Rum Runner Read online

  He imagined reaching out, grabbing her slender arms, and shaking her until her perfect white teeth rattled loose. His hands curled into fists, and he growled like the caveman she’d already decided he was.

  She sniffed in response. “Give my regards to my father.” Then she snapped her hair over her shoulder and strutted back toward the hotel, the click-click-click of her black peep-toed stilettos mocking him every step of the way.

  “God damn it,” he said.

  Things had escalated from bad to ugly on the other side of the pool. April’s so-called friend had somehow gotten hold of her cell phone and Don was dragging April into one of the hot tub stalls on the far side of the tiki bar. Behind the eight-foot-tall, whitewashed fences, anything could and did happen. Hotel guests paid good money for use of the private hot tubs and that was what they got—privacy.

  Don pushed April inside, and then he glanced back like a ferret, paranoid some bigger, meaner animal was going to follow him into his den and steal his snack.

  When the door closed, Jimmy glanced in the direction the Duchess had gone. He really needed to get his hands on that medallion and get back to the island. He had a tour business to operate and a bar to belly up to back home. He’d already wasted a good part of the day waiting for the obstinate woman to return to the hotel.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. Then he squared his shoulders and strode toward the hot tubs.

  He needed an outlet for his frustration and a good fight always gave him a buzz. Shame the dirtbag wasn’t gonna be much of a challenge.

  Jimmy yanked open the door. He savored the blast of adrenaline that raced through his veins as he assessed the situation. Don Juan Jeremy had already stripped down to his birthday suit. The Beanpole stood beside him still clothed.

  April huddled behind raised knees in the far corner of the fifteen-by-fifteen space. Her face lit up when she saw him. “Jimmy Panama?”

  They only knew each other in passing, but Key West was a small island and local faces became familiar real quick. He recognized the Beanpole now too. She was that famous boob doctor’s brat. He hadn’t recognized her at first with the new ’do. She’d chopped off at least two feet of her dark brown locks.

  “You need a ride home, darlin’?” He directed the question to April.

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please!”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Medium height and soft in the middle, Don seemed unconcerned with his nudity.

  “No!” The Beanpole rounded on her friend. “You swore to me you were ready for this. You picked him out of the crowd.”

  April rose to her feet. She was still wearing her bikini, thank God, but Jimmy glued his eyes to her face anyhow.

  “I changed my mind,” she said. “Are you going back to the island, Mr. Panama?”

  “Call me, Jimmy. And yes.”

  “You’re not going to bail.” The Beanpole dug her fingers into her short crop of hair making it stand on end.

  “Listen, pal, I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re crashing our party.” Don was working a superhero pose. Hands on his hips. Legs spread apart. Cape flapping in the breeze. His career as a seventies porn star would’ve been short-lived.

  “Sorry to break it to ya, but the party’s over.” Jimmy turned to April. “I got to take care of a little business here at the hotel first, but you’re welcome to wait on my boat.”

  April lit up from the inside out. She was one of those natural beauties with dancing blue eyes and a contagious smile. She had the gentle nature that came from having a soft heart. She reminded him a lot of his momma, Lord rest her soul.

  “Can my friend Greenlee have a ride, too?”

  The Beanpole sneered. “God, April, you really are lame sometimes, you know that?”

  “Be quiet, Greenlee. Don’t listen to her. She wants a ride home. Is that okay?”

  “It’s not okay with me.” Don took three steps forward and shoved Jimmy so hard he actually staggered back a step.

  He savored the fresh surge of adrenaline that coursed through his system. To April, he said, “I ain’t gonna force her. She’s a big girl. If she wants to ruin her life running around with bozos like this guy, that’s her problem, not mine.”

  “Screw you, Tarzan!” Don got in his face. “Just because you’re bigger than me, you think you can win. Well, you’ve picked the wrong guy to bully this time, ass-wipe.”

  Jimmy’s cell phone buzzed in the thigh pocket of his cargo shorts. He ignored it.

  “Unless you’re too scared to fight?”

  Jimmy smirked and shook his head in disgust.

