Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Read online

  It’s in your bag.

  She’d already searched her regular purse and her laptop bag. As she chewed, she took a mental inventory of her meager belongings and came up with a possibility she hadn’t considered. There were a couple of vintage purses she hadn’t used in years stashed in a box on her closet shelf, along with her high school yearbooks and the program from her college graduation ceremony. Could he have hidden the stick in one of those?

  She rose abruptly, sliding Rufus to the floor. He meowed in complaint, but Laurel barely registered it. She was already standing on tiptoe in her closet doorway, trying to jiggle the box from the shelf. After a few tries, it fell into her arms. She set it on the bed and pulled out the purses.

  One was a black beaded evening bag that had to be at least sixty years old. She opened the clasp and peered inside. Nothing. Then she poked around the interior, feeling for lumps or irregularities under the satin lining. Still nothing. Tossing it aside, she picked up the other—a cream-colored moiré silk with a couple of small water stains on the bottom—but a thorough examination failed to turn up anything there, either.

  Discouraged, she pushed the box aside and slumped on the bed. The purses had been an inspiration. If the flash drive wasn’t in one of them, she didn’t know where else to look.

  Suddenly, a blinding flash lit the apartment, followed by a thunderous boom that shook the building. Laurel’s heartbeat stuttered. No matter how strong the wind and rain, coastal storms rarely included thunder and lightning. Rufus raced over from the kitchen area and shot under the bed as the lights went out.

  Feeling her way, she retrieved the flashlight from the drawer of her bedside table and used it to locate a box of matches in a kitchen drawer. She lit several candles in the living room, talking to Rufus in a low, soothing voice as she made her way around the apartment. When he still hadn’t come out from under the bed several minutes later, she got down on the floor, flipped up the bed skirt, and shone the flashlight around until she spotted him, crouched against the wall next to her old black suitcase.

  With a little coaxing, he crept out and into her arms. As she lifted his fluffy bulk against her chest, she hesitated. He’d been huddled beside her suitcase. Her bag.

  She set him on the bed, then shimmied underneath until she touched the handle. With it firmly in hand, she scooted out backwards, dragging the case. She set it on the bed, unzipped the zipper, and opened it like a clamshell.

  In the way of all cats, Rufus immediately hopped inside, settled into a boneless puddle of fur that filled every inch of available space, and began to purr. Laurel clucked her tongue but left him while she inspected the other side. Running her fingers across the fabric lining, she explored every inch of the interior but felt nothing unusual or suspicious.

  She released her breath in a huff and regarded the hefty feline. “You’re going to have to move, buddy, and I sure hope you’re sitting on that drive because I’m running out of places to look.”

  He objected when she lifted him out but lounged against her pillow to observe. This side of the case contained the pair of rigid tubes that housed the telescoping handle, so examining it took longer. She started with the outer rim and worked her way around and down, poking and prodding.

  At the base of one tube, she thought she felt something loose. She pushed it, and it shifted beneath the lining. Her fingers trembled. It might be a broken piece of the handle mechanism—she’d had the suitcase for ages—but it could also be the object that had made Richard desperate enough to threaten to shoot her.

  If it was the drive, she didn’t know how he’d gotten it in there, and she didn’t have the patience to figure it out. She ran to the kitchen for a pair of sharp scissors and slashed through the cheap nylon lining. A quick fumble inside rewarded her efforts, and she withdrew a plain black Memory Stick.

  She stared at it, turning it over in her fingers. This was it. She’d found it. Now what?

  Sergei had given her his business card. She could call him and arrange to give him the cursed thing, but something deeper than curiosity held her back. This little piece of plastic and metal might have cost Richard his life. Would she be safer knowing what information it contained, or would that knowledge expose her to greater danger? She had to know. She deserved to know.

