“He has a large callus at his thumb’s knuckle line. Maybe from holding ropes while boating. I saw it in several of the pictures you showed me. Even when I couldn’t see his face, I could still see that.”
Janet shook her head. “I—I’m speechless. No. I’m not. The FBI. That’s big stuff. I’m not sure I like the idea you’d do this without even asking me.”
“You wanted my help, Janet. And I found out something very—” Kendra’s eyes flicked to her rearview mirror. “Oh, shit.”
“What is it?”
“Get down in your seat. We’re being followed.”
Janet instinctively whirled around to look.
Kendra pushed her down by her shoulder. “Get down.”
She pushed the speakerphone button on her steering wheel, and a man immediately answered. “Sutker.”
Kendra was aware of Janet stiffening at the name. “Sutker? What the—”
Kendra raised her hand to silence her. “Not now.” She spoke into the speakerphone. “It’s what I thought. He’s on our tail. I’m on Fifth about to turn north onto Quince Street.”
“Okay,” Sutker said. “We’re ready for you, Kendra.”
Kendra cut the connection.
“Who’s on our tail?” Janet said.
“Someone has been watching your house. I couldn’t see him, but that Ford Explorer was the only car on the street with the windows fogged over. They were still fogged when I came back two hours later, so I knew someone was staking you out. Either that, or your street has become a prime make-out spot.”
Kendra turned right onto Quince Street without signaling. Behind them, the Explorer’s tires squealed as it took the unexpected turn.
“He’s getting closer,” Kendra said. “Just stay down.”
She gunned the engine just as the street behind them lit up with police flashers. Sirens wailed and more tires squealed as four unmarked cars surrounded the Explorer. Kendra drove another half a block before slowing to a stop.
“What in the hell is going on?” Janet asked.
“Shh.” Kendra cocked her head to hear the amplified voice blaring from one of the police cruisers.
“What are they saying?” Janet asked.
“I couldn’t make it out. If I had to guess, probably some variation of ‘step outside the vehicle with your hands up.’”
Janet threw open her car door. “What if it’s Dale?”
Kendra tried to grab her arm, but Janet had already jumped out of the car. “Janet, no!”
Kendra climbed out after her just in time to see a man in a dark shirt and trousers sliding out of the Explorer’s passenger-side door. Angling the door as he would a shield, he raised a handgun toward the police cars.
The street exploded with half a dozen guns firing at once. The muzzles flashed white in the darkness.
The man flew backwards and landed sprawled on the sidewalk.
Janet screamed and lunged forward.
Kendra held her back. “No, it’s not him, I promise.”
The police emerged from their cars and cautiously stepped toward the lifeless figure on the pavement. One man turned to another and shook his head. “Deader than hell.”
A thirtyish detective in a tan jacket left the other police and ran toward Kendra and Janet. “Are you all right?”
Janet gazed at him in surprise. “Detective Sutker?”
“Yes. You’re not hurt?”
“No, who was that man?”
“We’ll find out soon enough when we run the ID.” Sutker turned to Kendra. “Sorry for all this, Dr. Michaels. When you called, we had to make sure he was really tailing her.”
“I guess I would have had an easier time convincing you if he had pulled his gun on Janet,” she said sarcastically.
“You know that wasn’t going to happen. He was just waiting to see if she made contact.”
Janet looked from Kendra to Sutker. “Contact with whom?”
Sutker glanced away, obviously not wanting to answer the question.
Kendra took her arm. “With Dale. He thought you might know where Dale was.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Because Dale was in the Federal Witness Protection Program.”
“What?” Janet glanced at Sutker for confirmation, but his face was without expression. She turned back to Kendra. “Are you sure?”
Kendra nodded. “I had a pretty good idea back at your apartment. You know I’m good with dialects, and I was positive Dale was lying about being born and bred in Dallas. I’m guessing he was raised somewhere along the Georgia or South Carolina coast, with his accent flattened by a Midwestern influence from one or both of his parents.”
Sutker’s eyes widened. “How the hell did you—”
“That doesn’t matter now.” Janet appeared stunned. “You’re saying he didn’t tell me the truth?”
Kendra nodded. “He obviously lied to you about where he was from, he claims to have no family, and he has no contact with friends or anyone from his past. He is also unusually averse to having his face photographed. That suggests a man hiding from something, perhaps even the law, but the fact that the police would engage in some kind of cover-up and encourage you to stop asking questions led me to think in a different direction, maybe in terms of witness protection. So I had my friends at the FBI run the thumbprint.”
“Why?” Janet asked.
“I knew that if he was in Witness Protection the match request would be immediately flagged and an alert would go to the agency responsible for him. I hung around long enough for the FBI field office to get an urgent call from the U.S. Marshals Service, wondering what in the hell they were doing tracking their protected witness.”
“I’m sure your FBI buddies loved that,” Sutker said. “Having to explain why they were running a fingerprint for a nonagent?”
