Backwater Squall (Kurt Hunter Mysteries Book 12) by Steven Becker

Author:Steven Becker [Becker, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The White Marlin Press LLC
Published: 2022-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

18

“Let me know if anything happens out there tonight,” I said to Wayne as I stood up. He walked me down to the dock and released the lines. I decided that instead of going back to headquarters to get the truck, I would take the boat home.

On a clear day, you could see the Miami skyline from the park. It was a stark reminder that the city was only twenty miles away by car and less by boat. Sometimes being on the water was enough for me to forget how close we were. Today, looking at the buildings ahead and knowing Luis Vargas was hiding somewhere had me anxious. My brain kept trying to turn the puzzle pieces I had into the corners I needed. None fit. I still had no motive for Underwood to disappear or be killed.

The last thing I wanted to do was talk to the DEA, but I had to know if he was under investigation for anything. That was the only plausible explanation I could think of for Underwood to still be alive and hiding. It appeared that he was involved with his clients in a way that was unethical and probably illegal—but would that make a guy run away?

My attention turned to the water as I passed under the bridge at the Rickenbacker Causeway. The vehicular traffic on the Causeway heading to Key Biscayne was slow, the typical rush hour pattern. Boat traffic increased as I passed the entrance to Government cut with both commercial and recreational vessels, mostly heading in. The river was the same, but if I had driven back traffic would have been worse.

I pulled up to an empty space at the dock and secured the boat, then grabbed my bag and headed up to our condo. Justine was not home yet. I hadn’t heard from her since I’d left headquarters and didn’t expect to. She had a pile of evidence that would absorb her until she was finished processing it.

I made myself another sandwich and glanced at the beer in the refrigerator but decided on water. I took the plate and glass to the table and opened my laptop. The DEA website took me to the Miami regional office, which had several contact numbers. Most were media-related, and I figured using the main number would trigger a tedious screening process—if a real person answered at all. The only DEA contacts that I had were a dead man, a crooked agent, and a murderess. Instead of starting at ground zero, I texted Grace and asked her. A minute later she sent contact information for someone from the local office.

I pressed the number and waited for the call to be connected. Voicemail kicked in after two rings, which told me he was screening calls. It was after five, and without knowing who the caller was I would have done the same. I left a message, sat back, and started to eat my sandwich. Before I started on the second half, my phone rang.

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