Chapter 5
Sam felt a lot better after getting a good meal and rehydrating. Their lunch with representatives from the CIA, CPD, RCMP, and CSIS had fewer letters than a bowl of alphabet soup, but it was just as satisfying. Everyone now had a role to play in the search for the real Chuck Finley. Thanks to a phone call to Pearce, Michael received copies of the information she dug up since Sam disappeared. A courier brought the package to their location from the local CIA office and they looked at the files, going over them together so everyone knew who their real target was.
"He really bears quite a resemblance to you, Mr. Axe," Fraser remarked.
"Which is kind of scary, since I use Chuck as an alias a lot."
"Too bad. You'll just have to come up with something else, Sam," Fiona said and sipped on her straw.
"No way, Fi. I told you once, I'll say it again: Chuck Finley is forever."
She rolled her eyes and let out a sound of aggravation. "You're a glutton for punishment. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Sam heard a soft chuckle and turned to find Agent Chatham with a smile on her face. His cool expression caused her to sober. "You three have quite an interesting relationship, don't you?"
"Yes, we do." He was in better spirits and the anger had worn off, but he still wasn't quite ready to make nice with her.
"My government appreciates that you're allowing us to continue in this investigation, Sam. You, uh, don't mind if I call you Sam, do you?"
He took a drink of water. "Just don't ever call me Chuck again, and we'll be fine." That broke the ice between them a little, and opened up the door for him to ask, "Would you like to go to dinner tonight? Only, please leave the knock out drugs at home?"
She laughed, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.
"Sam, we have to get back and find Finley."
"Yeah, Mike, I know. Doesn't mean that Agent Chatham can't come along and see how we do things in Miami."
"Well, I would have to get permission from my superiors." She paused. "Let me know when your flight leaves, and I'll see what I can work out."
Director Julliard insisted that Agent Chatham go to Miami with the Westens and Sam Axe, and Ray Kowalski, who was still on loan from the Chicago PD, accompanied them with Constable Fraser. The Mountie was forced to leave Diefenbaker behind with Constable Turnbull. Fraser felt uneasy about that, but he really had no choice when duty called.
It was late when the private jet touched down in Miami. After sharing a meal, they split up and made a date to meet at Carlito's the next morning for breakfast and a strategy session. Sam caught a cab, intending to go back to Ocean Drive where he'd left his car. Hopefully it would still be there and not in the impound lot.
Agent Chatham asked, "Do you mind if I share a cab with you, Mr. Axe?"
Just as long as you stay on your side of the seat! He restrained himself from saying what he thought, and instead replied, "No, I don't mind."
"Thank you. I was planning on booking a room at the Beacon again. Despite the short time I spent there, I thought it was nice. Not too expensive, either." She waited while he opened the cab door and let her in first.
Sam got in, leaned forward and said, "The Beacon, please."
"Yes, sir!"
"You know that's where Ray and Fraser were going. You could have ridden with them."
"I know. I just wanted to have an opportunity to talk to you about what happened."
"Yeah, care to explain what happened between the bar and when I woke up in that hotel room? I remember you came and sat by me, we had a couple drinks, but after that, a lot of it is fuzzy."
She nodded. "We talked for awhile. I was hoping to draw you out, get you to give something away that proved you were Chuck Finley. But nothing you said matched with our meager intelligence on the man. So I slipped out a vial of the knock out drug from my purse, made the purse slip off the back of my chair, and you, being a gentleman," she grinned, "picked it up for me. By then I had your drink spiked."
"Yeah, teach me for being a nice guy," Sam joked, but there was a grain of truth in it. From now on, he would have to be more wary with women.
She sighed and dropped her shoulders against the seat back. "When you passed out, I got Agent Burns to help me take you up to the room. After that, I was on my own."
"So we didn't..."
"No, we didn't." She shook her head, a frown on her face. "Don't think I wasn't tempted, though. I had to remove..." She interrupted herself with a clearing of her throat. "Oh look, here's my hotel!"
"Yeah. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Chatham."
"Yes, Mr. Axe." By his using only her last name, he'd said more than enough.
"Good night," he said.
"Good night," she said and got out of the cab. The driver retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, and she stood on the curb watching Sam staring at her from behind the glass as the car pulled away.
