The Survivor

by DiAnn Mills

  “Maybe he was interrupted … Amy Garrett must be an incredibly strong woman. Think of what she’s lived with all these years. For that matter, Kariss is no quitter. This whole thing has me baffled. We know it’s connected to the Yeat case, but how?”

  “Linc, he must have a cache of well-thought-out moves, or he’d have been caught a long time ago.”

  “I think our bad guy isn’t on our list of suspects. You and Ryan have done a fine job, but all we’ve come up with are dead ends. We’ve got to rev up the investigation. Bait the killer. Put some pressure on your informants. Do whatever it takes.”

  “Yes, sir. He stepped on personal ground when he killed agents.”

  “It got personal for me a long time ago,” Linc said. “Kariss got in over her head—again. Remember that I’ve known her longer than you have. But you do know she challenged some rough characters publicly when she worked at Channel 5. That tenacity of hers helped us solve crimes, but it also gets her into trouble.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Tigo’s mind whipped into overdrive. “I bet Carolyn Hopkins knows something. Her body language communicated more than animosity for Jonathan. She was scared—fear like a billboard.”

  “When did her body language alert you?”

  “When I mentioned Semtex. I don’t think she had a part in the bombings, but I bet she knows who did. She claimed to carry a gun for protection from business associates.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “I wish.” Tigo pulled onto US 290 and headed toward FM 1960.

  “Hold on a minute. The FIG is calling me.” Linc cut out and returned to Tigo in less than two minutes. “We received an untraceable phone call about five minutes ago. A man claimed to have murdered Jerry and Hank. Dared us to find him, then hung up.”

  A calculating killer. A psychopath. Highly intelligent and cunning. A hunter. The worst of his traits was no guilt or shame.

  9:00 P.M. FRIDAY

  Kariss watched Tigo and Ryan reexamine their notes about Jerry’s and Hank’s murders. The words written on the piece of paper in Hank’s mouth repeated in her mind—“I am a sick man … I am a spiteful man.” A quote from Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s novel Notes from Underground.

  The assault twenty-three years ago victimized Amy, but the assailant’s thirst for blood had swept to others. Fortunately, Vicki had seen the need to go stay with their parents, but Kariss realized the rest of her family would need to stay away from her too. Who else was on the death list?

  With the guilt raging through her, Kariss couldn’t look at Tigo or Ryan. They had been sitting in the living room of her condo, attempting to persuade her to allow the protective detail to continue guarding her. But she’d refused until she was exhausted. Amy had left after the police finished at the crime scene, claiming she was heading home and wanted to be left alone.

  Two men were dead, men who’d been dedicated to their profession. Their vacant eyes would haunt Kariss for a long time. Jerry had been a Christian, but Hank had had no use for faith. She should have talked to him more about the ways of God and His love. Would the agents’ families and friends blame her and Amy? How did the families live with this part of an FBI agent’s job? Who was ever prepared for a violent death? A manual hadn’t been written with twelve steps for walking through the murder of a loved one. This time it was two highly respected men who’d given the ultimate sacrifice, but what if Tigo were killed in the line of duty while protecting Kariss? How would she forgive herself?

  Today was the end of a protective detail for her. She’d take her chances alone. Now to persuade Tigo, who paced the floor.

  “So you and Amy have given up on FBI or police protection until this is over. Kariss, you know where this kind of thinking gets you.” Tigo focused on her. “Have you forgotten what violent men are capable of?”

  She remembered the consequences of choosing to break the law … and she remembered the blood. “This time I didn’t go looking for some crazed killer. He found me.”

  “Amy was acting as a willing magnet with her Facebook posts, and you knew about them.”

  “No one else is going to die on my account.”

  “Brave words won’t remove the danger,” Tigo said. “You’re wading in an alligator-infested swamp.”

  “The solution is simple. I’ll post a retraction of Amy’s last Facebook post on both our walls. I’ll just say we decided not to reveal all of the details of the crime.”

  Ryan rubbed his face. “You don’t think the killer is smart enough to figure out what you’re doing?”

