The Witness (Miami Private Security #4)

10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sabrina

“ T hank you, again.” I held out my hand to Sydney Leck. Thanking people for saving my ass seemed to be my new vocation. I ignored the slightly icky feeling being in debt to yet another person caused.

She took my hand in a firm grip. I’d met her briefly during the flurry of activity as we arrived at the Smith Agency. I’d hardly done more than give her a nod and smile as we all piled out of The Tank. She and I were alone now, and it was my chance to express my gratitude for her help without all the distractions.

“No law enforcement agency has an active warrant for your arrest. There wasn’t much Palm Beach Gardens police could do to hold you. But you are welcome.” The lawyer shrugged and retook her seat at the table in the Smith Agency break room. A small moleskin notebook and gold pen sat on the surface next to her cell phone. “It was lucky I was here working on something else for John, or they might have booked Steel on reckless driving.”

“It wasn’t reckless. It was incredible. He saved me, er us.” I stuttered to a stop. When did I become president of the Michael Steel fan club? That was so not me. I’d never been a gushing fan girl type. But I’d never been shot at during a high-speed car chase before, either. Yet another person I owed a huge thank you to.

“He’s a good wheelman. Probably the best on Smith’s team.”

“Wheelman?” I sat next to her at the table.

“Driver.”

“Got it.” I didn’t really. These people spoke a different language. Kind of like me in a kitchen, where words like chiffonade and macerate were commonplace. A security company got burner phones and wheelman. My life had taken a surreal turn.

Sydney cocked her head and considered me. “You’re a lucky woman. You’ve landed in the laps of the right people. Smith and his Machiavellian manipulations will deal with Sandoval. And Steel, as you experienced today, will protect you from the fallout.”

“It wasn’t luck. FBI agent Lewis Wright sent me here after I got him shot at the Oceanfront diner.” A lump of emotion tangled around the word shot, and I had to force the end of my sentence past it. The debt I owed to the FBI agent was the size of a large boulder.

“You didn’t get anyone shot.” She’d taken my hand again. Her brown eyes overflowed with compassion. “It’s all Sandoval’s doing. Men like him cause carnage and chaos. They only care about profit and protecting their organization. Trust me, I’ve been dealing with his kind for years.”

“At times it feels like this is happening to someone else or I’m watching a TV show. But the car chase today was too real and totally out of my control. I’m so off balance.” The only steady thing was Michael Steel.

I envisioned Gabriela Cantoral’s blood-stained sheet blowing off the back deck of Sandoval’s yacht and into the ocean. My life had become too much like that scrap of fabric, buffeted by the rushing winds and lost to deep water currents. My goals and passions drifting farther and farther away, disappearing over a distant horizon. I wanted to fight the tide, but I wasn’t sure how.

“Control is overrated. Right now, you’re aiming to survive. Don’t underestimate Sandoval’s reach. I’m not trying to scare you. I believe in telling people the truth during a crisis. These are bad people. I’ve had a run in with this group in the past. Take the threat they pose seriously.” She held my gaze with a sincerity that terrified me and drove home her point.

I closed my eyes, my shoulders hunched forward, and all the fear I’d held in check during the car chase rushed over me. Sydney wrapped an arm around my back, her soothing presence a balm to my tattered resolve. There were worse things than accepting help.

“You can do this because you have to.” Her softly spoken words soaked into my bones and filled in a few of the newest cracks undermining my foundations.

“Do we ever get choices when it comes to the hard things?” I already knew the answer. I learned this lesson more times than I cared to count. When I found out I was pregnant and single. When Hailey got sick. And a million other incidents before, during, and after those moments.

“It wouldn’t be life if we did.” Sydney patted my back.

“Am I interrupting?” Quinn’s kind voice had me pulling back from Sydney and sitting up tall.