The woman had a lot of nerve, asking to share a cab and then trying to whitewash the whole incident in the hotel. He couldn't figure out why she went overboard and took off all his clothes in that room. All she needed was his money clip, but she went ahead and made it look like things were more than they seemed. Nothing like twisting the knife and emphasizing his stupidity. Women were his Achilles heel, and somehow, he was going to have to work on that. She made that abundantly clear.
Sam asked the cabbie to stop in front of Carlito's. He paid him and got out, and walked over to where he'd left his car. To his surprise, it was still there. He got in, checked it thoroughly for any bugs, trackers, or explosive devices. The only thing he found was a parking ticket tacked to the windshield wiper, which he pocketed and made a mental note to send to the CSIS for payment. Then, extremely tired after all he'd been through in the past thirty six hours or so, he went home. He dropped onto the bed fully clothed and slept fitfully, waking often to get a glass of water or use the bathroom.
"Yeah," he murmured as he dragged the phone out of his pocket when it rang the next morning.
"Sam, how are you today?"
"Maddie? What's...what's up?" He expected that maybe Mike would call, considering that he was already late for their breakfast meeting.
"Oh, Michael told me what happened to you. I was so worried, I had to check and see if you were okay."
"Aw, thanks, Maddie. I'm good, just kind of wiped out. But I've gotta get up. I'm late for a meeting."
"Michael asked me to tell you that they pushed it back to ten. He's going to the CIA office to do some more intelligence gathering on the real Chuck Finley." She sounded amused when she spoke the name.
"Okay, Maddie. Thanks. Now I don't feel so bad about sleeping in a little."
"Well, you take care! Don't make me come over there and mother you." She teased.
Sam again thanked Maddie for her concern, said goodbye, and disconnected the call. He lay on his back on the bed, closed his eyes, and decided to take another half hour or so nap. He had time. But he couldn't sleep, because all he could think about now was Chuck Finley. The odds of having someone with his alias walking around for real in Miami was strange, to say the least. Hopefully Mike would find out more about the man, what he'd been doing, what bars and restaurants he'd been frequenting. If they knew those things, they could begin to work on a plan to trap him. If he had any say, it wouldn't involve knock out drugs.
Grace discovered that she was the first to arrive at Carlito's. She had to go back outside and check the sign to make sure she was in the right place. Then she entered again and realized that she wasn't alone. Sam Axe was there, sitting at the bar, drinking a beer.
"I would have thought you'd be drinking water for awhile, Mr. Axe. Replacing all those fluids we deprived you of." She said it with a slight smile, hoping that self-deprecating humor would break the hard look on his face.
He turned far enough to see her and returned to his beer, took a large swig, and replied. "I made up for it last night. Slept like crap, getting up all the time. Hope you're happy about that."
"No, I'm not. I'm sorry for the way we treated you." She stared down at her hands, which she laid on the bar. "I should have listened to you and earnestly checked out everything you said."
The bartender approached carefully. "Would you like something, Miss?"
"Yeah, a soda. Thanks."
"Afraid alcohol's going to mess up your already thin judgement?"
"I thought you were a nice guy. I guess I got that wrong too!" She grasped her glass and drained half of it.
"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He shook his head slowly. "Everybody makes mistakes. Even me...every once in awhile."
Grace tried to hold it back, but she couldn't do it. Laughter snuck through her pursed lips, and when she glanced at him, she was glad to see his shoulders shaking gently. Then he looked at her and he wore a smile. It was a very nice smile, one she found herself mirroring.
"Agent Chatham, Mr. Axe."
They turned to see Constable Fraser and Detective Kowalski standing behind them. "Morning," Sam greeted them. "I suppose we better get some tables together for our crew." With the four of them working together, they dragged two square tables and joined them on one end, then placed six chairs around them. Shortly after the two men ordered something to drink, Michael and Fiona arrived. Michael looked as bad as Sam, dragged out from a lack of sleep.
"Well, at least somebody around here is looking well-rested," Sam cracked. "You must have been doing a lot of work last night, Mikey."
"Yes, and we have a lot to share."
Fiona leaned down, pulled out stacks of papers from a large bag she brought along, and passed out copies to everyone. "This is the information that Michael and I were able to find on Charles Finley, the real Charles Finley." She glanced at Sam and gave him a smile. "He's been in Miami for the past three weeks, frequenting the bars, strip clubs, etcetera, not unlike our own dear friend, Sam."
