brood, including their significant others, had arrived and started the moving process. With Galileo loudly protesting the upheaval from his travel carrier, Libbie helped out as much as she could while Grover and Ruth watched the shop and finished the daily orders.

When he called Libbie downstairs at nine thirty, a grinning It’s a Sweet Life 31

Mandaline was waiting at the counter.

“Well? Grover told me you’re feeling better.”

Libbie gave her a hug. “It’s too soon to tell yet, but I’m definitely going to keep using them.”

Mandaline practically squealed with delight. “So what’s the big excitement going on?”

Libbie looked back at the hallway, where sounds of activity echoed down the stairs. “I’m playing musical apartments. I’m going to rent out the larger one in front that I’ve been living in. Furnished. If you hear of anybody nice, feel free to send them my way.”

“How much? I’ll put up a card on my bulletin board for you.”

“Seven hundred a month. Including utilities. Two bedrooms, one bath. Between you and me, I’ll be willing to negotiate the rent if they want to help out in the bakery.”

Mandaline tapped the info into her iPhone. “Sounds like a deal to me.” She flashed Libbie a smile. “I’ll light a candle for luck and prosperity for you.”

“Thanks.”

Her smile turned into a grin. “Want me to throw in one for love as well?”

Libbie let out a laugh. “What the hell, why not? Can’t hurt, right?”

“Right.” She waggled her fingers at Libbie and left. Libbie watched Mandaline cross the square, carrying her boxes.

“She’s a sweet gal,” Grover said from behind her. “Even if she is plumb crazy.”

Libbie looked up at him. “Grover,” she scolded. “That’s not nice.”

Ruth shook her head, clucking at Grover. “I think she’s sweet.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say she was bad crazy. She’s sweet enough. But all that mystical hoo-hoo nonsense isn’t my thing.

Louanne, now she likes crystals and stuff. Spends plenty of time over there.” He glanced back at the stairs as he realized his youngest daughter was up there helping out with the move. He lowered his voice. “At least that’s the worst crazy stuff she ever did. I’ll take that 32 Tymber Dalton

over drugs or drinking any day. She’s a good girl.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet for Mandaline to do it, even if it’s not my thing.” Libbie shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe a little luck is what I need now.” She flexed her hands, which while achy, still felt great compared to the pain she’d been in the day before. “I certainly won’t refuse any good luck I can get, regardless of where it comes from.”

Saturday morning, Allan and Ben sat in the far corner of the hotel’s restaurant and studied the newspaper as they ate breakfast a little after eight o’clock.

“We can’t spend six months here,” Allan said. “In a hotel, I mean.”

Allan loved his brother, but the two of them made Felix and Oscar look like Ozzie and Harriet by comparison in regards to how they got along in close quarters. They could barely share an apartment in college, much less one room. Ben was a homebody, while Allan had enjoyed making use of what free time he had to go out and party with friends to make up for the years of strict studying and hard work he’d suffered through in college. But for the sake of safety, they’d agreed they needed to stick together, and Allan had bowed to his brother’s law enforcement experience to keep them safe.

Ben nodded. “I know.” His eyes never rose from the classified ads he studied. “We need to rent a place. Preferably from an individual.

These fake identities we have won’t hold up to detailed scrutiny from someone running background and credit checks. Jim did the best he could for us under such short notice.” They had okay-looking driver’s licenses from Nebraska, which was the best Ben’s friend in the DEA could do for them with less than twenty-four hours to assure their cover. Jim already had new Florida licenses in the works for them through his contacts in Tallahassee. They’d be overnighted from Omaha once Ben gave him an address.

It’s a Sweet Life

33

Allan guessed his brother was erring on the side of caution by going through a completely different agency for their disguises, but he wouldn’t question him on that, at least. “And why, again, was running the better option?” Allan would have been happy accepting federal protection, but deferred to his brother rather than argue with him about it.

Ben finally lifted his gaze, one eyebrow upraised. “Honestly? I don’t know who we can trust. I prefer being on the other end of a disposable cell phone than being a sitting duck in Miami.” His attention returned to the classifieds. “Look at it this way, now you’ll have time to do all that artsy crap you’re always bitching you don’t have time for when you’re too busy out scoring a new hot chick at a nightclub.”

Allan bristled, but bit back the “fuck you” struggling to get out.

This morning he’d had to fight not to stare at his brother. It was like looking in a mirror before his own dye job.

He didn’t like feeling guilty that his brother was willing to take on his appearance for the sake of keeping him safe.

Instead, Allan opted for civility. “You used to like to draw. Before college. You were really good at it, too.”

