Avenged in the Keys Read online

  He snatched it, shattered the rim on the edge of the table, then lunged toward Teddy and held the sharp edges up to his neck. Teddy gasped and shuddered.

  “All right… I’ll… I’ll do whatever you—”

  “It’s too late for that, Ted. You threatened to kill me. That has consequences.” Lynch forced the smaller man to the floor and shoved a knee into his chest. “Sharp, painful consequences.”

  He held Teddy down, shoved a towel into his mouth, then slowly pressed the razor-sharp glass edges into his throat. He shook and convulsed and yelled muffled groans of pain. Lynch shoved the glass all the way through, making contact with the wood floor on the other side. Blood splattered out like water from a leaky pipe. It pooled around them as Teddy weakened, then fell back motionless.

  Lynch stared at the dead body of his old friend, then casually rose to his feet.

  “Congratulations, Casper,” he said. “Teddy’s Marina now belongs to you.” He stepped toward the young man, who was frozen in shock from what he’d just witnessed. “And when we find what we’re looking for, you’ll be handsomely rewarded for your efforts.” Seeing that the young man was still flustered, Lynch placed a hand softly on his shoulder. “Forget about him, Casper.”

  He stared the young man in the eyes. Casper blinked, then looked away from the man who’d been his boss for the past seven years.

  “What do you need for your search?” he finally stuttered.

  Lynch smiled. “What boats are operational?”

  “The skiff and utility boat are the only two running right now. We’ve also got the pontoon boat, but it needs new engines.”

  Lynch nodded. “I brought engines for all of them.” He motioned toward the stairs. “My men are outside. Come on, it’s time to get to work.”

  As Lynch took on the first few steps, the younger man remained frozen.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Casper asked, pointing at Teddy’s bloodied body.

  Lynch thought for a moment, then smirked. “Put him in a sack and sink his body in the deepest part of the channel.” He took one final look at the body, then chuckled and added, “Thanks for the idea, Ted.”

  EIGHT

  I found Scarlett out on the balcony, feasting on fritters and steamed shrimp while singing along to the Wayward Suns. She didn’t want to leave, but she knew what had happened and didn’t fight it. If it were any other night, we’d hang out until midnight, but Harper needed to go somewhere and relax.

  I pinned a twenty beneath Scarlett’s empty glass, then said good night to Jack’s skinny, pale-faced nephew, Isaac. On the way to the door, Nick Alto caught me and told me that the Robalo was tied off at the marina, then offered me a drink. I thanked him but told him we were calling it an early night.

  The four of us piled into the Tacoma with Atticus, and I drove us east. After a quick stopover at Harper’s place so she could pack a night bag, we pulled into our driveway on Palmetto Street.

  Atticus sprang out from the truck and bounded up the stairs at the side of the house. We followed, me with Harper’s bag slung over my shoulder. The gray stilted house had been Ange’s and my home for over two years. It was simple, just twelve hundred square feet, but it used the space well. We’d purchased it more for the property than the house. The backyard extended to a narrow channel that weaved up into the Gulf, allowing us to make quick and convenient escapes out into open water.

  While Harper showered, Ange and I went to work cleaning, seasoning, and grilling the lionfish. Half an hour later, we were all enjoying the succulent fresh seafood along with wild rice and green beans. When we finished, Ange mentioned that it would be fun to play a board game. My considerate wife had thought it would be nice for everyone to take their mind off things.

  “How about RISK?” she suggested.

  “Does that ever end well?” I said with a grin.

  It was a game that I never played with Ange if I could help it, mainly because there was no winning. If I came out on top, she’d be angry at me for the rest of the night, and if I lost, she’d never let me hear the end of it.

  “How about Monopoly?” Scarlett asked enthusiastically. She glanced at Harper and added, “Mom and Dad never want to play with me.”

  “That’s because you always win,” I said. “Scar’s the Gordon Gekko of real estate.”

  Scarlett steepled her fingers. “Greed is good,” she said in her best Michael Douglas impression.

