Escape with Me. Janice SimsЧитать онлайн книгу.
stubborn, I guess,” Lana told her as she accepted the check. “I haven’t done anything wrong and I’m not going to let them chase me out of town.”
Gia smiled at her. “I can understand that. I come from a lot of stubborn Greeks who never ever give up. But everybody needs a break sometime. Isn’t there any place you go that instantly puts you in a peaceful state of mind?”
Home, was the first thought in Lana’s head, the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She had grown up on the northernmost tip of Cape Hatteras Island where the people were tough and resilient like the land. Her dad used to say living in the Outer Banks was equivalent to going through the trials of Hercules. Hurricane season in the Outer Banks was oftentimes treacherous. The Atlantic Ocean was a cauldron and battered the area, wiped it clean and afforded Mother Nature another opportunity to start fresh. The storms were like life’s tribulations, if you survived them you grew stronger.
“That would be the Outer Banks of North Carolina where I was born and raised,” Lana told Gia.
“Then go home!” said Gia triumphantly.
“And look like a failure?” Lana said. “No, I’m not going home until I’m firmly back on my feet. That means not until my business is going well again. Or that bastard Jeremy gets caught and pays for what he did.”
“Girlfriend, I think you have too much pride,” Gia said frankly. “If I were in your situation, I’d be home in the bosom of my family getting as much support as I could. My family was poor but we loved each other! Is that it? You don’t think your dad wants you there?”
Lana had to laugh. “Just the opposite,” she told Gia. “If my dad had his way I would never have left Pea Island.”
* * *
“Damn it!” Aaron Braithwaite spat out as he struggled to pull the kayak onto the beach. What had he been thinking taking Bowser fishing with him? He laughed at his ill-conceived decision. The two-year-old yellow Lab had gotten so excited when Aaron had landed a five-pound redfish that he tried to grab the fish in his jaws as Aaron pulled the hook out of the fish’s mouth. Aaron had jerked around, trying to prevent the fish from winding up as dog food and had lost his balance. It was a good thing they weren’t too far from shore that fine July morning. Man, dog and fish wound up in the ocean. Used to being dunked, Aaron had managed to get the kayak righted, and he and Bowser back on board. The fish unfortunately ended up back in its element, the sea.
“Next time, you stay home,” he said to Bowser who looked up at him and wagged his tail. The dog whined plaintively as if he knew his master was berating him and he had something to say in his defense.
Aaron laughed. “So, you think I’m being unjust, do you? Well, you weren’t the one who had to save both our asses.”
Bowser whined again. He went up to Aaron and licked his hand.
“Okay, I know you’re sorry,” Aaron said. “And I admit I should have known a kayak was no place for a dog. Let’s get home and get dry.” The temperature was in the lower sixties and the wind was blowing pretty fiercely. Before long he would be chilled to the bone.
He began walking toward the three-story beach house only 150 feet away. The house had weathered many lashings from Outer Banks storms. Gray with white trim, it had multiple decks and, due to the big porthole-like windows, from a distance looked like a ship that had run aground.
Aaron smiled. When he was a fisherman he never would have been able to afford such a house. But now that he was a mystery writer, and a very successful one, he lived very well. Once again, every time he thought of how happy he was his mind took him to his daughter whose life, by contrast, was not a happy one.
The father in him wanted to demand that she come home. The realist knew that demanding anything of Lana, who was as stubborn as he was, was a sure way of getting her to dig her feet in and refuse to budge.
It was his fault. After his wife, Mariette, had died in an accident when Lana was eight he had raised her to be independent. Afraid that if he should die Lana would be left helpless, he stressed strength and determination within her. He taught her everything he knew about fishing and, a runner himself, he introduced her to the sport and was surprised when she took to it and ran circles around him.
Aside from fishing and running, Lana knew as much about the flora and fauna of Pea Island, parts of which were a nature reserve, as he did. If need be, she could live off the land for the rest of her life. Admittedly he had gone overboard with the survivalist agenda, but he was secure in the notion that his daughter could take care of herself in a pinch. This thing with Jeremy Corday, though, was not a physical challenge. It was something that ate away at her heart and soul. He feared more for her now than ever before in her thirty-two years.
“Mr. Braithwaite?”
Aaron had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the foot of the house’s front stairs.
He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt and tie. Aaron glanced down at his shoes, which were highly polished black wingtips. A government man, Aaron deduced. His mind first traveled to his taxes. Nah, he’d never cheated on his taxes. He didn’t have a problem giving the government its fair share of his earnings.
The guy removed his shades and smiled at him. “You are Aaron Braithwaite, aren’t you?”
Aaron chuckled. “Last time I checked, I was.”
Bowser approached the stranger and growled softly. Not an aggressive show of dislike, but more of an inquisitive act. The guy held his hand out to Bowser who sniffed it and, deciding he was okay, licked it. The man gave him a fond ruffle of the fur on the top of his head for his efforts.
“Nice Lab,” said the stranger.
“There’s an old blues song that says ‘Don’t pat my dog and don’t hug my woman,’” Aaron told the guy. “I don’t have a woman around for you to get familiar with, so would you mind introducing yourself?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the man with an easy smile. “My name is Tennison Isles, and I’m with the FBI.”
“FBI, IRS,” mumbled Aaron. “Had to be one or the other.”
“Excuse me?” Ten said, having not heard Aaron clearly.
“Nothing,” said Aaron. “May I see some ID?”
Ten showed him his badge and picture ID.
After making a careful perusal of the items, Aaron met Ten’s eyes. “What does the FBI want with me?”
“Hopefully, your cooperation,” said Ten.
“Come on up,” Aaron told him.
Fifteen minutes later, Aaron was in dry clothes, Bowser was fairly dry having been rubbed down with a warm towel and the two men were sitting across from each other in the spacious living room drinking strong coffee.
“I’m listening,” Aaron said.
Ten told him what the Bureau wanted to do, with his help. Aaron listened intently. After he’d finished, Ten waited for Aaron’s reaction to his proposal.
To his surprise Aaron said, “My doctor has been trying to get me to go into the hospital for a series of stress tests on my heart. Now is as good a time as any, I guess.”
* * *
The next day, Lana received a phone call from Gladys Easterbrook, her father’s closest neighbor. Gladys and Henry Easterbrook ran a bed-and-breakfast out of their huge beach house. “Aaron’s in the hospital. It’s his heart. That old reprobate told me not to call you, but I think a daughter has the right to know when her daddy’s sick.”
It had been a genius move on Aaron’s part to have Gladys do the phoning. Everyone in Dare County knew Gladys had a talent for melodrama. She was the first person to start crying at every wedding and she hadn’t missed a funeral, whether she knew the person or not, in the