Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Read online

  As the men approached, their black leather jackets gleamed beneath the overhead lights, and she had an instant flash of recognition. It was the pair of bikers she’d seen outside Martin’s antique shop some time ago, possibly the same ones who’d peeked in the gallery window and cruised past her on her way from her car. The Mensajeros de la Muerte.

  Her throat constricted, and her fingers inched toward the desk phone. Would she be able to call 9-1-1 if she needed to before they could stop her?

  The hulking biker spoke. “Excuse me, ma’am, but we’re looking for the man who runs the antique store next door, Martin Finebourne. The shop seems to be closed every time we stop by. Do you happen to know when he’ll be back?”

  Laurel blinked, too surprised to respond immediately. His polite, refined speech was completely at odds with his gruff voice and remarkable appearance. His jeans were filthy and stretched to their maximum capacity. Under his half-zipped jacket, he sported a bright blue-and-green Hawaiian shirt featuring large red parrots. She guessed his head was shaved beneath the black bandana, but it was hard to tell. The most startling aspect of his look was the tattoo high on his left cheek below his eye. Where many gang members sported a teardrop, this man had a delicate snowflake outlined in black ink.

  What had he asked again? Oh, yes. “Um…you’re looking for Martin?”

  The smaller man scrubbed his hands together nervously, and his shoulders jerked. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Laurel took another quick sip of water. “I believe he went to a meeting. I’m not sure when he’ll be back. Are you customers of his?”

  A broad grin split the big man’s face then disappeared. “No. You might say he’s a customer of ours.”

  She couldn’t imagine what business Victor’s fashionable and fastidious partner might have with these two. “I suppose you could wait, although I’m not sure he’ll reopen the shop this afternoon.”

  “Nah, we got other things we got to do.” The skinny little man shifted his glance around the room.

  His associate zipped his jacket over the vast expanse of his belly. “When you see him, would you please tell him Snowflake and Twitchy were looking for him and ask him to call us? We have an urgent message for him.”

  His demeanor was so formal, she half-expected him to hand her a business card. “Uh…sure.”

  “Thank you very much. He has the number.”

  As the men left, Twitchy turned and gave her a crooked grin and a little wave.

  Laurel spent the rest of the afternoon with one eye on the door, half-expecting the bikers to stroll back in. She re-played their bizarre visit in her mind, trying to make sense of it, but ultimately gave up. Once she got past their initial appearance, they’d been quite pleasant, but the idea of those two having anything to do with Martin Finebourne caused her brain to freeze.

  When Victor still hadn’t returned by six o’clock, she prepared to close the gallery, gathering her things and turning out the lights. She was in the courtyard locking the door when a voice behind her startled her and she dropped her drop her keys.

  “I’m glad I caught you.”

  She spun to find Jake standing a couple of feet away grinning like a donkey. “What are you doing here?”

  He bent to retrieve the fallen keys. “I stopped by to invite you to dinner.”

  She took the ring from him and turned back to the lock. “You’re not working late?”

  “Not tonight. Are you free?”

  She’d hoped to start on her workbench, but she was glad to see him. He was so grounded—he always helped settle her nerves. And that was just what she needed after her odd afternoon. “I guess I could grab something quick.”

  “How about pasta at Luigi’s, since we’re right here?”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  He took her arm and escorted her across the courtyard to the restaurant. The hostess seated them at a table next to the windows with a perfect view of the bronze otter statues splashing playfully in the repaired fountain.

  After they ordered, Jake leaned forward, resting his forearms against the table and regarded her with a questioning gaze. “So, how are you doing?”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “I wanted to make sure you haven’t had any more unwanted visitors.”

  She realized she’d been twisting her napkin and smoothed it across her lap. “No everything has been nice and quiet. Rafael stopped by yesterday to repair the damage to the door and replace the lock, and I spent the day working on the set-up for my sculpture studio.”

  “That’s great.” His expression warmed. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “There’s not much to see yet. Maybe this weekend. Right now, it’s just an empty garage. Building a proper workbench is at the top of my list.”

  “Sounds good.” Jake chose a slice of bread from the basket and spread it with butter.

  While he ate, Laurel toyed with whether or not to mention her unusual afternoon visitors. Maybe Jake could help her see the humor in the situation. “A couple of really strange guys came into the gallery this afternoon.”

  “Strange? How?”

  “For starters, one looked like Porky Pig in black leather and a bandana, and his buddy was as scrawny and leathery as a gas station Slim Jim.”

  He laughed, but he sobered as her description of the encounter continued. “You say they were Mensajeros de la Muerte? Messengers of Death?”

  “According to their jackets.”

  The server delivered their dinners then returned to the kitchen.

  Jake ignored his steaming plate of Spaghetti Bolognese. “That gang is the focus of our meth distribution investigation centered in Las Vegas. The closest chapter I know of is in Hollister. I didn’t know they operated in Monterey County, much less in Carmel-by-the-Sea.”