Kendra shrugged. “I have a history of annoying them.”
Janet leaned back against Kendra’s car. “I just can’t believe it. So Dale…He’s okay?”
Sutker nodded. “He’s fine. If it means anything, I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you earlier today. When you called us, we treated it like any other crime scene. But then we got a call from the Marshals Service, and they explained everything. Someone broke into your fiancé’s house and tried to kill him. Turns out he’s pretty handy with a kitchen knife and he killed his attacker. He called his handler and they pulled him out of there and removed the body. But you showed up before their team could clean the rest of the scene. Believe me, the only reason we behaved the way we did is for his protection.”
“His protection? What did he do?”
Kendra looked at Sutker. “We had an agreement, detective.”
“Your agreement was with the Marshals Service, not me.” He hesitated and then shrugged. “But I told them I would give you a ride. Least I could do.” He motioned toward his car. “Please come with me. It’s only a short trip.”
Short, indeed. Just three blocks away Sutker parked on a dark residential street.
“Why are we here?” Janet said.
As if in answer to her question, the rear door opened on a car parked across the street. A man climbed out and closed the door behind him.
Janet stiffened and then gasped as she recognized him. “Dale.”
She jumped out of the car and ran across the street toward him. He moved toward her, but they stopped short of each other in the middle of the deserted street.
Kendra and Sutker climbed out of his car and stood several feet away.
Tears welled in Janet’s eyes. “You didn’t trust me? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dale shook his head. “Janet…It wasn’t that at all.” He moved closer to her. “God, I thought I would never see you again.”
“Answer me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to, Janet,” he said hoarsely. “But I was afraid. Afraid I’d lose you.”
She wiped tears from her cheeks. “That could never happen.”
�
��Not even if you found out that I had lied to you about who I am?”
Another man climbed out of the car that Dale had come from. He flashed his U.S. Marshals Service badge at them. “Henry Samuels, ma’am. Whatever he may have told you, he’s a good man. He did the right thing.”
“You don’t have to tell me he’s a good man.” Janet’s gaze never left Dale’s face. “What happened?”
Dale looked away. “I worked for a company in Savannah, and I found out some things about my employers that I wished I didn’t know. They were mixed up in a lot of bad, scary stuff from drugs to Mafia-controlled vice. I thought about just ignoring it, but I couldn’t. I ended up testifying against them. The next thing I knew there was a price on my head, so I entered witness protection. I moved here, and I was really hating life…until I met you. After that, I didn’t regret anything that had happened.”
“Then why were you just going to leave without telling me?”
“It was for your own good, Janet. After that man tried to kill me the other night, I knew that I couldn’t stay. I had to leave you. I had to start all over.” He added simply, “It broke my heart.”
“Did it?” Janet thought for a long moment. “Then take me with you.”
“What?”
“I mean it. Take me with you. I’ll start over with you.” She met his gaze. “You said you loved me, that you wanted to spend your life with me. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
His eyes widened. “Are you kidding? I’d love to have you with me. But I could never ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask. I volunteered.”
“But it’s your entire life. It would mean leaving behind everybody and everything you’ve ever known.”
“I know, Dale. But I’ll have you.” She smiled. “And I’m quite capable of creating a dandy new life for myself wherever we go. I won’t depend on you for anything but what we have together. Deal?”
“Deal. I’m not sure it’s a great bargain for you.” He drew her into his arms. “But I’m going to be selfish and take it anyway.” He kissed her. “I want you to know, if you change your mind, I’ll let you go.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not going to get rid of me. I’ve made up my mind and Kendra will tell you that I can be very determined when I—But you don’t know Kendra.” Janet pulled away and gestured toward Kendra. “Dale, this is my friend Kendra Michaels.” She added huskily, “My very, very good friend.”
“I’ve already heard about her.” Dale shook Kendra’s hand. “I understand you threatened to go to the media and scream bloody murder unless the Marshals Service arranged this meeting.”
Kendra smiled. “You understand correctly.”
Marshal Samuels scowled at Kendra. “And the U.S. Marshals Service doesn’t appreciate being blackmailed, Dr. Michaels.”
“Too bad,” Janet said. “I sure appreciate it. When do we leave?”
“Immediately,” the marshal said. “The sooner we get you both out of town, the better. Don’t you want to think about it? Are you sure you want to do this, ma’am?”
Janet looked at Dale. “I’m sure.”
“Okay. It’s your decision.” He shrugged. “After tonight, Janet Sanders won’t exist.”
Even in the darkness, Kendra could see color drain from Janet’s face.
“Then I guess this is goodbye.” Janet forced a smile as she turned toward Kendra. “You know I can’t thank you enough.”
“Are you scared?”
“Maybe a little. It’s kind of a shock to realize that all my past and experiences don’t exist.”
Kendra hugged her. “Janet Sanders will always exist for me. And for the thousands of other kids you helped over the years. None of us will ever forget you. You know that, right?”
