The Survivor (19 page)

12:55 P.M. TUESDAY

H
ow do you eat hot sauce on everything?” Ryan pointed to Tigo’s rice, where he’d added his favorite hot sauce. “I need a TUMS just inhaling the fumes.”

“Keeps my body moving. Makes me want to dance.” Tigo gestured around the Mexican restaurant, one of his favorite places. The hum of voices and the strum of a Spanish guitar combined with the spiciest hot sauce on the planet suited him perfectly. His mom had had a recipe straight from Argentina, but Tigo hadn’t been able to duplicate it.

“Never mind what it does to me,” Ryan said. “Note that you’re the only one pouring liquid fire on your food.”

Tigo laughed. “You complain every time we eat here, which is about once a week. Don’t I accommodate your craving for Chinese?”

“That’s different. It’s healthy. Vegetables.” Ryan folded his fajita and licked his fingers. “Hey, I gotta hand it to you.”

“For what? My increasing need for hot food?”

Ryan tossed him a disgusted look. “Not food. The way you gave Taylor Yeat a bit of theology.”

Tigo chuckled. “My mother made sure I knew those stories inside and out.”

“Do you think Darena’s guilty?”

Tigo added sugar to his iced tea. “Her body language didn’t say deceit to me. Just arrogance. But we’re all about protocol and following through.”

“Explain why—”

Their Blackberrys simultaneously alerted them to a notification from the FIG. Tigo pulled his phone from his shirt pocket, and Ryan did the same.

“We have the forensic report from the Garrett bombing,” Ryan said.

“I’ve had my fill of car bombings lately.” Tigo read through the report. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He met Ryan’s startled gaze.

“Semtex used in both bombs?” Ryan settled back in his chair. “Same color and gauge of wire. Cell phone trigger.”

Tigo read the report again. Slower. He needed to digest the implications. Think beyond Joanna and Alexia Yeat’s killings to a psychologist who’d survived a childhood attack—a woman Kariss was writing a novel about. “This changes everything.”

“Sure does,” Ryan said. “Let’s have them box up our food.”

“Great idea. I want to get back to the office.” He caught Ryan’s frown. “What links these bombings to our bad guy? Is he hired out?”

“I’ve got to think about it. Need more information. And we need to study the forensic reports side by side.”

Tigo tried to get their server’s attention as impatience wove a familiar path through him. “The Yeats and Amy Garrett made the wrong people mad, and there’s a connection somewhere.”

“Could Joanna have seen Amy Garrett for counseling?”

“She was dealing with Ian’s behavior, and she and Jonathan didn’t agree about how to handle it.” Tigo finally got the waiter’s attention. “Then there’s the issue of whoever met her at the mall.”

“Let’s find out if Joanna was a client at Freedom’s Way.”

The two paid their bills and left the restaurant. Once they were in Ryan’s car, Tigo phoned Freedom’s Way, hoping to catch Amy between appointments. Instead, he reached her answering service and left a message, mentioning he was from the FBI.

Linking Joanna to Freedom’s Way didn’t explain why Kariss
had received threatening emails. These had to be separate incidents. But Tigo didn’t believe in coincidences. Never had.

Tigo punched in Jonathan’s number.

Jonathan picked up before the call went to voicemail. “Hi, Tigo. Let me get to my truck for privacy. I’m outside one of my warehouses talking to a foreman. Before you ask, I do have a bodyguard with me.”

“Glad to hear you’re taking precautions. We have a new development.”

Jonathan moaned. “My brother’s calling me. I’ve ignored his last two calls. Is it okay if I take his call while I walk to the truck? Call you back in a few?”

Tigo assented and then turned to Ryan. “Taylor’s phoning him. That should be a prized conversation.”

“Taylor has his pockets stuffed with answers, but Jonathan’s onto his bad habits,” Ryan said. “From the looks of Darena’s husband, he could easily tear Taylor apart.”

“Fear does weird things to a man, and Taylor has plenty of reasons to be running scared.”

Ten minutes later, Jonathan phoned Tigo. “I hear you talked to my brother this morning.” He chuckled. It was the first time Tigo had heard Jonathan show any signs of amusement.

