Puppetmaster (Coastal Fury Book 8) Read online

  Prologue

  Rolling Thunder was already packed when I walked in, despite the downpour outside. Of course, as was the case with any downpour in Miami, it wouldn’t last long. It didn’t surprise me to find everyone inside my bar dry and completely unconcerned with the actual thunderstorm just outside the building.

  I was grateful for Rhoda’s knowledge of our new jukebox. She had figured out how to lock it so that, on crowded nights like this, she was the only one who could control the playlist. Classic rock bumped through the upgraded speakers, drowned out by the increasingly loud chatter of the crowd that filled the room. I worked my way through the throngs of people, reaching the bar with a bit of effort and sliding into the second stool from the end. It was nice to see that, despite the crowd bustling around me, not one person had touched the last barstool, nor the reserved sign and upside-down shot glass that sat in front of it.

  I looked down at the ratty barstool beside me, the lone holdout from the building’s days as Mike’s Tropical Tango Hut. The bullet hole that pierced the seat fabric remained there, reminding me of the time Holm had damn near had his entire life changed.

  Robbie Holm had been more than my partner. From our days together in the Navy SEALs to our time as partners at MBLIS, we had always worked well together. It was only fitting that he had an honored spot here at his favorite stool. Mike’s Tropical Tango Hut may have been a tacky hole in the wall, but it was our place, and it wasn’t the same without him.

  “Hey, boss!” Rhoda slid down the bar toward me after slinging a few beer bottles down the bar top at a handful of young college kids. “How’s it hanging?”

  “Hey, Rhoda.” I looked around at the bar and noticed that the crowd was packed around the edges as everyone tried to wave down a bartender. Nadia was at the other end, struggling to keep up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the place this crowded.”

  “There are two birthday parties!” Rhoda had to shout over the din to be heard. “They should clear out soon, they both have other plans tonight. We’re just their first stop!”

  “Hey, I’m not complaining!” When I had bought Mike’s Tropical Tango Hut from my friend Mike Birch, my vision was of a place very similar to what Holm and I had been accustomed to. It was a pretty low-key place when it wasn’t a weekend, and he didn’t get many people here that weren’t locals. Once I had stripped away the tiki facade and put my own spin on it, it began to attract a younger, more vibrant crowd, and that crowd seemed to keep growing and growing. It could have also been my reputation as a storyteller that had people filing through the doors, but I hoped it was more than that.

  “Four Roses?” she asked. She had a huge smile on her face, but her voice was impatient. She had other customers to tend to.

  “Actually, I’m feeling the Mango Fest tonight,” I replied cheerfully.

  Rhoda paused momentarily before grabbing the bottle of Barbados rum that I had fallen in love with during a trip to the island back during my MBLIS days. “You haven’t asked for that in a while,” she observed. I shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I’m feeling nostalgic,” I chuckled. “Maybe it’s all that storytelling.”

  Rhoda grinned and turned back to the bar. She returned moments later with my Mango Fest rum, but instead of the usual glass, she had poured it into a cheap white ceramic mug. On the side of the mug was the slogan ‘I Love NY,’ and the word ‘love’ was replaced with a bright red heart. I groaned inwardly.

  “What is this?” I asked, hesitantly picking up the mug and glaring at Rhoda over the top of it.

  Rhoda chuckled. “Hey, Mike said, you need to keep drinking out of that mug until you get around to telling that story.”

  “I was hoping to take some time off before diving into another story,” I muttered. The bar was loud, but Rhoda had heard me.

  “Yes, Mike had mentioned that too,” she pointed out. “He said it would make it so much better because you would have to drink out of it for a longer period of time.”

  I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Mike to manage to be a giant pain in my side even when he wasn’t physically here in the bar.

  Rhoda’s smile came across as much more genuine as she laughed at my minor displeasure, and she disappeared back down the bar to continue to dole out drinks to the waiting crowd. I did my best to avoid being jostled as I enjoyed my drink. The ceramic mug didn’t quite provide the drinking experience I was used to, but the rum tasted the same regardless, so I couldn’t be too upset.

