The Survivor (20 page)

10:25 P.M. TUESDAY

K
ariss yawned and stared longingly at her bed. She’d turned back the covers in anticipation of the moment she could crawl under the warm blankets and let exhaustion take over.

Tigo hadn’t returned her call. He must be working late, possibly undercover. It was one of the things he loved about the FBI. Vicki had been correct in one evaluation—Kariss did enjoy a taste of danger, and she understood Tigo’s quest for the same thrill. One of the many things they had in common. Kariss was such a mess when it came to analyzing her feelings for him. She danced around the truth as though she’d be burned if the flames touched her.

Kariss had never expected Vicki to give an ultimatum, but she couldn’t blame her sister. Rose needed to be protected from the evils of the world, and last Friday morning had proved how evil the world could be. Contacting Tigo was the prudent response, and if telling him about this morning protected those she loved, she would swallow her pride and do it.

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she crawled into bed with the latest issue of
Writer’s Digest.
Several articles had been dedicated to the craft of fiction, and she was particularly interested in one that focused on viewing setting as an antagonist.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t concentrate. With one hand on her cell phone, she allowed her eyes to close. The lamplight shone in her eyes, ensuring she wouldn’t sleep. She’d simply rest.

Her cell rang, jarring her from a deeper sleep than she’d anticipated.

“Kariss.” The familiar voice caused her heart to beat faster. “I know it’s late, but I didn’t know if your message was urgent.”

She was instantly alert. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I woke you, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay. I have the light on, but I must have dozed off anyway.”

“Do you still get nightmares?”

She wouldn’t lie. “They’re not as frequent as before.”

“What’s going on?”

She’d already rehearsed what to say, and the words came easily. After relaying the story, she added, “The odd thing is, he used my first name and quoted a line from a novel.”

“Kariss, I’ve read Amy Garrett’s case.” His voice was solemn. “This is not some lunatic fan who wants to have a little fun with an author. He either knows the case history, or he’s the man who attacked Amy years ago. You must have realized this.”

“Crossed my mind.” But she didn’t want to think about what it could mean. Denial of danger had gotten her into trouble before …

“Someone needs to write a novel about you. What was the quote?”

“‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.’”

“Never heard it before. But I also don’t like Baxter Garrett’s intimidation and his veiled threat about using an outside connection to help him get his point across.” Tigo sighed, and Kariss could imagine the lines deepening across his forehead. “It rings too close to Dr. Garrett’s case. In view of her cold case, alluding to the past implies more than I care to get into right now.”

“But it was supposed to. That’s Baxter’s way of bullying people.”

“Thank you, Dr. Walker.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Don’t take any walks without your gun. And take an advanced course in self-defense.”

“Very funny.”

“Have you spoken with Dr. Garrett this evening?”

“No. Why?”

“Here’s a little tidbit for you. The person who bombed Jonathan Yeat’s car is the same person who bombed Amy’s car.”

She gasped. “What’s the connection?”

“How about don’t get in the same car as Amy Garrett?”

Tigo wasn’t divulging a thing about the investigation. “Do you think last Friday morning and today are linked?” she asked.

“Maybe. Did you get a pic of the old man?”

“My phone was dead.” She let a sliver of regret creep into her words. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll call.”

“Why don’t you and Vicki take a vacation until this is over?”

He and Vicki must have been on the same wavelength. “I could send her and Rose to our parents.”

“Good idea. How about you? I’d rather see you out of the state. Isn’t there a writer’s conference going on somewhere? What about visiting your agent or publisher in New York?”

“You should know by now I’m not a runner. If someone wants to find me, they can.”

“Not if you let the FBI handle it.”

Acid rose in her throat. “Not yet. I’d rather be in my own home and simply take precautions when I venture out. If I’ve upset someone, they’ll have to get over it.”

“Right.” He growled the words. “You keep telling yourself that, and maybe a rabbit will jump out of your hat. You and Amy Garrett are walking a tightrope.”

“Tigo. It’s my choice.”

“I’ve heard you use the same line before, and you nearly ended up dead.”

“I make my own decisions. Good night.”