“We did,” Tigo said.

Jonathan sighed. “I hate this. I just want it to end.”

“What did your brother have to say?”

“He mostly raved.”

“Do you think he could be involved in the bombing?”

When Jonathan didn’t respond, Tigo repeated the question.

“I don’t know. I’m going to say no. Taylor may be caught up in lust for Darena and may have messed up covering his tracks, but he wouldn’t plan a murder. Darena, on the other hand, is capable of anything. I told Taylor the same thing. Maybe he’ll get smart and leave her. Who else knew we switched cars that morning? Ignore me. I’m rambling.”

Tigo listened and then shifted focus. “I have a question.
Was Joanna receiving counseling from Dr. Amy Garrett of Freedom’s Way?”

“Not to my knowledge. But she could have kept that from me too. I’ve heard of the organization. Even contributed to last year’s fund-raiser. Why?”

“On Monday morning, a bomb exploded in Dr. Amy Garrett’s car. She wasn’t in the vehicle. The bomb was identical to the one that killed Joanna and Alexia.”

“Why can’t you find this guy?”

Tigo wanted to say the bomber had thought through every detail of his crimes. But why make himself and Ryan look like kindergarten agents. “We’re getting closer, Jonathan.”

“Not close enough.”

1:30 P.M. TUESDAY

Kariss exited the expressway and drove to the city jail. She’d wrestled with the visit all morning, but she needed answers before contacting Amy. If Baxter knew more than what he’d told the authorities, then her job was to appeal to his cocky attitude and hope he offered the information. He might even confess to knowing the identity of the old man who’d followed her. She’d already thought about the fact that the stalker could have been in disguise. His voice had been strong …

“Why did you want to see me?” Baxter spoke through the phone on the opposite side of a Plexiglas wall.

She stared into his dark-rimmed eyes. He needed meds or a fix, and he’d get neither in jail. “Amy made the decision to have her story written long before she contacted me. You know your sister well enough to understand her determination. Have you threatened her too?”

He curled his lip. “Amy gets weird ideas. Can’t believe everything she says.”

“Give me an example.”

He moistened his lips. Kariss had wanted to believe his mind was clearing and he’d be rational, but nothing indicated any change. Did he think that Amy had fabricated parts of her story?

“Let me give you another news flash. Her attacker quoted from a novel,” he said.

“Oh, I’ve read the reports, and I plan to use those quotes in my novel.”

“Your type disgusts me.”

“I’m really afraid, since you’re in jail and facing charges.” She laced her words with contempt and leaned closer to the shield separating them. “Are you working alone?”

Baxter laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You’d be amazed at what can be accomplished while I’m in here.”

5:15 P.M. TUESDAY

W
hy haven’t you called the police?” Vicki pointed to Kariss’s cell phone. “That man approached you hours ago. I’m furious, sis. Why did you wait so long to tell me about it?”

“I didn’t want to alarm you. What would I say to the police? ‘An old man followed me’? ‘And by the way, he knew my name’?” Kariss paced her living room while Vicki fed Rose. If only the answers would fall into her brain. She’d certainly not tell her sister about any of the other happenings nipping at her heels. “Maybe you’re overreacting. I mean, I was the evening newscaster for Channel 5 and have since written a few bestsellers. The man probably recognized me.”

“Have you lost your mind? Will I read about your death on my iPad?”

Motherhood had definitely made Vicki hormonal. “Calm down. I’m fine, and you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

“Do you think I can be duped so easily? Have you forgotten what happened Friday morning? Has it occurred to you this could be the same guy?” Vicki’s brows narrowed. “And don’t tell me it was Baxter, because he’s in jail. What have you gotten yourself into?”

She wondered herself, but she wouldn’t admit it to Vicki. “Sis, you’re overreacting.”

“This scares me, Kariss.”

Kariss’s mind zoomed in another direction. Her decision to not contact the police now looked insensitive. Jeopardizing
her own life was a choice, but putting her sister and niece in danger was selfish. “I’m sorry. I don’t see what I can do. I have no proof or reason to believe the man intended to harm me.” But she had a gut feeling otherwise. Especially after seeing Baxter today … But he could have been bluffing.