  The electricity might be out, but her laptop was sitting on the kitchen counter with its battery fully charged. She turned it on, waited while it booted up, then inserted the drive.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—maybe some encrypted gobbledygook only the FBI computer forensic specialists could make sense of. Instead, it was a simple spreadsheet, written in plain English and filled with the names of paintings, dates of sale, dollar amounts, and buyers’ and sellers’ names.

  If everything Jake suspected and Victor admitted was true, this information documented every illegal sale Richard had made for the benefit of the Russian mob in the past four years. It was certainly incriminating, but also a possible insurance policy against his co-conspirators. With the FBI closing in, it was no wonder they were willing to go to such lengths to retrieve and destroy it.

  One thing Laurel knew for certain—she couldn’t give the drive to Sergei. He would never believe she hadn’t read or copied it. Nor could she keep it a second longer than necessary. She had to get it to Jake. He and his team were much better equipped to deal with the consequences.

  She grabbed her phone from the counter and crossed her fingers. Cell service was spotty in Big Sur at the best of times. A storm like this could easily knock it out altogether. As she rang Jake’s number, she held her breath. When he answered, she released it.

  “Hi,…rel. Did…get home…ly? I heard…weather’s…ty bad do…there.”

  “I found Richard’s flash drive.” She raised her voice. “You need to see what’s on it as soon as possible.”

  “What?” His voice crackled. “You…flash…”

  “The flash drive. I found it,” she shouted into the phone.

  “I can’t…you. Did you…flash…?

  Abruptly, the call went dead.

  ****

  Jake stared at his phone’s blank screen and swore. He couldn’t be positive, but it sounded like Laurel had said she’d found Richard’s flash drive, the one Sergei Ivanov was so eager to obtain. The sooner he could get his hands on it, the better, both as potential evidence and also to deflect Ivanov’s attention away from Laurel.

  He turned off his work computer, picked up his keys, and raced outside to his truck. The weather had been miserable when he’d left the hospital for the office, but the wind and rain had lessened over the past couple of hours, and he managed to avoid getting soaked on his dash across the parking lot.

  Traffic was light in Monterey. After he reached the highway, he had the road almost to himself once he got past Carmel, but the storm was growing worse with each passing minute. By the time he reached the entrance to Los Padres National Forest, the wind was lashing the towering pines and redwoods, and visibility was almost zero, but he pushed on. Only a few more miles.

  Just past the small cluster of buildings that passed for the village of Big Sur, flashing lights appeared up ahead. He slowed and leaned forward, trying to make out what was happening through the rain sheeting down the windshield.

  A Parks Department SUV was blocking the highway. Behind it, a massive tumble of rocks, mud, and broken tree branches covered the pavement. Jake threw the truck into Park and slammed his fist into the steering wheel. He was so close!

  He had no choice but to turn around. It would take a bulldozer to get through that mess. He drove back the way he’d come and pulled off the road into the parking lot of a rustic-looking motel. The rain pounding on the roof of his truck was so loud he decided to go inside to try to call Laurel again. He parked as close to the entrance as he could and dashed into the lobby.

  He swore when his phone still couldn’t get a signal. That probably meant hers couldn’t, either. Now what? Heavy rivulets of water obscured
the motel’s front windows like the blast from a fire hose. Maybe if he waited for a while, the storm would let up.

  “What brings you out on a night like this, sir?”

  Jake glanced up at the elderly man behind the registration desk. “Trying to get home.”

  The man shook his head. “I hope you’re not headed south. We just got word on the radio that a major landslide has closed the highway up ahead.”

  “Yeah. I ran into it.”

  “Word is, it’ll likely be a couple of days before they get the road open again.”

  Jake fought the urge to punch something. A couple of days? He needed to get to Laurel tonight.

  The desk clerk offered a hopeful smile. “We happen to have an extra room, and I can give you the special holiday rate. You don’t have to worry about the power because we have a generator, and the restaurant stays open ’til ten. If you hurry, you can still make it.”

  Jake blew out a harsh breath. “Fine.” He signed the book, and the clerk gave him a key. “I need to make a call. Mind if I use your landline?”