Janet smile became warm with feeling. “I do now. Thank you, Kendra.”
Dale put his arm around Janet and walked with her back to the marshal’s car. The marshal climbed behind the wheel and started the engine while they settled into the back seat.
As they pulled away, Kendra waved, but Janet’s attention was focused solely on the man beside her.
As it should be, Kendra thought. She was looking forward not back. But Kendra wasn’t at that point yet. She had too many treasured memories of her years with Janet. It would take time to let her go.
She lifted her hand in a final farewell that was more for her own sake than for her friend.
Then she watched as their car moved down the long street, until it became one with the lights of the city.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.
WITH OPEN EYES. Copyright © 2012 by Johansen Publishing LLLP, and Roy Johansen. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
ISBN: 978-1-4668-2068-5
Turn the page for a look at Iris & Roy Johansen’s new novel,
CLOSE YOUR EYES, featuring Kendra Michaels:
Available July 2012
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Copyright © 2012 by Johansen Publishing LLLP
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
CLOSE YOUR EYES. Copyright © 2012 by Johansen Publishing LLLP, and Roy Johansen. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
ISBN: 978-0-312-61161-3
Prologue
IT WASN’T JUST her imagination.
Stephanie Marsh looked back as she walked through the second level of the parking garage for Gold’s Gym. She wasn’t alone.
She had been aware of distant footsteps attempting to fall in time with her own, but she had told herself that they were just echoes reverberating off the empty garage’s concrete walls.
No such luck. There was definitely someone in the shadows behind her.
Or was he in front of her?
Stay calm, she told herself. It wasn’t as if she were one of the gym’s perfect tens who were weirdo magnets in their skimpy, formfitting workout wear.
But since when did a psycho need a reason to attack a woman at 10 P.M. in an empty parking garage?
She was okay, she told herself. Everything would be fine. As long as those security cameras were—
Her heart jumped into her throat.
Shit. The cameras were in place, but the reassuring red glow of their power lights were nowhere to be seen.
She did not break stride as she reached into her purse and gripped the rubber case of her mobile phone. She raised the phone and stared in disbelief at its illuminated screen.
NO CARRIER.
She was accustomed to losing her signal, but not her entire freaking phone company.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Need help, young lady?”
A man stepped from the shadows in front of her. He wore dark tennis shoes, khakis, a T-shirt, and a pullover sweater similar to the one her grandfather wore. The man was probably over sixty, and his entire face crinkled as he smiled.
He looked like a nice man, but she knew better than to lower her guard. Jeffrey Dahmer might have looked like a hell of a nice guy.
She kept walking. “No problem. Have a good night.”
“You, too.” He smiled again. “The Portland Street exit is closed. You’ll have to go out on Wesleyan.”
She nodded and walked faster. This wasn’t news. The Portland Street exit was always closed after eight.
Just a few more yards to her car…
The man held a map of some kind. “Could you help me out with this? I’ve been wandering around this cockamamie garage for ten minutes trying to find a—”
She made a wide arc
around him as she neared her car. “I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry.”
He took a step closer. And then another. “If you’ll just take a look at this…”
The map fell away, revealing a glint of steel.
Pain.
She shuddered, unable to move.
The man now stood next to her. He shook his head as he slowly pulled the blade from her abdomen. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You don’t deserve this.”
She stared at him in disbelief, trying to reconcile the kind, regretful face with the horrible thing that was happening to her. She was falling, the floor of the parking garage rising up to meet her. She scarcely felt the impact. Her insides felt like cold concrete, hardening and making it impossible for her to move.
Or breathe. She tried to scream, but there were only gurgling sounds in the back of her throat.
The man wiped his bloody knife with a bandana. “Shh. It will be over soon, Stephanie.”
He knew who she was.
Then it hit her.
They had found out.
“Schuyler.” She pushed out the word.
“Just relax.”
“Tell Schuyler…” Darkness crept over her, from the back of her neck, over her skull, taking away thought, taking away everything that she was.
She had to say it. Gotta get this out…
“Yes, dear?” he asked gently.
Her eyes fluttered as she summoned the last bit of energy her body would ever give her.
“Tell Schuyler I said…to go to hell.”
Chapter 1
KENDRA MICHAELS PULLED the strap over her head and adjusted her guitar in front of her. “We’re going to do something different today, Jimmy.”
“No!”
She ignored the outburst. Twelve-year-old Jimmy Matthews hated any variation in his routine, but she was determined to coax him, ever so slightly, from his comfort zone. “Look at me, okay?”
Jimmy looked up at her, his dark eyes glittering with defiance. He was autistic, and it had taken weeks for him to feel comfortable enough to make eye contact with her. She’d regarded that as a major victory. She knew there were other breakthroughs to come, if only she could unlock the secrets of that bewildering yet fascinating mind of his.
With Open Eyes Page 2
