Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 02 - A Deadly Bargain, Plan C (15 page)

Thirty seconds later, Stan Parker blasted through the glass doors and raced to his car, a silver-blue Toyota minivan.  Jason let out a sigh of relief as he put the Taurus in gear and pulled out of our spot.  We eased out of the parking lot and followed the minivan south,
then
onto the freeway.  Jason kept one car between us and Parker to avoid being spotted.  Luckily, Stan Parker used his turn signals faithfully
,
so we were never surprised by his moves.  We exited the freeway after about ten miles and headed east, toward the foothills.  We followed him into a rural subdivision
called ”
Iron Horse Estates.”  Jason stayed back far enough to avoid attention, but close enough that we could always keep him in sight if he turned a corner. 

The minivan finally pulled into a long circular driveway in front of a large ranch-style home.  The red tile roof shaded two ferns hanging in the Spanish
arches on each side of the entry.  A perfectly manicured lawn led to a flower bed bursting with begonias, impatiens, and oxalis.  The flowing branches of a weeping-willow swayed with the breeze.  The pleasantness of the scene momentarily distracted me from the seriousness of the situation.

“Stop right here,” I instructed Jason.  We parked on the street and watched as Stan Parker climbed out of the minivan. 

A golden r
etriever, with a red bandana tied around his neck, barreled around the corner of the house to greet him.  Pink flowers and dirt clods flew through the air as the big dog tore through the flower bed.  Stan Parker covered his eyes with his hands and shook his head.

“That’s Tex!” I blurted, pointing at the bumbling beast.

Jason grabbed my hand and pulled it down.  “Don’t get so excited.  There must be a million of those dogs around.  You can’t be sure it’s Tex.”

A woman walked out the front door and called the dog to her side.  I watched as the big dog obeyed her command and she took him by the collar and led him into the house.  Parker followed.

“Oh yeah?
  Now I’m sure that’s Tex.”

“How do you know?” Jason
asked
.

“Because that was Olive who just took him inside.”

Chapter
Nineteen

W
e sat in the car, watching the closed front door, waiting for someone to come out.  “I don’t get it. 
Clancy and Olive?
  They can’t be involved in all this,” I said.

“Why not?
  You said he found that boat back in November.  He could have found the
Gigabyte
months ago,” Jason
said
.  That scenario hadn’t occurred to me, but Jason’s theory sent my brain on a wild detour.  I processed it, but couldn’t make any sense out of it.

“But why
all the
charade?  I
t doesn’t fit.  There’s something else going on,” I insisted.

Jason adjusted the strap of his seatbelt.  “What do you want to do?  Bust in there like the Lone Ranger?”

“No.  Let me see your phone again, Tonto.”

I punched in the
number for Dan Cooper’s office
and navigated my way back to his voice mail.  This time, he’d added an addendum to his announcement.  “If this pertains to an urgent matter, press zero and speak with my assistant, Marci
Eisman
.  She will assist you.”

I pressed zero and waited for the welcome voice of a real person.  “Hi.  Marci
Eisman
, please?”

“One moment.”

Ten seconds later, “This is Marci.  Can I help you?”

“Hi Marci.
  My na
me is
Devonie
Lace.  I’ve been—
“

“Miss Lace.  Yes.  I’ve been expecting your call.  I have a message for you from Agent Cooper.  He’s on his way to San Diego right now.  He wants you to meet him at the FBI office there as soon as you can.”

I checked my watch.  “It’ll have to be tomorrow morning.  Can you relay that to him?”

“Certainly.”

A moment later, the door I’d been watching swung open and Stan Parker rushed out, followed by Clancy and Olive.  Tex squeezed through the door and Olive grabbed his collar and ordered him back into the house.

“Thanks, Marci,” I blurted into the phone and hung up.

Stan, Clancy, and Olive piled into the minivan and peeled out of the driveway.

I pointed toward the escaping vehicle.  “Quick!  Follow them!”

Jason fumbled with the keys.

“Come on!  Come on!” I blurted.

“I’m trying!  Lay off!”  He finally got the Ford started and jammed it in gear.  We took off after the minivan.

“Not so close,” I ordered.  “He’ll make us.”