  Laurel shrugged and twirled her fork in her Fettuccine Alfredo. “I’m just reporting what I saw and heard. I don’t know what they were doing here, although I’m pretty sure I saw them peering through the front window of the antique shop a couple of weeks ago and cruising through town another time. The whole thing doesn’t make sense. You’ve seen Martin Finebourne. It’s hard to imagine him having anything to do with drugs or a motorcycle gang.”

  “Yet these two clearly knew him and said he had their number.”

  She nodded. “I’d like to believe they’re potential customers, but even I’m not that naïve. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “I think you should pass their message on and see how Finebourne reacts. My role in the investigation is restricted to the numbers, but I’ll get this information to Melody. They gave their names as Snowflake and Twitchy, right?”

  She nodded again. “For obvious reasons.”

  “Melody can run them through the database of known gang members and see what turns up.” He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I don’t want you to worry. They didn’t threaten anyone, and you’ll probably never see them again. Let’s enjoy our dinner before it gets cold, and you can tell me about your studio.”

  She was glad she’d told him. She did feel better. Snowflake and Twitchy were no longer her problem, and Jake was right—she would likely never see them again.

  The fettuccine was delicious, and her appetite improved with every bite. As they ate, they discussed the pros and cons of various power tools and the best method for soldering sheet copper to copper wire. Laurel didn’t know when she’d had a better time.

  After they finished dinner, Jake walked her to her car and waited while she unlocked the door. “I’m parked in the next block. Wait here until I circle around, and I’ll follow you home.”

  Her heart warmed, but her self-confidence and sense of independence protested. “You don’t have to do that. You said yourself, I’m perfectly safe.”

  He leaned forward and rested his hand over hers on the door handle. “You are, and I want to be sure you stay that way. Humor me.”

  “All right.” His face was so close her eyes couldn’t focus, so she closed th
em.

  As his lips captured hers, his hand left the door to cup the back of her head. His kiss was swift and hard and thorough, the kind that makes a woman know she’s been kissed. Laurel felt a bit dazed when he pulled back. It was a good thing she hadn’t had wine with dinner, or she might have trouble keeping her little Bug on the right side of the highway.

  As instructed, she waited in her car for Jake to drive around the block. When he stopped behind her, she pulled out and headed down the dark, narrow street toward the entrance to Highway 1. She couldn’t see his truck, but the headlights in her rearview mirror reassured her. He followed her all the way into the Earthly Delights’ parking lot and down the drive to the house. When she parked and got out, he did the same.

  She waited in the circle of light cast by the fixture mounted to the front of the garage. “I appreciate the escort, but you really didn’t need to follow me all the way to my door.”

  “Yes, I did. Laurel, I want you to promise me you’ll be very careful.”

  The intensity of his gaze unsettled her. He was carrying the overprotective thing a bit too far. She’d seen how easily overprotectiveness could turn into controlling, and she refused to have anything to do with that ever again. “I’m fine.”

  “I think someone may have followed us. The car behind me as we turned onto the highway stayed there until we reached the restaurant lot.”

  Her tension eased a bit. “That’s not unusual. It doesn’t mean anything. Anyone driving to Big Sur or beyond has to take Highway 1. It’s the only road.”

  “I know, but—”

  She touched his shoulder. “Will you please relax? No one has any reason to follow me. Richard is dead, and Sergei is back in Seattle.”

  He released a sigh of frustration. “You’re probably right, but—”

  “Enough. Please.”

  “Okay, but I’m still going to walk you to your door and make sure everything’s all right.”

  “If it will make you feel better, fine.”

  He climbed the stairs with her and checked the lock and door sensor to make sure they hadn’t been tampered with. “Everything looks good. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help you build that workbench? I’m pretty handy.”

  “You are, but I want to do it myself.”

  His eyes lit with amusement. “You’ve got to love a woman who likes to get down and dirty with power tools and sawdust. Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow and let you know if Melody turns up anything interesting on Snowflake and Twitchy.”

  With one quick kiss, he was gone.

  Laurel fed Rufus and gave him some love before changing into jeans and a fleece top and heading down to the garage. To humor Jake, she locked the door and set the alarm on her way out of her apartment, but the action irritated her. She had grown up feeling perfectly safe in these woods and had come back seeking to regain that sense of safety. The fact that someone had broken into her apartment, even if they hadn’t stolen anything, infuriated her.

  She was glad Rufus had fought back against the intruder. She only wished she’d been there to get in a few blows herself. As it was, pounding on a pile of innocent two-by-fours would have to suffice. She turned on the light in the garage with a determined flip and set to work.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time she went to bed, Laurel had hit her thumb with the hammer twice and cut a small gash in her palm, but her workbench was complete. She couldn’t wait to try it out tomorrow evening.

  The next morning Victor cruised into the gallery around ten-thirty with Martin in tow. “How’s everything in art business this morning, my dear?”

  Laurel glanced up from her seat at the desk, where she was going over a stack of invoices. “A little slow so far, but yesterday afternoon I sold that big Hopper seascape.”

  Victor’s gaze shot to the empty spot on the wall where the painting had hung. “Fabulous! For that, you’ll find a little something extra in your next paycheck.”