  The man set the old-fashioned phone up on the raised counter and turned it to face him. “Help yourself. As you can see, business is a mite slow tonight.”

  Jake took a chance and called Melody on her cell. The sounds in the background told him she was still at work, despite the hour. “Laurel called me. The connection was bad, but I think she found Vargis’s flash drive. I tried to get to her to pick up, but ran into the mudslide.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In a motel in Big Sur Village.”

  Melody took her usual pragmatic approach. “Between the downed power lines and the landslide, I don’t think there’s much anyone can do tonight. The good news is, Laurel should be safe for now. Ivanov won’t be able to get to her before we do. If Caltrans doesn’t have the highway open by tomorrow morning, I’ll call the Sheriff’s Department and see if I can beg a helicopter ride.”

  Jake’s tension eased a fraction. “That would be great. I’ll check with you in the morning. Thanks.”

  “No problem. I want Laurel out of this case as much as you do. Besides, with the information we got tonight, we might both end up with commendations by the time this investigation wraps up.”

  After ending the call and getting directions from the clerk, Jake headed to his room. When he unlocked the door and switched on the light, a grim sight greeted him. To describe the room as basic would be more than generous. The walls were rough redwood, stained dark with age. The double bed sagged in the middle and was draped in a plaid bedspread straight out of the seventies. A single wrought-iron floor lamp provided the only light.

  Jake shrugged. It beat sleeping in his truck and looked like a palace compared to spending the night in his uncle’s ice house on Lake Winnibigoshish as a kid. Since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten—it might have been lunch—he turned off the light and went in search of the restaurant.

  At this late hour, he had the place to himself. The food was surprisingly good, and he took the time to enjoy the fresh local salmon filet, herbed au gratin potatoes, and broiled tomato half. While he ate, his thoughts turned to Laurel, alone and isolated by the storm.

  She was stubborn, and he knew she didn’t want to expose her mother to any danger, but on a night like this, she and Rosemary would both be safer and happier together. Unless the highway department got the mudslide cleared by morning, which seemed unlikely under the current conditions, he might not be able to get to her before tomorrow afternoon. He hated to think of leaving the women alone that long. Ivanov couldn’t know Laurel had found the flash drive, but Jake wouldn’t rest easy until it was in his possession and the Russian was in custody.

  When he finished eating, he returned to his room, took off his shoes, and stretched out on the bed. Without television, there was nothing to distract him from his thoughts, which continued to dwell on Laurel. She was fun, creative, and very pretty, but she also had a warm and generous heart. Lately, her protective shell seemed to be softening, and he hoped it would soften even further once Victor St. James was in the clear and the threat of Sergei Ivanov had been eliminated.

  The storm eased shortly before dawn, and Jake finally managed to grab a few hours of fitful sleep before his phone buzzed on the bedside table. He blinked bleary eyes at the unfamiliar surroundings and tried to clear his head. Picking up the phone, he glanced at the screen. It was Melody.

  “Hello?” His voice croaked like a bull frog with bronchitis. He cleared his throat.

  “I’ve got news, and it isn’t good.” Melody’s voice was tired and edgy. “Sergei Ivanov was spotted on the wharf in Monterey around seven this morning, trying to rent a boat.”

  His brain tried to analyze the information, but connections were slow. “Why would he—?”

  “Think about it. Highway 1 is closed south of Carmel. Where would he be trying to go that he’d need a boat?”

  “Son of a…Laurel.”

  “Exactly.”

  His heart pounded in his throat. “But why? You and I are the only people who know she found the drive. There’s no way Ivanov could have found out.”

  “I have no idea, but we’ll have to deal with that later. Caltrans is estimating they won’t have the road cleared before tomorrow, so I reached out to the task force leader, and she was able to call in a favor. A Sheriff’s Department helicopter with a couple of deputies is set to fly us to a drop point a little north of Earthly Delights in an hour. The pilot thinks he can touch down in the field at the Point Sur Lighthouse to pick you up. Do you think you can make it?”

