He opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a phone book. His eyelids grew heavy as he looked for motels near the airport. Turning down the page, he set it aside. The late work hours had brought on a new feeling of fatigue, something he hadn't experienced in quite awhile. Curly requested he come early on the weekend as Friday and Saturday nights were their busiest. And from what he'd experienced tonight, he believed it; he hadn't even taken a break.
He stripped off his clothes, opened the window and crawled under the covers. The evenings were still cool and nice for sleeping. His eyes closed, he wondered if Curly remembered him coming into the bar over a year ago looking for Jamey. If he did, he didn't act like it. But he knew his new boss and the private investigator were friends. However, Curly treated him the same as all his other employees. A good man. No wonder he had such a successful business, along with the prettiest cocktail waitresses in town.
The next morning, Carl rose late, showered and stood in front of the cracked mirror in the bathroom. He stared at himself with disgust, hating the beard and long hair. Running a comb through the wet strands, he scrunched up his nose. He'd have to keep the long mane so Jamey wouldn't recognize him until he got close enough to grab her.
He went to the dresser and opened the drawer hiding the gun. He unrolled the revolver from the underwear and caressed the barrel. You have to pay, Jamey. You ruined my life. It isn't fair you got off scott free and left me holding the bag. Why did you do that? You led me to believe you loved me and I would have done anything for you. But not now, my pretty one. You destroyed it all.
He stood staring at the gun until a loud pounding at the door caused him to flinch, bringing him out of the trance like state. “Who's there?” he shouted.
"It's me, Jake, from down the hall. A church has brought a free lunch wagon outside. If you want some, you better get your ass to the front of the building before it's all gone."
"Thanks, Jake. I'll be right down."
He rolled the gun back up in his underwear and closed the drawer. Quickly shoving the computer under the mattress, he left the room and locked the door behind him. As he headed down the stairs, he thought, maybe it isn't too bad living in these flea-bitten hotels. At least someone takes pity on the poor souls and makes sure they have food. Another good reason to keep the beard and long hair. It fit the image.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hawkman rose early the next morning. He figured the time had come to inform Williams what he knew about Hopkins. They only had a few more days until Jamey's arrival. He and the detective should establish a plan to make sure Hopkins never got near her. That Glock .40 hidden in Carl's dresser drawer made Hawkman very nervous. He took the pictures he'd printed of Hopkins’ room, stuck them into a file and carried it to the kitchen.
Last night's narrow escape convinced him he shouldn't go back to the hotel without the detective. If Hopkins had spotted him, their plans of keeping an eye on the ex-con could have been jeopardized.
Jennifer strolled into the room, her hair wet from the shower. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
He smiled. “Like a log."
"Hmm, do logs snore?” she asked. “If not, you were sure sawing them."
He laughed. “Sorry about that."
"I tried putting my pillow over your face, but it didn't help."
Hawkman raised his brows. “So that's why I had a suffocating nightmare."
"More than likely,” she said, putting the skillet on the burner. “But you finally rolled over on your side and I'd say it saved your life."
He chuckled. “Why didn't you sleep in?"
"I've got too much to do today. Need an early start. Of course, I'm not fixing you any breakfast, so you're on your own,” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes."
"Are you serious?” he asked with a hurt look.
She grinned. “Gotcha. Knew you couldn't stand the thought of not having bacon and eggs."
"Sometimes you're mean to me, Jennifer."
"Hawkman, you're so spoiled it's pitiful.” She removed the bacon from the frying pan and cracked the eggs into the grease.
He reached over and snatched a piece of the meat. “Not me,” he said with a sly smile.
She popped some bread into the toaster. “Marge called last night and verified Jamey would be at the meeting on Tuesday to clear the title."
"Yeah. She called Williams, too. But we don't know when Jamey will arrive or where she'll stay."
Jennifer cocked her head and glanced at him as she slid the eggs onto his plate. “Why would she have to stay anywhere?"
