The Color of Death

Lee Mandel spent a lot of time looking over his shoulder. It came with the job. But as he stretched contentedly in the February sun, he wasn't thinking about watching his back. He was smiling at the server who had the lithe body and optimism only people under thirty could manage.

"Hey, you sure you've got the best shrimp on Sanibel Island?" Lee teased.

"You bet your ass, sir."

Lee laughed and waved off the server. "I'll have the usual. And coffee as fast as your big feet can manage. Oh, and bring a couple extra to-go bags, okay?"

The young man grinned, reached behind his back, and pulled out two white paper bags with the caf?'s SoupOr Shrimp logo printed in bright red down the side.

"These do?" He dropped them in front of Lee. "I grabbed them as soon as I saw you coming up the stairs."

Uneasiness snaked through Lee. He was becoming predictable. In his business that was not only stupid, it was dangerous. But he hadn't seen anyone following him when he drove over the bridges from the mainland to Sanibel Island. Besides, once the contents of the courier packet were transferred to a wrinkled takeout bag, no one would suspect what Lee knew for a fact: the gems were worth a million, minimum. Wholesale.

In the future, he'd use something even less noticeable, maybe a brown paper bag like the winos. Usually the couriers who were carrying unique goods didn't have to worry as much as the guys carrying watches and engagement rings.

Usually, but not always.

For the last few years there had been rumors of a new gang working, one that targeted only the very highest end of portable and valuable goods. The good news was that the gang wasn't as rough as the South Americans. The new boys were slick and quiet.

The server and his tight butt disappeared back into the dark, smoky caf?, leaving Lee alone to enjoy the winter sun. He shifted his chair so that his back was to the wall of the building and wondered what his sister, Kate, was doing now that she'd finished cutting and polishing the Seven Sins. Probably she was getting ready to hit the gem show circuit again and see if she could find some rough that would repay her time and effort to cut it.

Maybe if Mom and Dad let up on the grandchild subject, she'd slow down and find a good man. As it is, they're driving her nuts as surely as they drove me.

Guilt whispered through him. He should tell his parents. He really should, especially now that he'd found the man he wanted to spend his life with. He just didn't want the crap that would come after he came out of the closet, the tears and the where-did-we-go-wrong questions.

His parents hadn't gone wrong. He just wasn't the son they'd expected. End of sad story.

Conversation floated around Lee. Some of it came from the open-air ground-level parking lot directly under him. Nearly everything on Sanibel Island was built on stilts. When the hurricanes came, most of the mess just washed through underneath the buildings, leaving the higher living quarters more or less intact.