  “No problem. I’ll be waiting.”

  “The roads are still a mess, so don’t drive like a maniac. I don’t have it in me to scrape you off the pavement this morning.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Laurel sat at the table in her mother’s kitchen, stirring sugar into her coffee and debating whether to take her mom into her confidence. Her anxiety level had been rising ever since she’d found Richard’s drive yesterday evening, and it had roared into overdrive after her aborted conversation with Jake.

  In spite of the weather, she’d thrown on a raincoat and dashed down the slippery staircase to her car, intending to drive to his office in Monterey. All she could think of was getting rid of the drive as quickly as possible. Jake and the FBI might need the information to nail Sergei, and now that she knew what he’d done to Victor and Martin, she wanted to make sure he was brought to justice.

  She was so distraught, she’d started crying when the mudslide forced her to turn back. After finding what she considered to be a brilliant hiding place for the drive, she’d spent the night huddled under her quilt with Rufus while the storm howled outside. It was nearly eight-thirty in the morning by the time she forced herself out of her warm cocoon, threw on jeans and a cuddly fleece top, and headed across the muddy yard to her mom’s. Her apartment wouldn’t have heat as long as the power was out, but the main house had a gas stove, so at least there would be coffee.

  The familiar, invigorating aroma had greeted her the moment she poked her head in the door. She’d joined her mother in the kitchen, poured herself a nice, big mug, and settled at the table.

  The comforting sight of her mom’s deft, well-practiced motions while she flipped pancakes on the griddle gave Laurel strength. She wanted to tell her everything that had happened, that might yet happen. If only she could figure out where to start.

  Her brain was too tired to come up with a graceful segue, so she simply blurted it out. “Mom, I’m worried.”

  Rosemary turned, her brow furrowed. “About what, dear? Isn’t your new job going well?”

  That simple question opened the floodgate, and Laurel spilled everything she knew about Victor and Martin, about Jake’s investigation, and about Richard and Sergei and the hidden flash drive. When she finished, she felt empty—wrung-out, but relieved.

  Rosemary’s hand shook as she set a stack of pancakes in front of her daughter and refi
lled her coffee before joining her at the table. “I can’t believe you’ve kept this to yourself all these weeks. But even more than that, I can’t believe Victor St. James and Martin Finebourne—men I’ve known for years—are involved in criminal activity with bikers and Russian gangsters in sleepy little Carmel-by-the-Sea. It defies the imagination.”

  “According to Melody, Carmel isn’t all that sleepy anymore.”

  Her mother shook her head. “I guess you can’t escape the world, no matter where you go.”

  Before Laurel could reply, the front door banged open and a hoarse male voice cried out, “Rosemary!”

  The women looked at each other, then Rosemary jumped up and ran from the kitchen. Laurel grabbed a cast iron skillet from the pot rack and raced after her.

  Rafael Fuentes stood on the door mat, dripping wet, his boots caked in mud. In sharp contrast to the black points of his wet hair, his face was ashen beneath his tan, and his left hand clutched his side, where pink-tinged water seeped from between his fingers.

  With a horrified gasp, Rosemary rushed to support him, sliding her left arm around his back. As she helped him to the sofa, she glanced over her shoulder. “Get a towel!”

  Laurel ran for the bathroom linen closet and returned with a clean, but faded, orange bath towel.

  Rosemary took the towel and pressed it gently against Rafael’s injury. “What happened?”

  He winced and closed his eyes. “Lock the door…fast…he’s right behind me.”

  “Who’s behind you? What happened?” Rosemary raised worried eyes to Laurel and jerked her chin toward the door.

  Laurel’s pulse raced as she ran to the door and threw the dead bolt.

  When she returned to the sofa, her mother had lifted the towel and was eyeing Rafael’s bloody shirt.

  “Laurel, would you get my scissors from the drawer in the kitchen?”