  Don didn’t know when to quit. “You might want to back down now,” he said, “before I make a fool of you in front of the ladies.”

  “Not a chance.” Jimmy squared off with him. The phone in his pocket went silent for a moment and then started buzzing again. He dug it out and looked at the screen.

  Unavailable number.

  Don gestured to the girls to stand back. Then he dropped into a strange pose, vaguely resembling a karate stance. “Come on, Tarzan, I’ll be nice and let you throw the first punch.”

  “What a joke,” Jimmy muttered and put the phone to his ear. “Panama.”

  “Do you have it?” Mad Dog Thompson said without preamble.

  “There’s been a slight complication.”

  Don let out a keening cry, “Oooooyeeeeee-yaaaah!” Then he threw a textbook roundhouse kick that slammed into Jimmy’s upper arm like a wrecking ball, aggravating an old injury. Pain exploded in his shoulder as he crashed into a small plastic table and chair set. The girls screamed as the furniture scattered. He got his other arm up just in time to keep his face from kissing the concrete.

  Well, shitballs, he hadn’t seen that coming. Arm throbbing like a bitch, he climbed to his feet and shoved the cracked plastic table out of his way.

  Somehow, he managed to hold on to the phone.

  Mad Dog shouted into his ear, “What the hell was that?”

  “An unrelated situation.”

  So the middle-management pencil pusher had a move or two in him. Jimmy faced Don again with more caution.

  “You coming back for more, big guy?” Don danced around him, his ding-a-ling dangling like a worm on a hook. “Huh? Huh?”

  “Why don’t you have the package?” Mad Dog said.

  “Cause your daughter’s got it.”

  “You mean she never mailed it to the hotel?”

  “Hiiiiiyah!” Don came at Jimmy like a windmill in a hurricane.

  “Just a sec,” he said into the phone and then ducked, weaved, and blocked Don’s attack.

  “Look who’s scared now, ass-wipe.”

  Jimmy struck Don in the throat with a quick, efficient jab. The bozo expelled a grunt of distress as he grabbed his neck and collapsed to his knees.

  Jimmy said to Mitch, “She’s here at the hotel. She wants to meet you.”

  “Sophie’s in Miami?”

  “What did you do to him?” The Beanpole rushed forward to help Don. “Are you okay?”

  He staggered to his feet, still clutching his throat, his eyes a little dazed and confused. “Get back,” he rasped. “I got this.”

  “Where is she now?” Mad Dog demanded.

  “Who?”

  “My daughter. Is she with you?”

  “She went back to the hotel. Up to her room, I imagine.”

  Don stepped into one of those strange poses and wound up again. “Ahhhhh-soooo…”

  “Aren’t you through yet, Bruce Wee Wee?”

  April giggled.

  Jimmy winked at her. “Hold this for me, darlin’. This won’t take but a minute.” He tossed her the phone. “Whatever you do, don’t hang it up!”

  Red-faced as a tourist who’d fallen asleep in the sun on his first day in town, Don let out a roar. Whatever technique he possessed was forgotten as he charged. Jimmy took the gut tackle, grunting as it plowed him into the wooden fence. Boards rattled and splinters jabb
ed him in the back. He kneed the bozo in the face. Don staggered backward as blood spurted out of his nose splattering Jimmy’s favorite T-shirt.

  The girls screamed again.

  Don touched his face and his hand came away covered with blood. He stared at it in disbelief. He growled and hauled back throwing an old-school pop in the schnoz, but Jimmy caught his fist mid-punch and twisted his wrist. Don yelped in pain as Jimmy used the pressure to turn him around to face the Jacuzzi. Then Jimmy lifted his foot and gave him a swift kick to the backside that sent him belly first into the hot tub.

  The splash sent up a wall of hot water that drenched everything within an eight-foot radius. Jimmy pulled on the wet T-shirt now clinging to his torso and shoved his soggy locks out of his eyes. The girls huddled together like two drenched kittens. April still clutched his phone in her left hand. Jimmy was grateful for the waterproof case. It was worth the extra dough.

