Page 21 of Desperate Justice
Like physicians who wrote unnecessary prescriptions for opiates just for the kickback cash.
His thoughts drifted to when Florida operated pain clinics a few years ago, with doctors writing fake prescriptions to anyone who had an ache. Opiates and cash were passing through hands faster than spring breakers went through beer. They’d shut down the pain clinics after a thorough investigation. Another score for the feds, the good guys who prevented more overdosing.
Now they had fentanyl to deal with, a deadlier drug marketed to young people in the form of candy. It made his blood boil. Filled him with disgust for greedy and uncaring jerks like Hector Hernandez. Tightened his resolve to shut him down.
The sparkling turquoise waters of Biscayne Bay stretched out before them as they drove over the causeway. Finally they came to the narrow bridge accessing the private island. Diana drove forward and gave her name to the guard at the gatehouse. Rafe handed over his fake driver’s license.
The guard opened the gate and they drove down a street lined with sleek, tall royal palm trees. Well-manicured green lawns with trim, colorful landscaping hinted of the wealth behind the mansions.
Clusters of leafy trees peppered the island, sheltering the waterfront homes from view, but other houses stood proudly as sentinels of the island’s famous historical past, with elegant colonial Spanish or Venetian styles. Courtyards, arches, clay barrel tile shingles—all of it looked elegant and wealthy.
Hernandez lived in one of the wealthier waterfront homes, shielded from view. The secluded fifty-four-million-dollar mansion gave the man plenty of privacy. The estate sat on a full acre of prime waterfront property. Not only waterfront, but deep waterfront, which allowed Hernandez to dock his yacht out back.
A little over twelve thousand square feet, it had six bedrooms, a chef’s kitchen with a butler pantry for catering parties, a dining area to seat sixteen guests and, most impressive of all, a living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the serene waters of Biscayne Bay.
He’d seen this house from the water while cruising in an unmarked police boat. The thicket of coconut palms shielded most of it from curious spectators.
As Diana pulled up before a gate with the initials HH carved into the ornate ironwork, he saw two armed guards peer at the car. Majestic coconut palms in the front yard cloaked the mansion in a barrier of green.
Sunlight winked off the blue barrel of a long gun one guard carried. Yeah, they’d have no problem putting a bullet or two into your knee if you tried to muscle your way inside or even were caught sneaking over the ten-foot-tall white stucco wall.
Once inside, Diana parked in the circular driveway. As they got out, two more muscular guards approached the vehicle, swaggering as if they owned the place.
Diana smiled and they nodded at her. “I’m here to plan for the wedding. Is Hector here?”
First name basis. Interesting.Is she that close to Paul’s uncle and isn’t only taking advantage of his hospitality for the wedding?
“No, Miss Lexington.”
She sighed. “Too bad. I wanted to talk to him about having the rehearsal dinner on the Old Glory.”
Diana turned with a smug smile. “That’s Hector’s multimillion-dollar yacht. He usually keeps it docked here.”
Rafe said nothing. Allison bit her lip as if biting back a reply. She handed over her cell phone to one guard. The man gave it to the other guard and began to frisk Rafe. They removed his cell phone from his belt and took the electronic tablet Rafe carried.
“Vendors who are not vetted previously are not permitted cell phones on property,” one stated.
The other guard examined the electronic tablet Rafe carried.
“I need this for work.” He showed them his notes on the tablet.
The guard grunted and palmed Rafe’s phone and returned his tablet. The goon had the nerve to take his cell phone and was clueless about the tablet’s video and phone abilities. Rafe simply watched the man tuck the phone into a bag, along with Allison’s phone.
They did not confiscate Diana’s.
No matter. He followed Diana and Allison on the stone path to the back of the estate, where a green lawn overlooked the sparkling turquoise bay waters. The palm trees flanked the pool, allowing a splendid view of the nearby Miami cityscape. Nearby, an infinity pool with a cascading waterfall and a hot tub had patio furniture arranged around it.
It was a clear, cool day in South Florida. With the stunning blue sky and the magnificent, sparkling waters of Biscayne Bay, you could stretch out by the pool and indulge in peaceful relaxation.
Except if you knew the real cost of buying this mansion—the lives taken by the owner’s profession. Not that Hernandez gave a damn.
Diana stood near the pool, looking around uncertainly.
Rafe began typing on his tablet, pausing to take covert photos. Hernandez’s guards failed to realize the tablet had an excellent camera. He swept the tablet around, getting several views, including the sleek black racing boat moored at the expansive dock.
Then he realized Diana hadn’t said a word. Instead, she kept staring at the view with a perturbed expression on her face. She went over to the dock and kept looking at the boat.
“Diana, we’re not holding the wedding on the dock. Can you join us?” Allison asked.
