Cynthia Thomason - An Unlikely Match

Claire seized the opportunity to ask for her check.

“Sure thing, hon,” Pet said. “As soon as I get a minute.”

There were a total of eight people in the restaurant, all of them served but Hogan. How swamped could she be?

Pet stabbed her pencil into a wave of coarse white hair at her temple. “Do you still want me to monitor the crosswalk at school this afternoon?”

“If you don’t mind,” Claire said. “And Jane will be riding home with you if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” And then, as if an explanation were necessary, which it wasn’t, she spoke to Hogan. “Jane is Claire’s daughter. Adorable child. Smart, clever.” She pointed her finger between herself and Claire. “She keeps the two of us on our toes.”

Hogan nodded as he stirred a packet of sugar into his coffee. About as much of a reaction as anyone could expect in Claire’s opinion, considering he didn’t know Jane and couldn’t care less.

“My check, Pet,” Claire said, pointing to the small stack of orders banded to the back of her aunt’s restaurant pad. “I can see it right there.”

Pet snapped the paper out of the rubber band. “Oh, right. You have to go so soon?”

“My shop doesn’t run itself.” Claire took the check and stood up. “Have a nice lunch, Mr. Hogan.” She gave him her best mayoral smile, the one she used to calm downtown shopkeepers when the teenagers were a little rambunctious on a Friday night. “Try kicking back a bit. It’s what we do best in Heron Point.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a shot,” he said.

Claire didn’t believe him. Other than loosening his tie, she didn’t think he knew how.

JACK FINISHED HIS SANDWICH and left the Green Door Café. Folks in shorts and T-shirts ambled by him on the sidewalk. Some had video cameras tucked into the palms of their hands. Jack supposed there was enough scenic shoreline on this remote speck of west Florida coast to merit a vacation video, though he’d never been inclined to preserve his travels in that way. Despite having seen much of the world, he’d rarely traveled for the fun of it. And he wasn’t in Heron Point for enjoyment either, although that interlude with the mayor just now still had him smiling. He had a job to do, and to Jack Hogan, every assignment was important.

The day had turned warm and unpleasantly muggy. He took off his jacket, hooked it over his shoulder with one finger and pulled his cell phone from the pocket. He punched in the first number on his saved list.

The Upper West Side Manhattan voice that answered was crisp and confident as always. “Anderson Enterprises. How may I direct your call?”

“Hello, Sophie,” he said.

“Jack! How are you? More to the point, where are you?”

He scanned the weathered exteriors of boutiques and souvenir shops, noting the nautical and marine paraphernalia that decorated the walls. Everything on this beachfront road was made to look like it had been standing for decades, though from his studies, Jack knew that, unlike the historic downtown section, this stretch of restaurants and shops had been built in the last ten years. “This week I’m in Heron Point,” he replied.

“That’s a new one to me,” Sophie said. “Where is it?”

“Florida.” He recalled the two-hour drive north from the Tampa airport he’d made early this morning. He’d ended up on a thirty-mile stretch of narrow road that led past ancient burial mounds and limestone formations to a two-lane bridge at the head of the island. “It’s not near anything you’ve ever heard of unless you’re schooled in multi-syllable Native American names of towns and rivers.”

“No, sorry. Now if you want to talk the names of shops on South Beach or Worth Avenue…”

Jack chuckled. “You and I are on different wavelengths as usual, Sophie. I think I actually prefer this place.” He heard the subtle background tones that indicated another call coming into her board. “You’re busy, I can tell. Is Archie in?”

“You bet. I’ll send you up.”

Up meant the thirty-fifth floor and an office banked with impact-proof wall-to-wall glass. Jack knew he would bypass Archie Anderson’s personal secretary and go right to the private line. The next thing he heard was his boss’s typically clipped greeting. “Anderson.”

“Archie, it’s Jack.”

As usual when the call wasn’t related to a high-profile acquisition or merger, Archie relaxed. “Jackie boy, how are you enjoying the sunshine state?”

Jack pictured his boss leaning back in his leather executive chair and swiveling around to view the New York skyline. “It’s hot,” he said.

“It’s October,” Archie said. “Can’t be that bad. I used to be there in the heat of the summer.” He chuckled. “Besides, aren’t you the same guy who once floated down South American rivers and basked in the heat of the equator?”

Jack smiled. He would hardly call his experience tracking counterfeiters basking. “I don’t know. I can’t remember that far back.”

“So what do you think of Heron Point?”

“As far as a preliminary security evaluation is concerned, I’d say this town has enough holes in it to strain spaghetti.”

“Well, then, fill up the holes. It’s what I pay you to do, and I hired the best in the business.”

Jack couldn’t argue with either point. He was paid well and he doubted anyone in the country knew more than he did about matters of security. Fourteen years in the Secret Service and working for the U.S. Treasury Department had prepared him admirably for this highly coveted job in the private sector. Archie Anderson’s well-documented paranoia, obsessions about his safety, and ultimately his hiring of Jack Hogan, had made Jack arguably the country’s leading expert in the field of protection.

“You’ve got one month to make Dolphin Run and its surroundings as tight as a tick, Jack, but I know you can do it.”

Oh, yeah, he could do it, though the town’s chief executive officer, its statuesque, blue-eyed mayor, might oppose him at every turn. Jack had met any number of challenges in his profession, but squaring off with the mayor might prove to be one of the most interesting.

Putting Claire Betancourt out of his mind, Jack asked the question he’d been pondering since he’d entered Heron Point’s town limits. Not that Archie’s motives for buying Dolphin Run were any of Jack’s business, he still said, “Are you ready to level with me about your real interest in this town and property?”

“I’ll tell you this much. Heron Point and I go back a long way, though I haven’t been there since the sixties. That old resort meant a lot to Charlotte and me at one time, so I decided to buy it for both personal and business reasons. It’ll be a nice place to send clients for some posh entertaining, as well as a moneymaker when I open it up to tourists. Any other details about my decision will have to wait until you and I are nose to nose over a bottle of scotch.”

“Fair enough.”

Jack sensed a smile in his boss’s voice when the old man added, “Maybe I’m just getting sentimental in my golden years.”

And maybe restoring a run-down old resort was Archie’s way of honoring his wife’s memory. Charlotte Anderson had been dead two years now and those closest to Archie knew he was still grieving.

“Okay, then, boss,” Jack said. “I guess I’ll hang up and get to work, which starts with finding a place to stay for the next month.”

“I told you to let my assistant handle that detail,” Archie said. “She was willing to investigate the local hotels and get you a reservation at the same time she arranged for the rental car.”

“I know, but I always like to check a place out before I decide where to stay. I consider it a strategic decision.” Though he could count on one hand the inns within his view right now, Jack noted that all of them had vacancy signs in the windows. “Besides,” he said, “this place is dead. Nobody here but a few tourists, some locals and me. I can take my pick of rooms.”