“What happened when you ran back to the security gate?” Vicki said.

“The man had a bad limp, so he wasn’t able to follow.” The man had laughed—but Kariss wouldn’t tell Vicki about that. Neither would she tell her about his final words.

“This isn’t a scene from one of your books.”

Kariss’s gaze flew to her sister’s face.

Vicki positioned Rose and patted her back. “When you got yourself into trouble before, I knew nothing about it until you were nearly killed. I’ve seen you in action. Remember? You have this stupid wild streak that defies danger. You think you’re all street-smart with your self-defense expertise and your concealed handgun license, but you’re not Superwoman.” Rose startled at her mother’s outburst.

Kariss stared. Who was this woman? Had someone taken over her sister’s body?

“This time I’m sharing your house,” Vicki said. “My child will not get caught up in your antics. Call the police or Tigo, or I’m moving in with Mom and Dad tonight.”

Kariss moistened her lips and stared at her phone. She understood Vicki’s ultimatum. Her sister had every right to make the demand.

Contacting the police meant explaining the entire situation about Amy and her brother. That left Tigo, and there was so much stuff between them—stuff she didn’t want to contemplate until everything calmed down around her. Baxter had implied that someone outside the jail could be working with him, but she didn’t have proof.

Kariss took a deep breath and faced reality. Scary things had been happening since she’d agreed to write Amy’s book.

“I’ll call Tigo.”

5:40 P.M. TUESDAY

Amy Garrett returned Tigo’s call shortly after five forty. He introduced himself and requested an interview.

“Special Agent Ryan Steadman and I have a few questions about the car bombing,” Tigo said. “What time are you available this evening? We can meet you at your office or ours.”

“My office,” she said, punctuating her words with ice. “We’re open until nine, and my last appointment ends at eight. Have you arrested the person who bombed my car?”

“Not yet, but our investigation has uncovered additional information. Will you be alone?”

“Three other counselors are scheduled with clients. Is there a problem?”

“For your own protection, I recommend not working alone late at night until a suspect is apprehended.”

“Excuse me? My building has a security officer. I’m capable of conducting my practice without assistance from the FBI.”

Tigo bristled. Uncooperative people made his job doubly hard. “Dr. Garrett, our job is to keep people safe. I’m offering advice to protect you from whoever tried to kill you.”

“The car blew up in front of Walgreens while I was inside buying a sleep aid. Did you note the time? It was a random act.”

“A random act? What if someone had been walking by the car? Or the bomb had been triggered during the day?”

“I understand you have a job to do, Agent Harris, but I won’t live my life in a cave because someone is unhappy with me. I meet disgruntled clients and those who don’t appreciate my work all the time.”

“This is more than an unhappy client. This is someone sending a warning.”

“I’ve been threatened before. Probably a man who’s upset
because I suggested his woman not take any more abuse.” The phone clicked in his ear.

Great, a martyr for the cause of victimized women. No wonder Tigo had a headache.

Tigo and Ryan worked until after six thirty, then grabbed a couple of cheeseburgers and fries before driving to Amy Garrett’s office.

After Tigo and Ryan displayed their badges, Dr. Garrett checked the door locks four times. Kariss had indicated the woman had an obsession with locked doors, and her actions proved it. But Tigo understood. If he’d had her past, he might surgically attach an MK-38 to his body.

Dr. Garrett showed them to her office, where they seated themselves on facing sofas. Shades of green dominated the area, including the live plants and pictures on the wall. Tigo explained his and Ryan’s method of conducting an interview.

“I apologize for my rudeness earlier,” Dr. Garrett said after telling them about her near-failing hearing. She clasped her hands. “It’s been a stressful week so far, and I took it out on you. But I am adamant about not hiding from anyone. Life’s too short to live in isolation.”

“Keep in mind our role.” Tigo made sure to face her so she could read his lips. “I’m far too busy to investigate your murder. So I’ll get right to the point. Do you remember the car bombing last week that killed Joanna Yeat and her daughter?”

“I do,” Dr. Garrett said. “A tragic situation. But I fail to see how it’s related to me.”

