No Good Deed

Chapter 43

If Lancaster had learned anything during his time on the police force, it was that the world was a better place with certain people dead.

It was true. Some people had evil in their hearts, and the harm they wreaked upon society was incalculable. Lost lives, shattered families, psychological scars that never healed — their mark on the world a bloodied footprint.

Dexter Hudson was such a person. In the short time he’d been out of prison, he’d murdered two people and orchestrated the kidnappings of fourteen more. Sending him back to prison wouldn’t change him — he’d just find new ways to cause harm. The only way to stop a person like Dexter was to remove him from this earth.

If he had one regret, it was that he wouldn’t be the one to do it.

Sleep wasn’t an option. That would come later, when the mission was over.

He dropped the rental off and retrieved his car from short-term parking. Back at his hotel, he showered and put on fresh clothes. Then, he drank a cup of coffee and thought about how he was going to handle Daniels when she found out what he’d done. She wasn’t going to be happy with him, and he told himself she’d have to get over it.

He drove to Tampa Road and headed west, then headed south on Alternate US 19, and pulled off into a fast-food joint so he was directly situated between the Ozona marina and RichJo Lane in Palm Harbor. He didn’t want to be accidentally spotted by the FBI, and he parked on the side of the building. It was three a.m., and the streets were bare.

He opened the Arlo app on his cell phone. Arlo was a security company whose products could be purchased in any Best Buy or off the internet, a supply of which he kept in the trunk of his car. Their gadgets weren’t expensive, which was part of their appeal. Many times, he’d left them behind after a job, as he was planning to do now.

A few hours ago, he’d gone to Earl’s BBQ, and mounted four wireless security cameras to the gutters. Each camera had a crystal-clear picture, and allowed him to monitor the parking lot, as well as the road that led to the restaurant. No one was going to come onto that property without him seeing it. The system also had audio, and he now listened to the noisy frogs and crickets that lived in the bushes by the restaurant.

There was a drawback. The cameras had to be connected to a router to send their signal to the cloud. To solve that problem, he’d placed a Wi-Fi hotspot into an oak tree. Leaving the hotspot behind was a risk, since he paid a monthly fee to use it, and it could be traced back to him. Hopefully, the FBI wouldn’t do any climbing after the bust.

He switched apps, and stared at the purple dot. It was still out in the gulf. Dexter and the broker had spent a night on the boat. When the sun came up, they’d return to land, and drive down to Earl’s to pay off the gang. Once that happened, he’d put his plan into motion, and put Dexter out of his misery.

A tapping sound awakened her. Early-morning sunlight streamed through the camper window, and Daniels hopped out of bed, fearing she’d overslept. Opening the door, she found Baldini on the other side.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“The purple dot is moving. Dexter is coming ashore,” he said.

“Has there been any activity outside the BBQ joint?”

“No, it’s been quiet.”

“Give me a minute.”

Sixty seconds later, she came out of the bedroom, and went straight to the bank of computers where the other agents had gathered. Each screen showed a map of the gulf with the purple dot moving in a southeasterly direction. The dot came to shore, and stopped at a spot on the map that said Ozona. Dexter and the broker were about to tie up at the marina that she’d visited the day before. She considered sending a team to arrest them as they disembarked, but decided it was a bad idea. If Dexter alerted his gang with his cell phone, they’d vanish in the wind.

She couldn’t let anyone escape. It was her moral duty to bust every member of the gang, and to put them away. Men who trafficked were just as bad as murderers, and ruined just as many lives. The dot did not stay long at the marina, and soon was traveling north on Alternate US 19, the two men now in a car.

“They’re going to be here soon,” she said. “If they don’t turn down RichJo Lane, we’ll have to run them down.”

“We’re prepared for that,” Baldini said.

Baldini was keeping his distance. He would be nice to her from now on, but would he change? In her experience, guys like him never learned their lesson.

She went outside, and stood in the camper’s shadow, where she had a clear view of Alternate US 19, and could see every vehicle driving past. Baldini soon joined her. In his hand was a pack of smokes. He banged two out, and gave her one.

“Stick this in your mouth,” he said.

“No thanks,” she said.

“People come outside to smoke cigarettes. It will make you look normal.”

“I don’t look normal?”

