The Survivor (7 page)

8:00 A.M. FRIDAY

K
ariss helped Vicki load the car with baby Rose’s many supplies for the morning excursion. Kariss stretched and watched her sister organize and rearrange toys and extra clothes as though they’d be gone for a weekend instead of a few hours. Kariss referred to packing for Rose as the What-If Syndrome—whatever emergency might arise, its solution had been tucked into the diaper bag or positioned in the backseat.

“I’m so excited to show off my baby girl.” Vicki’s high school friend and her husband had built a home in a rural section south of Tomball. Kariss questioned who was showing off what. But a precious baby beat four thousand square feet of brick and mortar.

“Is your friend a good cook?” Kariss said.

“Absolutely.”

“Better than you?”

Vicki laughed. “You be the judge.”

Kariss counted the number of diapers and checked the box of baby wipes. She’d hoped by this time in her life, a little one would be calling
her
mommy … possibly three little ones.

“I think we’re ready.” Vicki rechecked the rear-facing car seat to make sure it was securely fastened.

Kariss feigned a sigh. “Takes longer to get Rose ready than it does me.”

“I know what you mean. At least I can put on my makeup
while you drive. You had to get up an hour earlier than we did to get yourself beautiful. Then again, I’m a natural.”

Kariss frowned, but they ended up laughing. How she loved her sister and treasured their relationship. One day Vicki would have a home of her own. Kariss didn’t blame her for wanting independence. But right now, having Vicki and Rose in the same house helped her bear the sadness of losing Tigo and moving on with her life. Selfish, but true. She stopped herself midthought. Had she really lost Tigo, or could something draw them together again? He’d betrayed her trust. Should she have asked why instead of responding in hurt and anger?

“Sis, what’s bothering you?” Vicki said.

Kariss opened the driver’s door, giving herself time to construct a reply. A little honesty went a long way. “I’m pea-green jealous over you and Rose. Oh, I know the situation’s tough, raising your baby girl alone, but motherhood makes you sparkle.”

“Your time’s coming. And you will be a great mother.”

Kariss hoped it came before her biological clock expired. She’d be thirty-six in May. Of course, she had a textbook of hurdles to overcome first. One of those was the fear of not being a good wife or mother.

They fastened their seat belts, and Kariss hoped the conversation about her personal life was done. She wanted a family. And not just any family, but the one God planned for her. Was it wrong to hope that God might include Tigo? Placing her silver Jaguar in reverse, she backed out of the driveway and headed toward the gated exit of their small community.

“Earth to Kariss,” Vicki said. “Avoiding the subject will never make it go away. There’s more, and you know it. Yesterday you started to tell me about Tigo, but the phone call from Amy interrupted what could have been a deep discussion. You’ve held me while I’ve cried about Wyatt, and it’s not fair to shut me out of your pain.”

“I miss him.”

“Then tell him so.”

“I can’t. He’s hurt. I’m hurt. We’re both miserable. It’s all in God’s hands anyway, and I refuse to lead Tigo on when the situation is out of my control.”

“In other words, the ball’s in his court.”

“Exactly. If reconciliation is part of the plan, then Tigo knows what has to take place. All I can do—all anyone can do—is pray.”

“Sometimes God’s answer isn’t what we want to hear.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Kariss tossed Vicki a smile, one that hopefully said the topic had been flushed down the drain. She turned the satellite radio to a classical station and let Bach soothe her troubled mind.

Kariss drove north on SH 249, noting the light traffic and enjoying the early morning. Gray clouds in the distance indicated rain, but that was January in Houston.

“Thanksgiving night I heard Tigo shout at you,” Vicki said.

Kariss’s stomach knotted. “What did you hear?”

“Enough to know he was furious.”

Kariss tapped the steering wheel. “Maybe you and I will talk later, okay?”

“Sure thing. If you don’t bring it up, I will.”

“So you want me to blubber all over you?”

“I might have to pay the FBI a visit and take revenge on Special Agent Santiago Harris for making my sister cry.”

They laughed, and Kariss knew the subject had been dropped for now. She watched a black Ford pickup in her rearview mirror. Ever since she’d been chased and kidnapped, she was wary of every vehicle that appeared to be following her. This one had been behind her since before they merged onto the highway. But that was only ten minutes ago—nothing to be alarmed about.

A few minutes later, Kariss turned onto a rural road that would eventually take them to the home of Vicki’s friend. The pickup was tailgating them now. The road ahead was straight
and clear of traffic. Kariss slowed and hugged the right side of the road so the driver could pass, but the truck stayed on her bumper. His custom rims had extensions that looked like whirling knife blades.

“What is he doing?” Vicki glanced back at Rose. “Did he drink his breakfast? And look at those wheels. Why would anyone sane want those things?”

