Learn the difference between a trout and a . . . nother kind of fish.”
“Who’s the old friend?”
It was a waste of time to try and sidestep him. “A young lady I knew from my Miami days.”
Max’s wheels visibly turned. “Not the girl from the Venezuelan money laundering ring?”
Dan sighed. “Do you have to have a memory like a steel trap?”
“How could I forget? For one thing, the takedown of Alonso Jimenez and company was a major operation that involved the DEA and the FBI. And, not exactly a lady, as I recall, though she was young then.”
He bristled at the comment. “She’s fourteen years older now.”
“So instead of licking new wounds, you’re going to open old ones?” Max asked.
“The only thing I’m planning to lick is salt with my tequila.”
“You sure that’s smart, when you’re on the rebound and all?”
Dan leaned right in his friend’s face. “Let’s get this straight, Roper. I’m not on the rebound and I don’t need you to judge what’s smart and what’s not.” He pulled back. “But since you’re so damn nosy, I still have access to some of the FBI sites and I noticed that Ramon Jimenez got out of prison recently.”
“El Viejo’s son?”
“Yeah.” Everyone who knew the case knew Alonso Jimenez was universally referred to as “El Viejo”—the old man. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“You think he’ll go after her?”
Dan shrugged. “She was never implicated or arrested, and, per my request, she was left out of the trial since her testimony was superfluous, considering all the evidence we had. As far as she or any of them know, Michael Scott—my cover name—was accidentally killed that night in friendly fire. That’s the way the agency wanted to play it. But Ramon has had a long time to put together the truth, and he might have figured out the leak was his girlfriend. He’s a rat bastard, and I don’t trust him.”
“So what’s your plan? Spring your real identity on her?”
“God, no. And she’ll never recognize me, because that cover was thorough and the guy she knew had brown eyes, dark hair, and a prosthetic nose. I just want to check out where she lives and works, make sure she’s safe. She goes by Smith now, so she’s probably married with kids.”
“Could be an alias and she’s living in fear that they’ll find her.”
The same thought had occurred to him. “If that’s the case, then I’ll introduce myself as a former FBI agent who thinks she should be aware that Ramon Jimenez is out of prison. Then I’ll leave, and she’ll be safer. This is strictly a standard security check after a prison release. After I’m done, I’ll be back.” Probably. He gave Max a tight smile.
“Culver is a fact of our life, now,” Max said, a warning in his voice. “Can you live with that?”
“Look, I know Lucy and I flirted with possibilities. But it would have screwed up a great friendship, and I’m not interested in …” A baby. “Anything that would tie me down. She knows that, and so do I.”
Finally satisfied, Max moved. “Call me when you get there.”
Dan reached for the car door. “Why would I even need a wife, when I have you?”
“And the invitation stands. Cori has a week of board meetings at Peyton Enterprises, and I’m going to go apeshit and melt in the heat. Hang out with me in Miami Beach.”
“You’re so full of it. You love all that time with Peyton.”
Max beamed at the mention of his two-year-old. “It doesn’t suck.”
“Who woulda thunk it? Max Roper morphs into Father of the Year.”
“Don’t knock what you haven’t tried.”
Dan circled his throat and mock-choked, then took one more glance at the library window. He’d never have gone there with Lucy, so she really was better off now. He climbed into the car and shut the door.
Snapping on the CD player, he cranked up the volume, then took off down the driveway with the familiar relief that once again he’d successfully dodged a bullet.
“Oh, please, not again.” Maggie clunked the empty tray on the service bar and put her hands over her ears but it did nothing to drown out the music echoing through Smitty’s. “I swear, I’m going to go down to Margaritaville myself and shoot Jimmy Buffett for recording it.”
“That’ll just make ‘em want to hear it more.” From his favorite bar stool, Gumbo Joe threw her a wide, yellowtoothed smile. “Anyhoo, you’re the one who put a jukebox in this joint,