“Come on, you know what I mean.”

He was playing nice, and she let him light her cigarette. A black pickup came into view, slowed, and put its blinker on. It had two passengers, both male. As it turned down RichJo Lane, she spotted the driver. Pushing fifty, with a droopy mustache and sideburns. Dexter and the broker had arrived.

“They’re here,” she said.

“I think we should nail them,” he said. “Just to be safe.”

“We need to wait. His friends will be arriving soon.”

“How can you be so certain his friends will come?”

A deafening roar interrupted her thoughts. A pair of Harleys driven by two guys decked out in black leather came down Alternate US 19 and turned down RichJo Lane. They were immediately followed by a line of cars and another motorbike, all of which made the turn. She gave Baldini a look.

“Need any more convincing?” she asked.

“You were right. Sorry,” he said.

“Let’s go put our body armor on, shall we?”

Fifteen minutes earlier, Lancaster had gotten a call from Trent.

“We’ve got some activity,” Trent said. “There’s a dinghy tied up to the boat with the victims. Two men just got on, and are heading north toward the marina.”

“Did you get a look at them?” he asked.

“You bet. The first guy was dressed all in black. His buddy was Hispanic, and wore shades and a lot of gold jewelry. He looked like a pimp.”

Dexter and the broker were heading to shore. It was time to put his plan into action, and he said, “Is your team ready to board the boat, and rescue the victims?”

“We’re all suited up. Just say when.”

“When.”

“Gotcha. Just to reconfirm, if one of these jokers gives us trouble, you want us to dispose of him, correct?”

“That’s right. My only regret is that I won’t be there to see you do it.”

“Well put. I’ll fill you in on the details later.”

The line went dead. He put the phone away, and stared at the oncoming traffic. Rush hour was underway, and traffic was picking up. A black pickup appeared. It was moving slow, the driver’s window rolled down. Dexter was at the wheel, talking with the broker in the passenger seat. The vehicle was moving so slow that he could have run them down, and put a bullet in Dexter’s head.

He fought off the urge, and watched them pass.

The pickup was followed by two Harleys, their drivers a pair of mean-looking hombres. A stream of cars then followed. Most were commuters, as evidenced by the Starbucks cups in their hands. But several drivers didn’t fit that profile, and wore the chiseled features of men who’d spent a portion of their lives behind bars. A lone Harley brought up the rear, the driver’s hair blowing in the breeze.

The meeting at Earl’s was about to go down.

He opened the Arlo app on his cell phone. The four surveillance cameras were recording, and he watched Dexter and the broker pull in. The broker grabbed a briefcase off the back seat before following Dexter inside.

The Harleys appeared, and parked by the front door. The drivers hopped off their bikes, and also headed inside. Eleven cars followed, and their drivers shuffled into the building. Finally, the last Harley appeared.

Three Harleys and eleven cars equaled fourteen vehicles. There were fourteen victims including Rachel Baye and the stripper Lexi, and he realized that each of the kidnappers was accounted for, except for his brother, Logan, who couldn’t be there to claim his money.

He switched feeds. One of the cameras had a clear shot of the road outside the restaurant. Soon, the FBI would drive their armored vehicles down that road, and make the bust. It would be a military-style operation, and every agent involved would have sweaty palms. He’d worked with the FBI before, and seen how they reacted to high-stress situations. They were not people you wanted to provoke. When backed into a corner, they had no reservations about opening fire on their suspects.

Predictable behavior was easily manipulated, and he leaned back in his seat to wait.

Chapter 44

The last time Daniels had ridden inside an armored vehicle was during a hostage rescue at Hogan’s Alley, a fake town inside of Quantico. The FBI used the town, built by Hollywood set designers, to train agents in a variety of law enforcement techniques, including simulated rescues.

That was years ago, and she’d forgotten how hot the interiors were. There were five other agents crammed inside. Each wore a bulletproof vest and helmet, and carried an assault rifle. Like her, sweat poured off their bodies.

They braked, and she stuck her face to the bulletproof glass. The second armored vehicle had stopped to allow the agents inside to jump out, and bang on the front doors of the homes on RichJo Lane. They were clearing the neighborhood in case the Outlaws decided to shoot it out.

