People were clustered in the magnificently furnished living room, but the flow of the party was being directed through the house and into the backyard, where the bar and the band were set up.
Shane and Alexa walked under more slow-moving Florida paddle fans out onto the veranda and stood for a moment on the back porch, looking out at the sparkling aqua-green water of Biscayne Bay.
There was a huge hundred-foot yacht called Rocket Man moored at the concrete dock. Palm and banyan trees hung over the grassy lawn. The twenty-piece orchestra was dressed in white tuxedos.
'Some barbecue,' she said.
He nodded, but his eyes were wandering, checking out guests.
'How do you want to do this?' she asked.
'The play's at any base.'
They moved down and joined the line at the bar. Four or five mannequins dressed in Spiders football uniforms, complete with helmets, had been set up in different parts of the yard in the Heisman Trophy pose. When they finally got up to the bar, Shane ordered a ginger ale; Alexa had a glass of Evian with a lime twist. Just as Shane was turning away, the bartender smiled. 'Cigar to celebrate the franchise, sir?' and held out a box of Dominican Regals.
'Got anything else?' Shane asked, looking down at the box suspiciously.
'Mr. Hunter owns this company, so we only have Regals.'
'In that case, give me one.' He took a cigar, and they moved away from the bar, stopping a few feet away, looking at the panatela identical to the one they found in the toilet trap at the Spring Summer Apartments.
'You don't really think Logan Hunter was at your little flea-bag on Third Street, supervising that videotaping and kidnapping…?'
'No. But somebody who works for him was, and as far as I'm concerned, this stogie ties him in directly.'
'That's theoretical, not evidential.'
'Fuck evidence. I'm way past worrying about that.'
As Shane moved toward the house, Alexa grabbed his arm and pulled him back. 'We gotta worry about that. We're hanging out a mile here. We gotta get something worth taking to the DA, or we're dust.'
'Yeah, sure.'
'I'm not kidding, Shane. I'm in this with you, but you've gotta run everything past me first.'
'I think we oughta find Mr. Hunter, invite him to a quiet spot in the garden, and have a little talk,' Shane said, changing the subject.
'Find? Invite? Define your terms.'
'I'm gonna kidnap the little prick, stuff this stogie up his ass, and make him smoke it rectally until he tells me where they're holding Chooch. It worked with Tom Mayweather.'
'We got lucky with Mayweather. That doesn't mean we can throw a bag over Logan Hunter in the middle of this soiree and get away with it.'
'Sure it does. All we've gotta do is find a good quiet interview room before we take his statement. Don't worry, you don't have to do it. I'll pick this daisy. Believe me, he's gonna tell me what I want to know.'
'Shane, he's got forty security guys here, most of them packing.'
'If you wanna wait in the car, go ahead…'
'Shit! You are one stubborn son of a bitch,' she said angrily, but he just looked at her for a long moment and nodded. 'Let's stop arguing and do it, then,' she relented.
They moved slowly around the party, looking for an appropriate spot. Shane recognized one or two of the girls they had photographed at the naval yard. They were dressed in slinky evening gowns, wearing hostess tags and escorting the press. Shane thought the main house looked too crowded. The gardener's shed was too close to the pool. Finally they found themselves down by the dock, where the hundred-foot yacht was tied to the wharf. There was a rope across the boarding ramp that warned: OFF LIMITS.
Shane removed the rope and they walked up onto the fantail of the yacht, where they were screened off from the party by the huge triple-deck superstructure.
'Some barge,' Alexa said as she looked inside the main salon.
Shane had already tried the door and had his picklocks out.
'Not again,' she said.
'Unless you can find a key, this is the best I can do.' He worked for a few minutes while Alexa stood on the fantail, out of view of the party on the grassy lawn. They could hear the band playing an instrumental selection of Elton John hits. The music was mixed with the low murmur of party conversation.
Shane got the door open quickly and looked back at her. 'I'm getting better at this, refining my technique,' he said.
'I'll add it to your charge sheet.'
'I'm gonna find a nice quiet place below. Why don't you see if there are keys in that thing? We may need to make a fast exit,' he said, pointing over the rail at a small red-hulled Scarab speedboat tied to bumpers against the side of the yacht.
'How'm I supposed to get down there?' she complained, looking over the rail at the Scarab ten feet below.
'Climb over the side, stand on the rub rail, then lower yourself down. Lotta people keep the spare ignition key in the engine compartment, hanging on a hook. Lift the cowling and take a look.'
'The nautical equivalent of the back-door flowerpot?'
'Exactly.'
He paused inside the main salon while she pulled up her short dress to climb over the side. Her toned, shapely legs were straddling the rail. She glanced up and caught him staring. 'What're you looking at?'
'Nothing,' he said too quickly, then ducked inside. He heard her drop down into the small boat as he moved through the magnificent yacht. Beautiful antiques and silk fabrics adorned the classic interior. He went below to the crew's quarters.
A few moments later he found the engine room behind a pair of soundproof double doors. It spanned the whole width of the boat. He turned on the lights. White-painted machinery glistened in the strong bluish neon. A hook, used to winch up heavy equipment so it could be worked on, hung between two large 2300-horse Caterpillar engines. Shane found a coil of rope on the engineer's bench, stowed it nearby, turned off the lights, and left.
When he got back to the rear deck, he found Alexa with a strange expression on her face. 'You find the key?' he asked.
'Yeah, it was there, right where you said.' She held up the ignition key.
'What's wrong, then?'
'I think I just saw Sandy. I went off the boat for a minute. I was trying to spot Logan Hunter… and I think I saw her with Calvin Sheets, walking up the path. She didn't look too happy about it.'
'Sandy must've hooked up with her friend Melissa,' Shane said. 'Got herself invited to this party. But how the hell did she get all the way to Florida in ten hours?'
'Logan Hunter has his own jet,' Alexa volunteered.
Shane nodded and walked out onto the fantail. 'Let's see if we can find her.'
They moved off the boat, rejoining the party, then walked along the carefully manicured path across the lawn, toward the house. Shane and Alexa were both scanning for familiar faces. Shane spotted Tony Spivack with a group of men and women, still wearing his quarterback jersey. He saw Coy Love over by the bar and grabbed Alexa's arm, turning her away.
'What?'
'Coy Love.'
They got to the path that Sandy and Calvin Sheets had taken moments before, then started down it. The path wound around and finally ended about a hundred yards from the dock, down by a chauffeur's stone house on the east side of the property. The two-story stone house was connected to a six-car garage and separated from the rest of the property by a stand of mango trees. As they moved around the side of the house, they heard moaning. Shane stopped and looked at Alexa, who raised her eyebrows.
They couldn't determine the nature of the sound yet, so they stood by the house and listened. Suddenly they heard a hard slap, and a woman cried out in pain. Shane recognized the voice.
Alexa pulled her Beretta as they moved toward the front door. Shane, without a gun, felt vulnerable and