  He crossed the small space to take the phone from April. “You there, Mad Dog?”

  “Yeah, still here. I need another favor.”

  The back of Jimmy’s neck tingled. “What now?”

  “Sophie’s in danger. I need you to get her out of town ASAP.”

  A weight settled heavily on his chest. It felt suspiciously like indigestion. “I think she might have a problem with that. Wait for me on my boat,” Jimmy said to April as he exited the hot tub stall. “The Salty Lizard. Slot nine.”

  “When they figure out she’s in town,” Mitch continued, “they’re going to come for her.”

  “Who?” Jimmy had broken into a run and reached the hotel entrance in record time. The electric lobby doors parted and a whoosh of cool air touched his damp skin.

  “Hector Bautista.”

  Ah, hell. “What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into?”

  “I can’t explain. Just promise me you’ll keep her safe. Get her out of Miami no matter what it takes. I have to go.”

  Jimmy’s temples were throbbing again. He didn’t make promises, not anymore.

  “Promise me!”

  He gnashed his teeth together. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Jimmy hit End and deposited the phone back into the thigh pocket of his cargo shorts. He punched the elevator button and then impatiently tapped it a few more times. Mad Dog’s daughter’s suite was on the twenty-first floor. Back in the days when Jimmy was a SEAL, he could have strapped a hundred-pound rucksack to his back and run up the stairs faster than the damned elevator, but his cardio wasn’t what it used to be.

  The doors finally parted. He stepped into the empty space and looked down, his gaze drawn to the lone shoe lying on its side in the middle of the floor.

  Abandoned.

  Or lost.

  A black peep-toed stiletto.

  CHAPTER THREE

  After leaving Jimmy Panama beside the pool, Sophie brushed past a cluster of patrons in the hotel lobby as she made a beeline for the elevator. Fluctuating between anger and disappointment, she punched the arrow up button and muttered, “Take the hint? Take the hint? Insufferable man!” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, reminding herself she shouldn’t let a man like him get to her. He knew nothing about her relationship with her father.

  Or her lack of one.

  When the elevator doors parted, she stepped inside and selected the button to the twenty-first floor. Then she stepped back and waited for the doors to close. A sob caught in her throat. She mashed her lips together and held onto it stubbornly, blinking back the tears that had blurred her vision. Coming here was a stupid idea and a complete and utter waste of time. The Neanderthal was right. If her father wanted to meet her, he’d had twenty-six years to knock on her door. There was only one reason he hadn’t come around.

  Only one reason.

  A hand darted between the closing doors at the last possible moment. Sophie jerked in surprise and stepped back as the doors bounced apart and a heavily tattooed man entered the lift. He stared at her with interest as he circled to her right and lounged against the back wall of the elevator.

  “Which floor?” she asked when he didn’t select a button.

  “Twenty-two, mama.”

  She swallowed tightly and then pressed the button.

  A strange tension radiated off the man, but Sophie pretended to ignore it and faced forward.

  Five. Six. Seven.

  A dreary documentarian’s voice from an old BBC nature program popped into her head. “The Galeocerdo cuvier, or tiger shark, is one of the largest members of the shark species. Like most predators, showing fear in the presence of these creatures will arouse their instinct to attack. Swimmers who wear bright colors such as yellows and oranges risk the chance of being mistaken for the shark’s dinner.”

  Her fingers curled against the bright tweed fabric of her skirt. Brilliant decision to wear yellow today, Soph.

  She stared hard at the digital floor numbers, compelling the lift to rise faster.

  Ten. Eleven.

  There was no reason to worry, was there? It was just her mind playing tricks. Her psyche punishing her for getting her hopes up for nothing. In all fairness, it wasn’t as if her father had expected her to be here and decided not to come.

  Her elevator companion stepped even with her. His black muscle shirt and khaki trousers showed off a thin but wiry physique. He might be lean, but he was unquestionably stronger than she was.

  Don’t be daft. He’s only moving closer because he’s planning to hop off the next floor after yours.

  Fifteen. Sixteen.