Homeowners emerged and fled down the street, clutching pets to their chests. When the last person had been evacuated, her vehicle resumed moving ahead.

Reaching Earl’s, the driver blocked the entrance. She and her team got out, as did Baldini’s team, and everyone took up positions behind the vehicles. Two sharpshooters scurried into the parking lot, and also took up positions.

It had been agreed that Baldini would use a bullhorn to tell the Outlaws they were under arrest, and to come outside with their hands in the air. When the announcement did not happen, she wondered if the bullhorn was malfunctioning.

To her surprise, the bullhorn was passed to her.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Special Agent Baldini lost his voice,” the agent beside her said.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Afraid not,” the agent said.

Loss of motor skills was a result of panicking, and she wondered if Baldini had ever participated in a hostage rescue before. He was big on the talk, but he couldn’t walk the walk. She turned the bullhorn on, and raised it to her lips.

“This is Special Agent Daniels with the FBI. You are under arrest. I am ordering you to come out single file, with your arms in the air.” She paused, and saw a face in a window. She’d gotten their attention and continued. “You can make this hard, or you can make this easy. It’s up to you.”

She lowered the bullhorn to her side. The restaurant’s front door swung open, and a large man all in black came out, and did a quick appraisal of the situation. He slipped back inside, and the door closed behind him.

“Who was that guy?” the agent beside her asked.

“Dexter Hudson, the ringleader.”

“What do you think he’s doing?”

“He’s talking it over with his mates. He knows that running is futile, and so is shooting it out. He’s going to convince them to surrender.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. I’ve seen it before. Just give him a minute.”

Time went fast when you were having fun, and it crawled when you weren’t. Daniels counted the seconds on her watch, and when a minute had slipped away, she raised the bullhorn. “Time’s up. Either come out, or we’re coming in.”

The door opened, and Dexter emerged holding his hands in the air. He appeared bemused by his predicament.

“What seems to be the problem here?” he said in a loud voice.

“You and your friends are under arrest,” Daniels said through the bullhorn.

“Arrest? We’re having breakfast, for Christ’s sake. And this is private property. You and your friends are trespassing. Please leave.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them, and start walking toward me.”

He stubbornly shook his head. “I think you’ve got the wrong address, ma’am.”

“I don’t think so. Is your name Dexter Hudson?”

The bemused look vanished. “What if it is?”

“Then I have the right address. Start walking.”

“Not until I know what the charges are.”

“Kidnapping and human trafficking, fourteen counts, and two counts of murder. And violating the terms of your parole. Is that enough for you?”

The party was over, and his shoulders sagged.

“Promise you won’t shoot me, or my friends,” he said, sounding scared.

“You have my word. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Before Dexter could take his first step, there was a loud pop that sounded like a firecracker going off, followed by three more pops in rapid succession. Dexter doubled at the waist, then lifted his head, his eyes filled with rage.

“You fucking bitch!” he shouted.

Daniels froze. None of the agents had let off a round.

“Wait!” she said.

It was too late. Dexter dropped his hands and pulled up the front of his shirt. He drew a pistol with lightning speed, and got off a round. The bullet hit the roof of the armored vehicle Daniels was standing behind, the sound echoing around them.

The snipers cut Dexter down. The front of his shirt became filled with holes, and he fell backward through the open door and disappeared. The restaurant’s front windows were broken out by the men inside, who’d decided to shoot it out.

Then all hell broke loose.

Chapter 45

Still in his car, Lancaster watched the shootout on his cell phone. It wasn’t as good as being there, but it was close enough.

By jacking up the audio, he was able to hear the bullets tear into the restaurant, and rip apart the men inside. Because his driver’s window was down, he could also hear the gunfight on a slight delay. It was like listening to stereo.

He had never done victory dances as a soldier or a cop, but he felt like doing one now. The world was a safer place with these men gone, and he was happy to have been a part of it. Because the surveillance cameras were pointed at the street, he could see Beth and the other FBI agents, and it did not appear they had suffered any casualties.

He alternated watching the four feeds on his phone. One by one, the FBI’s bullets blew the cameras out, until he was down to a single feed. The camera was on a gutter on the south side of the restaurant, facing slightly down.

He saw smoke. At first, he didn’t know where it was coming from. Then it dawned on him that the restaurant had caught on fire.