  Our daughter swayed the room, then slid the rectangular box with the white-mustached rich guy on the cover out from under the couch. We cleared the table and Scarlett quickly had the board out, the cards and money and pieces set.

  We popped a few bags of popcorn, rolled the dice, and before long, we were all smiling and enjoying the friendly game. It was good to see Harper laugh and forget about what had happened, at least for a little while.

  It only took an hour for Scar to have me yearning to go to jail every time I rolled. Once I was wiped clean, it didn’t take her long to finish off Ange as well. But Harper was giving her a run for her money.

  I glanced at my dive watch, then handed Scarlett the bowl of popcorn. There was a lot on my mind that I wanted to talk to Ange about. After giving her a nod, we both rose, stretched, then shuffled toward the back door.

  “We’re gonna be outside for a bit,” I said.

  “They’re gonna track down the guy who attacked you,” Scarlett declared, keeping her eyes on her stack of money as she counted it.

  “Play,” I said. “We’ll be back in soon.”

  The air felt good out on the back porch with the ocean breeze off the water. We leaned against the railing and looked out, watching as the moonlight danced on the dark surface of the channel and listening to the palm fronds jostling overhead.

  “Quite the story, huh?” I said. “I feel like these islands have more secrets than…”

  Ange stared at me. She knew I was stalling.

  “We’ve got to do something, Ange,” I said, my tone shifting from playful to serious.

  “I know. No harm in at least checking out the Upper Keys. Looking around a little bit. See if we notice anything or anyone suspicious scouring for a lost Civil War treasure.”

  I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in close. My warrior woman wasn’t afraid of anything.

  “Ange, there’s no one like you.”

  After a few more minutes of talking and enjoying the fresh air, I slid my phone from my pocket and called Jack.

  “You mind staying at the house with Harper and Scarlett for a few days?” I asked when he picked up on the third ring.

  “You sure you don’t want me to tag along, bro?”

  “I think we can handle it. Provided we even find the killer.”

  There was a short pause.

  “I’ll be there in the morning with Isaac.”

  I thanked him, hung up, then Ange and I strode back inside.

  “I won!” Scarlett exclaimed as we entered the living room. “Harper gave me a good run, but once I got Park Place and Boardwalk, it was all over.”

  “You mean once you swindled me out of them,” Harper fired back with a chuckle, then tossed a handful of popcorn at the flaunting victor.

  It was good to see Harper laughing and joking around like nothing had happened.

  “Oops,” Harper said, jolting to her feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

  Before she could reach the popcorn she’d thrown, Atticus was already on the job. In a blink, the always-hungry Lab closed in on the popcorn and gobbled all of it up.

  “It’s fine, we’ve got Atty,” Scarlett said. “And swindling’s part of the game. Remember, greed is—”

  “All right, that’s enough sage advice for one night, Scar,” Ange said. “And remember what I told you about gloating?”

  She sighed. “It doesn’t look good on anyone.”

  She and Harper shook hands, then we told Scarlett that it was time for bed. Once she was in her bedroom with the
door shut behind her, we told Harper that we’d be leaving in the morning and that Jack would be staying at the house with them.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “We’re gonna take a little boat trip,” I said.

  NINE

  Ange and I woke up early the following morning. After showering and scarfing down a hearty breakfast of potatoes, eggs, bacon, and a mango banana smoothie, we packed up our gear. We didn’t know how long we’d be gone or how many enemies we might encounter, so we planned for the worst. We decided on three days’ worth of clean clothes and two firearms apiece.

  Cracking open our safe in the master closet, I packed my M4 and Ange’s collapsible Lapua sniper rifle, along with ammunition for both. Combined with our handguns, which we kept concealed on our persons nearly at all times, we had adequate firepower to handle whatever came our way.

  I also grabbed a black case of gadgets created by a brilliant hacker and inventor friend of mine named Murph, who liked to send me his prototypes. His creations had come in handy over the years, and the case included a few new gadgets he’d sent over just a week prior, including his newest variation of a tracking device that could stick to any surface and was smaller than a Tic Tac.

