Page 66 of Just Beachy

Cassie and I, yes, we are still one in this moment, use their astonishment to close in farther and land a kick to his chin that snaps his head back and knocks him off his feet.

Marc doesn’t get up. I’m contemplating the idea of “ending this” permanently for Marc when the door crashes open and three men race into the room, guns drawn. One of them is Luke. The other is a Treasure Island policeman, the third is wearing a vest that identifies him as FBI. Additional law enforcement officers from St. Pete Beach,Treasure Island, and the FBI stream in behind them. A siren sounds in the distance and grows louder as an ambulance approaches.

• • •

“What the helljust happened here?” Luke demands before I can even ask him how he and the other law enforcement officers got here.

“These men kidnapped me on that man’s orders.” Grand points an unshaking finger at Marc Drake, whose eyes are just now opening. “He’s Phillip Drake’s son and he’s been behind all the break-ins and threats.”

“But Brian is the one who made sure Marc’s instructions were carried out,” I add. “He played a big role in all of this.”

A Treasure Island cop scans the room and the wounded men strewn around it. “Who took all these men down?”

“My granddaughter took out most of them.” Grand nods toward me, her voice filled with pride. “Marc knocked Brian down,” she says as Brian struggles to his feet despite the blood dripping down his forehead.

When the EMTs arrive, one immediately checks on Grand while the others focus on the bad guys. Luke and his partner, Rod, handcuff Brian then handcuff the wounded to their stretchers. Once the FBI agents have gathered up the confiscated firearms, taken statements, and departed, I walk over to Luke and slip the Glock I borrowed from him into his jacket pocket as unobtrusively as I can. The last thing I want is for him to get in trouble for what I’ve done.

Although she’s clearly shaken, Grand refuses to go to the hospital.

I turn to one of the EMTs for help in convincing her.

He shrugs apologetically. “It’s hard to believe, but she made it through whatever went down here without a single broken bone. And she doesn’t seem confused or in need of anything more than rest.”

“You’re sure?” I ask him.

He nods. “But we can take her in to be checked out.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to do that, Grand?” I knewI’dfeel better. “You know, just to be sure?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I want to go home.” Her eyes tear up a little, but I happen to know she can do this on cue. “I promise I’ll rest.”

“But—” Rod begins.

“No point wasting time trying to convince her,” Luke tells his partner. The women in this family don’t give in easily.

“You go ahead to the hospital. One of the Treasure Island guys is standing by to run Lillian, Sydney, and me back to Lillian’s once I’ve taken their formal statements. Then I’ll stay to hold back the media, who are no doubt already on their way to Casas de Flores, until we can get someone out there.”

When everyone else but Grand and I have departed, Luke turns to me. “You took the gun I loaned you to use at the gun range and used it to shoot three men. Then you knocked out their ringleader.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think you should tell me the truth about why you wanted to borrow the Glock so that I could help?”

“I would have loved to, Luke. Truly. But they told me that if I spoke to you or anyone else in law enforcement, they’d kill Grand.”

“But they could have just takenThe Madonnaand killed you when you came to make the exchange.”

“Theoretically, yes. Only I didn’t haveThe Madonnawith me because I couldn’t find it, so I brought a rolled-up canvas of the right size and hoped that I could get us both out alive.”

“Good God.” Luke inhales a huge breath of air and takes his time exhaling it. I don’t think it helped. If he were a bomb, he would have already detonated.

The ambulance sirens fade into the distance. Jaw set and face stony, Luke says, “I warned you about Brian, Sydney.”

Only he, Grand, and I are left in the now-silent room, and he looks like he could explode at any moment. “I know you did,” I reply in the most conciliatory tone I can manage. “And you were right. But how did you know where to find us?”

“I attached a microscopic tracker to the bottom of the barrel of the gun I loaned you.” He takes the gun from me and removes a flat, tiny black sphere.

“Wow, and people call me a control freak,” I say.

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