The sound of bullets diminished, until there were none. The gutter fell off the side of the building, and the feed went dark.

The fire engines came from the south and blew past him. He shut his eyes and imagined the burning restaurant filled with corpses. The only piece of evidence he was worried about was the hotspot in the tree. Even if an investigator discovered the device, it would be difficult to piece together what he’d done.

Trent called him ten minutes later.

“Mission accomplished.”

“Any casualties?”

“No, sir. We caught them eating breakfast. They never heard us board.”

“How many were there?”

“Four.”

“Where did you leave them?”

“We tied them up to four fishing chairs on the stern. One of my guys stuffed bread in their shirt pockets. When we left, the gulls were harassing them.”

It was a wonderful image, and he savored it.

“What about the victims? What condition are they in?” he asked.

“They were locked in their rooms down below. We spoke to them through the doors, and they sounded okay. I considered letting them out, but I was afraid they’d beat their captors to death with frying pans, and I didn’t want that on my hands.”

“Got it. Send me a routing number, and I’ll wire your payment.”

“I’ll do that. It’s been nice doing business with you.”

“Same here.”

He called Gamble while driving to the marina.

“I’m on another line. Let me call you right back,” she answered.

“Hang up on them,” he said. “You need to get in your car, and drive over to the marina in Ozona. There’s a restaurant next door called Ozona Blue. Park in their lot instead of the marina’s. And bring a cameraman with you.”

“What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you that. Just get over here.”

“My boss will want to know.”

“Tell him you’re following up on a hot lead.”

“I’m not going to lie to him. You’ve got to tell me what the deal is.”

Gamble had helped him move the investigation forward, and he considered her an asset. But she worked in a newsroom, and he didn’t want to risk having her blurt out what he told her, and her boss deciding to send a more seasoned reporter. He needed to control the narrative, and to do that, he needed to control her.

“Never mind. I’ll call my friend at CNN. Have a nice day.”

He ended the call. He didn’t have a friend at CNN, or any other media outlet. He was bluffing, and thirty seconds later, it paid off when Gamble called him back.

“I’m on my way, and I’ve got a cameraman with me,” she said.

“What did you tell your boss?”

“False alarm. He’s out of the office, so I didn’t have to deal with him.”

“Great. Remember, park by the restaurant, not the marina.”

“I heard you the first time,” she said.

Chuck was in his office doing paperwork when Lancaster arrived at the marina. He pulled a handful of hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet, and dropped them on the desk. Chuck fanned the money out and silently counted it.

“This must be my lucky day,” he said.

“I need to rent two boats, and two people to captain them,” Lancaster said.

“When?”

“Right now. I’ve got two parties arriving in the next thirty minutes, so the boats need to be ready. Can you make that happen?”

“Not so fast. Is that FBI agent lady that I took out yesterday one of those parties?”

“She is. Is that a problem?”

“Is there going to be trouble? Like, people shooting guns? I don’t want to get myself or one of my people caught in a firefight.”

“The suspects have been apprehended, and are waiting to be picked up. No one will be put in harm’s way. You have my word.”

Lancaster didn’t have a pretty face, but he did have an honest one. Chuck gave him a hard look, then stuck out his hand.

“You have yourself a deal,” he said.

Lancaster stood by his car to wait for Gamble. He’d muted his phone before going into Chuck’s office, and saw that Beth had called him and also sent a text.

Call me! her text read.

If he called Beth, it would get ugly, and he wasn’t ready to deal with her rage just yet, so he called Gamble instead.

“How close are you?” he asked.

“Google Maps is saying that I’m three minutes away,” she said. “I just got a news flash on my phone. There was a shootout in Palm Harbor earlier, and a whole bunch of people are dead. Did you have something to do with that?”

“Not me,” he lied.

Gamble sent gravel into the air as she pulled into the lot, and parked. As her cameraman pulled his equipment out of the trunk, Gamble came over to where Lancaster stood. Every conversation they’d had began with her asking a question. That was about to change.

“You are about to get the greatest story of your life,” Lancaster said. “I’ve located the kidnapping victims, and they’re all safe. They’re being held hostage on a fishing boat out in the gulf. Very soon, a team of FBI agents will rescue them, and you and your cameraman will be there to capture it. Does that sound good to you?”