"Anyway, it looks like he's just kicking back," Michael said. "It should be fairly simple to find him, but it'll require a lot of staking out and hope we catch him at one of his haunts on the right night."
"You don't think he's planning something?" Grace asked.
"Maybe if we can tail him, we may discover what he's really up to." Michael flipped the pages back into place and set his copy on the table. "I want us to work in teams of two. Fi and I worked a schedule out for who will take which clubs and restaurants. We'll give these a shot at night, and our friend Jesse will check out some of these daytime locations. If he sees something, he'll call us. I want everyone's cell numbers so we can quickly contact you if something comes up."
"Fraser doesn't have a phone," Ray said.
"So we'll use smoke signals," Sam joked. Fiona kicked him under the table and he glared at her.
"I'll team up with Fraser," Michael said. "Ray, you work with Fiona, and Sam, you and Agent Chatham will work together."
Seriously, Mike? Sam stared at his friend, wondering if this was some sort of sick joke.
Seriously, Sam. You need to bury the hatchet with this woman. Michael knew his friend understood what he was trying to do.
Sam knew he was right. For the sake of the team, they needed to work together. It wouldn't be the first time he had to work with someone who irritated him. Fiona was a good example of that, and their relationship had improved greatly over time. But he didn't have the luxury of years. He needed to get over himself and what happened, and treat her like a professional.
After breakfast and their meeting was adjourned, Ray said, "I don't know about anybody else, but I'm going to get some sun!"
Fi smiled. "I'd have to go back to the loft and get my suit on, but we'd be happy to accompany you. Won't we, Michael?"
"Oh yeah, sure." He would rather have taken a nap in preparation for the evening's stake out, but in an effort to strengthen the team, he knew this outing was important. "You coming too, Fraser? Sam? Agent Chatham?"
"Please, call me Grace."
"Okay, Grace." Michael smiled. "Wanna hit the beach?"
"Sure, why not? Except I didn't really come prepared..."
"No worries! I guess we girls will have to go shopping first and get you a suit. Michael, we'll see you all at the beach in an hour, or two." She grinned as she stood. "Come on, Grace, I know exactly where to go!" The two women took off like a couple of girl friends, and the men watched them leave.
i"Like Fi needs an excuse to buy a new suit," Sam scoffed, then finished off his beer. "You know, I love team unity and all that, but I really need to get some sleep." He saw Michael's gentle pleading in his expression and shook his head. "Okay, fine, I'll see you guys in a bit. Gotta go home and change."
"Fraser," Ray asked.
"I came prepared, Ray. I already have my trunks on under my clothes."
Ray glanced at Fraser's outfit. When they left the hotel that morning, he was surprised to see the Mountie wearing cargo shorts and a plain shirt cut like Sam's hawaiians. He didn't even know Fraser owned anything like that. Ray wore something similar. "Yeah, so did I. Michael?"
"I'll have to swing by the loft, but if you guys stake out some real estate on the beach, we'll find you. Or you can come along and grab a couple towels at our place. I know Fi has a bunch of 'em in the closet."
"Sounds good. Hey, then we can get a taste of how a Miami CIA operative lives." Ray grinned.
Michael laughed. "It's not pretty, I have to warn you about that. It's an old warehouse, there's a nightclub underneath, and it's functional, although Fi has done a lot to the place to try to make it more home-like."
Michael drove them to the loft in his Charger. All the way, Ray sat in the passenger seat and caressed the white interior. "This is a great car, Mike. You should see my GTO back home. I put a lot of love into it and it's like mint condition."
"This one needs a lot of work, but it seems like every time I do something to it, it becomes a casualty to a job."
"Maybe if we're around long enough I can help you out with it."
Michael glanced at him. "Really?"
"Yeah, really. I love restoring old cars."
"Thanks. If it works out, I appreciate it."
He parked in the courtyard and escorted them up the stairs, unlocked the metal fire door, and let them inside. Ray and Fraser took in everything, and Ray commented. "Pretty funky, Mike. I like it."
"It sort of reminds me of that apartment I lived in before we met, Ray. Although it was a lot smaller and much more run down." He added. "The woman's touch definitely makes it more inviting."
"Hey, want a yogurt while we're here?"
