Leave Yesterday Behind (23 page)

Chapter 34

She didn’t like Special Agent in Charge Phillips. Not even a little.

Callie’s eyes roamed the room, taking in how Aunt C’s gracious living room furniture had been pushed aside for all kinds of electronic equipment—listening devices, computers with screens and hard drives and printers, card tables setup with area maps that beeped when touched.

And the half-dozen field agents populating the room seemed to have as little personality as Agent Phillips. No,
Special Agent in Charge
Phillips. He kept saying it that way, so she assumed it was a big deal for a federal agent to carry around that particular title.

Still, he put her on edge. She thought his incessant monologue might cause her to snap any minute now.

She stood. Agent Phillips droned on. She coughed gently. Agent Phillips droned on. She finally had enough. She cleared her throat. Loudly.

Agent Phillips stopped, peeved at the interruption.

“Have you ever thought to ask Nick or me about any of this, Special Agent in Charge Phillips?” Her foot tapped impatiently as she spoke. “It seems to me we might be able to clue you in on a few firsthand details about this creep.”

Phillips frowned at her. “I’ve read all your previous statements and those of Mr. La Chappelle, Ms. Chennault. As a civilian, I’d think you’d want to leave things to the experts. I have seventeen years at the bureau, nine of those as a SAC, and I wasn’t aware that in trying to keep you and Mr. La Chappelle alive, I would need to ask your permission regarding anything. If that’s how NYPD ran things, no wonder—”

“Don’t even say it,” she warned, her voice low and threatening. “Paul Waggoner ran an impeccable investigation, and you will not dishonor his memory in any way.”

He shrugged. “As I was saying,” and his eyes cut away from hers, though his words implied that she had rudely interrupted him. “Our UNSUB—Unknown Subject—Lipstick Larry—has to be in the immediate area. We’ve set twenty-four hour patrols at seven points along this sizeable property, including three sides of the lake. Your aunt and housekeeper are currently being escorted off the estate for their protection—”

“Wait a minute.” This time Nick interrupted. “You can’t tell me Miz C agreed to this.”

“Whether she did or not is not up for discussion. She is vacating the premises for her safety.” Phillips focused his glare on her. “And no, we did not ask. The federal government reserves the right to tell its citizens what is in their best interests in times of duress, such as this.”

The French doors crashed open at that moment. In rolled Callandra Chennault. Her color was high. She seemed like one of God’s avenging angels, minus a sword in hand. The old woman wheeled right up to Special Agent in Charge Phillips.

“I
will
say goodbye to my great-niece. Whether you like it or not, young man.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You may have torn me from my home, but you will not prevent me from having a word with Callie before I go.”

Phillips opened his mouth and then thought better of it. He closed his jaw tightly, holding his thoughts to himself. Still, Callie read the disapproval on his face.

She went and knelt by the wheelchair. “I hope this won’t be for long, Aunt C. I’m sorry they’re forcing you and Essie from Noble Oaks.”

Callandra frowned at everyone in the room in general. Conversation ceased. The lone sound came from the printer spitting out some document.

“It won’t be for long, dear,” her aunt said quietly. “I’ll do anything in my power to see you safe. And if it means spending a few nights somewhere else, so be it.”

Callandra took in the surrounding audience of agents. This time her voice carried for all to hear. “And I know I won’t find one stick of furniture out of place when this is done. Not one iota lost, gone, or misused, else I’ll sue the pants off Uncle Sam.” She glared especially hard at Phillips. “You better get this son-of-a-bitch, Mr. Special Agent in Charge. This is my Callie we’re talking about. I hold
you
responsible for protecting every hair on her head.”

Essie crossed the room to retrieve control of the wheelchair and its rider. Callandra took Callie’s hands in hers. “You have Nick. That’s what counts. I trust him much more than these G-men.”

Callie kissed her paper-thin cheek. “I’ll call you tonight. Where are you staying?”

Callandra snorted. “I don’t know.
He
refused to tell me much of anything.” With a raised chin and a final look of disapproval thrown Agent Phillips’s way, she motioned Essie to leave the room.

After she left, Phillips explained, “They’re being taken to a safe house. I’m afraid you can’t be in contact with one another.” He raised a hand to cut off her protest. “It’s really for the best. Mrs. Chennault will have a doctor on hand since she seems to be a bit delicate at the moment. You wouldn’t want her endangered in any way, I’m sure.”

The FBI agent had played the only card that she couldn’t trump. Her aunt’s fragile health and the knowledge that the stalker might get to Aunt C or Essie as he had Paul Waggoner kept her from further protests.

