The Shop

to the concrete floor. That was all he had to do—no need to get elaborate.

The private investigator, Ted Bakus, was easier. He weighed a little more than half what Salter did. Landry pushed Bakus’s leg out of the way to make sure it cleared the back tires of the maid’s car.

He rounded up the weapons from each of the rooms and put them in the trunk, then showered and changed into an extra set of clothes he’d brought with him.

On the way back to Indigo, Landry stopped at the Buy Rite drugstore in Port St. Joe where he bought a wrist brace, a large roll of duct tape, several rolls of packing tape, and an industrial-sized drum of Motrin. The Motrin he popped like candy.

The duct tape was for an emergency, in case he needed to reinforce the wrist brace and keep his arm steady.

He drove to a Dumpster behind a boarded-up restaurant and got out, leaned against the car, and made the call. The phone was answered on the first ring—a young man with an accent. India or Pakistan.

“I’m trying to reach the Realtor for the house on Island Lane.”

“Let me look it up for you, sir.” A short pause, then he rattled off the number. Landry disconnected and punched in the new number.

“Hello?”

Landry said, “Would it be possible to see the house tonight?”

“What time?”

“My friends and I can be there by eleven.” Landry was telling the man that the team would be in place by eleven p.m.

“Why not in the morning? It can be as early as you want.”

“I’m afraid by then it will be too late. I have a very early flight.” This was Landry’s way of saying that they would raid Indigo in the wee hours of the morning and would be flown out shortly afterwards.

“I’ll check with my wife and call you back.”

“Thanks.” Landry disconnected, stomped the cheap cell phone into bits, and threw it into the Dumpster.

Landry was all for covering his tracks, but an enigmatic conversation like the one he’d just had seemed more like something out of Mission Impossible than real spycraft. But from what Landry had learned of Cardamone, the man was CIA all the way. If the CIA had a choice between doing something straightforwardly or in a sneaky way, they’d take sneaky every time.

When he got to the island, he went looking for Franklin. He needed to get some sleep and wanted a quiet room.

52

Jolie lay in bed, watching the numbers on her alarm clock roll over from 5:29 to 5:30 a.m.

The vice president of the United States is dead.

The world was completely out of whack.

She sat up.

All of this was much bigger than she’d thought. It had gone from scandal to the death of a sitting vice president. If the vice president of the United States died because he’d become a liability, the enormity of the crime was stunning.

Yesterday, Jolie had lowered the flag as she did every evening. Ed was outside puttering around, so he came by and stood with her. Jolie felt tears collect in her eyes and drain into her throat—she couldn’t talk. Ed had been in the infantry and had seen so many kids his own age die right in front of him. He had accepted their deaths because of what the United States of America meant. Because dying for your country was worth it, if that country was the United States.

Jolie thought about her dad and his strong belief in this country. He knew it wasn’t perfect and he was often on the wrong side of issues—at least that’s how this town saw it—but he still had that belief. He’d loved his country probably more than any other single thing.

She got up and turned on CNN, expecting more coverage on the vice president’s death, sure they’d run it into the ground. But they surprised her. There was another aerial view, this one of a burning building in Tallahassee.

Breaking news.

Jolie was about to switch channels when she heard the name of the building in question. The Victorious Redemption Spiritual Church.

Grace’s church.

Goosebumps ran up her back and fanned out along her shoulders.

Oily black flames poured out of the roof, people running like ants along the sidewalk. Jolie sat down, stunned, and watched.

At least thirteen dead, but probably many more.

Gunmen had stormed the church compound in the early hours of the morning, shooting people in their beds, torching the church and the outbuildings.

The Reverend Wembi and his wife were unaccounted for and believed to be dead.

The fire in the church itself was still burning, but the police had secured all but one of the outbuildings, and the survivors had been taken either to a hospital for treatment or to a school nearby where contact could be made with loved ones.

Stunned, Jolie watched.

There was speculation who set the fire, but the general consensus was political. At least one terrorist group had claimed responsibility—a rival faction from the Congo.

Among the missing was Grace Haddox, wife of the former attorney general of the United States.

The phone rang.

Kay’s voice—sounding lost. “Did you hear what happened?”

“I’m watching it now. Is there any word about Grace?”

“No, but I think she’s dead. I had this feeling…it’s…” She stopped. “I have to get out there.”

“To the church?”

“No—I think we need to be there for Riley. Just in case. Zoe and me.”

Jolie said, “Can I go with you?”

“I guess. Maybe that would be good—you deal with emergencies all the time, don’t you?”

They were silent on the drive over. Zoe in the backseat. Jolie in the passenger seat.

Kay’s knuckles tight on the wheel.

Jolie’d only met Grace once, for less than half an hour. Grace had been polite, but dismissive. Look who Kay brought home. But Jolie had had recent dealings with Riley. Riley was a frightened child. Behind all the attention-seeking, Jolie felt Riley’s desperation. There was something she wasn’t getting. And now her mother might be dead.

Jolie looked at Kay but Kay ignored her, her eyes on the road. Jolie could see Kay going through the contingencies, considering the alternatives, what she’d find, what she’d do. Jolie wondered if Kay was rethinking bringing her along.

Jolie knew everything had changed. Kay was still mad at her, but that didn’t matter anymore. Kay had put that behind her for the moment. There was too much to deal with. Riley needed help, and Riley was family. Jolie marveled at how quickly Kay dropped what she’d thought was important before and focused only on her family and how she could help them. Kay had a strong bond with her family. Kay belonged, and she would always be there to help.

Kay had invited her to belong, too.

Jolie realized she wanted to belong. She wanted to have a family again. She prized her friendship with Kay. But something stood in the way. Her own small family. Her dad and herself. All her life her dad had told her to watch out for those less fortunate, to protect the weak. It had been ingrained in her. It was the reason she became a cop.

Nathan Dial had been treated like so much garbage. His body was disposed of and his death was covered up.