JANUARY 23

7:13 A.M. WEDNESDAY

K
ariss was into the fourth mile on the treadmill when her cell phone rang. She hoped it was Tigo. Hanging up on him had given her a sleepless night and more heartache. Caring for him was easy. Swallowing her pride meant digesting a horse pill. He only wanted what was best for her, and she’d reacted in her typical stubborn, reckless fashion. Now to confess that.

But one glance told her he wasn’t the caller. She should have felt relief, but regret took its place.

“Good morning, Amy. How are you doing since the bombing?”

“All right.” Amy’s voice had that curt, emotionless tone—as in ultraprofessional—that Kariss had heard on more than one occasion. “Are you running?”

“Yes. I’m on the treadmill.”

“Can you talk?”

“I’m a multitasking junky.” So much so that she’d already shed a few tears for a man she couldn’t have, but she knew who had the real answers to that dilemma.

“First I need to apologize for not returning your calls.” Amy sighed. “I’m not normally so unprofessional.”

Nice change of pace. “Thank you. So what’s up?”

“I won’t keep you, but I wondered if we could meet for coffee this afternoon?”

“I could after three thirty. Around four?” She slowed the treadmill’s pace to 4.2 miles per hour. “Is everything okay?”

“It will be. Want to meet at Starbucks? I’ll spring for the cookie.” Amy’s words were kind, but Kariss heard the tension in her voice. Someday she’d find a way to melt Amy’s facade.

“What’s wrong?”

“Got a visit last night from two FBI agents regarding the car bombing, and I have to make a tough decision. Need to discuss it with someone who’s been there.”

“What did the agents want?”

“They offered some suggestions.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t want to discuss this over the phone.”

“The FBI is committed to keeping us safe. Who were the agents?”

“Special Agents Steadman and Harris. Do you know them from your experience?”

Now she understood why Tigo had called her so late. “I do. They’re good men.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Okay. When we meet later, we can talk about your dilemma.”

Kariss had a decision to make too, and prolonging it only stirred her emotions. After ending the call with Amy, she pressed in Tigo’s number, wishing she’d taken the time to consider how to word her apology.

“Good morning, Miss Walker. Had your coffee yet?”

“I had that coming.” He could say so much more, but she hoped he didn’t. “I apologize for last night. I’m sorry for being obnoxious when you were only looking out for my welfare.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t get much sleep either.”

She turned off the treadmill. “We’re like two lit fuses of dynamite.”

“In more ways than one.”

She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of a response.

“Will you consider a vacation?” he said.

“Depends on what happens with Baxter Garrett. Vicki and Rose are leaving this morning to stay at our parents’ until this is over. Keeping company with me can be hazardous to anyone’s health.” She kept her tone light.

“What about you, Kariss? I need to know you’re out of harm’s way too.” His gentle tone caused her to shiver even though she was covered in sweat.

“I carry a gun, and I’m not looking for trouble.”

He blew out an exasperated sigh. “Talk to your parents. Get their take on the situation. For that matter, pray about it.

Okay?”

“I will. I promise. Amy Garrett told me you met with her. She wants to get together.”

“We asked her to take advantage of FBI protection. Both of you need to be tucked away. When are you meeting?”

“Four o’clock this afternoon at Starbucks.”

“Toss out a convincing reason why she needs to accept protection. I don’t like how any of this is going.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Be safe and drive yourself. And check in with me after your meeting so I know you’re okay.”

“I will, Agent Harris.”

“Good. Gotta run. Have a meeting with Linc.” Tigo ended the call before she could think of something witty to say. Good thing. She was ready to invite him for coffee.

10:50 A.M. WEDNESDAY

H
e’d waited twenty-three years for Amy to make the ultimate mistake. He’d allowed her to roll the dice while he adjusted the pieces on her game board of life. Finally she’d grabbed hold of greed and proved his point. Stupid woman. She should have died after he’d finished with her long ago. But he’d always kept tabs on her in case he needed to set the record straight after that first failed attempt that May night so many years ago.

We told you she’d slip. Kill her and be done with her. She’s lived on borrowed time too long.

Did Amy think a novel about her escape from death would rise to the level of his accomplishments? He had ways to circumvent so-called law-enforcement investigators, and he’d get away with one more crime.