“Yeah, and that was before I saw what life was really like. What people are really like. I’ve got too much to do now usually.” He let out a snort that Allan recognized as Ben’s “shut the fuck up”

conversational warning.

Allan also felt guilty that his brother had, in essence, given up three years of his life to bring down a mob kingpin. All the while he’d been able to go about his own life in carefree freedom.

He sat back and focused on the front section of the paper.

Ben breathed a silent sigh of relief when Allan took the hint and shut his hole. They might have looked alike growing up, but the 34 Tymber Dalton

brothers couldn’t be more different in temperament. And he’d promised his mom before she died that he’d take care of Allan.

“He’s not like you, Ben,” she’d said one afternoon while he was alone with his mom in her hospital room. They’d just turned nineteen, and had spent it sitting at their mother’s bedside during her losing battle with breast cancer. “He’s as smart as you, but he’s book smart.

Your father always said you got the street sense.”

Which was why Allan majored in law, and Ben majored in law enforcement. Like their dad, who’d taken a bullet when he accidentally walked in on a robbery in progress at a bodega in Little Havana one night. He’d gone in at the end of his night shift to pick up a carton of milk to bring home for them for breakfast.

He’d never made it home.

Even though they were only nine when it happened, Ben remembered how hot the sun had felt on their backs as they stood beside their mother while a full honor guard carried their father’s flag-draped casket out of the church.

During school, Allan was the one picked on while Ben had to watch his back. Ben went out for football while Allan chose Latin Club.

For a couple of years he’d honestly suspected his twin brother was gay. Until the night in college when he accidentally walked in on Allan boinking a girl on their apartment couch when he came home unexpectedly after his own date fell apart early.

Then the girl, two years older than them, had brightened at the sight of him and suggested a threesome.

“I’ve always wanted to do twins,” she practically squealed. “It’s on my bucket list!”

It still boggled his mind how many women were actually down with the whole twins thing. He’d always thought it was a male-only fantasy, but they’d shared a few women in their time.

Not that he’d had anything resembling a love life in the past few years. Entrenching himself in the Bianco family was his life, It’s a Sweet Life 35

completely. He couldn’t risk anyone’s safety by attempting to have a normal relationship on the side. And it allowed him the freedom to enjoy the occasional hooker or exotic dancer with “the boys” in the course of his job without guilt or remorse.

I couldn’t do that to a woman I loved.

He shoved the thought back into its hole and slammed the door tightly against it as he felt his heart clench. Yeah, he was lonely most of the time. It was worth it to put away a hefty chunk of the Bianco family for good and get assholes like them off the streets.

If it meant he had to be a stereotypical bachelor detective, then oh well.

His glance skittered across the restaurant to where a small family had just been seated in a booth. A young man and woman, maybe late twenties, with a beautiful blonde little girl, maybe two years old. And a cute little boy a year or so older than his sister.

He forced his eyes back to the paper. I’m thirty. I wasn’t meant to have a wife or kids. I was meant to be a cop.

“So what do you think?”

Allan’s voice pulled him out of his mental meanderings. For once, he welcomed the distraction from his thoughts. “What?”

“We go into town, take a look around, see if we find anything that way. I need to get out and stretch my legs.”

Ben looked back down at his paper and nodded. “Sure.

Whatever.”

“Grouch.”

Ben didn’t respond. Instead, he forced himself to finish his omelet and not listen to the happy chirruping from the booth across the restaurant.

Neither brother had ever been to Brooksville before. Allan had wanted to stop in Tampa, but Ben overruled him. Allan had learned 36 Tymber Dalton

early in life not to push Ben when his mind was made up. All it would lead to was a fight. As they drove from the hotel into town, Allan admitted Ben made a good choice. The quiet town had the basic amenities such as a couple of large discount stores, but still maintained its rural, Old South charm.

As they followed up on a couple of rental leads from the paper, Allan let Ben take charge. Ben had always taken charge, something else Allan felt a little guilty about. He envied his brother the ability to wade into a situation and settle it. It was what made Ben a good cop, and an even better detective. People listened to Ben. He had a way about him that commanded respect and attention without being douchey.

Allan never had that. It was why he decided on law instead of becoming a cop. He knew he didn’t have the stomach for the on-the-edge work like Ben did.

Allan thrived on the details, the fine print, delving into the law and careful researching and pulling together cases to sway a judge and jury his way. He didn’t mind standing up in court and giving opening or closing statements, or questioning witnesses. There were rules and procedures and…safety. In a courtroom, he took charge and kicked butt.

