Rebel Island (Tres Navarre #7)(24)

The warmth of the alcohol knit into Lane’s limbs. She sat in a wicker chair, facing Garrett. She listened to the Caribbean music and the rain outside.

“Earlier you were talking like you admire your brother,” she said.

Garrett sipped his drink. A droplet of margarita gleamed in his beard. “Sure, I admire him. I still like to irritate him. You got siblings?”

Lane shook her head.

“Then you wouldn’t understand, but that’s cool. I want you to take a vacation.”

“Garrett—”

He held up a finger. “No problems. No hang-ups. Imagine those windows are open. You’re looking out at clear blue sky and a calm sea. Listen to the music. Drink your drink and relax.”

Lane tried. She liked the feeling of Garrett sitting near her, confident and calm. Then she remembered the night in the woods, her right eye swollen shut where Bobby had hit her. Her whole body ached. They dragged their burden into the woods wrapped in stained blue sheets.

“You’re crying,” Garrett said.

“I’m sorry.”

Garrett’s eyebrows furrowed. “What did that bastard husband do to you?”

Before she could answer, she heard voices in the hall.

“—can’t believe you did that,” Markie was complaining.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Chase protested. “I’m telling you, Navarre forced me. He’s a damn—”

“Shut up,” Markie hissed as they passed the room, probably noticing that the door was open. The sound of their footsteps faded down the hall.

Garrett drained his margarita. “My brother must be back. I’d better check on him.”

“Why?” Suddenly Lane didn’t want to leave the room. She didn’t want to go out there and face the others.

“Tres is always where the trouble is,” Garrett said. “And I want to find out what’s happening.”

He put down his glass and held out his hand.

Tentatively, she took it. He gave her fingers a squeeze.

“We’ll continue the vacation later,” he promised. “For now, let’s go see what crap my little brother has gotten himself into.”

15

I was standing at Chris Stowall’s dresser, going through his underwear drawer, when Garrett and Lane Sanford came in. I was about halfway through searching. So far I’d come up with nothing except underwear, and I was kind of wishing I’d worn latex gloves.

When I told Garrett what had happened at the boathouse, he arched his eyebrows. “You did what?”

“I scuttled the boat.”

“Hold up, hold up.” Garrett looked at Lane for moral support, then back at me. “You sank Alex’s fishing boat. Forty thousand dollars’ worth of fishing boat. And you just—”

“Opened the bilge valve and sank it,” I agreed. “Now, are you going to help me search or not?”

Garrett shoved the underwear drawer closed so fast I almost lost my fingers. “ARE YOU NUTS?”

I counted to ten, trying to contain the impulse to tip him out of his wheelchair.

To my surprise, Lane interceded. “Garrett, Tres is right.”

Garrett scowled at her. “Say what?”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “We can’t let the killer off the island. He’ll hurt more people. Right now he’s trapped here. We have to keep it that way until we can contact the police.” She glanced up at me. “That is why you did it…yes?”

“Yes,” I said. I decided it was time to revise my estimation of Lane Sanford.

“Whatever, little bro,” Garrett grumbled. “You’re gonna be in deep crap with Alex.” He nodded grudgingly toward the dresser. “What the hell are you looking for, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Something to explain the cash in the duffel bag.”

“What cash?”

I told him about the twenty grand, which was now locked in the hotel’s office, thanks to Jose and Imelda. I couldn’t tell whether the news surprised Lane or not.

“Damn,” Garrett said. “Find one more bag like that, and you can pay Alex back for his boat.”

I decided to ignore him. Being his brother, I’d had lots of practice.

“Lane,” I said, “is there anything you can tell me about Chris? Anything that would help?”

“I’ve known Chris since high school. He’s a good person. He’s not a killer.”

“But?”

She twisted the silver ring on her finger. “It isn’t like him to disappear like this. He wouldn’t do that. Something is wrong.”

“He invited you here for the weekend, to get away from—”

“Yes.” Her tone was clear: now was not the time to bring up her ex-husband.

“Chris didn’t mention Marshal Longoria?” I asked. “Didn’t make any comment to you about why he was here?”

She shook her head, but she was holding back. I could feel it as clearly as the storm outside. I glanced at Garrett, hoping he would help me out.

He took her hand protectively. “Come on, Lane. It’s getting late. And, little bro, if you find anything else valuable—like more money or the keys to a Porsche or something—you might want to give me dibs on it before you destroy it, okay?”