Terminal

“Double time,” Dr. Mason said. “There’d be too much lag time attempting to get someone else involved at this point. I want Sean Murphy in police custody now!”

“All right,” Sterling said reluctantly. “I will stay with the assignment. But I have to warn you that unless Miss Reardon uses her Visa card, I’ll have no way of tracking him until he turns up in Miami again.”

“Why her card?” Dr. Mason asked.

“That’s how they paid for their hotel bills,” Sterling said.

“You’ve never let me down,” Dr. Mason said.

“I will do my best,” Sterling promised.

After Sterling had disconnected, he indicated to Wayne that he had to make another call. They were in the lobby of the Edgewater Beach Hotel. Wayne was comfortably ensconced on a couch with a magazine in his lap.

Sterling dialed one of his many bank contacts in Boston. Once he was sure the man was awake enough to be coherent, Sterling gave him the details he’d learned about Janet Reardon, including the fact that she had used her Visa card at two hotels that evening. Sterling asked for him to call back on Sterling’s portable line if the card was used again.

Rejoining Wayne, Sterling informed him that they were to remain on the assignment, but the goal had changed. He told him what Dr. Mason had said and that they were to see that Mr. Murphy was turned over to the police. Sterling also asked if Wayne had any suggestions.

“Just one,” Wayne said. “Let’s get a couple of rooms and get some shut-eye.”

JANET FELT her stomach lurch. It was as if the steak with green peppercorn sauce she’d had for dinner at the Betencourts’ had reversed its progress in her digestive tract. She was lying on a bunk in the bow of the forty-two-foot boat that was taking them to Key West. In the bunk across the narrow room, Sean was fast asleep. In the half-light he looked so peaceful. The fact that he could be so relaxed under the circumstances left Janet exasperated. It made her discomfort that much more trenchant.

Despite the Gulf’s apparent calm during their sunset walk, it now felt as violent as a rough ocean. They were traveling due south and hitting oncoming swells at forty-five degrees. The boat alternately bounced dizzily up to the right only to crash down with a shudder to the left. Through it all was the constant, deep-throated roar of the diesel engines.

They had not been able to get under way until two-forty-five in the morning. At first they’d motored on calm waters with hundreds of dark mangrove-covered islands visible in the moonlight. As exhausted as she was, Janet had gone down to sleep only to be awakened by the sudden pounding of the boat against the waves and the sound of suddenly strong wind. She hadn’t heard Sean come down, yet when she awoke, there he was, sleeping peacefully.

Throwing her feet over the side of the bunk, Janet braced herself as the boat thumped into the trough of another wave. Holding on with both hands, she made her way aft and up into the main salon. She knew she would be sick if she didn’t get air. Below deck the slight smell of diesel only compounded her nascent nausea.

Holding on for dear life, Janet managed to get to the stern of the careening boat where there were two swivel deep-sea fishing chairs mounted to the deck. Fearing these chairs were too exposed, Janet collapsed onto a series of cushions covering a seat along a port side. The starboard side was getting drenched with spray.

The wind and fresh air did wonders for Janet’s stomach, but there was no opportunity for rest. She literally had to hold on. With the roar of the engines and the pounding magnified where she was in the stern, Janet could not fathom what people saw in power boating. Up ahead under a canopy sat Doug Gardner, the man who’d been willing to forgo a night’s sleep to ferry them to Key West—for a price. He was silhouetted against an illuminated cluster of dials and gauges. He didn’t have much to do since he’d put the boat on automatic pilot.

Janet looked up at the canopy of stars and recalled how she used to do the same thing on summer evenings when she was a teen. She’d lie there dreaming about her future. Now she was living it and one thing was for sure: it wasn’t quite what she used to imagine.

Maybe her mother had been right, Janet thought reluctantly. Maybe it had been foolish for her to come to Florida to try to talk to Sean. She smiled a wry smile. The only talk they’d managed thus far was the little they’d done on the beach that evening, when Sean had merely echoed her own expression of love. It had been less than satisfying.

Janet had come to Florida in hopes of taking command of her life, but the longer she was with Sean, the less in command she felt.

STERLING GOT even more satisfaction out of calling Dr. Mason at three-thirty A.M. than he had at two. It took four rings for the doctor to answer. Sterling himself had just been awakened by a call from his banking contact in Boston.