  Since the Baia was empty after having come out of the boatyard the previous day, we loaded up our cooler with food and ice packs. Once ready, we carried everything into the back of the Tacoma. Jack pulled his blue Jeep Wrangler into the driveway just as we were finishing up.

  He and Isaac hopped out and carried their stuff inside.

  “Don’t forget your rebreathers in the marina office,” Jack said. “I know how much you love sneaking up on people.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” I said.

  He waved a hand. “It’s no trouble, brother. You need backup I’m a phone call away.”

  As they strode inside, Harper stepped out in sweatpants and a tank top. It was 0530. Ange and I wanted to get an early start on the day but had tried to keep quiet to let Harper sleep in.

  She bounded down the stairs and wrapped her arms around Ange and me as we were about to climb into my truck.

  “Thank you both,” she said, fighting back tears. “And be careful.”

  We drove over to Conch Harbor Marina and stowed our stuff on the Baia. Using my spare key, I entered the office and filled a cart with Ange’s and my scuba and rebreather gear, along with our wetsuits and various other gear. I also wheeled our two-person sit-atop kayak from the nearby storage shed and strapped it to the inside of the Baia.

  Once everything was ready, Ange cast the lines and I rumbled us out of the harbor. It was already in the upper seventies, but there was a nice steady ten-mile-per-hour breeze blowing in from the east.

  We cruised around Key West, then headed northeast on the Atlantic side. It was just before nine when we reached our destination, traversing over a hundred and twenty miles and skirting nearly the entire length of the Keys, from the Southernmost Point all the way up past North Key Largo.

  Beyond the Ocean Reef Club at the northern tip of Largo, the island landscape abruptly shifted from crowded housing developments along the Card Sound Golf Course to mangrove-infested islands left nearly untouched by man. The area always made me imagine a time long gone by when the entire archipelago was just as untamed.

  Oh, what these islands have seen, I thought.

  Centuries of storms, natives and their dugout canoes, and eventually settlers and notorious pirates. During the golden age of piracy, famous swashbucklers like Blackbeard and Captain Kidd were known to have used the islands of modern-day Biscayne to catch Spanish galleons laden with gold by surprise. Then, a hundred and fifty years after Blackbeard sailed these waters, there was the story of the Key West Avengers. I closed my eyes briefly and tried to imagine them making their desperate escape in the dead of night, with Union ships closing in.

  We entered the unique area of the Upper Keys known as Islandia. Covering an area of sixty-six square miles, the unincorporated community has a population of eighteen people, most of whom live farther north on Elliot Key and work at the ranger station.

  We were one of less than half a dozen boats out on the water, and most were four miles east along the edge of the reef. We cruised off the eastern shore of Old Rhodes Key, then cut west through Caesar Creek. Entering the southern rim of Biscayne Bay, I turned us south to perform a full lap around the cluster of islands.

  I kept us at a leisurely ten knots while we scanned the horizon for anything suspicious. As I brought us to the southern end of Totten Key, I heard the distinct sound of an outboard engine start up in the distance.

  I immediately idled the throttles, then shut off the engines. It sounded like it came from Jones Lagoon.

  “I heard it too,” Ange said.

  I grabbed my binoculars, climbed up onto the bow, and looked out over the port side.

  Standing as tall as I could, I peered through my binoculars, homing in on the source of the sound. I caught a few glimpses of movement over the tops of the mangroves. Looked like a small skiff, no more than sixteen feet long, and it was chugging along slowly. I thought I saw the outlines of two people on board, but being so far away and with the obstructions, it was hard to tell for sure. They had to be at least a mile away.

  After standing and observing for a few minutes, one thing was certain, though. Whoever they were, they were motoring back and forth in the lagoon. Searching for something, no doubt. Most likely dragging a sonar device or a magnetometer.

  “What do you think?” Ange said, lowering her own pair of binoculars beside me.