“How did you orchestrate this?” Gamble blurted out.

He put his finger to his lips. “You don’t get to ask questions, at least not to me. But you can talk to the FBI later. They busted this wide open, and deserve the credit.”

“Why do I feel like I’m being played?”

“Go wait in the restaurant. When the time is right, I’ll come in and get you. I’ve already arranged for a boat to take you out, so you can film while the rescue goes down.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything. Let’s get some coffee, Dylan.”

After they were gone, he called Beth.

“I’m going to kill you,” the FBI agent said.

Chapter 46

Daniels shook with anger. Jon had set them up, and she was ready to throw a pair of handcuffs on him, and march him off to the nearest jail.

Three members of her team shared the car. Their clothes smelled of smoke, and their hair was filled with particles of soot. A shift in wind had sent smoke from the fire over them, and made a bad situation even worse.

She was going to catch hell for leaving the scene. EMS was still pulling bodies out of the smoldering rubble, and it was her job to supervise the collection of evidence. Instead, she’d left Baldini in charge, and she hoped that he didn’t screw it up.

She pulled into the marina and parked by the restaurant. Jon was nowhere to be seen, and that enraged her even more. She got out, as did her team.

“Over here,” a voice called.

Jon was in the marina, standing at the end of a long dock. She told her team to stay put, then hurried out of the parking lot and into the marina. As she marched down the dock, her fingers instinctively brushed the pair of cuffs on her belt.

“I thought you were my friend,” she said.

“I am your friend.” Then he added, “And I always will be.”

“Friends don’t set up friends.”

“What are you talking about?”

From her purse she removed the blasting cap she’d found near the restaurant. Made of aluminum and tube shaped, it had a six-inch wire tail encased in plastic along with a tiny transmitter. She held the device in front of his face, and waited for a reaction. When none was forthcoming, she exploded.

“Don’t you dare tell me that you don’t know what this is,” she said.

“I don’t know what it is,” he said.

“Stop playing games.”

“I’m not.”

“Have it your way. It’s a blasting cap with a wireless detonator. I thought that these had a limited range, but obviously I was wrong. Did one of your SEAL buddies turn you on to it?” He didn’t respond, so she continued. “You planted five blasting caps at the restaurant. Four of them went off, and tricked Dexter into thinking he was being shot at, so he drew on us. Admit it, Jon.”

“I have no idea how those blasting caps got there,” he said.

“There were surveillance cameras attached to the gutters that weren’t there yesterday,” she said accusingly. “You were nearby, watching the whole thing, and when the time was right, you detonated the caps. You wanted to pay Dexter back, and got the FBI to be your proxy.”

“Not me.”

“Go ahead and play dumb. It won’t get you anywhere.”

“Were any of your agents hurt?”

“We’re fine, no thanks to you. The bikers died, and so did the broker.”

“How about Dexter?”

“Dexter cashed in his chips. Are you going to come clean, or not?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve had some experience with blasting caps,” she said. “You buy them in bulk. When I search that tricked-up vehicle of yours, am I going to find more of these? Because if I do, I’m going to arrest you.”

He let out a deep breath. She had him dead to rights.

“May I see that?” he asked.

Without thinking, she handed him the cap. He gave it a heave, and it flew through the air and landed in the water, never to be seen again.

“God damn you! You’re under arrest. Put your hands out.”

She reached for her cuffs. He again shook his head.

“Don’t you dare resist,” she said.

“Don’t you want to rescue the victims? Or should we let Baldini do that?” he said.

The words were slow to sink in.

“You found them?” He nodded, and she said, “Where?”

He pulled up a photo on his cell phone and showed her. “They’re being held on this fishing boat a few miles north of here, near the tip of Honeymoon Island. Their captors are tied up, and won’t give you any problems. I rented a motorboat to take you there.”

“You rented me a boat?”

“And a captain. All you have to do is board, and free them.”

It was all too much, and she struggled for a response.

“You need to hurry before they untie themselves,” he said.

She ran back to the restaurant, and grabbed her crew. Moments later, they boarded the rented motorboat. As it pulled away from the dock, Jon gave a little wave, and it was all she could do not to shake her fist at him.