Jason eased off the gas pedal.  “Make us?  You’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

“Just don’t lose him.”

We wound our way back to the freeway and merged into the heavy traffic, headed north.  Stan Parker must have shoved his foot to the floor, because the minivan surged ahead, almost rear-ending the car in front of him.  He swerved around the obstacle.

“Speed up,” I
said
.

Jason eased the Taurus around the Honda in front of us.  The minivan weaved in and out of traffic, putting more distance between us.

“Hurry!
  He’s getting away!” I hollered, bracing my hands on the dash.  I felt a knot in my stomach as the tension built with each passing second.

Jason leered at me.  “Just relax.  I told you I want to live to see another day.”  He checked over his left shoulder and eased into the carpool lane.  The minivan was well ahead of us.  I glanced over at the speedometer.  It read seventy-five.

“Come on, Jason.  People are passing us!”

He gripped the wheel and pushed the accelerator down a little more.  I watched the needle inch up to eighty.

“Okay.  Now you’re keeping up with the commuters.  How about catching that minivan,” I
said
, pointing through the windshield toward the vehicle that had almost disappeared from our view.

Jason’s knuckles were white as we barreled down the freeway at eighty-five miles-per-hour, then ninety.  I sat on the edge of my seat and strained to keep the minivan in sight.

“I think we’re gaining on him,” I said as I took a deep breath to fight off the symptoms of hyperventilating.  “Keep it up.”

The minivan moved over to the number-three lane, then to the center lane. 

I pointed at it.  “He’s moving over.  We better stick with him.”

Jason didn’t make any move.  I glanced over at him.  “Come on, Jason.  Change lanes.”

Jason looked over his right shoulder.  “I can’t.  There’s no opening.”

I checked over my shoulder.  “Sure there is!  Just make one!  They won’t hit you!”

Jason flicked on his turn signal.  The car on our right bumper sped up.

“Jerk,” I grumbled as it held its position next to us.

The minivan changed lanes, again.  “He’s
gonna
get off, Jason!  Come on!  Get over!”

“I can’t!  There’s no open spot!”

The minivan made one last swerve and glided down the off-ramp.  We barreled by at eighty-five miles-per-hour.  “Great.  We lost him,” I moaned.  I couldn’t beli
eve it. 
After all that effort—
the flight, the daring phone
call, flushing Stan Parker out—
all for nothing.
  I absolutely hate wasted effort.  I tried to come up with a way to save this failed mission.

Jason eased his foot off the accelerator. 
“Sorry, Dev.
  There was just no way.”

I cranked around in my seat and tried to see where the minivan went.  It was useless.  He was long out of view.  I turned back around and adjusted my
seatbelt.  I didn’t say a word, but
just stared out the windshield, gritting my teeth.

Jason glanced at me.  “Come on, Dev.  I’m sorry
.  There really was no way—
“ 

“I know.  You’re right.  I’m just worried about Spencer.”  I checked my watch.  “Our flight’s not for another four hours.  Let’s head back to the Bates Building.”

“What are you cooking up
now?” Jason asked, with a worried tone in his voice.

I pointed out the window toward a shopping mall on the west side of the freeway.  “There.  Let’s stop at Sears.”

“Sears?”

“Yeah.
  Got your credit card handy?”

“Jeez!  You’re
gonna
break me!”

I led Jason through the tool section of the store.  I gathered up a leather tool belt, a collection of screwdrivers, pliers, wire cutters, and strippers.

“What in the world are you up to?” Jason asked, standing in the middle of the aisle, feet apart and hands on his hips.

I picked up a baseball cap, took his hand, and led him toward the counter.  “You’ll see.”

Jason signed on the dotted line and we marched out of Sears with our purchase.

“Okay.  Time’s ticking.  Let’s get over to the Bates Building,” I
said
.

Jason glared at me.  “Something tells me I’m not
gonna
like this.”

“Relax.  It’ll be okay.” 
Famous last words.
  I remember chanting those very words to my manager at San Tel during those eleven days when the database had gone down and I couldn’t get it back up.  I’ve tried hard to stay away from situ
ations that call for those four little
words.  Apparently, I haven’t tried hard enough.