  “I say we paddle in for a closer look.”

  TEN

  I started up the Baia’s engines and continued south. There were two ways that I knew of into Jones Lagoon. The main opening between Totten and Little Totten Keys on the western side was the most popular. Then there was also a narrow slit in the mangroves that wound a little over half a mile from the south. We chose the latter and dropped anchor in ten feet of water on the edge of Old Rhodes Channel.

  The opening into the mangroves was just fifty yards off our port side. After having a quick bite to eat and downing a bottle of water each, we each packed a waterproof bag. In addition to our masks, snorkels, freedive fins, weight belts, and dive knives, we also grabbed our dark green camouflage full-body wetsuits. Popping open the case of gadgets I’d received from Murph, I pulled out one of the trackers and stashed it in my pocket.

  Once ready, we unlashed and climbed onto the kayak. I plopped down in the back, gripped my paddle, and looked over the Baia and surrounding area. Floating between the islands and hugging close to the shoreline of Old Rhodes Key, passing boats would have a hard time spotting her unless they entered the channel. Plus we’d armed the boat’s security system and linked the warning feature to our satellite phone in case we lost service. If anyone set foot on her, we’d know.

  Turning the fourteen-foot plastic craft around, we paddled into the opening. Up ahead, we could hear the distant groan of the mysterious boat’s engine, signaling us like a beacon.

  As the channel cut north, the rocky and sandy bottom turned dark in an instant. Thick seagrass covered the seafloor from shoreline to shoreline. The waterway widened, then closed in more and more with every pull of the paddles, at times creeping in and allowing just enough space for us to push through.

  Soon, bright water up ahead signaled that we were nearing the lagoon. We forced our way through thick tangles of branches, then scanned across the shallow body of water. The mysterious boat was still far off, motoring back and forth on the opposite side of the lagoon. The craft peeked in and out of our line of sight due to the curves of the shore and jutting spits of foliage-infested land.

  After waiting for the craft to disappear from view, we quickly paddled out of the channel, cutting across the lagoon and hugging the shore to keep hidden. Deciding that it was time to sneak up closer for a better view, we tied off the kayak between a thick outcropping of branches, then changed into our wets
uits.

  Once the 3mm camouflage suits were on, we strapped our weight belts and dive knives, then donned our masks and fins. I also grabbed the tiny tracking device and slid it into my wetsuit pocket.

  Breathing through our snorkels, we kicked along the shore, then tucked into the mangroves when the boat came into view. It was just a few hundred yards off and motoring toward us. Ange took a look-see with her monocular, then handed it to me. I slid down my dive mask and focused the lens.

  “Two guys,” Ange said.

  I spotted them. One sat at the stern, manning the tiller, and the other stood on the bow. They both looked young, maybe mid-twenties, and they had shaved heads and wore tank tops that allowed us to see their collections of tattoos.

  Their boat looked like a river fishing skiff, with short gunwales. It had an old flat-bottomed aluminum hull and what looked like a 50-Hp outboard. As they motored closer, then turned around, I spotted a taut nylon rope that was tied off to the boat’s transom and dragging something through the water.

  A distant high-pitched ringing sound filled the air. The skinny guy up front pulled a phone from his pocket, then barked at the pilot to stop and shut off the engine. Once the bigger guy manning the tiller complied, Skinny held the phone up to his ear.

  They were roughly fifty yards off, but fortunately the guy practically yelled into the speaker, so we caught most of what he said.

  “Nuthin’ yet,” he spat after answering.

  He grabbed a rag and wiped his brow. The small boat didn’t have a Bimini top or any kind of shade. Both pale-skinned guys were coated in a glistening layer of sweat.

  “Nah, no trouble,” Skinny said. “Just us and the sharks out here.”

  He paused and listened again.

  “Yeah, we’re right at the spot the old bag of bones told us he found the buckle.”

  Skinny shook his head, then brushed his long hair off his face.

  “We’ll find out soon enough. All right, later.”