Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller) Read Online Free

of the job, Caldwell had claimed that section as his own private perch. Caldwell’s receding hairline shone with sweat and his pink guayabera shirt brought out the sea of freckles that covered every inch of his exposed skin. He was in the middle of telling Peg a story that made the normally cross woman pitch her head back and howl. Oren could only imagine how filthy the punch line had to be to elicit that reaction.
    “Well take your time, son!” Caldwell took his drink from Oren. “It’s not like I have all day to sit here and get hit on by your staff.”
    “You wish,” Peg said, slapping a bowl of peanuts down before the agent.
    “You know I do, Peg. You know I do. Anytime you want to take me up on it . . .” He lunged across the bar, swinging and missing a chance to swat Peg’s behind as she turned away from him, still laughing. Caldwell was the only person in all of Florida Oren had met who could get the hard woman to laugh like that.
    Special Agent Daniel Caldwell worked out of the Miami FBI office but spent most of his times cruising the Keys. He claimed it was his territory, but Oren knew Caldwell spent more time investigating the evolution of the mojito than he did the influx of drugs and guns across state lines. Not that he was crooked exactly, any more than Oren himself. As the agent liked to say, he had a broad understanding of the nature of business. He’d come through more than once for Oren over the years, distracting local law enforcement when Oren struggled to get his coke use under control, and Oren had repaidthe favor many times over. Caldwell had a weakness for wealthy women and volatile girls—a lethal combination—and had needed a place to hide more than once.
    Caldwell always wanted to be kept distantly informed about the Wheelers. He wouldn’t meddle, Oren knew. He wouldn’t stage a bust at Jinky’s or bring any hint of law enforcement into Oren’s sphere of influence. He also let Oren know right away if any of his clients were misrepresenting themselves—men who claimed to be boat collectors who were actually mob enforcers; alleged diamond dealers moving large quantities of heroin. The exchange of information benefitted both Caldwell and Oren, keeping them both in good standing in their respective fields. Plus, Oren liked the crabby little agent. He was a hell of a fisherman.
    Oren had told himself he was going to stick to orange juice this morning, but the combination of the Wheelers’ impending arrival and the sound of Caldwell sighing over his mojito made him change his mind. Peg had taken her bucket of ice back down to the bait shop so Oren called to Dani, who stood at the far end of the bar prepping fruit, as she always did in the morning. It was just too hot to get up again. “Dani? How about a vodka?”
    She scraped the limes into the bin and wiped her hands on her towel. “Sure thing, boss.” She knew how he liked his drink—lots of ice, one lime wedge squeezed to death—and slid it before him in no time. Oren watched her small, tan hands settle on the bar, just a fraction of a second of a delay that seemed to him an act of composure, before she raised her gaze to Caldwell and scared the hell out of Oren.
    She smiled. It wasn’t a big smile; it wasn’t shark-like. She didn’t leer, and her eyes didn’t glare coldly above her bare teeth. It was just the smile of a girl working a bar for tips, but it looked sort of wrong on Dani’s face.
    “How’s your drink, sir? Can I get you anything?”
    Caldwell turned to Oren in comic shock. “Sir? I know it’s beena while since I’ve been in, but has it been that long? Have you instituted new house rules?”
    Oren dismissed his anxiety. “You haven’t met my new wonder girl? Dani Britton, I’d like to introduce you to a man you must never let touch you. Daniel Caldwell or, as Peg calls him, Uncle Bad Touch.”
    Caldwell bowed at the introduction and flashed Dani his signature lady-killer smile. “Don’t believe a word