The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(56)

“No way. I’m not letting you do that.”

“We have to get to it before anyone else does.”

I watch the sun set in the distance and the sky turn from orange to purple then black. I try to imagine the wildlife on either side of the highway living out its own life-and-death struggles.

Somewhere, alligators are fighting pythons, owls searching for lizards, and mama panthers hunting to feed their babies.

Sometimes you don’t get to choose your struggles—they choose you.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

PRIVATEERS

We arrive at a Hilton hotel across the state in Naples, and George tells me to wait in the car. I make a sarcastic comment about him needing a nap, but he’s in too much of a hurry to respond.

I text with Jackie while I wait and examine the cars in the parking lot. There seem to be more SUVs than I’d expect, and I spot two police cars parked in the far corner. The drivers have their windows down as they talk to each other.

I’m watching the police as Jackie sends me a disturbing text.

I had to go to the principals office today.

Then, There were some police people in the other room. They asked me some questions. They said it was a routine work thing. A background check?

My heart skips a beat and I furiously type, What? What did they ask you?

Nothing big. How we got along. If we were planning any trips.

What did you say? I type, panic and rage competing to overwhelm me.

I said you beat me all the time and lock me in the anchor well. HaHa A pause, then:

I said you were the best mom.

Thank you. And I only put you in there when you changed the wifi password to momjeans.

:)

I said we talked about Australia.

I don’t know who talked to her. Possibly the real feds. Or local cops. Or it could have been cartel. Maybe DIA. Whoever they are, they now think I’m planning to leave the country. Not a good look.

Worse, they went to my daughter’s school.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

I call Run.

“What’s up?”

“Some people talked to Jackie at school today.”

“Yeah. Gunther checked them out. They were DEA.”

“I don’t care who they were—they can’t question Jackie without me there.”

“Gunther says legally they can if the parent isn’t present.”

I hold back my temper. “The principal is the acting parent. Tell what’s her face that if she lets anyone talk to her without you or me there, I’ll sue her ass.”

Run doesn’t argue with me. There’s nothing he could have done to prevent it, but he also understands a mother’s anger. “Understood. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“No. Go down there and tell her in person!” I take a breath. “I’m sorry. You handle it however you see fit.”

“No. You’re right. I also need to talk to Gunther about this. Remind him that not everyone with a badge is our friend. Present company excluded.”

“I don’t have a badge anymore. Not technically.”

Saying it hurts.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. It’s this thing. It’s . . . it’s messed up. There are people in law enforcement who have a lot to lose. Others too. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“Australia,” he replies.

“That would only make things worse. I have to see this through.”

“What does that mean?”

“I wish I knew. Right now, I’m with Solar in Naples at a hotel.”

“Well, that’s a development,” Run says wryly.

“Shut up. He’s in there talking to someone. Or taking a nap.” I glance back at the police cars and SUVs. “It might be some kind of operational thing—another group investigating this. I have no idea why they’d be on this side of the state,” I reply.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He has trust issues.”

George emerges from the lobby entrance and walks toward me. He waves at me to come.

“Gotta go. Keep looking after our daughter.”

I ring off with Run and meet George in front of the hotel. “What’s going on? It looks like a command center out here.”

“Basically, it is,” he says as he opens the door. “But nothing to do with our situation. Just keep your mouth shut. If you hear me stretch the truth, don’t correct me. If you’re asked a direct question, answer it briefly. Got it?”

“Yep.”

We walk past two men in suits standing by an elevator at the back of the lobby. George nods to them, and they press the button for us.

We step inside the elevator, and I keep my questions to myself all the way to the top floor. When we exit, we’re greeted by two other guards in suits, one a man, the other a woman, standing by the door to a suite. They recognize George and open the door for us.

A man in a collared shirt and an older redheaded woman in a blouse and skirt are sitting at a table covered with folders and takeout containers.

The woman I don’t recognize, but the man I do. He’s the governor of Florida.

“Is this her?” asks the woman.

“Yes. Sloan McPherson, this is Irene Isaacs, and I believe you recognize the governor.”