  Martin opened the bag he was carrying from the coffee shop down the street and offered Laurel a blueberry muffin. He nudged his partner with an elbow. “You’re lucky to have found this one, you know.”

  “Very lucky, indeed. I must remember to thank Rosemary the next time we’re in Earthly Delights. It’s so nice to be able to leave from time to time, knowing the gallery’s in good hands.”

  “And look at all the extra sales you’ve made by not having to close the place,” Martin pointed out.

  Laurel cocked her head. He’d given her the perfect opening. “You might want to consider hiring an assistant, too. A couple of men came in yesterday looking for you. They said they’d stopped by the shop several times but kept missing you.”

  Martin perked up. “Oh? Customers?”

  “I’m not sure. They didn’t look like typical antique shoppers, but they asked for you by name.”

  He dismissed her assessment with an airy wave. “You can’t tell much about buyers from their appearance these days, especially in Carmel. People with money seem to delight in dressing like gypsies or derelicts.”

  She swallowed a laugh at the dandified little man’s disdain for his wealthy clients’ tastes. “I’m not sure either of those labels would apply to these two.”

  “What did they look like?”

  “They were almost exact opposites. One was tall and burly, while the other was skinny and nervous. They were dressed like motorcycle gang members.”

  Martin stilled. “Did they leave their names?”

  She nodded, watching his face closely. “Snowflake and Twitchy.”

  The natural flush faded from his cheeks. “How…extraordinary. Did they say what they wanted.”

  “They asked you to call them and said you had their number.”

  Victor stepped forward and slid a supportive arm behind his partner’s back. “We don’t know anyone who matches that description, do we, Martin?”

  “No.” The word was barely audible.

  Victor gave Laurel a resolute nod. “I believe you’re right. They don’t sound like serious antique buyers or the type of clients Martin would want to encourage.”

  “So, you’re not going to call them?”

  Martin straightened and squared his shoulders. “How can I? I don’t know who they are. They must have been mistaken.”

  “Okay. If they come back, I’ll let them know.”

  Martin shot a swift glance at Victor, who turned to Laurel with a frown. “If you see them again, I want you to tell me immediately. If I’m out, call me on my cell phone.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  The two men headed toward the back office, talking rapidly in low tones.

  Laurel wasn’t sure what to think. Victor might or might not know the bikers, but Martin certainly did. And he appeared to be afraid of them. She needed to tell Jake or Melody, but that call would have to wait until she was certain she wouldn’t be overheard or interrupted.

  A few minutes later, the two men reappeared. Martin’s color had improved, and he even smiled at her. Laurel relaxed, feeling relieved. She was fond of both men and hated to see them in distress. Maybe they had made the call to Snowflake and Twitchy from the privacy of Victor’s office and settled whatever matter had prompted the bikers’ visit. Victor walked Martin to the door and gave him a quick hug before he headed next door to open his shop for the day.

  ****

  Jake tapped the end of his pen against the surface of the long table in the conference room as the special agent from the California Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence who was leading the joint Narcotics Interdiction Task Force finished her meeting wrap-up. Because of the urgency of the rising methamphetamine problem in the county, his boss had directed him to focus his efforts on the task force mission, temporarily relegating his work on the art fraud angle to the back burner.

  Through a network of informants, the FBI finally had proof that the Russian mob boss at the heart of their investigation was financing the meth distribution operations of
several regional motorcycle gangs as part of a complex scheme to disperse, and ultimately launder, the mountains of cash generated by his operations in Las Vegas. The fact that one of those gangs was the Mensajeros de la Muerte, the club Laurel’s new friends Snowflake and Twitchy belonged to, linked the regional and local investigations like pieces in a puzzle.

  Before the meeting Melody had updated him on her progress. She’d run the bikers’ street names through the criminal database and identified them as Angelo Loveless and Calvin Smalley. Both had long rap sheets that included numerous felony convictions for robbery, assault, and drug trafficking. After she shared the information with the group and briefed them on the men’s possible connection to Martin Finebourne and his business, the CBI agent-in-charge had authorized Jake to pursue all available financial lines of inquiry.

  Back at his office, he had almost finished typing the request for a warrant to search the bank records of Martin Finebourne and Finebourne Antiques when his cell phone buzzed and interrupted his concentration. When he saw the caller’s name, his lips tightened. Laurel might have given him the lead about the bikers, but that didn’t mean she’d be happy with what he’d learned. “Hey, Laurel. How’s your day?”

  “I’m calling to report in, as requested. I told Martin about those men who wanted to talk to him.”

  “How did he react?”

  “I could tell he was disturbed, but both he and Victor denied knowing anyone called Snowflake or Twitchy.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Jake muttered.

  If she heard his comment, she chose to ignore it. “Whatever’s going on, I don’t think it can be a serious problem. When I first mentioned the men’s names, Martin seemed anxious, but later he was much more relaxed.”

  “Later?”

  “He and Victor went into the back office together, and when they came out a few minutes later, Martin was all smiles. I think they might have handled the situation over the phone.”