James Grippando - Blood Money

Bennett made his chest swell. “Y’all need to leave my property.”

“You need to think about what I said,” Theo said.

“Let’s go,” said Jack.

They walked back to the car, and Bennett returned to his bench press, the free weights clanging as Jack and Theo climbed inside and closed the doors.

“Pansy-ass association of what ?”

“Sorry, dude. Was just makin’ a point.” Theo started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

“I’m almost afraid to ask for another opinion, but what do you think? Does Mr. Bennett know Merselus?”

Theo put on his shades, eyes on the road. “Just like his daughter. Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Jack glanced out the window as they passed the Bennett house. He noticed Mrs. Bennett watching from the front porch, her gaze following their car down the street. A bright yellow sundress made her perpetual tan look even darker than usual. Colorful sundresses were what she had worn almost every day for Sydney’s trial.

“The key here is to talk to someone in this family who doesn’t wear pants.”

“Then let’s do it,” said Theo.

Jack thought of all the times he’d tried to have a one-on-one conversation with Sydney’s mother. “It needs to be handled just right. Ellen literally hasn’t left the house since the trial started. She doesn’t even have a cell phone. We can discount a lot of what her husband says, but I don’t doubt that she’s battling depression.”

“Just call her, Jack.”

They stopped at the STOP sign. The Bennetts’ street was in his passenger’s-side mirror, and Jack could see down the block to their house in the reflection. Ellen Bennett was still standing on the porch, having watched their car all the way to the intersection.

“No,” said Jack. “Once a seed is planted, the worst thing you can do is dig it up to see how it’s growing. Give her a little more time. She’ll come around.”

Andie finished her three-mile run with Max in record time. She showered and spent the rest of the morning on a chaise longue in the backyard, struggling her way through one of those recorded instructional CDs that promised complete fluency in a foreign language for ninety-eight percent of users faster than you can say, I must be part of the two percent . Max was in a perfect “sit/stay,” head cocked, ears peaked, and a puzzled expression on his golden face. Apparently, he didn’t speak Chinese.

“Max,” she said, followed by her best attempt to say “Come” in a language she hadn’t spoken since her days in the Seattle field office. It was part of her training for her undercover assignment, Operation Big Dredge. Counterfeit goods galore from China were expected to come through the widened Panama Canal and the expanded Port of Miami. A brushup on Mandarin Chinese would be useful.

“Max, please. A little encouragement.”

He cocked his head the other way.

“I think we’re hopeless, buddy.”

Andie removed her earbuds, shut down her iPad, and went back inside the house. She was pouring a cup of green tea-that part of China she got, no problem-when her cell rang. She had a feeling about the unknown number on the caller ID.

“This is Agent Henning,” she said.

There was a slight pause, then a voice that Andie recognized, even though they had never spoken to one another: “Swyteck told me to call you at this number.”

Andie gripped the phone. “Sydney?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you called. You’re doing the right thing.”

“He didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“Who didn’t?”

“Jack,” she said, and just the mention of his name seemed to bring an edge to her voice. “He thinks he can just pass me along to you, like I’m not his problem. I am his problem. He’s part of this. He’s as much a part of this as I am.”

“Okay. I understand you’re angry.”

“I’m angry, I’m tired, I’m fed up with the whole fucking world treating me like I’m some kind of monster. Tell Jack he needs to help me.”

“Jack can’t help you. Work with me and the FBI will-”

“No, this isn’t a call to the FBI. I’m talking to Jack’s girlfriend. You tell Jack that if he wants to find out what happened to his other girlfriend, he needs to help me, okay?”

“What do you know about Rene Fenning?”

“I know I don’t want to end up like her. And I’m guessing you don’t want to, either. So you take off your FBI hat, you have a nice talk with your fiance, and you tell him that when Sydney Bennett calls him, he better listen. You got it?”

“Sydney-” she started to say, but Andie could tell she wasn’t there.

Andie put her cell down. Max came to her and put his head on her leg, seeming to sense her stress.

“Yup,” said Andie, rubbing his neck. “I think we got it, all right.”

Whoa,” said Theo. “She is hot, hot, hot.”

Jack was waiting with him outside the Patti amp; Alan Herbert Wellness Center on the University of Miami campus. A creek and rocky ravine circled the center like a castle moat, and the narrow footbridge over it was the only access to the main entrance-which made the bench at the end of the bridge a prime viewing spot for the endless stream of co-eds on the way to or from a workout. The clingy black spandex left little to the imagination.

“Down, boy,” said Jack. “She’s probably twenty years old.”

“And your point is. .?”

Jack didn’t even try to explain. For more years than he cared to admit, beautiful twenty-year-old women had been mere girls to him.

“I mean, dude, it’s not like I said I want to buy her a bottle of vodka or go vote with her.”

“Theo, I get it. And by the way, you don’t have to be twenty-one to vote. It’s eighteen.”

“Since when?”

“Since before you were born.”

“So she could vote to have sex with me.”

Jack massaged that aching spot between his eyes. “You know, it’s a good thing only half the things you say are serious, or we just couldn’t be friends.”

“It’s not that half the things I say are serious. It’s everything I say is half serious. There’s a difference.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Well. . half.”

Jack kept an eye on the main door. It had taken several phone calls from Celeste Laramore’s father, but Celeste’s roommate had finally agreed to talk to Jack. The plan was to meet outside the wellness center.

“That’s her,” said Jack.

“Whoa. She is totally-”

“Quit,” Jack told him.

Jenna Smith seemed to recognize Jack as she crossed the bridge. She was dressed like all the other young women on parade, though it was impossible not to notice that she spent a few more hours a week in the gym than most. Her hair was in a ponytail. De rigueur, a cell phone was in her hand.

“Hi, I’m Jenna.”

She extended her free hand, and Jack shook it. “Nice to meet you, Jenna. This is-”

“Theo Knight,” he said, “head of voter registration.”

“What?”

“Ignore him,” said Jack. “Thanks for meeting with us.”

She nodded once, more acquiescence than enthusiasm. “Mr. Laramore said it was important.”

“It is,” said Jack. He led her to a picnic table beneath a stand of palm trees where they could talk. She laid her pink workout bag on the bench beside her and placed her cell phone on the table in front of her. Jack and Theo sat opposite her, the afternoon sun warm on their backs.

“How is Celeste doing?” asked Jenna.

Jack wasn’t sure how to answer. “We’re still hopeful.”

“That’s the same thing Mr. Laramore told me.” Her phone chime sounded like a bicycle bell. She glanced at a new text from someone and quickly thumb-typed a response. “He also said you wanted to talk about the night Celeste got hurt.”