Undercover Connection, page 8
David had a great voice—informative, interesting and soothing. Jasmine hadn’t realized she had closed her eyes, too—until she opened them and discovered Jacob was looking at her.
“We’re on it,” he said softly. “The Miami office will speak to your captain and see that the police are aware of this new player.”
“I just...” Jasmine paused, looking to the front.
David was going on, talking about the development of the area for tourists. The entrepreneurs had started off developing their crops—avocado, for one—and taking tourists on day trips from the City of Miami. Then came food stands and finally, the Browns Hotel, which was still standing.
“What if this man, Connor, is...a killer?” Jasmine asked quietly. “One of those men who can only get off if he strangles or stabs a woman. What if...?”
“He’ll be followed and watched, Jasmine. And, they’ll do the same with him as they did with me—just a date, first. Just a date. We’ll find out about him, and Kari will be all right.”
Kari would be all right. And that meant so much. But what about Mary? She’d been gone nearly a month now.
Jacob started fumbling in his pocket. She realized his phone was buzzing. He answered it in a quiet voice.
David kept speaking. “Collins needed money. He got it from the Lummus guys. He started construction of a wooden bridge. The beach areas went through a number of different names, but you can still find those founding fathers in street names here—and of course, we have Fisher Island, a haven for the very rich. If you really want to find a lot of these founders, we can do that another day.
“You should see the old Miami City Cemetery across on the mainland. It was north of the city limits in 1887 when it was founded. Julia Tuttle is buried there, and oh! If you like Civil War history, we’ve got some Confederates buried just feet from some Union guys—friends by then, I would think, since they died long after the war. Friends in death, if nothing else.”
Jasmine looked at Jacob. He smiled tightly at her. “We have two guys on it. They’re trying to dig up something on Connor, but we don’t even have a first name for the man.”
“He’s English. He definitely had an accent.”
“I told them that. Jasmine, they’re watching Kari. She’s at her apartment right now.”
“She’s an innocent... She’s a Mary. She isn’t worried about...about anything he might ask her to do. She said she’s been with dozens of losers and might as well improve her career chances by going with men chosen for her by Kozak or Natasha. I’ll never forgive myself if she gets hurt. I could have gone with Connor.”
“She’s going to be all right.”
Jasmine nodded, taking a deep breath.
David talked on, telling them that when the South Beach area had fallen into a slump, Jackie Gleason had helped to change things doing his famous show from the beach, along with more entrepreneurs who saw the fabulous artistic value of the art deco hotels and buildings.
They were finally nearing their destination.
“The Ancient Spanish Monastery, known officially as the Monastery of St. Bernard de Clairvaux, is really—well, ancient. Construction began in northern Spain in 1133, in a little place near Segovia called Sacramenia. It housed monks for somewhere around seven hundred years, and then there was a revolution and it was sold and became a granary and storage and...not a monastery.
“It came to be here because, in 1925, it was purchased by an American—you guessed it—entrepreneur, Mr. William Randolph Hearst. For a long time, it was known as the world’s biggest jigsaw puzzle, because it was shipped to the US as thousands upon thousands of stones.
“Well, then Hearst had some financial problems. He’d wanted to rebuild it at San Simeon, but some of what he’d purchased of the monastery was sold off. The crates—about eleven thousand of them—were in storage in New York. Not to mention there had been an outbreak of hoof-and-mouth disease in Segovia, which meant the packing hay had to be burned and the crates had to be quarantined.
“And then poor Hearst died! More entrepreneurs invested, and all the crates were taken out of storage. Took about a year and a half, they say, to put all the pieces back together. Two businessmen bought them, had them put together and then couldn’t afford the fact that the monastery didn’t make it right away as a tourist attraction. Financial difficulties again.
“In 1964, it was purchased by Bishop Henry Louttit, who gave it to the diocese of South Florida, which split into three groups. Then it was owned by a very rich and good man, a billionaire and a philanthropist, Colonel Robert Pentland, Jr. He went on that year to give the cloisters to the Bishop of Florida, and voilà! Finally, a church and a tourist attraction. And now, while the monastery is still a great tourist attraction, it’s still also an active church. I love going there. It’s like stepping back in time.”
They arrived. David quickly arranged for their tickets, and Jasmine and Jacob were in, admiring the old stone cloisters and hearing about the historic instruments that were often used in services, seeing some of the artifacts that had come with the monastery—and the carved coats of arms and other relics that had come from other monasteries and venues around Spain.
Then they were out in the gardens, arm in arm, and Jacob was back on the phone again.
“I did get the autopsy information on Smirnoff from my Miami counterpart,” Jacob told her as they strolled.
“I realize autopsies are important, but I’m pretty sure I know how Josef Smirnoff died—bullets,” Jasmine said.
Jacob nodded. “Yes. But I guess he didn’t know he had cancer—colon cancer. According to the ME, Smirnoff must have had it for some time without knowing. He wasn’t looking at a long life, even if he’d gone for treatment.”