Kicking in a door, however, would probably get him killed.

Allan studied Ben as he drove. With Ben’s deep undercover work, they hadn’t spent a lot of time together for the past three years, although they had talked on the phone at least once a week. As far as Allan knew, Ben hadn’t even taken a full vacation in the past several years. He’d been known to the mobsters as Frankie Ruggiero and played the part well.

Sometimes, Allan barely recognized his brother’s voice over the phone. Ben had a habit of replicating the New Jersey accent of the criminals he “worked” for. Two different times, Ben had been ordered to “whack” guys suspected of infidelity to the mob family. Ben had successfully flipped them, funneling them into the witness protection It’s a Sweet Life 37

program after faking their deaths.

Working on the other end of the process, Allan knew he was insulated from the dirty, day-to-day struggle the police went through to bring the criminals to his door.

More guilt.

They spent the morning looking at apartments and houses for rent until they ended up in downtown Brooksville, near the town square.

“Where to now?” Allan asked.

“You hungry?”

Allan tried to ignore the gooseflesh that rippled up his back at the way his brother had said it. As if he’d grown up in New Jersey instead of Miami. “I could eat, yeah.”

“I saw a little coffeeshop over there, on the other side of the courthouse.” They found a parking space and walked up to the shop.

The sign read Many Blessings in curly, bright pink letters. From the number of patrons inside, it looked like a popular place.

Ben walked in first. Allan didn’t miss the way his brother quickly scanned the area with a hard, narrowed gaze that swept over the patrons before he stepped forward and let Allan enter behind him.

Allan deeply inhaled the delicious aromas of coffee and tea, along with various scents that reminded him of incense.

Behind the counter, a short, slim woman with brown eyes and long, dark brown hair greeted them with a cheerful smile. “Welcome.

What can I get for you gentlemen today?”

As Allan looked around, he realized the store was more than a coffeeshop. Shelves of books, Tarot card decks, crystals, candles, statues, and other New Age items lined the walls. Several patrons at various tables sat hunched over layouts of Tarot cards while others were immersed in books or on their laptops.

Ben stepped up to the counter. “Large coffee. Black. Whatever the daily special is. And a cheese danish.” He looked at Allan. “You?”

Allan had to focus on Ben’s words. In the background, soft guitar music played through speakers. He’d felt his stress of the past couple 38 Tymber Dalton

of days melt from his shoulders. I could spend hours in here. “Same, please.” He finally looked at the woman helping them and noticed her studying them.

“You guys are new in town, aren’t you?”

Allan sensed Ben tense next to him, so he took over. “Yeah.

Looking to move here. Just got into town and trying to find an apartment.”

The woman’s face brightened even more as she laughed.

“Goddess bless me, that spell worked even faster than I thought it would.” She darted from behind the counter over to a bulletin board, where she unpinned a pink index card from it and brought it back to them. Handing it to Allan, she said, “Go see Libbie Addams. She owns the bakery. I think she closed early today, but if you go around back, I know she’s there. Just knock on the door.” She pointed out the window and across the square to a bakery where It’s a Sweet Life was painted on one window in bright pink and turquoise letters. “I’ll get your orders.”

Allan knew from the look on Ben’s face that he was forcing back a dubious frown. He pulled the card from Allan’s hand and studied it.

“Hmph.”

“Is that a good hmph?” Allan quietly asked.

Ben glared at him. “We’ll check it out.” When the clerk brought them their order and rang them up, Ben held up the card. “What do you know about this woman?”

Allan tried to step on Ben’s foot to warn him to knock it off, but Ben shifted to the right, away from him.

“Oh, Libbie’s a real sweetheart. In fact, we buy all our pastries and stuff fresh from her every day.” The woman’s playful smile turned into a sunburst of a grin. “And I know for a fact that she’s single.”

Allan felt his face heat for a reason he couldn’t fathom. Before he could respond, Ben took their change and grumbled, “Thanks, but we’re gay.”

It’s a Sweet Life

39

The clerk slowly nodded, but the sly smile never left her face. She winked at Allan. “Uh-huh. If you say so, guys. I don’t question people, but I have a feeling you’ll be a good fit for Libbie.”

Allan wanted to say something else, but Ben grabbed one of the coffees and danishes, put them in Allan’s hand, and spun him around toward the door before grabbing his own stuff. “Thanks. We appreciate the lead.”

Outside, Allan quickened his pace to match Ben’s. “‘We appreciate the lead?’ Nice work, Columbo. Like that didn’t make you sound like a cop.”

40 Tymber

Dalton