“The bombs were identical.”

Amy’s face blanched. “Are you saying the same person blew up both cars? How would you know?”

“He left his signature.” Tigo explained Semtex and the two bombs’ similarities. “Both bombs were triggered by a cell phone of the same make and model.”

“Agent Harris, this doesn’t make sense.” Her lips quivered
for a tenth of a second before she seemed to gain control. “I’ve never met Joanna Yeat or any member of her family.”

“She’s never been a client of Freedom’s Way?”

“I’m positive we’ve never counseled her. I remember all my clients’ names. It’s who I am. Don’t you remember all your cases?”

His headache mounted. “I do my best. Would you mind checking?”

She hesitated. “I’m never wrong when it comes to remembering names. But if you’ll give me a moment, I’ll check my client files.” She rose and walked to her desk, where the computer sat.

Tigo waited, checking his Blackberry for updates, then his personal cell phone. Kariss had texted him, asking him to call when he had an opportunity.

Dr. Garrett cleared her throat. Perfectly poised, she nodded at her computer. “Agent Steadman, Agent Harris, Freedom’s Way has never counseled anyone by the name of Yeat.”

“Could we see the list?”

“For you to access my files, you’ll need a subpoena.”

“If you’ve never seen her, what is there to hide?”

“My clients trust me. Confidentiality. Fear. Surely you understand.”

He knew the law, but it never hurt to ask. “Do your clients ever use aliases?”

“That’s their choice. We don’t take insurance, so Mrs. Yeat could have chosen to keep her identity private. Our purpose is to treat the individual, not check their name.” She remained seated at her desk.

Didn’t she realize the FBI was here to protect her?

“I appreciate your taking time out of your evening, but I can’t help you with Mrs. Yeat’s case.”

Tigo glanced at Ryan, a signal for him to take over. This woman needed kid gloves, and Tigo was quickly losing his professionalism. Courage and strength were admirable
traits, but failure to avoid danger was like touching a downed power line.

“Dr. Garrett, we want the same things you do.” Ryan’s calm tone did nothing to relax her rigid body. “We have valid reasons to find this person. The Yeat bombing left a widower and two teenage boys without a mother and sister. We have signature crimes with both car bombings, and we’re looking for a link to make an arrest.”

The lines around Amy’s eyes softened. “It’s … extremely sad.”

“We have a photo of Joanna Yeat,” Ryan continued. “It might sharpen your memory. Perhaps you met her at a conference and counseled her there.” He pulled up a photograph of Joanna and Alexia on his iPad and stood to show her the pics.

“I’m sorry. I don’t recognize the woman.” Amy lifted her chin. “Having her as a client might have helped you solve both bombings. But even if she had been a client, I couldn’t allow you to see her files.”

“There is a connection with the cases,” Ryan said. “We simply need to find it.”

“What does this information mean for me?”

“The danger is imminent. Agent Harris and I recommend you take advantage of the FBI’s protective-detail program.”

“As in a bodyguard?” Amy bristled as though she’d been offended. “I’ve made it clear how I feel about hiding from anyone or anything.”

“A car bomb is a threat to lives and property,” Tigo said. “A deadly one. It’s not our policy to recommend a bodyguard, but we can provide protection by arranging for you to stay at a hotel or safe house with agents until this is over.”

She stood. “It’s not necessary.”

“What are you not telling us? Is the bombing a reminder about an event from your past?” Tigo captured her attention and held on. “You of all people understand the intricacies of an evil mind.”

She opened the door to her office. “Gentlemen, I have more important things to occupy my time. I appreciate your stopping by, but I can’t help you. I repeat, I don’t want any law-enforcement types hovering over me.”

“You might not be so lucky the second time. Inconvenience or your life?” Tigo stood. “You need to decide. Agent Steadman and I will be in contact.” He handed her his card. “Think about it. Who’s going to help these women recover from tragedies if you’re not around? Our protective-detail program will keep you safe until the person is arrested, and you can resume your work. Your clients need you.”

“No thanks. Bullying me into closing my office while you run around looking for clues is not the answer. Excuse me. I have work to do before going home.”