We pulled into the Bates Corporation lot and parked behind a large garbage bin.  It was late in the afternoon and the time limit imposed by our return flight to San Diego nagged at me.  I pulled the price tags off the tools and placed them randomly in the belt.  I stopped and looked at Jason.  “This isn’t
gonna
work.”

He squinted at me.  “What’s not
gonna
work?”

“My plan.
  I need you to do something first.”

“
What
something
?”

“It’s easy.  Just go into the lobby.  There’s a stack of newsletters on the table in the waiting area.  Grab one and bring it back.”

“Newsletter?
  Why?”

“You’ll see. 
Hurry.”

Jason shook his head, unbuckled his seatbelt, and climbed out of the Ford.  He pointed his finger at me.  “You’d better be right about this.”

I watched him disappear through the glass entrance.  A moment later, he reappeared with the rolled-up newsletter in his hand.  He beamed a proud smile at me as he approached the car and slid into the driver’s seat.  “Here you go.  Mission accomplished.”

I snatched it up and flipped through the pages, stopping when I found what I was looking for.  “Good.  Now we have to find a copy machine.”

“Copies?”
  Jason shot a grimace my way, then started the car.

“Yeah.
  That shopping center we passed about two miles back.  I saw a drugstore,” I
said
.

We stood at the copy machine next to the ice-cream counter in the drugstore.  I patted my pockets and glanced at Jason.  “Got any change?”

He dug through his pockets and produced two dimes, four nickels, and six pennies.  I picked out everything but the pennies.

I opened the newsletter to the sample forms and found the new design for the Bates Corporation work order.  I tore off a small strip of blank paper from a different page, licked it, and pasted it across the word “sample” on the work order.  I laid it
face down
on the glass, closed the lid, put my dime in, and
pressed the big green button.  The machine spit out half of a work order, too small, and oriented the wrong way on the paper.

Jason elbowed me.  “Better read the instructions, techno-queen.  That’s all the change I have.”

I smirked at him, pressed some buttons, dropped another dime in the slot, and hit the “Go” button again.  This time, it was perfect.  I made two more copies and snatched the newsletter from the glass. 

I took Jason’s arm.  “Come on.  Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute.  I’m
gonna
get an ice cream.”

“Come on!  We don’t have time!”

Jason mimicked me in a high-pitched, nasally voice.  “Come on, Jason.  Give me your credit card, Jason.  Drive me here, Jason.  Drive me there, Jason.  Jump off that cliff, Jason.”

I ignored his mockery and
dragged
him through the exit door.  “Give me the keys,” I demanded.

“No.”

“Then quit whining.”

We parked in the Bates Building lot again.  I scribbled some words on the work order and signed Stan Parker’s name to it
, then
climbed out of the Taurus and stood next to the passenger door.  Jason watched as I buckled the tool belt and wiggled it on my hips to make sure it wouldn’t slip off.  “Wait here,” I said.

“What are you up to?” Jason
asked
.

“I’m
gonna
see what I can dig
up. 
If I’m not out of there
in
…“
I checked my watch.  “In thirty minutes, come get me.”

“Get you?  But—
“

I slammed the door and trotted across the parking lot toward the entrance, leaving Jason with his mouth hanging open.  I slipped on a pair of sunglasses and tucked my hair through the opening in the back of the baseball cap.

When I pushed through the big glass door, I was relieved to see a different receptionist behind the counter.  I removed my sunglasses and spread the work order out on the counter in front of her.  “Hi.  I’m from maintenance.  I need to tone out some lines in Stan Parker’s office.”

The receptionist glanced over the work order, then back at me.  “Where’s your employee badge?”

I glanced at my watch.  “By this time, it’s probably somewhere in my backyard.  My dog ate it last night.”

She crinkled her nose. 
“
Ew
.”

“H.R. knows.  I’m supposed to pick up a visitor badge from you until they get my new one made up.”

She pressed some buttons on her switchboard and smiled at me.  I tapped my foot on the tile floor and readied to dash out the front door.

She glanced at her clock.  “No one answers in H.R.”  She handed me a visitor badge.  “
Here.
  Just bring it back when you get your replacement.”

“Thanks.”  I clipped the badge to my shirt and hurried down the corridor.