Amy had struggled through the years to make something of herself, and he’d observed it all. Her fancy PhD degrees meant accomplishment to some people, but not him. Survival instincts were the best traits. In a Vietnam prison, he’d managed to outthink the torture experts and had learned to be cunning. The enemy had been his best teacher, driving home the cliché that only the strong survive. That’s when the voices had first begun, and he’d always be grateful.

Why did Amy think her story would ever rival those of the great storytellers? If she’d chosen Cussler, King, Koontz, Patterson, or any true male author to write what happened
back then, he might have let her foolishness slide. But Kariss Walker and her novels weren’t masterpieces. They were trash. What did a woman know about executing procedures for a crime?

He’d been patient and covered his tracks more than once. All his victims had died. He caught himself. The Yeat bombing hadn’t turned out exactly as planned, but the results suited his purpose.

In his pocket lay two perfectly crafted bullets with his signature so the cops would know that a mastermind had achieved a perfect crime. He dared them to find him.

Today would end it for Amy and Kariss, and then he’d creep back into his world, where no one ever suspected him of anything more than devotion to his frail wife. The latter was true.

Exiting his wife’s car, he stepped into a downpour. His mind raced with what made accuracy important—wind speed and direction. Today the cursed rain played against him, but he’d make allowances. He’d be close enough to ensure both bullets found their victims.

4:00 P.M. WEDNESDAY

K
ariss slid into a parking space outside Starbucks at the same time Amy drove up. The blinding rain slapped against the windshield of Kariss’s rental car while the wipers ran a marathon. She’d be glad when the repairs to her Jag were completed. At least nature’s display this afternoon didn’t include thunder and lightning. Electrical storms ranked number two on Kariss’s list of personal fears. Dogs were number one. She grabbed her purse and laptop, then huddled under her umbrella while Amy locked her car doors and checked the driver’s and left passenger’s doors—four times. That seemed to be the magic number.

“The coffee and cookies had better be fresh.” Kariss shivered in the damp cold.

The women hustled across the parking lot, sidestepping puddles on the way. Kariss opened the door of the coffee shop and held it for Amy. She hadn’t observed how frail Amy’s frame was until this moment. The problems of late must have been wearing her down.

“Mmm. I can smell the coffee already.” Amy smiled, but a deep V was etched between her brows, and the dark circles beneath her blue eyes added years to her lovely face—a face that reminded Kariss of the late Princess Grace of Monaco.

How sad that Amy had to rely on Kariss’s listening ear when they’d only known each other such a short time. Kariss would try to persuade her to leave town or seek FBI protection.
Tigo always said the bad guys thought they’d never get caught, and that’s when they made mistakes. But until the FBI found the bomber’s weak point, Amy should be sunning on a beach or skiing down a slope—anywhere but Houston. She had to be on emotional overload, especially with Baxter and his stint in the city jail.

The rich, intoxicating aroma of coffee pushed the chaotic world aside. Let the rain drench the outdoors.

The coffee shop, with only two other tables occupied, was the perfect spot to talk. If a mention of the book came up, Kariss would let Amy know that she’d drafted the first chapter while adding detail to characterization. Much still needed to be done to the plot, and Kariss had to steal moments to work on it.

After Kariss and Amy ordered their coffee and decided they each needed an oatmeal-raisin cookie, they claimed a small bistro table along the window of the cafe. Huge raindrops crashed against the pane and raced downward, with more chasing after them. Definitely the perfect place for Kariss to write a suspenseful scene after their discussion.

Kariss watched the steam rising from her mug before focusing on Amy. “You mentioned Special Agents Steadman and Harris had visited you.”

Amy took a sip of coffee and stared into her mug. Was she thinking about the conversation with Ryan and Tigo, or was she savoring the hot brew? The woman was hard to read. Perhaps that trait came with her profession. “The FBI has asked me to take advantage of their protective-detail program,” she finally said, meeting Kariss’s gaze.

“So is the decision you need help with whether to stay in Houston under the protection of the FBI or to take a vacation until this is over?”

Amy broke off a piece of her cookie. “I don’t want to consider either one. I refused the offer last night, but then I kept thinking about it all day today. Special Agent Harris made an insightful comment.”

Kariss envisioned Tigo in his professional mode, either incredibly charming or scaring Amy into compliance. “What did he say?”

