“And I’m sure guys like you.”
“I’ve been hit on by every man under sixty who lives around here, or at least it seems like it. And then the young punks come in from out of town and think they’re so hot, but they’re just idiots.”
“Lots of guys are idiots. I’ve been accused of being an idiot.”
She looked up at him, touched his arm. “But not with women.”
He looked down at her. “No, not with women.”
“So that makes you different. And attractive.” He was very hot now, far hotter than the air. Sweat was on his forehead. He could feel the heat pouring from Landry too. They could have been inside an oven.
He said, “We’re working a case together.”
“But you’re not on the police force. I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were.”
“I don’t think you’re Hooper’s type.”
“He doesn’t quite get that. Never stops trying.”
“I’m sure.”
“But we’re not talking about Hooper, are we?” she said.
“We have no idea where this will lead us, Cheryl. Mixing business and pleasure is never a good idea. You’re a very attractive woman and under other circumstances my answer might be different. But the conditions on the ground are what they are. I hope you can understand that.” She sighed. “I can. Look, I’m sorry I brought it up. It wasn’t professional of me.”
“We can’t be professional all of the time.”
She smiled resignedly and they resumed walking.
Puller was about to say something when the phone rang.
Landry’s, not Puller’s.
And nothing was really the same after that.
CHAPTER 50
Puller followed Landry. Her Toyota flew down the road, and Puller had to keep the Tahoe’s pedal nearly rammed to the floor to keep up. Landry was definitely not following the speed limit tonight. Sadie lay next to Puller in the front seat. He kept Landry’s brake lights, to the extent that she braked at all, in sight.
Landry had taken the call on the beach, the phone mashed to the side of her head. She listened, said almost nothing, and then clicked off and turned to Puller.
“That was Chief Bullock. There’s been an explosion at the Lampert estate.”
Puller had checked his watch. One-sixteen. As good a time as any to have an explosion, he had thought.
“Lampert estate? What the hell is that?” he asked.
“It’s owned by Peter Lampert. The richest man in Paradise-hell, probably the entire Emerald Coast, maybe all of Florida. I don’t know for sure, but he’s loaded.”
Puller had waited in her apartment while Landry hurriedly changed into her uniform. Then he had picked up Sadie, run to his truck, climbed in, and they were off.
He felt that Landry was experiencing extreme guilt. She had not gone back in to work after Cookie’s murder. There was no reason for her to. There was plenty of manpower to work the scene. But then she had been with Puller when the explosion had occurred. Again, no reason to feel guilty, but he knew Landry was the sort of cop who would.
They arrived in Paradise in record time and he continued to follow Landry through town until they reached the eastern edge. She turned off on a private road and Puller followed. The Toyota skidded to a stop in front of a pair of impressive steel gates that looked strong enough to withstand an Abrams tank assault.
Landry jumped out of her truck. She looked back at Puller as he hurried up to her. He’d left Sadie in the truck with the windows lowered and a full bowl of water.
“You want me to go in with you?” he said.
She looked uncertain. She had asked him to follow her here. But now her dilemma was obvious, he knew.
It was about two in the morning. Why would the pair of them be together?
“I can tell Bullock I heard the explosion, saw you racing through town, and just decided to follow,” he said.
“Thanks, Puller, I appreciate that.”
Boyd was at the front gate. Puller figured Hooper was probably back at Cookie’s house securing that scene. It was good that Bullock had called Landry in. He would need the manpower. Puller doubted the Paradise Police Department was very big.
Boyd looked at Landry the way a man does a woman after he’s been rejected by her. Puller assumed that this was indeed the reason for the look. Landry had said that Hooper and all the other cops had been trying to get her into bed. And it was clear in Boyd’s look that the rejection had not gone down well. When he saw Puller right behind her, his features became darker.
“What the hell is he doing here with you?” he barked.
Before Puller could launch into his cover story, Landry snapped, “He’s here to help us work the scene, Boyd. Take it up with the chief if you’ve got a problem.”
Before he could say anything she bulled right past him with Puller riding her wake.
They first saw the remains of the Bentley. The chrome radiator-now blackened and bent — was the only part left relatively intact to show the model of the car.
Bullock was standing next to it. His crime scene tech was walking the perimeter of the blast site, apparently making some calculations.
When Bullock saw Landry and Puller he waved them over. Unlike Boyd, he didn’t bother to ask why they were here together, so Puller did not need to use his bogus explanation.
“Got here as fast as I could, Chief,” Landry said quickly.
“Looks like the bomb was right under the car,” said Bullock. “Blew out some windows in the house too.”
“This Lampert guy have enemies?” asked Puller.
“Well, it appears likely he has at least one,” replied Bullock.
“What do you know about him?”
“Came here from South Beach about five years ago. Built this place. Well, he was building it before he came here. Took the better part of three years to finish the sucker.”
“How’d he make his money?”
“Finance guy or something. Who the hell knows how those guys make money? They rob Peter to pay Paul.”
“I take it no one was in the car?” asked Puller. “No.”
“Anything else?”
“Isn’t a car bombing enough?” said Landry. Bullock said, “Two guards were attacked. One near the rear fence, the other over near the guesthouse.” He pointed in the direction of the building. “Found them both unconscious. They were pretty burly guys. Whoever took them out was a force to be reckoned with. They finally came to. We questioned both, but they never saw who attacked them.”
Puller gazed over at the guesthouse. “Anyone staying there currently?”
“No,” replied Bullock.
“Is it okay if I take a walk around the grounds?”
“Looking for what?” asked Bullock.
“I usually know it when I see it.”
He left them and walked around the edge of the property. He could see men in black shirts with sidearms and MP5S lurking here and there. Security. Who got their asses kicked tonight. And Lampert would probably kick them again.
But why blow up the car? A message? Was it a message enough?
He looked at the main house ablaze in light.