  She glanced at him, took in his inscrutable expression, and gave him a small smile. Realizing what she’d done, she faced forward, pinning her gaze on the seam of the doors.

  That’s right. Bait the predator. Invite him up for tea, why don’t you?

  Eighteen. Nineteen.

  She’d left one dodgy character beside the pool only to step into the lift with another. She was going to her room straightaway and locking herself in until she could sort out what to do next. She could wait at the hotel until her father decided to make an appearance or, perhaps, she could follow Jimmy Panama and hope he led her to the man. Going home and abandoning her goal was not an option. Not yet, in any case.

  Twenty. Twenty-one.

  “Cheers,” Sophie said to her companion as the elevator dinged and the doors split apart.

  “Señorita?”

  “Yes?” She glanced back.

  The man hauled her against his lean, hard torso and settled a white handkerchief over her mouth. Adrenaline surged through her limbs as she shoved at his hand and tried to squirm away. She managed to dislodge the cloth long enough to shout for help, but the word came out in a squeak.

  She kicked at his shins and shoved at his arms, but his grip was solid. He stuffed the handkerchief back into her mouth and then bent to pick her up from behind. As he hauled her out of the elevator, her right stiletto dangled from her toe an instant before the shoe fell off.

  She tried to scream around the cloth stretching her mouth, but the attempt only made her choke. He carried her down the hall, past the stairwell and vending machines. She lost her other shoe just before they turned the corner. Another Hispanic man waited for them beside the service elevator, holding the doors open.

  Her captor set her down. The moment she was on her feet, she shoved away from him, ran back the way they’d come—around the corner, past her fallen shoe, past the main lift, heading toward her room at the far end of the hall. She tore the handkerchief out of her mouth as she ran and dug into her skirt pocket for her keycard.

  She was ten feet away from her door when a body slammed into hers from behind, knocking her flat. The heavy weight on her back forced her face into the coarse industrial carpet and the scent of nylon and cleanser filled her nostrils as she tried to suck air back into her lungs.

  The handkerchief was stuffed into her mouth again and then a deep, accented voice filled her ear. “Make a noise, chica, and you’re dead. Understand?” />
  She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  He dragged her to her feet and then proceeded to strong-arm her down the hall back toward the service elevator. They turned the corner just as the main elevator dinged.

  The two men spoke to each other in rapid Spanish as the one holding the elevator zip-tied her wrists together.

  “Vámonos!” Her captor said, shoving her inside the lift.

  “Dónde están sus zapatos?” his friend asked.

  “Her shoes?” He looked down at her bare feet and then muttered what sounded like a curse before he paced back down the hall. He turned the corner, looked up, and gasped in surprise an instant before a fist smashed into his face. He bounced off the wall, and then he timbered over like a tree.

  The man in the elevator stabbed the ground floor button frantically. Sophie glimpsed the large, blurred figure of a man running toward the elevator just before the doors closed.

  Sagging against the back wall, she sank to the floor in defeat. Her second kidnapper grinned with triumph and said something in Spanish.

  The doors parted, and a leg swung in, catching the man off guard with a kick to the jaw. He slammed into the elevator wall, hit his head with a sickening thud, and sank down next to her.

  Jimmy Panama pushed the doors wider to accommodate his large frame. They closed behind him and the lift started descending as he knelt in front of Sophie and removed the handkerchief from her mouth.

  She took in the scruffy, bearded face of the man she’d written off as a joke not twenty minutes earlier and decided she had never been happier to see anyone in her life. She would never tell him that, of course. From what she’d witnessed down by the pool, his ego didn’t need stroking.

  Her heavy-lidded eyes drifted closed. Something caressed her face, back and forth, ever so gently. She concentrated on the sensation with a sigh.

  “Are you okay, darlin’?”

  “Oh, yes. That feels lovely.”

  To her disappointment, the gentle touch disappeared abruptly. Before she could bring herself to open her eyes, the zip tie binding her wrists was severed with a hard tug. Cut with a knife, she assumed.

  “Look at me,” said a deep, toasty voice that made her body tingle in the most interesting places. “Did they drug you?”