“Simple, really. In short, I can’t counsel clients if I’m dead.” She sighed. “I was afraid Baxter was about to be implicated in the bombings. How horrible for my family if he were to be accused. He can be a handful with his issues and addictions, but murder is another matter. Our parents might never recover. As you can imagine, my family harbors guilt and blame because of my attack, so I’ve decided—” Amy reached for her purse and accidentally sent it tumbling to the floor. As she bent to retrieve it, her coffee took a dive. Kariss rushed forward to grab the cup before it could spill on Amy.

A pop and a sharp pain attacked Kariss’s senses. The left side of her head stung.

A woman screamed.

Another pop pierced the air.

Amy pulled Kariss to the floor.

Tables crashed.

Kariss gripped her throbbing head and felt the slimy liquid she knew was blood.

4:35 P.M. WEDNESDAY

Tigo glanced at the time on his computer. If he didn’t come up with an excuse soon, he’d be stuck going to the Wednesday night church service with Ryan—again. Not that the preacher was boring, but Tigo always felt trapped in the pew. Which was a joke. A daredevil FBI agent shouldn’t feel intimidated by a building full of Christians, but Tigo was. He felt like the congregation all had a secret and he’d missed the initiation.

He scrolled through the FIG’s latest information. Nothing had turned up for the source of the phone number found in
Joanna’s tennis shoe, and it didn’t match the unidentified number on Joanna’s call list. Neither Curt nor Ian recognized the number, or they refused to acknowledge it.

Those two boys didn’t ring true. Curt seemed to have his head on straight, except for cleaning up Ian’s messes. Tigo had heard through Linc’s son that Ian had threatened to take out one of the kids at school for slandering his mother.

When Tigo was a kid, he’d longed for a large family—lots of aunts and uncles with a dozen or more cousins. The Yeat situation had convinced him those childhood dreams would have been a nightmare if they’d come true. Most of the Yeat family relatives had motive to see either Joanna or Jonathan dead.

Unanswered questions ticked through Tigo’s mind. Who’d planned to murder Jonathan or Joanna Yeat? The same bomber had blown up Dr. Amy Garrett’s car. What linked the bombings and why? Semtex could only be bought for the right price by people outside of the U.S., which eliminated disgruntled Yeat employees. If those who’d been laid off had money to buy expensive explosives, they wouldn’t care about losing their jobs. Conspirators could have pooled their resources for vengeance, but that was highly unlikely. And with Dr. Garrett’s bomb a match, he could eliminate those who did business with Jonathan.

He pulled up his original suspect list and his current notes.

Tigo’s phone rang. The number told him it was an informant.

“The guy you call David Smith? The one in the sketch? Frequents a bar called the Stragglers near the ship channel. Goes by the name of Wesson.”

Tigo was itching to go undercover, and now he had the chance. “Thanks.”

The call disconnected. He needed a break, and this looked like it.

“Tigo, there’s a problem.” Ryan stood in the doorway. His face wore the look of bad news. “Just checked the latest HPD report about a shooting at a Starbucks across from the Crystal Point Mall. A hunch told me to call Ric Montoya. He confirmed that it was Kariss who was shot.”

Tigo rose to his feet, his pulse racing. “How is she?”

“Stable at Crystal Point Methodist Hospital. Scalp wound. Dr. Amy Garrett was with her.”

Tigo grabbed his keys and phones. “I’ve got to get to the hospital. What happened?”

“A shooter from the parking lot while she and Garrett were inside. A few people inside, but they didn’t see a thing due to the rain.”

“This guy is good.” Tigo tripped over his chair in his haste to get out of his cubicle. “I’ll call you as soon as I know she’s okay.”

“Don’t think so. I’m driving.”

Tigo threw him a quick glance. “No deal. I know how to get there in a hurry.”

Ryan blocked the cubicle’s entryway. “Preferably in one piece. This is a personal situation, Tigo, and you have big stakes in it. I’ll drive, and you can contact the hospital for an update if it’ll make you feel better.”

Tigo knew his heart overrode his good sense. If he had any sense at all when it came to Kariss. It hadn’t been that long since he’d gotten the call that his mother was dying. He had the same sinking feeling now. “Okay. We’re wasting time.”