  As I watched everyone move about the bar, I noticed over time that the crowd began to dissipate, until it returned to a much more familiar level. The classic rock on the jukebox could be heard above the chatter now, and Rhoda and Nadia were able to slow down and take small breaks between drink orders now. With my mug now empty, I was getting ready to go check on the kitchen when I felt a gush of warm Miami air that announced that someone had swung the front door open. A huge bang immediately followed that gush. A few people screamed as I immediately hopped off the barstool and spun to face the entrance, my feet planted and ready to launch me at whatever the source of the noise was.

  Standing in the now open doorway was a tall, dark-haired man with piercing green eyes that could be kind if he hadn’t seen some dark stuff in his time. His muscle-bound shoulders strained at his black t-shirt, and the scowl on his face was intense.

  I immediately dropped my fists down to my side, just as his eyes locked onto mine.

  “Marston!” his voice boomed through the bar, cutting through the music. The chatter had ceased when he had made his entrance, and I caught Rhoda surreptitiously lowering the music while Nadia stared slack-jawed at the man in the doorway.

  “Header!” The two of us stormed toward each other and embraced, clapping each other on the back before stepping back.

  Jake Header and I had also crossed paths in the SEALs, and this man had saved my life on more than one occasion. We remained close over the years, and even though we had opted for different career paths when we got out, he still managed to get involved in some of our MBLIS cases. These days, he still had that spacious home in Puerto Rico, as well as the condo in Biscayne Bay. He did favor Puerto Rico, though. I couldn’t blame him. The island was gorgeous, but damn, did I miss seeing him up here.

  “I can’t believe it took you so long to get here!” I bemoaned, backhanding his chest before waving him up to the bar. Behind him, I saw a few of the customers close the entrance doors. I was grateful. With the doors open, the air conditioning was pretty damn useless.

  “Man, you know how it is.” Header sat down and looked around, taking in his surroundings. I heard the music volume creep back up, and the chatter started to resume until everything was back to normal. Sort of, anyway.

  “If you’re referring to your job, then yeah, I get it,” I replied, nodding as I absentmindedly reached for my mug. “It’s too bad you’re not retired like I am. I’m living the good life right now.”

  “You’re not kidding.” Header paused as Nadia came up to take his drink order. I noticed her cheeks flushed a bit when she spoke to him. Header did have that impact on some women, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  “I’d love a whiskey,” he said smoothly as he peered at the liquor collection behind her. “Is that Glenlivet fifteen-year I see?”

  He knew damn well it was.

  “Yes,” Nadia replied softly. “Would you like some?”

  “I’d love some.” Header flashed Nadia his signature smile, and she went to work pouring him a glass. Header looked back at me expectantly.

  “I kept telling you to come up here,” I pointed out. “That bottle of Glenlivet is a bit pricier than most of my clientele care to dabbl
e in. It’s up there for only one reason.”

  Header smiled again. He was in a very good mood, and I wondered briefly if his good mood had anything to do with Linda Reyes’ recent visit. Her visit to Miami had been an unexpected one for sure, and she had been close with Header for much longer than I had. Hell, they were practically raised together. I was confident that simply seeing her would have put a huge smile on his face.

  Nadia set the glass of whiskey down in front of him and glanced over at me quickly.

  “On the house,” I instructed, and she quietly nodded and went back to her other customers.

  Header picked up his glass and held it up to meet mine, only then noticing that mine was a coffee mug. His smile turned into outright laughter.

  “You’re actually using it?” he chortled. “Oh, man, I wasn’t expecting that!”

  I sighed and then explained the instructions that Mike had given my staff. Header threw his head back with laughter.

  “I’ll have to thank Mike later.” He took a long sip of his whiskey. “I expected it to sit in a corner and collect dust, but the fact that you’re essentially being forced to drink out of it makes it so much better!”