  She wished the two agents would simply leave. She had plenty of things to do, one of which was working through the sorrow and grief of what happened to Jerry and Hank. She wanted to run five miles on the treadmill—sweat, figure out the best way to help the victims’ families … and pray.

  She turned her attention to Ryan, because looking at Tigo would cause emotions to surface that she hadn’t dealt with. Every day she prayed for his salvation, and today was a grim reminder of what could happen to a dedicated agent.

  “I know you want what’s best for me and Amy,” Kariss said, “but backing away from protective detail makes sense in view of the two dead men.”

  “Your refusal of further protection means those agents gave their lives for nothing,” Ryan said.

  His response caused Kariss’s chest to ache, as though someone were ripping at her heart. “It means I’m smart enough to understand the value of human life so no one else is killed in the line of duty.”

  “What if Amy doesn’t make it home alive?” Tigo said. “What if her pride gets her killed?”

  Kariss knew Tigo cared … understood he was trying to break down her stubbornness. “She promised to email me when she arrived home.”

  Turning to her laptop, she brought up her email again. She’d checked it repeatedly throughout the day, but there were still many unread messages. Mostly junk from people who were vested in themselves and their pitiful products. She scrolled through the list, looking for a message from Amy. Then an incoming message caught her attention. In capital letters, the subject line read “I’M NOT FINISHED YET.”

  “What’s wrong?” Tigo said.

  Could he read her that well? “Maybe nothing.” She clicked on the message. Tigo peered over her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck.

  TODAY WAS A HINT OF WHAT’S TO COME. TWO MORE POINTS FOR MY SIDE. SMART GIRLS DO NOT ANSWER THE DOOR.

  The sender’s email was stalker@killu2.com.

  “Scare tactics are for bullies,” Kariss said, despite her trembling.

  “This guy doesn’t let up,” Tigo said. “We’ll trace this.”

  “Weren’t the other emails sent from separate public libraries?” Kariss said. “Bogus addresses?”

  “They were.” Tigo placed his hand on her shoulder. “Doesn’t mean he won’t make a mistake. Forward the email to me, and we’ll get an agent from cybercrimes on it.”

  Kariss did as he requested and bid the turmoil whirling inside her to vanish. “You two can get back to work. I’m home and I’m okay.”

  “What if I camp here in the evenings?”

  Tigo’s persuasive tone would not change her mind. And his suggestion would raise another set of problems. “Inappropriate. And the killer hit in the afternoon today. If—”

  Tigo’s and Ryan’s Blackberrys sounded.

  “I’ll get this,” Ryan said, then walked to the kitchen. “Whatever the situation, it concerns both of us.”

  “Your pigheaded attitude could drive a man to drugs.” Tigo shook his finger at Kariss. “I can’t keep this man from getting to you if you don’t let me do my job.”

  He could be the third death if she allowed him to play bodyguard.

  “I have a cabin in the mountains of Utah,” he said.

  “I have a beach house in Florida. No plans to visit either one.”

  Ryan returned from the kitchen. “We have an urgent request for an interview.”

  She felt relief, at l
east for the moment.

  Until Tigo shot her a look that should have frightened her. “Alarm the house after we leave. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t answer the door unless it’s me. Don’t step outside, and stay away from windows. We’re not finished with this conversation.”

  CHAPTER 49

  11:05 P.M. FRIDAY

  Tigo learned that the interview request was from Curt Yeat, and he wanted to talk to Tigo. At first he thought the kid had information about the case, but Curt was merely acting on Tigo’s offer to listen to him, which Linc had passed on.

  Why wasn’t he out with his buddies on a Friday night after a basketball game?

  After checking his Blackberry, he saw that Curt’s team had lost by twenty-five points, though the other team had been predicted to lose. Tigo had witnessed Jonathan’s favoritism toward Ian on two occasions and figured Curt probably needed a listening ear tonight.

