Michael McGarrity - Nothing But Trouble

“Consider it done,” Fitzmaurice replied as he eased to a stop in front of Sara’s hotel. “And I’ll alert the Coast Guard and ask them to be standing by so that he can’t slip away to sea.”

“Perfect,” Sara said as she opened the door. “You really have been a prince, Detective Fitzmaurice. I appreciate all that you’ve done.”

“ ’Tis the company I’ve been keeping, Colonel,” Fitzmaurice said with smile. “Till the morning, then.”

In her room Sara kicked off her shoes, read her e-mail, and immediately called Kerney.

“Everything is fine,” she said when he answered. “I’m safe and sound, and there’s nothing for you to worry about. How is Patrick? How are you?”

“All is well here,” Kerney replied. “But we’ve been missing you a lot.”

“Me too,” Sara said. “Tell me what the two of you have been up to.”

After the call Sara sat for a long time trying to figure out why Kerney had sounded a little strained behind his cheerfulness. He’d told her about his daily horseback rides with Patrick, his plan to take him to the Albuquerque zoo, and how Patrick loved to help him in the barn when it was time to feed the horses. But he’d skirted around her questions about Patrick’s adjustment to the Santa Fe preschool.

It wasn’t like Kerney to hold things back from her. She wondered if he’d deliberately avoided discussing some difficulties Patrick might have experienced. The thought stayed with her long after she set the alarm clock, turned off the light, and went to bed.

With the Sapphire anchored off the coast of Llanddwyn Island just south of Holyhead, George Spalding was spending a lovely morning after. As always, Victoria Hopkins had been a delight. In her early thirties, she was tall with long dark-blond hair, classy features, naturally perfect breasts, and a slender, fit body.

The evening before, after several hours belowdeck, they had lolled on the flybridge, sipping wine and watching terns fishing in the bay and sandpipers wading along the rolling dunes sprinkled with spiky beach grass at the edge of the rocky coastline. At the topside barbecue Spalding had fixed Victoria a dinner of grilled marinated chicken and chard, spinach, and beetroot leaves wilted to perfection in olive oil with a touch of garlic. They talked until a chill in the air forced them once again belowdeck, where Victoria gave him a long kiss and told him to wait for her in the master cabin. A few minutes later she came out of the head dressed as a provocative schoolgirl, wearing an unbuttoned white shirt that exposed a good deal of her breasts, a tie loosened at the collar, a short plaid skirt, and white stockings with a touch of lace that showed at her thighs. With her hair in braids and a pout on her mouth, she told Spalding she had been a bad girl who needed a spanking. It had been a memorable after-dinner treat.

Whenever Spalding availed himself of Victoria’s services, he always specified the schoolgirl role-play as part of the package. It was a total turn-on, in and of itself well worth the thousand euros a day, plus expenses, Victoria charged for her services. But aside from the naughty, playful sex Spalding also appreciated Victoria’s charm and sophistication. She was university educated, well read, conversant in the arts, and an excellent companion.

She was still asleep in the master cabin when Spalding went on deck. Dawn had yet to break on the horizon, the night sky shimmered with stars, and a pale quarter moon hung above him. He’d awakened from a sound sleep much earlier than usual, prompted by his eagerness to see his villa again. For far too long he’d lived as a transient in ratty furnished flats and apartments, moving from place to place across Europe until he was sure the U.S. Army and the Canadian cops were no longer actively looking for him.

He’d carefully kept a low profile while he invented a new identity, had been cautious with how he used his money to avoid drawing attention to himself, and had exhaustively researched where he wanted to settle down and start anew. It had all been worth the effort. Now the time was drawing near when he could once again have a normal life, come and go as he pleased on the Continent, travel the seas, and enjoy himself to the fullest.

The boat rocked gently in the tidal current as Spalding sat in the cockpit and looked out the windscreen. For a moment he thought back to his time in Vietnam, the Tan Son Nhut mortuary, and the smuggling ring he’d put together. All of the guys in the ring, including Tom Carrier, had been patsies, only interested in having ready cash waiting for them so they could buy new cars, chase skirts, or keep getting high once they got back to the States. They’d accepted without question his accounting of the profits, never realizing that Spalding’s father was the Stateside “gem dealer” in the scheme who skimmed fifty percent of the proceeds off the top. In a few short years he and his father had become rich men.

Spalding heard footsteps and swiveled in the pilot’s chair to find Victoria, with her hair still in braids, standing a few feet away wrapped in his terry-cloth robe.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked with a smile.

Spalding shook his head. “You must have energized me.”

“Turn on the lights.”

Spalding flipped a dashboard switch and the cockpit lights flickered on. Slowly, Victoria opened the robe. She was naked except for the black seamed nylon stockings and the garter belt he’d given her as a present.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she asked.

“You’re a bad girl to wear such naughty things,” Spalding said sternly.

“I know.” She let the robe drop to her feet. “I shan’t do it again.”

“Turn around.”

She handed him an unwrapped condom. “Are you going to punish me?”

“Mind your elders and turn around.”

Shivering slightly in the cool air, Victoria turned and bent over to be spanked.

Ten minutes before Sara was due to meet Fitzmaurice outside the hotel, a knock came at her door. She opened up to find two men, one of whom flashed a Department of State special agent shield.

“Colonel Brannon,” the man said, “I’m Daniel Withers, with the Bureau of Diplomatic Security assigned to the American embassy, and this is Major Stedman, assistant military attache. You are to come with us.”

“What’s this about?” Sara asked, eyeing the two men. Withers, a man nearing thirty with a receding hairline and a dimpled chin, nodded at the major, who wore civvies.

Stedman stepped forward and handed Sara a paper. “The deputy secretary of defense has ordered your immediate return to the Pentagon, Colonel. You are to cease all current activity and accompany us to the airport for a flight to Washington.”

Sara read the order. It was original and authentic, most likely delivered overnight by courier. She looked at the major. No older than Withers, he had an intelligent face and close-set, baby-blue eyes that gave nothing away.

“Let me see some identification, Major,” Sara said.

Stedman fished out his military ID and gave it to Sara. He was a Marine officer, but what else? She guessed he was with the Defense Intelligence Agency, which routinely assigned personnel to embassy duty.

“May we come in, Colonel?” Stedman asked, smiling affably.

Sara handed him back the DEPSEC order and his ID. “I see nothing in the order that authorizes you to take me into custody, Major.”

“No, ma’am,” Stedman replied. “Our orders are to see you safely on your way home.”

“Very good, Major,” Sara said, “then you can wait in the hall while I pack.”

“We have orders to stay with you until your departure, ma’am,” Stedman said, pushing his way into the room. Withers followed, closed the door, and stood in front of it with his arms crossed.