Dusk had ridden away while Larson had shared drinks with Montgomery. The sky retained a smoky blue haze as a few determined stars struggled through. Rum pulsed inside him, competing with adrenaline and the lingering effects of the espresso. He longed for backup, but he’d already made that choice. Despite what he’d let Hope think, he doubted he’d find Penny with Markowitz. The Romeros were too smart to lump together their assets. But Markowitz remained a possible link—a lead worth following—and Larson was intent on making that connection. He moved off the narrow road of sand and crushed shell and ducked into the tangle of jungle plants. The ground was soft here and spongy beneath his feet. OSPREY, the house sign announced above the front door. No lights on. No electric cart out front. The sand in front of the home was cratered with water marks from heavy rain, undisturbed by either wheels or footprints and suggesting the OSPREY stood empty. Larson carefully picked his way through the undergrowth, coming up on the north side of what, from Montgomery’s directions, was The Sand Dollar.