"No thanks. I'm just ready to sample some real Miami, starting with the beach," Ray exclaimed. He and Fraser wandered around and inspected the large open space with high ceilings and a small loft built of metal grating and poles.
Michael didn't waste any time changing, and he soon reappeared. "Alright, let's go." He tossed them a couple of beach towels as he turned toward the door.
The last thing Sam wanted to do was bake on the beach and dehydrate himself again. He would have preferred to sit by the pool at his apartment, check out the women who lived there, and maybe make a connection. Instead, he was forced to look at Agent Grace Chatham. She and Fiona arrived at the beach wearing new bathing suits that left little to the imagination, underneath filmy, billowing tunics. She even wore wedge high heel sandals like Fiona, big sunglasses, and a sun hat. They could have almost been twins, except Chatham was a lot whiter.
"Hello, boys," Fiona greeted with a wide smile.
"Hey, Fi. Nice outfit," Ray complimented her.
Her smile brightened. "Thank you! I think Grace did a pretty good job picking out something too." She held out an arm and presented the other woman.
Grace removed the covering and draped it over her beach bag on the sand as Ray and Michael whistled, causing her to grimace at the attention. Then she flipped her beach towel outward. It touched the edge of Sam's, and she quickly pulled it so they had at least three feet distance between them. She would have preferred to lay somewhere else, but Michael and Fiona were together, Fraser was to Sam's right, and Ray was on the opposite end next to Michael, already chatting up a woman who dropped her things near him. With a soft sigh, she flipped off her sandals and sat on the towel. She felt Sam's eyes wandering over her, but she was too afraid to look at him, not sure what she would see in his eyes.
It was safer just to lay on her back and hide behind the sunglasses.
"You know, you should put some of this on, or you're going to burn."
She opened her eyes and looked up to see Sam leaning over the space between them, his fingers clamped onto the end of a tube of sunscreen.
"What if I want a little tan?"
"Trust me, you'll still get a tan with this, just avoid the burn." She swore she saw a plea for a truce in his eyes when he asked, "Want me to put some on your back?"
"When I'm ready, perhaps. Right now, I want to sun the front."
"Okay, suit yourself." He dropped the tube next to her elbow, retreated and opened a paperback as he reclined in the beach chair.
That was awkward. Sam tried to concentrate on his book, but she lay in his peripheral vision, a mighty fine specimen of a female, taunting him. Woah, boy. Thinking like that'll get you into trouble again. A vision of that water bottle sitting on the table out of reach was enough to douse the budding desire deep in his gut. She was only doing what her government wanted her to do. No different than Mike and me back in the day. It just hurts that she had the torture part down pretty good. Not the worst I've had, but bad enough. He glanced at her and noticed how her pasty white skin contrasted sharply with the red and white striped bikini on a matching red towel. She still hadn't put any lotion on, and despite the lingering feelings of animosity, he really didn't want her to pay for it later.
"Grace, you really should put that stuff on," he admonished her.
Her head came up off the towel as she looked at him. A subtle smile crossed her lips. "I'm surprised you care."
"Well, I have to work with you, and I don't wanna have to go on a stake out tonight and have to listen to you whine about how much your sunburn hurts."
"Oh, I see." That deflated any fantasies she may have harbored. Without another word she sat, picked up the tube of sunscreen and applied the lotion lightly.
He wanted to tell her that wasn't enough, but the look she gave him made him put up his hands and go back to his book.
"Sam," Fraser said, getting his attention.
"Yeah, Fraser? Or should we call you Benton?" He wrinkled his nose and grinned. "How about Benny?"
"I have another friend who calls me Benny, but if you'd like to, that's fine."
"Yeah, I like that better than Fraser. That's too much like being in the military, and I'm done with those days." He reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle. "Want a beer?"
"No thanks, I, uh, I don't drink...much. Hardly ever, actually."
"Oh, okay. Anybody else?" He held up the bottle.
"I'll take one, thanks!"
Sam tossed one to Ray and passed one to Mike and Fi each. "Grace?"
"Oh, sure." She took the bottle, then accepted Sam's keys to use his bottle opener. "Thanks." She downed a good third of it.
Wow. Didn't expect that! He turned his attention back to Fraser and handed him a bottle of water. "So, Fr...Benny, was there something you wanted to ask?"
"Thank you kindly," Fraser said and opened it. "I was going to ask you about your alias, Chuck Finley. How have you used it in the past?"