“Waggoner’s superiors mentioned using a decoy that resembled Mr. La Chappelle to draw out the UNSUB. We have someone flying in from the Atlanta office that is a good physical match to him. I also have a field agent in Dallas that bears a resemblance to you, Ms. Chennault. Both agents will be here by mid-afternoon, though they won’t come directly to this location at first. We don’t want to tip our hand.

“I would like to ask that the two of you work with them on your mannerisms. We can dress them in your similar fashion—and from a distance they may be mistaken for you—but our boy will be familiar enough with your body language to know they’re imposters. Would you both be willing to help us?”

Callie glanced at Nick. He shrugged. She knew they really didn’t have any choice in the matter.

“Bring them on. I’ve been through enough acting classes to put them through their paces. By the time I’m finished, the stalker won’t be able to tell a difference,” she promised.

He grinned at her confident words. Being a tech geek finally paid off. Cell-Finity Bug to the rescue! He’d been able to hack both of their cell phones more easily than their computer. Once he called the infected phones, they didn’t ring—but it secretly turned on the phone’s microphone. The beauty of the process meant that the phone’s screen didn’t display his call to it. It didn’t even turn up in the call log. He’d even broken into their text messaging system and had access to everything there. If the public only knew how many eavesdroppers had discovered this cell phone spy technology readily available on the Internet, there’d be mass riots.

Fortunately, the two lovebirds were typical smart phone owners and kept their phones near them at all times. He could hear any conversation from fifteen feet away, and they’d given him an earful.

It did surprise him that Jessica waited to have sex with the ballplayer until last night. He assumed they were banging away somewhere else in the house or in the cottage out back since when he’d seen them together, they’d been as entangled as a stripper around a pole. But it was obvious what he’d listened to last night was a first-time encounter.

He wasn’t sure how that made him feel. Thoughts of sex usually combined in his mind with violence.

Memories from his childhood flashed quickly in his mind. The parade of men. The tangled sheets. The scent of sex that lingered in the air. His mother’s cries, which he thought were part of real distress in the beginning. Later, he learned that was not always the case.

He spied on her, too. When he was little, he’d slip into the room and hid behind an old swivel chair, turning it just so for a better glimpse of the action. What unfolded fascinated—yet repulsed him—at the same time. Once when he got caught by a john and she’d learned to lock the door, he’d swiped the super’s tools and drilled a small hole in the wall between her bedroom and the front room where he slept on a foldout couch. He hid it behind a cheap, framed print of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh that she’d found at some garage sale.

And so he watched. And he learned.

The images never left him.

He realized women used sex as leverage, just as they used their looks. And as his mother’s faded over the years, so had the level of her clientele. Not to mention the money that came in. The way they lived continued to spiral downward until they hit rock bottom. Little to no food. The clothes on their backs. A pocketful of beatings—either courtesy of Mama or one of the string of men that marched through all hours of the day and night.

It was
that man’s
fault. He’d ruined Mama and her chance at a career in the soaps when she was pretty and full of life. He’d seen pictures of her, and every now and then, he’d spot a glimpse of the girl she’d once been, the one who longed to come into people’s homes and make her mark.

Unfortunately, that one wasn’t around anymore. But Nick was, and he was close enough.

Nick could pay the toll. First, by watching Jessica die. And then when he didn’t think he could suffer anymore, Nick would see that his suffering had just begun.

Chapter 35

The dark sedan sped toward New Orleans, its air conditioning blasting away, trying to alleviate the intense heat and humidity lurking outside the tinted windows.

“We’ll be situated in one of the airport hotels,” Agent Phillips explained. “A large suite, which my people have already gone over with a fine-toothed comb.”

Callie stared out the window at the passing scenery, her frustration mounting. She and Nick had brainstormed together, away from the prying eyes of the FBI, off and on for hours. They hadn’t thought of a single situation where they could expose themselves to the killer and draw his attention while still coming out of the encounter alive.

Her mind drifted, playing out possible scenarios. The sudden roar of an airplane taking off made her realize they were close to their destination.

The car pulled up to the main entrance. In front and behind them, agents poured out of two separate cars, looking around like they were in a bad spy movie. It would almost have seemed comical if not for her bleak outlook.

They escorted Nick and her through the lobby and up to a suite where Ted and Brenda, the decoys, had already arrived. Greetings were exchanged, and for the first time in a long time, she found herself outside the loop of fame.

“I am such a longtime fan, Mr. La Chappelle,” Agent Brenda gushed. “I was at the Series where you pitched the no-hitter.”

“Same here, Mr. La Chappelle.” Agent Ted pumped Nick’s hand enthusiastically. “My brother will spit shit when he hears I met you. You’ve been a huge idol of ours for years.”

“And you brought such intelligence to the broadcast booth,” Agent Brenda purred. “It’s a shame you left when you did. Your replacements have all been so dull. And not nearly as easy on the eye.”

