Free Second Chance by Lawrence Kelter Page B

if you’ve got a loaf of Martin’s Potato Bread in the freezer …” I’d be willing to offer my body. Actually, he could have me for a slice of Wonder Bread, but I can’t just put myself out there like that, now can I?
    “Bread? Shit!” He pulled open the freezer and looked back toward me with an awkward grin. He opened a cabinet door and pulled out a box. “Graham crackers?”
    “PB&J on graham crackers. You certainly know how to woo a girl.”
    “Sorry, I—”
    “Don’t apologize. It’s perfect.” In an odd sort of way, I found the scenario utterly romantic: two good guys tucked away in a mobile home while a storm raged and menacing forces pursued us, dining on crackers and jelly and wearing his cottony-soft sweats. I marched into the bathroom to change.

Chapter Eighteen
    The storm was a fast mover. It had blown by South Florida in a scant few hours and was now moving up the coast toward the Carolinas.
    Donovan saw bloodstained moss near a tuft of marsh grass as they approached the small jetty and wondered what the gators had just eaten. He was no stranger to the Everglades. He knew that the gators were fierce predators and that they didn’t live upwards of a hundred years by pushing a cart through the local supermarket or ordering takeout. He had seen gator butchery dozens of times over the years and didn’t become alarmed when he saw a little blood near the shore. In the next moment, however, he noticed that Lyndell’s fan boat was not tied to the jetty. His eyes opened wide with surprise.
    Scruff was Donovan’s next in command after Lyndell. He wasn’t powerful like Lyndell, but he was savvy and had eyes in the back of his head. He was the one who had originally noticed Flynn’s return to the club and the brunette who had accompanied him. Scruff said, “Hey, where’s Dell’s ride?”
    “That’s the question, now isn’t it?” Donovan said. He stared at the jetty and saw that blood had dried on the old wooden surface. He pointed for Scruff’s benefit. Donovan pulled his gun, wiped the safety, and chambered a round. Scruff did the same and then stepped ahead of Donovan to lead the way to the old cabin.
    Scruff stopped short, about one hundred feet down the path. He knelt to examine the ground. “Someone’s dragging a bum leg,” he said. “You can see where the mud is smeared.” He noticed an alternating pattern of shoe impressions and mud smudges. The shoe print was large, too large to have been made by a woman.
    Donovan observed the impressions in the mud and then noticed blood on the leaves of a nearby plant. He made eye contact with Scruff. They both knew who had been wounded.
    “We’re too late,” Donovan said as his expression became angry. How? he wondered. How did that little girl get the drop on Lyndell?
    They rose and continued down the path to the old shanty. They found the door wide open. Once inside, the story unfolded before Donovan’s eyes. He saw bloodstains on one of the cots and an empty bottle of rum. On the floor near the other cot were the shredded wrist restraints. He had only caught the most fleeting glance of the woman as she raced from his club but had seen enough to know that her appearance was formidable. Formidable enough to get to Lyndell? he wondered. Lyndell had shown tremendous willpower in the past. Was this one he couldn’t pass up?
    Scruff picked up one of the plastic restraints and examined it. He got down on his knees and inspected the frame of the old cot. The corner bracket was rusted and had a sharp edge. He ran his finger over the edge and noticed particles from the plastic wrist restraint directly under the frame. “She cut through the bracelets here,” Scruff said, pointing to the rusty corner bracket. “She got the drop on Dell in his sleep.”
    Donovan shook his head with dismay, showing enormous disappointment. “Dell got sloppy. Now he’s probably dead.” He put his hand on Scruff’s shoulder. “Now you’re number two.” He