"Whenever a job needs someone who's either a partier or a serious, lawyer type guy, Chuck Finley comes in. I played a dirty cop once using that name. Why?"
"I was just musing, that's all. Wondering if the real Chuck Finley has access to the kind of intelligence we have, and if he used you to keep the heat, as it were, off him."
"You think he knows about me and our resemblance, and he's using it to his advantage?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I think."
"Hmmm." Sam took a swig of his beer. "I hadn't really thought about that. But what would that gain him, really?"
"It bought him at least a couple of days," Michael interrupted. They turned to see him propped up on one elbow. "If it hadn't been for the resemblance, the CSIS would have had Chuck Finley instead of you in their interrogation room."
"Good point, Mike."
"Do you think he might be watching us right now," Ray asked as he scanned the beach, rolled over casually onto his stomach and surveyed the area.
"It's possible."
"So what do we do," Fiona asked as she reached into her beach bag, making sure her firearm was easily accessible. She never left home without it.
"I say we just continue what we're doing, but keep an eye out for anything suspicious," Michael answered as he turned to his stomach and lay on the towel. "Fi, will you get my back?"
"Always, Michael." She grinned, kissed his cheek, and applied the lotion.
"You know, this is kind of nice. We haven't had a chance to just hang out for a long time," Sam said as he leaned back in his chair.
They fell into silence, chatting among themselves now and then. Eventually, the sun felt as if it was baking his skin, so Sam got up and walked into the surf. He went in to where the waves hit chest high, enjoying the coolness of the water rejuvenating his skin.
"This feels good!"
He didn't expect to find her following him. He turned.
"I've never been to the ocean before." A wave hit her in the face and she yelped, coming up completely soaked and laughing. "Didn't expect that. At least I didn't lose my sunglasses. Hey, have you ever surfed?"
"Nope. Haven't really wanted to try, either."
"I have." She grinned as she lifted up her feet and floated with the waves instead of standing against them. "I always thought that would be cool, but then with my luck I'd probably drown when I fell off and the board hit me in the head." She laughed at herself, then looked at him. He just stood there with his face tilted up to the sky, turning his back to the waves, letting them crash against his body. Now and then he took a step, because as she noticed, when the surf pulled back out, some of the sand beneath her feet shifted.
"Do you have something nice to wear tonight?"
"Huh?" She stood a few feet closer to shore, looked up at him, and squinted against the sunlight. He had a nice silhouette.
"Something you can wear to a club? Not those business suits and clothes you wore up north."
"Well, I did bring one dress that I wear in the summertime. It's a sun dress."
Sam sighed and shook his head. "That's not going to work. You need to really dress up, look hot. And if Chuck Finley is keeping tabs on us, we'll have to alter your appearance enough so that he doesn't realize you're watching him." He took a couple of steps, grabbed her hand, and said, "Come on, you've got some shopping to do."
"But Fiona and I already went!"
"For a swimsuit, yeah. But you need club clothes, sister. You can't wear a bikini," he said as he looked down at her and gave her a little leer. "Although, some guys would probably like it, it's not appropriate for the night life."
He led her up to their group and stood dripping, cutting off the sun. Fiona looked up at him. "Sam, you're blocking the light."
"You two need to go shopping and get her some clothes for tonight. You didn't think about that when you were out before, did you?"
"No, we didn't. I suppose I shouldn't have assumed she was set." Fiona got to her knees and began to pack up her things.
"Anybody else not equipped for working the clubs tonight?"
"I'm good, but Fraser. I think he needs help." Ray glanced over at his friend and noted the look of denial on his face. "Yeah, Fraser, you need an extreme wardrobe makeover, my friend!"
"Okay, then, I'll take Benny, and Fi, you take Grace shopping?"
"Sounds good. Ray and I will stay here and just hang out. But don't forget I need Fraser back by seven."
"You got it, Mike."
"How about we all meet at the Beacon at seven," Ray suggested.
They agreed, and Sam and Fraser packed up their things, changed in the public beach house, and headed to Sam's car to store their wet things. "Benny, there's a shopping mall not too far from here that has a couple of nice menswear stores, we can check those out." He slammed the trunk. "Did they give you an expense account for this, or is this out of pocket?"
"Ray and I have an expense account, and it's quite generous."
Sam grinned. "Great! Get ready to have some fun!"