  Curt chose to meet him at a Starbucks near the Yeat home. He sat with three guys, jock types. The rich smell of coffee teased Tigo’s nostrils, but his prime concern was Curt and why he wanted to talk. Tigo wove through the busy crowd that brimmed with voices and laughter to a corner table facing the door.

  Curt stood, his features stoic. “Hey, Tigo.”

  Obviously the kid didn’t want his buddies to know Tigo’s FBI status. Tigo grinned and shook Curt’s hand. “You guys mind if an old guy joins you?”

  One of the other guys, an African-American kid, pointed to a chair. “We can handle it.”

  “What do you want to drink?” Curt said.

  “Venti, black.”

  Curt disappeared, giving Tigo time to scrutinize the others—a glum trio. “You guys basketball players?”

  “Supposed to be,” the African-American kid said.

  “Heard about the game tonight. What a bummer.”

  “We were supposed to take ’em,” a white kid said.

  “Curt’s not doin’ so good,” the African-American kid said. “Coach Ofsteller blamed him.”

  Now Tigo understood. “Why’s that? Aren’t you a team?”

  “Curt’s our best player.” The white kid glanced toward Curt. “Ever since his mom and sister were killed, his game’s been off. The coach really got up in his grill.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Here he comes.”

  Tigo reached for his wallet, but Curt stopped him and set the coffee on the table. “I can afford it.”

  “Thanks. You ready?” Tigo said. “The late movie starts in twenty minutes.”

  Appreciation sparked Curt’s eyes. “Yeah.” He nodded at his friends. “Talk to you later.”

  Outside, Tigo pointed to his pickup. “Anywhere you want to go? Or do you want me to just drive?”

  “Just drive. And thanks for not giving me away in there.”

  “No problem.”

  “Glad you look like a regular guy.”

  It had been a long time since Tigo had thought about peer pressure. “I do try to fit in.”

  “Do you ever do the undercover stuff?”

  “Sure. Happens to be part of my specialty.”

  “Disguises too?”

  Tigo laughed. “I have a closet full.”

  “What’s the biggest case you’ve ever had?”

  He thought about the latest case he’d solved. “Last summer was interesting. Helped bring down a Mexican gang that was involved in white-collar crime and gun smuggling. Drugs and prostitution too.”

  “Wow. What did you do? I mean, what was your disguise?”

  Tigo chuckled. “If I told you that, I’d—”

  “I know. You’d have to kill me. But being an FBI agent sounds exciting. Maybe something I could do. Maybe even find out who killed my mom and sister.” He shrugged. “Not that you aren’t doing your job.”

  “It’s all right.” Sympathy spread through Tigo. Poor kid. Only a junior in high school, with his whole life before him, and dealing with unexplained deaths.

  “I remember your mom died not so long ago. What about your dad?”

  “My folks divorced when I was a kid. He’s not in the picture,” Tigo said.

  “I was lucky there. But I wish I knew who the killer was.”

  “Hey, we’re closing in on a suspect.”

  “Are you feeding me trash?”

  Youth and their bluntness. “The guy’s bombed two cars using the same explosive. I imagine you heard about the similarities from the media. He also killed two good FBI agents today. He’s getting bolder, which means he’ll get sloppy.”

  “I … I read about the other bombing. I’d never heard of Dr. Garrett, and neither had my dad, except to give her money. I’m sorry that I don’t have anything new to tell you. Just wanted to talk. Thought I’d feel better after we got rid of the bodyguard, but I don’t. I just feel sick all the time.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Not sure I know where to begin.”

  “Try me.”

  “Ever play basketball?”

  Tigo shook his head. “Soccer in middle school and high school.”

  “Were you good?”

  “Not sure. Got stuck being the goalie. But the discipline was good. I hear you’re the best on the team. Do you like basketball?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “What position?”

  “Forward. I used to be good, but lately I stink.”

  “Winning or losing is a team effort.”

  “Not according to the coach.”

  “What did he say?” At least Curt was opening up. Surprising, since teens were notoriously close-mouthed with adults. But the kid had just lost his mother.

  Curt rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, you know coaches. They say some pretty weird stuff.”