God, I’m begging here.

Once in Ryan’s car, Tigo phoned the nurse in the ER and gave him his FBI credentials. The nurse reported little more than Tigo already knew.

“The bullet grazed her head. A few sutures,” Tigo told Ryan. “She’s stable.”

“Good news.” Ryan passed two cars and a semitruck. Rush-hour traffic streamed bumper to bumper.

“Can’t wait to get my hands on the police report,” Tigo said. “But that’ll come soon enough. What do you think this means? Your head is clearer than mine right now.”

“I’m thinking.”

Tigo had worked with Ryan long enough to know he’d already formed his own opinion. “You tell me first. I’m the one who needs to get past the shock of Kariss being the target of a killer. Again. Didn’t we go through this last summer?”

“She must be a slow learner.”

“That’s what scares me about her. She seems to have no fear.”

Ryan cocked his head. “Look who’s talking.”

“But I’m trained.”

“Point taken,” Ryan said. “Okay, here goes. Kariss has gotten herself involved in a situation where someone is seeking revenge. Baxter’s still in jail. Can’t be him. He gave Kariss the impression that someone’s working with him on the outside, but I doubt it. He’s a loner and doesn’t have the money to pay a hired gun. Simple answer. The shooter has to be the same perp who bombed the Yeat and Garrett vehicles.”

“And ran Kariss off the road. And sent her emails and a funeral wreath.” Tigo’s mind switched into crime-solving mode. “I’m past thinking it’s a previous employee or anyone
who might have had a grievance against Jonathan. Although Darena and Taylor have motive, I don’t see a connection to Dr. Garrett. I need a subpoena to look at her list of clients.”

“Darena could have seen her for counseling. Talked about Taylor and used an alias. But she doesn’t come across as a woman who wants help.”

Tigo detested the woman. “Good call. Then there’s David Smith. But unless he’s older than what our sources indicate, he’d have been a young teen when Amy was attacked.”

“Can’t talk to him if we can’t locate him.”

“We might have already done that. An informant called me, and we have a lead on him. I want an opportunity to question him. That’s all.”

Ryan fixed a stare on him. “What are you really thinking?”

“Here’s my best shot. I think both of us are ignoring the elephant in the driver’s seat,” Tigo said. “My gut is telling me that the man who assaulted Dr. Garrett twenty-three years ago is the bomber and the man who shot Kariss. I think he moved up from attacking little girls to making bombs.”

Ryan nodded. “Maybe. But why did he target the Yeat family? And why is he after Dr. Garrett now, when he had twenty-three years to kill her?”

“Maybe he had no reason until now. What’s happened that might have changed his mind?” Tigo had the answer the moment he uttered the words. “The book. He’s afraid of Amy Garrett’s book.”

“If Dr. Garrett hasn’t gone to the police before now with new evidence, what would make the book so threatening?”

“Fear of getting caught. Think like a psychopath, Ryan. This could be cat and mouse for him. In his mind, the job is unfinished.”

“Possibly. Not sure I agree. I think the original target was Jonathan Yeat, and somehow he’s tied to Amy Garrett.”

Tigo disagreed, but he needed proof to show that Jonathan and Amy shared a common enemy.

“Your silence tells me you don’t agree,” Ryan said. “So what do you say we keep this to ourselves until we investigate the shooting today?”

“Good idea. Then we can talk to Linc this afternoon.” Tigo pressed in Fred Walker’s number. This had to be hard on the older couple—first Vicki, now Kariss.

“I have a question,” Ryan said. “Shall we talk to Dr. Garrett’s parents for another possible connection?”

“Make the arrangements, and let’s do it.”

Fred answered the call. “Hello?”

“This is Tigo, and I’m on my way to the hospital. What can you tell me?”

“We’re just now leaving Texas City. All I know is Kariss’s been shot. Don’t know anything else.” Fred’s voice trembled.

“The ER told me that the bullet grazed her scalp. The wound was sutured, and she’s in stable condition. That’s good, Fred. I’ll call you once I’m there. Tell Ella not to worry.”

“Fat chance. What has my little girl gotten herself into?”

Tigo wished he had an answer. “The shooter won’t get away with this. I promise.” He disconnected the call. What wasn’t he seeing in these cases?