"What do you mean?” he asked, picking a piece of toast off the saucer she'd placed on the breakfast bar. “That's a long flight and I figure she'll have to come in the night before."
"Think about it, Hawkman. She's probably furious with herself for signing those papers without studying them. Wanting to keep her arrival a secret from everyone, except the title company, she'll take the latest flight she can get. If she does stay in a motel, she'll pay cash and use an alias. But I don't think that will be the case. I think, she'll arrive at the last minute, sign the documents and be on the next flight out of here."
Hawkman stared at her, open mouthed. “You sound like a con-woman."
She laughed. “No, its just a female's way of thinking. Jamey's afraid of you and the law."
"What makes you think that?"
"A natural thought process, when you've done something wrong. She's probably convinced that you've figured out how they pulled off the heist and isn't sure if you have anything on her. The scary part is, I doubt she's aware of Carl Hopkins’ release, which leaves her vulnerable.” Jennifer bit her lip and gave him a worried stare. “Do you think he plans to kill her?"
Hawkman took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “I don't know. But that's no toy gun I found in his room."
"You have to do something. Regardless of what the woman did, she doesn't deserve to die at the hands of a deranged man."
"What do you suggest? We don't know her flight or where she'll go when she arrives. How can we protect her if we know nothing?"
She pushed her plate away and stood. “I could have Marge send her an e-mail warning her that Carl Hopkins is in town."
Hawkman shook his head. “Can't do that, hon. We have no proof Carl has any plans to harm her. Williams is the only one who can make that type of decision. Also you're putting your friend's job at stake. Her e-mails might be monitored. She's running a risk of being fired just for telling you anything about the company's business.
"Do you think the detective might consider notifying Jamey?"
"Nope. He has no grounds. At this point, he doesn't even know Hopkins has a gun or that he's hacked into the title company's files. I'm going into town today and tell him what I've discovered."
She frowned. “You could get your license taken away if Williams reports you've broken into Carl's room."
"The detective doesn't ask questions. He accepts my word."
Jennifer moved around to his side and played her fingers across his broad shoulders. Sliding her arms around him, she placed her chin gently against his back. “You work in a dangerous world."
He nodded. “It's not always threatening."
"True, but the more menacing, the more you love it."
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he swiveled around on the stool and enfolded her into his arms. “Does that worry you?"
"Sometimes. I know you're capable of handling most situations, but I get nervous with people like Carl Hopkins who appear unstable. It's difficult to decipher what he's thinking."
Hawkman stood and gave her a hug. “Hopkins is preoccupied with Jamey at this point. My job is to keep him at bay. Right now, I'm the farthest thing from his mind.” With his arm around her shoulders they walked toward the
'Hawkman Corner’ where he took his new Stetson cowboy hat off the hook and plopped it onto his head.
She gnawed her lower lip. “I hope you're right. Promise me to watch you
r back."
He smiled at her phraseology. “I promise.” Giving her a quick kiss, he left.
* * * *
Jennifer, her arms wrapped around her waist, stood in the entry and watched her husband drive away. A feeling of anxiety swept over her. The thought of Jamey Schyler having more of a hold on her husband than she did at this moment filled her with mixed emotions. She shook her head as if to dispel the jealousy that swept through her. “That's ridiculous,” she said aloud.
She slammed the door in anger at her own thoughts, knowing Hawkman had focused on bringing that woman to justice for her deeds, and not on physical attraction. Jennifer trusted her husband, but knew she must never take him for granted.
Then her mind drifted to Carl Hopkins. She had never seen the man, but from what Hawkman described, he probably looked like an eccentric old cuss. For a young person to go to this extreme seemed odd. She shrugged her shoulders as she sat down at her computer. Staring at the blank screen, she muttered, “Carl Hopkins, stay away from my husband."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hawkman drove into Medford with images of Jennifer running through his mind. While he didn't want to worry her, he could only ease her fears by coming home safe and sound each night. His thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of the cell phone against his waist.