  “I’m glad you find this all so amusing.” I shook my head, but I was laughing, too. As far as gag gifts went, he hit the nail on the head with this one.

  “Excuse me.” A familiar voice could be heard behind us, and when we turned around toward the source of the sound, I saw none other than Charlie Sheets.

  I placed my mug gently back on the bar top. “I didn’t know you guys were here tonight!”

  “Yeah,” Charlie shrugged. “It was a last-minute decision. We figured we would have a better time here tonight since it’s familiar to us and all. I hadn’t realized you’d have the next story queued up so soon.”

  My brows furrowed in confusion, but Charlie wasn’t looking at me. He was focused on Header.

  “You’re Jake Header,” Charlie breathed in awe. Header looked around as if to find out how this kid knew him, although there were no clues anywhere.

  “Who the hell are you?” Header barked. Charlie’s eyes widened, and I repressed a chuckle as I introduced the two of them.

  “Header, this is Charlie Sheets. Charlie, yes, this is Jake Header.” I turned momentarily to face Header. “Charlie and his Navy friends have been coming in since my grand opening of this place.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you,” Charlie gushed, stretching a hand out toward Header. Header shook Charlie’s hand roughly and grunted in response. Charlie continued talking as if he hadn’t noticed. “He’s told us all about you.” The thumb he jabbed in my direction sealed my fate. Header turned his steely gaze onto me.

  “What exactly have you been telling them, Marston?” he asked sharply. I caught the glint in his eyes, though. He wasn’t too mad about it.

  “Oh, you know, not much,” I shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Not much? What do you mean?” Charlie was either playing dense, or he really couldn’t read the room, because he kept talking, turning back to face Header. “He told us all about Wraith and your adventures together!”

  The last bit of humor left Header’s eyes as he turned to me. I threw my hands up defensively, though I knew he wouldn’t fight me, not here in my bar, anyway.

  “Listen, I don’t know what I don’t know,” I reminded him. “I’m not giving away trade secrets, because I don’t know any.”

  Header’s gaze softened a bit as he accepted my truth. He knew it was true, too, because his trust issues had always prevented him from sharing too much with people.

  “You told this kid about Wraith?” he clarified with the tone of a parent chastising their child. I flashed him my most innocent smile, and he rolled his eyes and gestured toward my mug. “You better be drinking out of that damn thing for the rest of the year.”

  “Damn,” I muttered. I looked over at Charlie and saw Ty and Mack coming up behind him.

  “Sheets, what’s the hold-up? Oh, hey, Mr. Marston.” Mack stopped short when she saw me.

  “Let me guess,” Header chuckled, eyeing me as he sipped his whiskey. “More Navy kids?”

  “Guilty as charged,” Mack announced confidently, shoving her hand out in front of Header. “And you are?”

  Charlie slapped her gently on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Have a little more respect,” he advised. “That’s Jake Header.”

  Mack’s jaw dropped. Behind her, Ty stepped forward.

  “Whoa,” Ty breathed.

  “Alright, look, I just came here for a drink,” Header grumbled. Mack’s hand still hung in midair, so Header switched his glass over to his left hand so he could grasp hers. “No autographs.”

  “We don’t do autographs.” Jeff’s head popped up from between his friends’ heads. “We do stories!”

  Mack’s eyes widened excitedly. She looked over at me expectantly, and I glanced over to find Header eyeing me skeptically.

  “Isn’t Jake Header in the story behind this mug?” she asked, her question hanging heavy in the air as the kids all leaned forward for the answer.

  “You’re damn right I am,” Header chuckled. “I take full credit for him drinking out of that thing right now.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “but it’s a bit crowded in here for a story tonight. The plan was Tuesday, wasn’t it?”

  “True,” Ty spoke up. “Will Jake Header be here on Tuesday, though?”

  A murmur of consent drifted through the crowd as I looked over at Header.

  “You up for a story?” I asked, shrugging helplessly.

