Randy White - Seduced

I straightened to my full height and pretended as if she had answered. “Deputy, yes, it’s me again. You were right about that restraining order. Yeah… same guy, but on my own property this time. Threatening me, he sure is… Hang on.” I covered the phone. “Your name’s Larry Luckheim, right? Or would you prefer to be arrested as Buddy Luck? Give it some thought-your picture might finally make the magazines after all.”

The insult took some air out of his swagger. To compensate, he deployed his fake Cracker accent. “You got a mouth on you, girl, but ain’t your lips a tad too round for jokes? Here’s what’s funny-take a guess how many clients you lost to me this week. Two. An old married couple who wanted to pick oranges, not fish. Like I said, it’s all about marketing. I told them, ‘The only reason you prefer fruit to snook is because you never fished with a real guide.’” He aimed a hairy, bulldog grin at my stunned reaction. “Don’t ask their names. Us pros don’t give out shit like that.”

Underhand, this time, he flicked the lure. Something in me snapped. I threw my arm out and caught the line as treble hooks whistled past my ear. I stepped back and yanked. There is no stretch to Dacron fishing line, and that’s what Larry had spooled. The rod flew into the water while steel hooks pierced the back of my wrist. I pretended not to notice. Hand over hand, I towed the rod to the dock, then picked it up, with all the cool I could muster, and began cranking up slack.

“The magnetic spools on these Shimanos,” I said, “they’re okay for beginners, but don’t you lose distance when you cast? I can teach you how to avoid backlash, if that’s the problem. You know how to reach me, don’t you, Larry? What with stealing my clients, I assume you looked me up.”

The man recoiled with benumbed expression. “Goddamn, lady… you’re nuts, that’s what you are. I could’ve ripped your arm off, if I wanted to-”

I talked over him. “Not out of kindness, you didn’t. You could’ve blinded me, you idiot!”

“Damn right, that too. Next time, maybe I will. Any fool who grabs a MirrOlure bare-handed deserves whatever they get. Don’t make me come up there and get my fishing rod. More than just your hand will be bleeding if you cross me.”

My wrist, not my hand, was dripping blood, but the hooks weren’t barbed, and only one had bit deeply. Good- let the man believe I was crazy. Much depended on the question I asked next. “Larry, answer me. Did you look me up on the Internet? If you did, you know I don’t tolerate bullying. Not from the likes of you-or anyone else. There were plenty of articles a couple years back that prove it.”

He’d seen the news stories. What he’d read was in the nervous pretense of his denials.

“If you ever threaten me again,” I said, “I’ll do whatever it takes. That’s your choice.”

He puffed up his ego enough to answer back, “You’re saying that story about you shooting some criminal down in the Glades is true? I don’t believe it. Never read a newspaper yet I believed. He wasn’t much of a man if he stood still for your nonsense.”

“If my aim was better,” I replied, “he’d be less of a man now. Ask his friends about it your next trip to Raiford prison.” I clipped the lure free of the line and stepped aboard the Marlow as if in a hurry to fetch something.

I heard the cat’s twin engines fire up, the clank of gears, and felt the rolling wake when Larry sped away. The whole time, I sat shaking in the hollow privacy of my cabin, where I battled the urge to scream, or cry, or telephone for help. But I did neither, save for a few traitorous tears.

No one can save you from a bully but yourself. I’d been through it enough in high school to know.

On the other hand… it couldn’t hurt to enlist the opinions of a few trusted friends. How would they handle the situation?

On the counter lay Sabin Martinez’s business card. I didn’t consider him a friend, but the fact he’d been a confidant of a man like Harney Chatham was impressive.

Call me, he’d said, if you need help with anything at all. Anything. I’m a problem solver from way back.

The emphasis he’d given the word suggested that he was, indeed, an experienced problem solver .

I studied the card for a moment, then dialed.

When Larry was long gone, I returned to the quiet aft deck of my cruiser, where there are cushioned bench seats and a small teak table. My hands were still shaking. I had to take a moment. I used a first-aid kit and fishing pliers to remove the treble hooks, then called Mr. and Mrs. Gentry’s cell phone. They were my only clients who had an interest in citrus. I didn’t want to believe they’d go behind my back and hire another guide. Not after the talks we’d had about a partnership in developing a biotech patent.

My faith was well placed. Larry had made up a story or had someone else in mind.

“Are you referring to the crazy man who cut off my snook?” Dr. Gentry asked. “Never in a million years would we hire someone like that, my dear. I can tell you’re upset. Do you want to talk about it?”

I shared a few details, minus the threats of violence. “Somehow he knows about you and Mr. Gentry. About what we’re doing. And he used it to scare me-either that or he’s being chartered by someone else who knows.”

“I don’t like this, Hannah. It’s worth checking into. We might have to hire someone to keep an eye on you.”

“You sound worried.”

The woman remained serious but mitigated matters with a calming tone. “In the world of biotech patents, there’s always something to worry about until the patent is actually awarded. No, I’m misleading you. That’s just the start of your worries. During the process, you have data thieves, and leaks of every kind imaginable, and then the international courts to deal with. Science is a noble profession-until money gets involved. Then it’s like any other cutthroat business, only worse because… well, the stakes are so much higher. It’s the foreign companies that fight dirtiest of all. One of India’s recent biotech patents changed the entire economy of Mumbai-more than thirteen billion dollars the first year.”

I cleared my throat. “Did you say billion ?”

My fishing client, the famous scientist, replied, “Get used to it. A million is the numerical starting point in this business. The numbers get bigger fast depending on who, and how many companies, want to license whatever intellectual property you happen to own.”

We had never talked money before, just ideas and methods. “Good Lord, Mrs. Gentry, you’re not telling me that-”

“No, no, no, it’s way too early to predict profits. And there seldom are, by the way. But big egos and the chance for big money-or even a piddly little research grant-can be a dangerous combination. That’s what I’m saying, Hannah. The man who threatened you sounds dangerous to begin with. If someone hired him, it can only be to steal whatever it is we’re after. Unless he’s just crazy. Either way, you need to be very, very careful, dear.”

Now I was worried, too. “Someone found out what we’re doing, that’s obvious.”

“They always do. I’ll bounce this off Doug when he gets home. We need to have another meeting anyway because of a conversation I just had. I told you that naturally occurring DNA sequences can’t be patented? That’s true. But I was wrong about my take on a Supreme Court ruling a few years back. There’s a loophole when it comes to seed stock. Monsanto has been patenting seeds under what’s called a stewardship clause. I knew that, but here’s how it applies to us…”