"Casey here."
"Hi, Hawkman, this is Patti from the airport."
"Yes, Patti."
"I wanted to check this out with you before I reported it to my supervisor."
"What happened?"
"Before my shift ended last night, I received a phone inquiry about a Jamey Gray. Is this the same woman?"
Hawkman stiffened. “Yes. She has many aliases. Who made the call?"
"He didn't identify himself. Said he had instructions to pick her up at the airport, but had lost the schedule. He told me she'd be coming in on a flight from South America either Sunday or Monday. I explained that no flight flew directly into Medford from that country; passengers had to change planes somewhere along the line. He got huffy and said he knew that, but wanted to find out if she'd been scheduled. I told him I couldn't release that information. By the way, I checked the flight schedules again and I don't find Jamey Gray, Jamey Schyler or a Shirley Noland anywhere. In fact, I don't find anyone coming in from South America. It appears we're in for a slow weekend."
"I want you to keep a sharp eye out on Sunday and Monday evenings for any name on the scheduling that looks suspicious. Remember what we talked about earlier?"
"Yes. I'll let you know if I find anything ambiguous,” she said.
"I'd advise you to report the call to your supervisor. Then keep alert and if you hear of anyone else receiving an anonymous query on any of those names, report to me immediately. And by the way, thanks for calling."
After hanging up, he figured Hopkins had embarked upon his search, and motels would be next. Hawkman decided he'd also pass this bit of information on to Williams. Which reminded him to call the detective and make sure he'd catch the man in his office."
Hawkman parked in the station's visitor's area, picked up the file of pictures he had on the passenger seat and glanced around before getting out of the vehicle. He wondered if he'd spot Hopkins strolling down the street or see the old battered Toyota resting at the curb. Observing nothing out of the ordinary, he made his way into the building and headed down the hallway. When he reached Williams’ office, he poked his head around the door frame. The detective sat at his desk, writing furiously on a sheet of paper. His salt and pepper hair swayed to the rhythm of his strokes as he wrote. Hawkman cleared his throat.
When Williams jerked up his head, Hawkman laughed. “Man, were you concentrating. What are you doing, writing the story of your life?"
"Oh yeah. I plan on making big bucks.” He raised both hands in the air, his fingers forming a rectangle. “I can just see the headlines. Read all about Detective Williams in three pages.” He opened his eyes wide. “Ever heard of a bestseller that short?"
Hawkman chortled and took the chair in front of the desk. “You could definitely write more than three pages. At least three chapters. Then you could retire."
Williams guffawed. “Yeah, right! So, what's on your mind this morning?"
Hawkman's expression turned solemn as he slid the folder of pictures in front of the detective. “There's a problem and I'm going to need your help."
"Okay, shoot."
"I've discovered Carl Hopkins has a gun. And that he's purchased a computer and successfully hacked into the American Title Company's files. He knows Jamey will be here Tuesday. I also have a connection at the airport and found out that an anonymous caller inquired about her arrival. I don't like the looks of things and feel Hopkins plans on harming her. She's going to need our protection."
Williams frowned as he sorted through the photos. “This looks and sounds serious."
Hawkman nodded. “I have no doubt."
"What time is her flight?"
"So far, no reservations have been made in her name or in the alias she used before. I suspect she'll wait until the last minute, maybe even go standby in hopes that she won't be discovered. I figure she'll leave Monday evening and arrive just in time for the meeting, then leave immediately after signing the papers."
"Will your snitch notify you?"
"Yes. But my biggest concern is keeping Hopkins under observation. We need to know where he is every minute of Monday and Tuesday."
"Is he working?"
"Yes, at Curly's"
Williams pointed at the photo of the Glock. “Is he carrying this gun?"
"I don't think so. But I suspect that will change as the day approaches for Jamey to make her appearance."
Williams leaned forward. “Without asking how you got this information. I'm assuming these pictures were taken in Hopkins’ room ."