  Header looked over at the Navy kids around us. It took me this long to notice that the chatter had died down around us. Rhoda, observant as always, had turned down the music on the jukebox, so it was barely noticeable in the background, and a small crowd was hovering around us, listening closely. Rhoda walked over with the bottle of Glenlivet. She silently took the glass right out of Header’s hand, breaking his train of thought. He whirled around to face her, and she flashed him her signature smile, the one that drew in all of her hefty tips each night. She carefully refilled his glass as she spoke.

  “Ethan’s stories have become somewhat of a legend around here,” she informed him as she poured. “Since you’ve been in a couple of them, you’ve become somewhat of a legend, too.”

  “Plus, free drinks for as long as we’re talking,” I added. That whiskey wasn’t cheap, but hell, I’d bought it for him, anyway.

  Header’s eyebrow raised at my last statement.

  “Alright,” he conceded grumpily. “I’ll bite. What story? The New York one?” He jabbed at my mug, and I nodded. I looked around at the crowd that had gathered, taking a sip out of my tacky coffee mug before diving in.

  “We all knew MBLIS was dealing with some serious budget cuts,” I began, “but what we didn’t know was just how dangerous fixing that would be.”

  Chapter 1

  “Where is the next batch of seven-layers?” Mrs. M’s voice boomed out from the front, startling Rosie. Rosie had just started working at Mellen’s bakery at the beginning of the summer. Her father got her the job, and he told her that Mrs. M was a very good friend of the family and that she would be well taken care of. From Rosie’s point of view, Mrs. M seemed more like a dictator. She was either waddling in and out of the back kitchen, hollering about deadlines, or standing over Rosie’s shoulder, pointing out all of the things she had done wrong in the kitchen. Seven-layer cookies weren’t simple to make, and Rosie had been proud of the progress she had made since she started, but nothing ever seemed good enough for Mrs. M.

  The shuffling house slippers told Rosie that Mrs. M was on her way into the kitchen for the answer to her question.

  “Hi, Mrs. M,” Rosie said as cheerfully as she could muster once the short, round woman waddled into the kitchen. With her hands covered in sticky dough and flour from the bread-making, there was little Rosie could do about the delayed cookies at the moment. “The seven-layers are in that f
ridge in the corner. Second shelf.”

  From across the stainless steel kitchen island, Mrs. M looked Rosie up and down with a noncommittal grunt before shuffling over to the fridge and sliding out the tray of cookies. They were lined up perfectly, the fruit filling sandwiched between the red, ivory, and green cake layers and finished off with a layer of chocolate at the top and bottom. It was a New York bakery thing. Whenever Rosie visited her cousins down in Florida, they went crazy for those cookies. There was nothing like them anywhere else in America. Being surrounded by baked goods all day certainly made them a bit less appealing over time, but there was something about those cookies that always made her happy.

  Rosie heard the back door slam, and she knew immediately who it was. That door never slammed on its own, and the only person who slammed it on a regular basis was Mr. M.

  Mr. M didn’t bother much with the front of the house. He could usually be found in the back office behind the kitchen, and he always scowled and slammed the laptop shut any time someone wanted to go into his office to talk to him. Rosie had nothing to base her theory on, but she was willing to bet there was something more than baked goods being calculated in that back office. All she wanted was a decent summer job so that she could save up for her own car, so she planned to stay as far away from that office, and any trouble that came with it, as possible.

  As she placed the dough into the bowl and covered it so that it could rise, Rosie heard the front door chime again, this time followed by Paul’s voice. Paul was Mr. and Mrs. M’s son, and Rosie had a slight crush on the guy. His sandy blonde hair always hung lazily over his dark brown eyes, and when he smiled at her, her knees grew weak.

  Today, though, he stormed right through the kitchen, barely looking at her.

  “Is my father here?” he snapped, but before Rosie could answer, Paul had ripped the office door open.

  “Oy!” Mr. M hollered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “They’re in Florida,” Paul spat out urgently. Rosie went to work wiping the countertop clean, trying to eavesdrop without making it obvious.