“I have no clue. Maybe he thinks they’re hot.” Kariss sped up to see what the other driver would do. He did the same. “Kids call those spinners.”

“Whoa,” Vicki said. “Straight off a movie screen, sis. Are they even legal? They must stick out a foot.”

Acid rose in Kariss’s throat as the situation threw her into her nightmare scare zone.

“You have a Baby on Board sign on the back window,” Vicki said. “I’m going to get his license plate number and turn him in.”

“Good call.”

Vicki reached for pad and paper inside her purse. “I think he’s laughing. Hard to tell through his tinted window. Does he think this is a game? What a jerk, a bully.” She rattled on, her normal method of handling stress. “Speed up again. He’s so close I can’t see his plate numbers.”

Kariss pressed on the gas as Vicki twisted around, but the truck stayed within inches of the Jag’s bumper.

“Rats, all I got was V8.”

“Don’t think he’s driving a vegetable truck.” But Kariss didn’t think any of this was humorous. She turned off the radio.

“I’d call 911,” Vicki said, “but what would I say? A driver is tailgating us, and we’re nervous?”

“Go for it. He probably has a record.” Kariss wanted to study him but couldn’t risk it with a baby in the car. She refused to panic. “Most likely drunk or high.”

“Ah, but we’re a team.” Vicki pressed numbers into her
cell phone. “Would you believe there’s no signal? I’ll take a pic of his truck. That ought to help the cops locate him.”

“Maybe we should open our own private-eye firm. Name our own hours.” Kariss knew she didn’t sound brave or witty.

“You’ve done everything else, oh fearless one.” Vicki turned in her seat again and snapped a pic. “Even things you won’t tell me.”

“More than I care to remember.”

“We haven’t gotten to that part of the discussion yet.”

“Hey, try my phone. I have a different provider.”

Vicki grabbed Kariss’s purse and dug out the cell phone before pressing in the three emergency numbers. She relayed their location to the dispatcher, describing how close they were to the county road where her friend lived.

Kariss had experienced too many close calls with unscrupulous drivers to dismiss this incident as a joyrider playing with them. But why? And who? She thought about speeding ahead to turn at the next intersection, but such reckless driving could endanger little Rose or Vicki.

“He’s not slowing down.” Vicki’s voice rose, her attention focused on her baby.

The truck moved into the opposite lane, and Kariss felt relief, believing he was finally going to pass. Instead, he swerved toward them, smacking against the side of the Jag. Metal scraped against metal. Vicki screamed. “Oh, Lord, remember my baby!”

Kariss stomped on the accelerator. She’d bought this car because of its performance. The intersection loomed ahead. If she could just make it …

Kariss’s prayers came in short bursts for Vicki’s and Rose’s safety. If she could get away from the truck, her precious cargo would be okay.

The truck rammed into them again, hard. Kariss gripped the steering wheel, attempting to keep her car on the road, but she hit gravel and felt herself lose control.

9:20 A.M. FRIDAY

T
igo and Ryan left the high school en route to Yeat’s Commercial Construction. Tigo drove his pickup, his mind going back over the information he’d gleaned from the coach and the guidance counselor—verbal and nonverbal. Had Jonathan really been surprised by Joanna’s filing for divorce?

Tigo and Ryan had several hours to pore over the reports gathered from the accounting department and employee records before showing up at the high school in the afternoon.

But first Tigo wanted to interview Jonathan again to confront him about Curt’s and Ian’s behavior. Maybe it all meant nothing, but his gut feeling about the family hiding issues kept resurfacing. He couldn’t ignore it—his sixth sense had helped him solve many crimes.

“This is a mess,” Ryan finally said. “What looked like a simple case of retaliation has exploded. This family has far too much baggage and far too many secrets. Oh, and did I mention the bomb component that has sophistication written all over it?”

“Jonathan’s a deacon in his church, and his brother’s a pastor. Was he a jealous husband? Did Alexia not belong to him? Did he insist on taking care of his children’s discipline? Perhaps he was abusive to Joanna? Linc will be devastated if any of these suspicions are true.”

No wonder Tigo questioned the reality of God and the unconditional love he heard about on Sunday mornings. This family had deceit stamped all over it.

“The other investigators believe our bad guy is affiliated with Jonathan’s business. They think Jonathan would have tried to talk Joanna out of a divorce instead of killing her.”

“I hope so.” Tigo toyed with what they knew about the Yeat family. “Would Joanna have told anyone else she planned to take Jonathan’s car Wednesday morning? And would that someone have been able to tamper with it before she left?”

“He would have had to have been on the grounds or have had access to the security gate. Look at the facts, Tigo. Whoever did this had to have planned it. People don’t stack kilos of Semtex in their garages. This guy planned and executed a murder. Brings us back to who had motive.”