Lancaster found Gamble and Dylan having coffee inside the restaurant. He told them to settle their tab, and meet him at the dock.

The second rented boat was being handled by Chuck. Dylan passed his video camera to the captain, and then boarded. Gamble hadn’t spoken a word, and was eyeing him coolly. Instead of boarding, she made Lancaster follow her down the dock, so that Dylan and Chuck would not be able to hear what she was about to say.

“You haven’t told me what you want,” she said.

“You know what I want,” he said. “I want you to kill the piece about me.”

“But it’s the heart of my story.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Really? Then what is?”

“The FBI agent running the show is the heart of your story. Her name is Special Agent Elizabeth Daniels. She’s devoted her life to saving victims of human trafficking, and is a real hero. Focus your story on her, not me. You won’t regret it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because this story will be picked up by every paper in the country. Don’t you want to get your ticket punched, and go to work for a big newspaper in New York or Washington? Or would you rather stay in Tampa, covering city council meetings?”

“Who told you that I wanted to move?”

“A little bird. Now, do we have a deal, or not?”

She bit her lower lip. “You’re a sneaky bastard.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I’ll have to meet her first.”

“Remember, her name is Elizabeth Daniels. If you do a search on Google, you’ll find a lot of great stories about her.”

“I just might do that.”

He watched them depart on Chuck’s boat. He had given her the sales pitch, but it would take meeting Beth to seal the deal. Beth was a force of nature, and hopefully Gamble would recognize this, and shift the focus of her story.

He went to the restaurant and ordered breakfast while sitting at an outside table overlooking the water. The mission had gone as well as he could have expected. Dexter and company were dead, and the women on the boat would soon be free. His scrambled eggs and bacon came. He tried to eat, but realized his appetite had faded, and he balled up his napkin and tossed it on his plate. Every mission had collateral damage, and this one was no different. He’d harmed his relationship with Beth, and he didn’t know if it could be repaired. He’d manipulated her into doing his bidding, and that was wrong. He’d broken their trust, and without trust, there was nothing.

His waiter asked if his food was okay. He made a lame excuse about having an upset stomach, and accepted a refill of his coffee. As he drank, he realized that this wasn’t going to be easy. He’d fallen for Beth, and losing her would be hard.

He told himself that he’d get over it. Not right away, but he would. They shared a passion for their work, but it was also their work that separated them. Beth believed in following a strict set of rules, even when those rules were being bent by the people she was trying to apprehend. In that regard, she was almost noble.

He was different that way. He didn’t believe in following rules when innocent lives were at stake, and his opponents were openly skirting the law. Rules were the enemy in those situations, and often led to the worst possible outcomes.

These feelings hadn’t come from being a cop, or from his time in the military. They dated back to when he was a teenager, after he’d read a lengthy newspaper article about the man who’d tried to kidnap him, Ottis Toole. The article had called Toole one of the most proficient serial killers who’d ever lived. Along with killing Adam Walsh, Toole and his friend Henry Lee Lucas had murdered two hundred people across the Southeast, and had managed to escape detection by jumping in their car and hauling ass each time they took another life.

The article also said that Toole was a habitual offender, and no stranger to the police. Dozens of law enforcement officers had dealt with him, and considered him a risk. Yet they hadn’t been able to stop Toole’s killing spree.

That had gotten him thinking. What if one of those cops had manufactured a reason to pull Toole over, and search his car? Toole was a trophy hunter, and there was a good chance the cop would have found a piece of a victim’s clothing or jewelry. Then the cop could have arrested Toole, and a lot of lives would have been saved.

Cops weren’t supposed to do stuff like that. Even as a teenager he’d known that. But the way he saw it, if a cop knew a person was causing harm, the cop needed to find a way to stop it. By doing nothing, the evil only grew.

Chapter 47

The day after the shootout and rescue at sea, Lancaster drank cold beer on the sprawling back porch of the Palm Pavilion on Clearwater Beach, content to soak up the sun and chill.

Keeping tabs on Beth wasn’t hard. Every few hours he went inside to the bar, parked himself in front of a TV, and persuaded the bartender to turn on the local news. He watched a dramatic video of the victims being escorted off the fishing boat a dozen times, and later, one of Skye Tanner being tearfully reunited with her mother. Beth was in each video, the cameraman capturing her in nearly every frame.