“So, someone murdered him for nothing,” Jasmine said. “Kozak was next in line anyway.”
Jacob was quiet.
“You don’t think it was Kozak?”
“He would just be so obvious. And he denied having anything to do with the bodies in the oil drums.”
“Have they finished those autopsies?” Jasmine asked.
Jacob nodded. “They are still waiting on testing. They’ve gotten fingerprints on the most recent body, but the two other corpses were too decomposed. They think one of the bodies has been there several years.”
“I’m assuming they’re also trying to trace the oil drums and whatever remnants of clothing they can find?”
Jacob nodded. “They don’t have much hope on the oil drums. They were apparently dumped by a major oil company years ago. They were headed to the closest landfill, I imagine. Nice, huh? Anyone could have picked them up.”
“But you said they got fingerprints off the most recent corpse?”
He smiled. “As soon as I know, you’ll know. Easy now that I’ve staked my claim on you.”
“It does make communication between us a lot easier,” Jasmine murmured.
“And hopefully keeps the wolves from baying at your door—and forcing you to show your hand.” He grinned at her. “I can appear to be extremely possessive.”
She was afraid that her smile was a little fluttery. Because something inside her had fluttered, as well.
His phone rang. He answered and listened intently. “Okay,” he said, hanging up. He looked at Jasmine. “Apparently, Mr. Connor doesn’t believe in being fashionably late Miami Beach–style. He’s at Kari’s apartment now.”
“So, they’re heading to dinner now. We should get back down there—”
“Jasmine, agents are on it.”
“I know, but—”
Her phone rang then. She glanced at the number; it was the number that Captain Mac Lorenzo was using for the operation.
“Checking in—and watching out for a valuable asset,” he told her.
“I’m fine,” Jasmine assured him. “I’m touring the Ancient Spanish Monastery.”
“I’ve spoken with Jorge. We’re not pulling either of you out yet. But I also have strict instructions from way high above not to endanger an FBI operation.”
“We’re not endangering it.”
“And you’re not to endanger yourself,” he reminded her.
“Never, sir,” she told him.
“Just make sure you remember the FBI has taken the lead on this, and they’re calling the shots.”
“I understand.” She was careful to keep any remnant of emotion from her voice.
“You’re doing all right with interagency communication?”
Jasmine glanced at Jacob. “We’re doing just fine, sir.”
Jacob must have heard. He arched his brows in a question and reached for the phone.
“Captain Lorenzo, how do you do? Jacob Wolff. We’re working on this together well. I don’t think we could have planned this out any better.”
Jasmine didn’t hear what Captain Lorenzo said after that. Jacob handed the phone back to Jasmine and she quickly hung up.
“Thank you for that,” she told Jacob.
He shrugged. “I think we are working well together.”
“Yes, I guess we are.”
“Hey, I’m pretty sure I would have liked you one way or the other. And I do admire your swing. That was a hell of a punch you gave me the other day.”
“I didn’t know—”
“Maybe that was better. That’s the thing with undercover, really. Check in only when you need to or when you need help. Work everything on a need-to-know basis.”
He was right, and she knew it. And she could have said she liked him, too. But suddenly, doing so seemed to be a very dangerous part of the operation.
She liked him too much.
Liked the deep set of his eyes, the tone of his voice...the way he touched her. She’d liked the feel of his lips on hers far too much... That brief touch was still a memory that lingered and haunted.
“I still think we should head back,” she said.
He looked around. “It’s beautiful here. Not just the monastery, I mean South Florida.”
“Yeah. But how often do you get down here?”
“I go where they send me,” he told her.
She nodded and turned away. Even with the undercover operation underway, they were ships passing at sea. It was disturbing that she was coming to care about him, and almost humiliating the way that she felt...
With him, she would have gladly taken a feigned relationship anywhere.
It was one thing to discover she found him attractive. More, even. Compelling, sensual...a man with the kind of masculinity that moved beyond sense and logic and simply reached into the very core of her being.
It just didn’t work to be craving his touch while on the job.
“Well, we’ve checked in, Jorge knows I’m all right,” she said, “and Connor will have Kari on the beach somewhere soon. I’d like to get back to South Beach.”
“We can do that,” he said.
He took her arm and they headed back. David Hernandez was waiting for them by the limo. Jacob told David he was great, and they would use him in the future, but for the moment, they’d decided just to head back to the hotel. They were going to wander the sand by night.
Hernandez thought that was fine, and he was grateful they’d call on him again. Of course, the man would be pleased. He had the night off now with full pay.
Jasmine and Jacob were both quiet during the drive back. When they reached the cute little boutique hotel where Jacob was staying, Jasmine admired the old lobby.
“You’ve never been in here before?” he asked her.
She grinned. “When I was in high school, we used to come out here and prowl a few of the clubs and maybe have soda or coffee at a few of the hotels. But I think I’ve only stayed out here a few times. I’m a native, but that doesn’t mean I know every hotel.”