“Jonathan reeks of it,” Tigo said.

“Interviewing Roger Collins is more my expertise,” Ryan said. “Or Carolyn Hopkins, once she’s found. You may have written them off as suspects, but I still have my doubts. Think protocol.”

“You crave the hard cases as much as I do,” Tigo said. “What you need is a good disguise in a sleazy bar. Turn on super bad boy.”

“Makes me wonder how I’ll tell my kids what I do to solve crimes.”

Tigo chuckled. “They’ll figure it out. Let’s have Collins brought in later today after we finish at the high school.”

At Yeat’s complex, FBI agents searched accounting and employee records. A team talked to those in the warehouse, while another team posed questions to the employees and subcontractors at the construction sites. HPD worked alongside them with their own investigators.

Tigo had interviewed Jonathan’s executive assistant via the phone, but he wanted to talk to her face-to-face. See if she remembered anything. Vanessa Whitcom had worked at Yeat’s Commercial Construction for eight years, five of those as Jonathan’s executive assistant. According to him, she knew more about the business than he did. Swore she had a
photographic memory. Tigo doubted the latter. The woman, divorced and an empty nester, probably just placed all her energies into job dedication. If anyone knew of shady activity at the business, though, Vanessa would be that person.

Tigo entered Vanessa’s eclectic office with a large cranberry slush from Sonic. When he’d phoned Jonathan’s office about their arrival and spoken to the receptionist, he asked what he could bring Vanessa.

“I heard cranberry is your poison.” Tigo poured charm into his words as he handed her the drink.

“Thank you, Agent Harris,” the attractive woman said, reaching for the Sonic cup. “What a perfect icebreaker. Pardon the pun. Won’t you please sit down?”

Tigo introduced Ryan and closed the door before they sat across from the woman.

“How can I help with your investigation?” Vanessa took a sip of her drink and gave Tigo a thumbs-up.

“The killer is still running loose,” Tigo said. “Thought you might be able to recall something we could use in our investigation.”

She sobered. “I’ve been praying for the good Lord to show me something.” She pointed to Ryan. “Does Agent Steadman talk?”

Ryan laughed. “When it’s necessary. In fact, I’ll ask the questions and let the agent with the charm record your answers.”

Tigo eased back in the chair and let his partner take over. Ryan and Vanessa had the faith thing in common. Would he ever come to the same conclusion?

Vanessa scooted aside a mound of papers and set the cup on her desk. A heart-shaped dish held red jelly beans, and a zebra clock with pink-and-orange streamers rested precariously on the edge of the desk. Women and their knickknacks.

“Jonathan’s a dream boss. Always has been. He’s mannerly, gentle, and yet firm when the situation calls for it. I have
no idea who would want him dead. Even now, when he’s not able to come into the office, his calls are attentive, with concern for all of us running the company.”

“Did Joanna spend much time here?”

“A little. She had her charities and her friends.”

“We’ve been told she has sisters. I imagine they spent time together. My wife and her sister talk every day. Volunteer for the same projects at church.”

Vanessa’s frown confirmed Curt’s earlier statement. “Your wife and sister are very lucky, Agent Steadman. But in answer to your question, Joanna and her sisters rarely spent time together. Not sure why.”

“I think you are.” Ryan’s piercing gaze met hers. “I bet you know everything that goes on here and with the family. Jonathan spoke highly of his reliance on you.”

She shrugged. “Her sisters didn’t care for Joanna, no matter how hard she tried.”

“She told you this?”

Vanessa studied Ryan. “Joanna and I were close. We met for lunch regularly. She wanted so much for her sisters to know the Lord so they could be a happy, loving family. But it never happened.” She blinked and shivered. “You two have to find her and Alexia’s killer.”

Tigo had some questions of his own. “What about the divorce?”

Vanessa paled. “That was one thing Joanna hadn’t shared with me, and we talked about everything.”

“She didn’t mention any problems?”

“Spits and spats from time to time. But she loved Jonathan. No, she was
in love
with him. All you had to do was look at them together, and you knew they were committed to each other.”

Tigo nodded at Ryan for him to continue. Vanessa seemed more comfortable with him, and they needed any information she could offer.

Between questions, Vanessa and Ryan talked about other
topics that would build trust—a photograph of her children, the weather, a book about prayer on her desk. She confided that Pastor Taylor Yeat was her pastor too.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else you can tell us?” Ryan said.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Whoever said she’d filed for divorce lied.”

“Her attorney has a signed document.” Ryan’s voice softened.

“Then something other than her relationship with Jonathan drove her to the attorney’s office. Because their marriage was rock solid.” She wrapped her fingers around the Sonic cup. “I would have known.”