He also bought a copy of the paper, and read Gamble’s article. She’d taken his advice and painted the FBI as heroes who’d risked their lives to free the victims. It wasn’t true, but that didn’t matter. It was a good read with a happy ending, and there weren’t a lot of those kind of stories these days.

Gamble had written a sidebar about Beth, and talked about her career. He’d been dealing with Hollywood for a while, and he knew what the folks on the Left Coast liked. Very soon, Beth would be hearing from a studio wanting to buy her life story, and he wondered if she’d take the bait. Knowing her, she’d probably say no.

In the afternoon, he called Echo to hear about her new life in Tennessee. She sounded happy, and said that life on the farm was agreeing with her. She’d seen the news about the shootout at Earl’s, and asked him if Dexter had perished. When he said yes, she breathed a sigh of relief into the phone.

He also texted Gar, to make sure the FBI had made good on their promise to put the programmer and his girlfriend in witness protection. Gar responded that they were in a new location, and while it wasn’t as warm as Tampa, it was much safer.

On his second day, while he ate conch fritters at the bar, the show on the TV was interrupted by a live news conference featuring Florida’s governor. The governor was a rich guy who dressed like Joe Sixpack whenever he was in front of the cameras, and he stood at a podium flanked by a wall of men and women wearing navy FBI windbreakers. The agents included Beth, Baldini, and their respective teams. They were basking in the glow of a job well done, and smiled for the cameras like they were getting their yearbook pictures taken. The governor’s praise ran across the screen in closed captions, and included words like true heroes and America’s finest.

When the governor was finished, he walked the line, and pumped each agent’s hand. Reaching Beth, he stopped and hugged her. He was a foot taller and had to lean way down. It was awkward as hell, but he did it anyway. Beth had saved the day, and the other agents broke into a round of applause.

Lancaster resumed eating. He’d gotten the outcome that he’d wanted, yet it didn’t erase the feeling that he’d lost the war. He hadn’t spoken with Beth since the confrontation at the marina, nor had she tried to contact him. The silence had been deafening.

But that didn’t mean he was giving up on their relationship. To give up was to fail before you ever tried, and Beth was too important to him to do that. As the Irish poet Samuel Beckett once said: Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. He spent twenty minutes composing a text message that was only a few sentences long. Telling her how proud of her he was, and happy for her team. He sent it, then slipped his cell phone into his pocket, and did not look at it again for an hour.

No response.

That hurt. Even an emoji of a hand flipping him the bird would have been better than nothing. He told himself that she would get back to him later, when she had a few minutes to herself.

The hours slipped by. He hung around for the sunset before returning to his hotel. While he packed, he imagined how Beth was handling the aftermath of her triumph. She could have celebrated with her team, only that wasn’t like her. Beth wasn’t a party person, and would have preferred a quiet dinner, and a chance to reflect.

But with who? She rarely socialized with other agents, and he didn’t see her going out with Baldini or her team. If she’d been back home, she would have gotten together with one of her girlfriends. Instead, she would settle for eating takeout at her hotel.

She deserved a victory meal. She never said no to sushi, and a search on the internet turned up a joint called Sushi Alive. The reviews were decent, and it wasn’t terribly far. He called and made a reservation for two.

Then he sent her a text and suggested they have dinner. His message included a link to the restaurant’s website. He waited fifteen minutes but got no response. A number of reasons came to mind. Maybe her cell phone was turned off, or the battery had run out of juice. Or maybe she never wanted to speak with him again. That was certainly a possibility, and it was starting to feel like the end.

He went downstairs and checked out. Outside in his car, he checked his phone again, and saw that she hadn’t texted him back. Whether she liked it or not, the investigation had changed her life. The FBI needed all the heroes they could get, and there were more promotions in store, her career’s trajectory ascending like a rocket. Who could she talk to about this but him? No one. Nobody else would ever know the truth. It was their secret, and theirs alone.

Pulling out of the lot, he sent her another text that said, My treat.

A block from the hotel, his cell phone vibrated. He’d placed it facedown on his leg, not wanting the distraction as he drove. Turning it over, he smiled.

You’re on, her message read.