“I needed a moment to, ah, process, I guess.” Wiping under my eyes, I checked my cheeks for stray tears and was proud not to find any. I’d had more near breakdowns in the last thirty-six hours than I’d had since Hailey’s death. Next, I’d be making vats of bouillabaisse, trying to cook away my unsettled emotions.

“Process away. But do it fast. Minerva is on her way, and if she is anything like my mom, you will be smothered in concern if she finds you like this.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I stood and moved to the coffeemaker in search of a distraction. Caffeine and another slice of that chocolate cake from last night would bolster my mood and everyone else’s. “Everyone want cake with their coffee? It’s really good.”

“O-M-G so flattered, you liked my cake.” Quinn pressed a hand to her chest and gave me a big smile.

“Liked? It was delicious.” I pulled a knife from the butcher block and got to work.

“I didn’t get any at the party. Now I’ve got to try it.” Sydney said.

My mother arrived with a rustle of silk caftan and a cloud of Chanel N°5. She dropped dramatically into a chair at the table with a sigh that drew all of our gazes.

“Poor Captain Morgan. He’s beside himself. I think he may molt from sheer stress.” My mother looked better than I’d expected her to. With her blood pressure issues, I’d worried she’d be physically drained after this morning.

“That bird has lived through worse.” I shrugged and went back to pouring the water into the coffee machine.

“True. The fire at Vito’s shop and two armed robberies. But he was a younger bird back then.”

“A spring chicken?” Quinn offered with a barely repressed giggle.

“Why yes? Well played, my dear. I enjoy a good bird pun. So does the Captain. When he’s feeling more himself, I’ll have to show you his tricks. But be warned he has quite the salty vocabulary.”

“That’s true. He knows all the most foul words and phrases.” Yep, another bird pun. My mother rolled her eyes at me.

“His formative years were spent living at Vito’s diesel engine repair shop. It was not a finishing school.” Mom twisted in her chair to offer Sydney a thank you for “springing us from the cops” while I finished making coffee and served Quinn’s cake to everyone.

“Where is Mr. Steel? I want to thank him now that I’ve caught my breath.” Mom looked about the room like a six-and-a-half-foot-tall man might have hidden in a corner where she’d overlooked him.

“He’s at the hospital,” Quinn told us.

“Was he hurt?” Mom fumbled her fork, and it clattered to the tabletop.

“No. He and John went to check on a patient. Your FBI agent.” Quinn nodded at me.

“Poor Lewis. He didn’t deserve to get sucked into this. I’m still not sure I should have involved all of you, either.” I took my cake and settled next to Quinn. The need to repay my mounting debts to these people weighed heavily.

“Mark my words.” Quinn's serious tone had me pausing before I cut into my cake. “If John Smith had known what you saw and who you could identify, he’d have sent a team to kidnap you. He’s been working on the Sandoval problem for years. And you are the solution.”

“Whether you want to be or not,” Sydney added.

“John isn’t that bad.” Quinn defended her boss with a passion that made me think she trusted John Smith to do more than give her a paycheck.

“He’s not a white knight, either.”

“Syd, none of us are pure as the driven snow. And Steel will keep her safe.” Quinn winked at me.

A blush or something close to it crawled over my cheeks, and I wanted to hide my face. Instead, I rushed to pour the coffee.

“The tattoos and beard were off-putting at first, but he’s a good man. I have a sixth sense for that kind of thing. Saved more than one widow at Silver Palms from a fortune hunter.”

“Mom.” I groaned and poured coffee for all the ladies. At my age I should be immune to my mother embarrassing me, but nope. She got me, every single time. Mom was right, though; Steel wasn’t my type at all. I learned my lesson about tattoos and motorcycles a very long time ago. My infatuation, I reminded myself firmly, was all about circumstances. I was grateful, period.

The four of us started chatting about men and life, everything and nothing. For a few brief moments while we ate cake and drank coffee, I relaxed and pretended that my life wasn’t a disaster.

Too bad it wouldn’t last.