Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

“Not exactly. By the time I had finished crawling around on my belly through broken glass, the shooter had dematerialized.”

“They’ll do that.”

“I’d be interested in your impressions of Blood Orchid,” she said.

“What’s Shine like?”

“Nice guy; you’ll like him.” She finished her omelet and stood up. “I gotta go to work.”

Without rising, he pulled her to him and kissed her navel, running his tongue around it.

“Or I could stay for a couple of days,” she said.

He spun her around and pushed her toward the beach door. “Go, while I still have the strength to send you,” he said plaintively.

She gave him a quick kiss, then ran out onto the deck and down to the beach. She ran all the way home, happy.

23

Holly arrived at her office whistling, turning heads as she walked by, Daisy at her side. She had hardly sat down when Hurd turned up at her door.

“Good morning. You seem to be in a good mood.”

“I’m always in a good mood,” she said.

“If you say so. We’ve got an ID on your floater.” He handed her a file folder.

She handed it back. “Tell me about him.”

Hurd sat down and opened the folder. “Name: Carlos Alvarez, born Havana, thirty-two years ago. Arrived Miami twelve years ago on a small fishing boat with nineteen others. He was printed by Immigration at the time. He’s a partner in a locksmith’s shop in Fort Lauderdale; unmarried; has no arrest record—he wouldn’t have gotten a locksmith’s license if he had. He drives a two-year-old Chrysler Concorde.”

“Is that it?”

“His partner’s name is here, if you want it.” Hurd handed her the folder.

“Thanks, Hurd.”

“I’m organizing my workload now, preparing memos to the people who’re going to take over my duties. You want a list of my recommendations?”

She was thinking about the locksmith. “Whoever you want is fine with me, Hurd.” This was the sort of detail for which she relied on him.

“I’ll let you know if we find anything else,” he said. “We’re still dealing with Daimler-Chrysler about the car key.”

“Notify all the patrol cars to look for an abandoned Concorde,” she said. “You got a color?”

“Registration just says green.”

“Okay. If we can find the car, then we can dust it for prints, and we might get lucky and come up with the shooter.”

“I’m on it.” He went back to his office.

Holly read the file folder, then turned to Daisy. “You up for a trip to Lauderdale?”

Daisy was on her feet, wagging everything.

Holly closed her office door and changed into civilian clothes. “You can reach me on my cell if you need me,” she said to her secretary on her way out. “Try not to need me.”

She drove south on 95, enjoying the seventy-mile-per-hour speed limit at eighty-five. Her car had no markings, but there was the big antenna on the back. Once, a state trooper pulled up next to her and gave her a look; she held up her shield for him to see, and he dropped back. There were some perks connected to being in law enforcement.