Was she on the run from the police? Did Santaluce know she wasn’t what she seemed? Would he find warrants under the name Claudia Goodwin?
Needing a photo to confirm her identity, Jack entered Claudia Goodwin into a search engine and got hundreds of hits. He scrolled, found one for a nursing registry and clicked on the link, recalling the word hospital on the paper with the alarm code for Villa Alma.
Sure enough, a photograph of a smiling Claudia Goodwin stared back at him. Louise Clark was a registered nurse, and her name was Claudia Goodwin.
He itched to continue the hunt, but he had a meeting to attend. No time to sift through the links now to learn more about the woman residing in Villa Alma. How was he supposed to do his job with so many useless events crowding his schedule? And when had running down a license tag ever given him such a jolt of excitement?
He looked forward to discussing all this with the lovely Ms. Clark. And why was that? He knew she was a fraud, but her very presence in Villa Alma tugged at him with an insistence that he didn’t understand. He constantly searched for logical excuses to show up at that impressive front gate. He resisted the urge to invent a security concern so he could talk to her again.
She wasn’t a danger to Collins Island. He’d seen no evidence of criminal activity. Definitely no meth lab. Any threat was purely to Santaluce’s bank account. Jack shook his head. Yeah, and her being a gold digger didn’t hold together, either. Not with that hunk-of-junk car.
He needed to go back into the field and dodge bullets. The mystery of Louise Clark was making him bonkers.
Jack decided to leave Ike Gamble in charge while off island, so he finalized his instructions and returned to his apartment to retrieve his SUV. Driving the huge vehicle felt weird after motoring around in the tiny golf cart. Like a return to reality after spending a week in Disney World.
After an uneventful trip across the channel, Jake noted an agitated, red-faced man arguing with a Miami-side guard. The fool had no clearance from a resident, so he was denied permission to board the next ferry. Clueless people, especially tourists, thought they could take a free joyride over to Collins Island and party on the exclusive beach. Happened all the time, although this guy seemed especially pissed.
Jack waited for the outcome of the encounter to provide backup if his guard needed assistance. But the angry man finally gave up. He drove past Jack with a phone pressed against his ear.
Out of habit, Jack jotted down the tag number.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, Jack sat at a polished conference table in the Protection Alliance’s office with Lola and the four other operatives working in the south Florida area. Agents grumbled about the all-hands meetings, but Lola insisted on a monthly gathering to keep everybody grounded, especially the men and women working undercover or in other dangerous circumstances.
Jack suspected that Lola wasn’t just the office manager, but also the owner. Her position and source of authority remained murky, but no one argued with the fact that she was in charge.
He’d almost completed his report on Collins Island, detailing how the security department ran smoothly.
“What? No cougars this month?” asked Greta, a blonde German operative fluent in five languages, with a black belt in karate. “Too bad, Jack.” Everyone in the room laughed.
“Don’t get too used to the good life,” said Brad, an investigator who usually worked as a celebrity bodyguard. “It’s my turn to run paradise next month.”
“There’s one thing, though,” Jack said.
“Louise Clark?” Lola inquired.
Jack met her dark stare and nodded. Her pink spikes appeared especially pointy today.
Lola worked her keyboard and put Louise’s driver’s license up on the screen as Jack chronicled what he’d learned about her, the most damaging item being her fake name and ID. As he laid out the details, he wondered what set off his alarms.
“Not unusual for a beautiful woman to carry a firearm,” Greta offered.
“But why isn’t Santaluce with her?” asked Tony, another operative. He grabbed a grape from the fruit platter in the center of the table, eyebrows raised. “And why doesn’t she ever come out? Sounds like she’d hiding.”
“Maybe she’s working on a top secret cookbook and that explains all the groceries,” Brad said.
“Or maybe Santaluce is really a rich uncle providing her with a quiet location to study for that exam,” Greta suggested. “Are you sure you’re not just impressed by her ta-tas, Jack? You’ve always been a breast man.”
Jack leveled a glance at Greta. The razzing would only get worse if he reacted.
“Any chance she could be a twin?” This suggestion came from Tony.
“The different names could be because of marriage,” Greta said.
“Watch her, Jack,” Lola said, putting an end to the discussion. “If she does anything that could interfere with the serenity of Collins Island, you know what to do.”
“Understood,” Jack said.
An hour later, the meeting completed, Jack slid behind the wheel of his vehicle. He stared at the facade of the run-down strip mall that housed the Protection Alliance’s headquarters. The signage on PA’s door read Security in small, peeling black decals. No one would ever guess the amount of high-tech bells and whistles that lurked behind a tiny reception area with one ordinary desk and file cabinet.
Just like no one knew what was behind the beautiful face of Louise Clark.
Deception. It could be and often was a dangerous game. What kind of a game was Louise Clark, also known as Claudia Goodwin, playing? Most likely a con game on an unsuspecting wealthy man. Maybe bilking sugar daddies was her primary source of income. He considered the idea that had germinated while listening to a report from a fellow operative.
He ignited his vehicle’s powerful engine. Why not visit the address that the Department of Motor Vehicles listed for Claudia Goodwin? Maybe Louise did have a twin.
The odds were that he’d find nothing. He’d already determined the DMV address did exist, an apartment complex called Brasilia. The addy could also be a ruse, but what the hell. Brasilia was only a ten-minute drive away. He was off island. Why not take the opportunity to check it out?
He parked his SUV in a visitor space and walked into a lush courtyard, alert for anything unusual. But it was early afternoon, so quiet. Goodwin’s apartment number indicated the second floor, so Jack jogged up the stairs, and knocked on her door. No one answered.
He knocked again and yelled, “Ms. Goodwin?”
No response.
Jack tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand. Interesting.
He loosened the snap on the holster under his jacket, kept his hand near the weapon and pushed the door open, ready for anything.
He stared inside, evaluating the status of a thoroughly wrecked room. Was this vandalism or had someone been looking for something? Definitely not ordinary theft. The perpetrator of this violence either wanted something specific, something small since cushions had been sliced, or wanted to leave an impression on the owner of the possessions.
Was Claudia Goodwin, also known as Louise Clark, that owner?
How long ago had the apartment been ransacked? He stepped inside and used his elbow to flip a switch, noting that the electricity hadn’t yet been turned off. He moved to the refrigerator.