“Please. Call me Nick.” He slipped the baseball trading card from Agent Ted’s hand and pulled a pen from Agent Phillips’s pocket. “I’ll bet you’d like that autographed.” He scrawled his name and playing number across the bottom of the card.

She hid a smile. It was nice for once not being the one fawned over. And it brought home to her again that Nick was famous in his own right.

Nick returned the card and pen and gestured to her. “This is my fiancée, Callie Chennault.”

Perfunctory greetings occurred this time, with no hint of enthusiasm. She thought she was going to like these two agents way more than SAC Phillips.

“Yes, I read the file on you, Ms. Chennault. So you’re an actress that’s attracted a stalker,” commented Agent Brenda, her bored voice indicating that this was a frequent nuisance. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with you or your show.”

“But the file says you’re apparently a big deal,” Agent Ted threw in. “We’ll do our best to—”

Nick interrupted. “You guys are looking at a multiple Emmy-award winning actress,” he stated, the vein in his temple throbbing. “Callie has also won all kinds of fan awards. She works with the SPCA and a battered women’s shelter in New York and is the person this douche bag is after. I’m just a secondary target. So let’s get our priorities straight and focus on her, or this whole deal’s off.”

Nick’s passionate defense of her surprised Callie—especially his loss of control. That let her know how really upset he was. She touched his arm and pulled him aside.

With a teasing smile and in a voice that only he could hear, she said, “Now Superman, I need you to calm down. Thanks for coming to my rescue when my legion of fans didn’t materialize and recognize all my outstanding achievements, but remember—I’m the diva here. I’ll pull the prima donna act if need be.”

Her teasing tone had the right effect on Nick. He visibly relaxed.

“I’m wound tighter than heading to the mound for the seventh game of the Series, and that’s—”

“Hey, even I know what that means. No need to explain. Come on. Let’s get over there and put Ken and Barbie through their paces.”

He glanced over at the two FBI agents. “Do they really look like us? I don’t quite picture myself as that pretty boy over there.” He took her hand and glanced back in the agents’ direction. “And she’s way too plain to be you.”

Callie shrugged. “It would be a close enough resemblance from a distance. Height, coloring, weight. Those are all pretty much the same. Come on, big guy.” She squeezed his hand and led him back over to the huddled agents.

“I see no need to focus on speech patterns or inflections,” Callie told them. “He shouldn’t be up close and personal for that long. We need to work on your gait, the head tilts, your posture, hand gestures. Things like that.”

They spent about fifteen minutes talking about their habits and demonstrating to the pair.

After a moment, Callie said, “Nick, why don’t you go work with Agent Brenda here? You’ve observed me closely. You probably know more than I do about my gestures and how they look to others. I’ll take Agent Ted here under my wing.”

They both went to different rooms and worked for another hour, both checking on each other from time to time at the progress being made. Finally, Callie suggested putting the two agents together.

“We need you to interact as a couple. If this plays out like Agent Phillips believes, he may try to take us at the same time. You both need to be convincing enough not only as individuals but as we are together.”

“Do we need to demonstrate anything for them?” Nick asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye. He slipped an arm around her waist and moved in for a quick, hard kiss.

“Is this really necessary?” Agent Brenda whined.

The SAC barked out, “Yes. The UNSUB wants both of them. Ms. Chennault is right. He’ll probably look for a situation to grab them together at the same time and place.”

Phillips frowned. “We need to think about where to turn your decoys loose. In public. But not too public. Definitely leaving Noble Oaks, since he seems to have tracked you from there before. We need for them to be on guard, even guarded, but somehow the guard must come down.”

“How smart is this UNSUB?” Agent Ted asked. “I haven’t seen the profile on him.”

“I’ll get to that, but he’s smart. Very smart. He kidnapped and killed several women in New York City and hasn’t left any visible trace of evidence behind. Plus, an NYPD detective with decades of experience. Obviously, he’s detailed-oriented. A planner.”

Phillips put the decoys through their paces again, allowing her and Nick to make any adjustments they thought necessary. She sat as they watched the pair.

Nick parked next to her on the sofa. “Tired?” he whispered in her ear. “You look it.”

“I’m beginning to feel it.”

He rose and went to the other side of the room. He spoke a moment to Agent Phillips, who glanced over at her.

“All right. Let’s return you to Noble Oaks. I’m going to stay here, but Agent Crocker will see you home safely.”

They had the same escort cars guide them out of the airport maze and to Aurora.

Nick’s stomach growled as they pulled into the drive of the old mansion. “Hey, what’re we going to do about dinner? There’s no Essie to pamper us. Would you like to order a pizza? Aurora actually has a pizzeria now. It’s pretty darn good, especially if you’re interested in sausage and pepperoni. And hopefully some mushrooms. Essie’ll have the number posted on the fridge. Ham and pineapple have become a favorite of Miz C’s.”