  “Like what? I’ve heard it all. My soccer coach used to cuss at us in Spanish and English at the same time.”

  Curt laughed. He relayed what Coach Ofsteller had said. Cursing put it mildly. Tigo understood coaches often used intimidation to make players angry so they would try harder. But what the coach had said to Curt had no place on any playing field or court.

  “I think you should let your dad know what he said about your mother and sister.” Tigo waited for Curt to comment, not sure if the kid would voice his real emotions.

  “I can’t. He’s having a hard time with Ian.”

  “So you’re going to let your coach talk to you like that?”

  “What I want is the bomber found. I’d like to kill him with my bare hands,” Curt whispered. “Cut his throat and hack him into pieces.”

  Whoa. That was harsh. What was simmering beneath the surface? “I’ve been mad a few times in my life. If it was something I couldn’t do a thing about, I resolved to get over it. But Curt, your coach shouldn’t have pulled your mom and sister into the equation.”

  “He’s a jerk. Replacing me with a sophomore. At least that’s what he said tonight. Not sure I even care. If I hadn’t planned on a basketball scholarship, I’d quit.”

  Jonathan Yeat could well afford to send his son to college. “Not sure if a free ride’s worth putting up with your coach.”

  “I don’t want Dad to pay a cent for my education. Rather do it myself. My SATs are good. I applied at UT. Thinking either basketball or my grades will get me in.”

  “I understand. A man wants to pay his own way. What do you plan to major in?”

  “Engineering.”

  “Heard it’s tough to get in there. Your SATs have to be better than good.”

  “I suppose. Counselor says I should hear soon. My calculus readiness scores were okay.”

  “Let me know what happens,” Tigo said. “Was your dad at the game tonight?”

  “Ian was upset about something, so those two went to a movie instead.”

  “I see.” Did Jonathan have any idea the barriers he was building with his older son?

  “Mom and Alexia always went to my games, but Ian’s the middle kid and has problems.” He sighed. “You can take me back to Star
bucks.”

  “Are you sure? I’m in no rush. Your buds think we’re going to a movie.”

  “I’ll make up something. Need to get my truck.”

  Tigo sensed the kid was embarrassed by his confession. “Okay.” He pulled out his business card. “I know I gave you one of these before, but here’s another one. It has my personal cell number on the back. Call me anytime.”

  “Thanks. I feel a little stupid right now.” He blew out a sigh, no doubt aimed at himself.

  “Don’t.”

  “Thanks. I’m having trouble sleeping. Can’t stop thinking about Mom and Alexia. I really want that guy found. Promise me you won’t stop until you get him.”

  “You got it. Do you need to talk to someone who specializes in grief counseling?”

  “Not really. Dad suggested it, but I’m not ready. Uncle Taylor offered, but what he preaches and what he does are two different things. Heard him and Dad get into it about Aunt Darena. My uncle’s an idiot.”

  Touché. “Tell me about your truck.”

  “It’s a black Ford. Dad bought it for me last summer. Mom bought me custom rims after the results came back from my SATs.”

  Custom rims? Tigo didn’t want to go there. “She must have been really proud of you.”

  “I guess. Anyway, got to pick out those awesome rims.”

  Tigo couldn’t get to Starbucks fast enough.

  JANUARY 26

  3:11 A.M. SATURDAY

  Kariss wanted to sleep. Wanted to forget about the day and let exhaustion and her whirling mind rest. Odd how the wee hours of the morning when the world was quiet brought out her real fears, as though a monster lived in her closet. Or in the next room. Actually a monster stalked her memories in the form of … dead bodies. How did law-enforcement officials handle the sight of blood? Kariss could write it, but experiencing it made her squeamish.

  She longed for someone to talk to, but who at this crazy hour? Vicki would listen and offer sound advice, but sleep was precious to a new mommy. Tigo would want to come over, to fix it. He’d probably bring a roll of duct tape to ensure that very thing. And if he came, she might cave in to his growing list of what he wanted for her—and them.