“It’s nice. Not a chain. And the owners seem to love the deco spirit of the place. I can have coffee on the balcony every morning if I want. I can hear the sound of the surf and watch the palm trees sway—before the rest of the world wakes up and the beach becomes crowded with bodies.”
She smiled. “You will see some of the most beautiful bodies in the world out here, you know.”
He was quiet for a minute.
“You disagree?”
He smiled awkwardly and shrugged, and then looked at her at last. His light blue eyes seemed to caress the length of her.
Her heart, her soul, her longing seemed to jump to her throat.
But he quickly changed moods. “Then again, it’s not just perfect bodies. You know that, of course.”
“You mean old and wrinkly? We’ll all be there someday. I hope when I’m older and drooping everywhere, I still love the beach.”
He laughed. “I’m with you on that. I hope when I’m creased and drooping everywhere I can still sit on the sand and watch the sway of the palms and not worry that someone is judging me. I believe everyone has to do what is comfortable for them—and that’s part of what I love.
“Yes, there’s beauty. Yes, there’s the ridiculous. And there are quiet times, when the sun is rising, when you can look out and feel you’re in a private paradise. And then you turn around and the neon of the hotels and the rush of the world comes on in. This place is ever changing, plastic in so many ways and yet real when it comes to the feel of the salt air and those moments when you’re in the water, and it’s just you and the waves and the sea and the sky.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“So, let’s take a walk,” he said.
They headed out to the beach. Jasmine doffed her sneakers and Jacob rid himself of his shoes and socks, too. They left them by a palm.
Jacob’s phone rang.
He listened, and then he told Jasmine, “Connor has Kari out to dinner. He took her to Joe’s Stone Crab. They’re fine.”
“I’m afraid for when they leave. What do we do now?”
“Wait,” he said.
“So hard!”
He laughed. “I’ve been undercover for months at a time. Watching, waiting. And for this case, well, the watching and waiting is a hell of a lot better than usual.” He was quiet for a minute. “I recently worked a case where immigrants were brought in and used horribly. It was long on my part, but when it broke, we moved quickly. This may be the same. Thing is, right now, we could get them, or Ivan at least, on money. Then again, they can employ the best legal team known to man. So, we have to take them down big-time—with evidence that prosecutors can take to court.”
Jasmine muttered, “So...we wait.”
“And play the part,” he agreed.
Nightfall was coming in earnest. The sky was fighting darkness and the sun was shooting out rays that seemed to be pure gold and magenta.
Jasmine wasn’t sure what got into her. She suddenly broke away from him and ran down the beach, turned and kicked up a spray of the waves that had been washing over their feet.
She caught him with a full body splash, and he yelped and laughed with surprise. Then he came after her.
She squealed and turned to run, but he tackled her and bore her down to the soft damp sand. He leaned over her, looked down into her eyes and then murmured, “Good move. I just saw Sasha up on the boardwalk. We are being watched.”
He eased closer. “Can I kiss you?”
Role-playing...
She tangled her fingers into the richness of his hair, pulling him in, and he kissed her.
And then he broke away, laughing, and pulled her to her feet. “I think we gave Sasha a good show, eh?” he asked softly.
“Oh, yeah,” she whispered. Once again, her lips were burning.
As they retrieved their shoes and decided on a restaurant for dinner, she couldn’t help but wish that the FBI had sent down a much less attractive agent.
Chapter Seven
“His full name is Donald McPherson Connor,” Jacob told Jasmine. “He’s living at that grand old place down from the club just off of Washington Street—a quiet and dark intersection. The whole sixth floor is his apartment.”
They were at her place. He’d done a thorough search for bugs and hadn’t found any, and with the way this gang seemed to work, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t find anything. In Kozak’s words, Jasmine was “just a woman.”
Jacob had a feeling that Kozak might be pretty surprised.
Just a woman. In any kind of a fair fight, Jasmine would take Kozak.
But for them, at this moment, it bode well that Kozak and the members of his gang still seemed to live in an archaic world of chauvinism.
“And what else?” Jasmine asked.
“Born in Yorkshire, and he has dual citizenship.”
“How does he make his money?”
“He inherited a nice sum and knows how to invest in the stock market.”
“So, an older Englishman-turned-American, rich, with nothing to do. Wife? Kids?”
Jasmine had changed from her salt-spray-and-sand-covered clothing to a dark silky maxi dress. She’d come to perch on the sofa by him, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked at him.
“Wife died about ten years ago. They had a daughter but I can’t find much on her.”
“Criminal past?”
“Nope.”
“Any hint of anyone disappearing when he’s around?”
“He’s been living in Savannah. He’s just been down here about two months. They’re still looking into him.”
“And the agent saw him take Kari back to her apartment and then leave?”
“Yes,” Jacob said.
He didn’t have to read from his phone; one of his assets was his memory. He could retain what was told to him, which was probably why languages came to him easily. Then again, he loved languages, and all the little rules and differences and nuances within them.