They got out of the car and let Agent Crocker show them inside the foyer.

“There are two men stationed in the living room. They’re the only agents in the house. Several agents are still scattered about, monitoring the perimeter, so rest assured that no one can get in. Please arm the alarm as I leave,” Crocker instructed. “If you need anything, call Phillips.”

Callie closed the door behind him and set the alarm. “We almost have the house to ourselves,” she said quietly. “Finally.”

They headed straight to the kitchen, and she searched the refrigerator door for the take-out number.

“Hey, on second thought, I remember I’ve got a DiGiorno’s Pizza out in the freezer at the cottage,” Nick said. “It’s almost as good as the real thing and a whole lot faster. Should I get it?”

She nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ll pre-heat the oven and toss us a salad.”

“Be right back.” Nick punched in the code to allow him to open the rear door. She followed him over and locked the door behind him, smiling through the glass as he signaled his thumbs-up approval. She re-armed the system and then turned the oven on to preheat before heading to the refrigerator.

Callie removed lettuce, tomatoes, black olives, mushrooms, cucumbers, and grated cheese. She took out a cutting board and chopped the ingredients, tossing everything in a large glass bowl and drizzling Essie’s famous raspberry vinaigrette over it. She thought it good enough to sell, but Essie was too humble about her talents. She simply bottled the dressing and gave it away to friends and family.

She glanced at the clock and wondered what was taking Nick so long. Maybe he was having a hard time getting away from Petey. Callie had witnessed how much Petey loved to talk. He might be lonely as he spent nights away from his parents for the first time. Still, her own stomach rumbled even more loudly than Nick’s had.

She decided to go get both of them and invite Petey to dinner if he hadn’t already eaten with his folks. Aunt C had a tremendous sweet tooth and usually had no less than four different kinds of ice creams in the freezer. If butter pecan wasn’t there, Callie believed she could find some flavor that would tempt Petey.

She placed the salad in the refrigerator to keep it cold and punched in the code. She unlocked and opened the back door and re-armed the alarm before she set out for the short walk over to the cottage. This time her stomach nearly sang out in displeasure. Well, it was past eight-thirty. At this rate, they should probably gobble down the salad and settle for ham and cheese sandwiches. They could save the pizza for tomorrow.

Lights glowed in the bungalow’s windows as dusk began to settle over Noble Oaks. Heat still rose from the ground in waves. The smell of cut grass mingled with the scent of magnolias and the sound of cicadas calling out to one another. She’d always thought of their song as the music of the night in the South.

It hit her that she hadn’t missed New York at all since she’d returned to Aurora. Maybe they would make their home here after all. She’d enjoyed toying around with writing ideas. Could that be the new direction of her career? If she changed to behind the camera, she wouldn’t have to fight the stereotyping that would occur in front of it when she auditioned for future roles. She needed to consider it.

Writing intrigued her. Maybe she could collaborate with Nick, though she sensed as a writer he was pretty much a loner. Or she could try something on her own. A novel might be too difficult to start, but she could write what she knew. What if she created a new soap? Nighttime soaps had come back into favor lately, with
Nashville
and the rebooted
Dallas
that played for a few seasons. She even considered things like
The Real Housewives
to be much like a soap, and they were certainly popular in the ratings. Maybe going in a new direction, such as writing, was the change of pace she needed. Plus, it would help distance her from Jessica.

A satisfied smile crossed her lips. Ideas started to fill her head as she continued down the drive to the cottage. She wondered if Nick would like to toss some around as they ate dinner. Callie pictured a Southern matriarch like Aunt C trading barbs with the town’s diabolical mayor. Political intrigue, romance, and a new business venture started blurring in her head.

She stepped onto the tiny postage stamp of a porch. No doorbell meant she rapped loudly. She could hear the sound of the TV. She waited a moment and knocked again. Maybe Nick and Petey were back in the kitchen and couldn’t hear her. When she knocked again and got no response, she decided to go inside.

She tried the handle and found the door was unlocked, so she pushed it open. “Nick? Petey?” she called. “Are you here?”

As she stepped into the room, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. A quick scan of the room showed her that nothing seemed out of place. Some reality show blared from the TV. Maybe Petey was hard of hearing.

Yet as she crossed the room and headed toward the kitchen, a rush of fierce panic swept through her. She had to get out of here. Now.

Callie turned as the front door was pushed closed and locked.

Her eyes connected with a man in his mid-twenties. He was a couple of inches under six feet. Dark hair. Muddy brown eyes. Pleasant in a non-descript way. A sweet but bland smile. T-shirt and jeans. And blood spattered from the knees of his jeans to his sneakers.

No one had to tell her who he was.