Hawkman nodded.
The detective sighed. “Unfortunately, we've had no complaints on him, so I have no reason to get a search warrant."
"Yeah, so far he's been careful to keep his nose clean."
"What about Jamey checking into a motel? That might be a way to find her."
Hawkman shook his head. “I doubt she'd risk it. Her stay won't be long enough. Even if she did register for one night, she'd pay cash and use some strange name we wouldn't recognize. She's smart enough to know that's what we'd check first thing. Jamey will do anything to avoid us. I have the feeling she fears we've found evidence that links her to the Oklahoma diamond heist. The major problem is, she has no idea Carl Hopkins is here. And with his changed appearance, I doubt she'd recognize him. I'm afraid things will come down fast. So, as soon as I get the information she's aboard an arriving plane, we'll have to move quickly. That's why I need your help. I don't think I can handle this operation alone."
Williams returned the pictures to the folder. “I'll put a couple of men on Hopkins starting Sunday evening. But I need a mug shot.” His fingers flew over the keyboard, then he smiled. “There we go.” The printer hummed. He yanked the sheet out and held it toward Hawkman. “Is this the man?"
Leaning forward, Hawkman studied the print out. “Yep, that's him, beard and all."
"Figured he had to apply for a driver's license.” Williams made several more copies and handed one to Hawkman. “You might need this."
"Thanks.” He folded the duplicate and slipped it into his pocket.
"If you spot him at the airport, give me a call and I'll send backups.” Williams leaned back in the chair. “You know, it might even be worthwhile to place a plainclothesman at the title company on Tuesday."
Hawkman slapped his hand on the desk. “That's a great idea."
The detective stared into his face. “You'd sure like to see that gal behind bars, wouldn't you?"
"Yep,” he nodded. “She's a con-artist and has hurt several people. I doubt the day will ever come where we can prove Ms. Schyler had anything to do with that heist. But she doesn't deserve to be killed."
&n
bsp; "You're right. Unfortunately, our hands are tied as far as trying to warn her about Hopkins. We don't have any proof that he's the one who made the call to the airport or that he has any intention of harming her. Unless something changes."
Hawkman sighed. “Yeah, I know, but I sure would like to confront that woman before she slips away again."
Williams picked up a pencil and made some notes on a pad of paper. “Maybe you'll get your chance."
Hawkman stood and picked up the folder of pictures. “I won't keep you any longer. Thanks for your help. I'll check in with you Monday morning. Chalk this up as my owing you one."
Williams grinned. “Don't think I won't. I've got a thick ‘owe you one’ file with your name on it."
Chuckling, Hawkman left the station. Climbing into his 4X4, he had the feeling of being wedged between two hard spots. If the detective decided that things were getting hot and sent a warning to Jamey about Hopkins, she'd never get off the plane. Yet, if they didn't caution her and something happened, he'd feel mighty guilty.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sunday night Jamey stood in front of the bathroom mirror and studied her reflection. Tomorrow evening, she'd leave for Medford. Since Bob kept insisting she had nothing to fear, why did that shiver of apprehension keep running up and down her spine? Maybe her own thoughts primed her emotions.
She glanced around the ornate room with its gold faucets and huge Jacuzzi tub where she enjoyed soaking with bubbles up to her nose. The servants kept everything glistening clean. Would she have to give all this up for a five by eight cell with a filthy toilet in the corner? She shuddered at the image.
The worst part, she'd be on her own. No way could Bob help. He'd risk arrest if he entered the States. Sure, he'd hire the best attorney to defend her, but it wouldn't be the same without him there.
She fingered the beautiful soft blue negligee. Delicate lace straps graced her tanned shoulders and a sheer panel of pale blue gauze covered her breasts. The skirt flared out in soft waves when she walked or turned. Bob had presented it to her as a going away gift and requested she wear it to bed tonight.
Diamonds Aren't Forever Page 9
