Live in Person

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  Libby hadn’t seen Sheryl, either. That didn’t sound good. Allie didn’t want to put Libby on the spot, but she had to ask. “Any idea what she’s working on? It’s not like her to be so out of touch.”

  “I sure don’t.” She bit her lip, not meeting Allie’s eyes.

  Allie wasn’t sure she believed her, but she wasn’t going to press it. She only hoped Libby and Sheryl weren’t having problems. Initially, when Libby came to live with Sheryl, Allie had feared her friend might have taken on more than she could handle. Libby was strictly wheelchair bound then, but until Libby moved in, Sheryl had spent half her time driving to Cocoa and back to check on her. Sheryl felt someone had to take care of the woman, and there was no one left, except her.

  Something was wrong. Allie could feel it. But if Sheryl wasn’t telling Allie or Libby was what was going on, whom would she tell?

  Four

  Sidney fell to the floor as he heard the door swing open.

  “Jesus, man!” Raymond hung back for just a moment before jumping in the van and kneeling by Sidney. “What’s the matter?”

  Sidney rolled on the floor in a fetal position, groaning. “It’s my gut. Christ, it feels like it’s on fire.” He clutched his belly, swallowing hard. “Man, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “You wanna get out?” Raymond asked.

  Sidney knew Raymond didn’t want to clean the van after Sidney tossed his cookies, something Sidney did a few times before to prepare for this moment. In fact, he’d counted on it. By his calculations, they were no more than a few miles from the rest stop. “No, man, I don’t think I can stand up right now. I need a bathroom. Hurry.”

  He swallowed hard again, feeling real sweat drip down his forehead. When he threw himself off the seat, he twisted his crushed foot under him and almost blacked out. That wouldn’t serve his purpose, but the sweat seemed to convince Raymond.

  Raymond looked at Jake standing by the open door. “Get us to that rest stop ahead. I’ll stay back here with him and let you know if we need an EMT.”

  All against regulations, Sidney thought, squeezing his eyes tight as if in pain. These boys were going to be in a heap of trouble after this was all over.

  He waited until Jake started the engine and the vehicle was racing at full speed. Then he made a choking sound and rolled away from Raymond. As Sidney knew he would, Raymond leaned toward him to see if he was all right. At that instant, Sidney swung both arms with all his might. They connected with the side of Raymond’s head, and he went down hard, cracking the back of his head against the steel bench opposite.

  The dude was out. Strong pulse, though, and no blood. Good. Sidney didn’t want to kill him. He hadn’t done anything yet that would get him executed, and he damn sure wouldn’t do it to a fellow officer. He’d reserve that for Allie Grainger, but not until he’d had some fun with her.

  He only had a couple of minutes. No time to get Raymond stripped. He yanked and pulled until he got him out of his jacket, which was really all he needed.

  He found the keys to his wrist restraints. Hands fumbling in his haste, Sidney unlocked the cuffs and snapped one on Raymond’s wrist and the other to the bench frame, staying out of reach of Raymond’s feet in case he woke up. Socks served as an effective gag. By then, Raymond was regaining consciousness.

  Raymond watched with wide eyes as Sidney shoved Raymond’s Glock and radio in the jacket pocket. Sidney was sorry these guys didn’t carry Tasers, but the radio would help. After a second’s hesitation, he reached over and pulled Raymond’s cell phone out of his pants pocket.

  As he stepped back, Raymond’s foot connected with his damaged ankle, and Sidney almost passed out from the pain. He spun and slammed into Raymond’s head with all the strength he could muster. The head snapped back and connected with the bench. This time, there was blood, and Raymond’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. At least, he was breathing.

  “Stupid bastard,” Sidney spat through gritted teeth. “You brought it on yourself.”

  He felt the van slowing for the turn into the rest stop and positioned himself near the door, bracing himself against the built-in seat. If there was anyone at the rest stop, he was screwed, but all life was a risk. That’s what made it fun.

  Even though he couldn’t run fast enough to get away from an eighty-year-old with a cane, let alone the rare healthy citizen willing to give chase, if he could disable Jake and get to the tree line without being caught, there was no stopping him. He knew the Florida underbrush.

  Slower now. Sidney readied himself. He wasn’t fast, but his good leg was stronger than two of anyone else’s. That would serve him now.

  As the door began to swing open, Sidney kicked out with all he had. Jake caught the full brunt of it in the face and dropped like a rock. For just an instant, Sidney thought he’d killed him. He crawled out of the van. No one around, thank God. Jake was breathing, although it looked like his nose might be broken. After gagging Jake, he grabbed his service revolver and tucked it in the back of his pants. Then, he rolled Jake over and snapped plastic restraints on his wrists and Jake’s cuffs on his ankles before confiscating his radio and cell phone.

  Now the tricky part. Good thing he was trained in these things. He got down and hoisted Jake in a firefighter’s hold, bracing himself with his good leg. When the upper half of Jake’s body was level with the van floor, Sidney dumped him inside and shoved in the rest of his body. He hated being so rough, but he was in a friggin’ hurry. Once he locked the van tight, he was good to go. These vans were designed to hold prisoners; it should work for cops.

  He limped across the asphalt lot toward the building, where he bought an assortment of high-energy snacks with the money he’d confiscated from Jake’s and Raymond’s pockets. Eighty-seven dollars. They didn’t pay these guys enough. Still, it was cash, which would come in handy. Like now. He grinned as he stuffed the snacks into the jacket pocket.

  He considered a quick visit to the john, but hell, the scrub and trees beyond the clearing were one big bathroom. Why waste the time?

  His limp slowed him down some, but he was at the tree line in less than two minutes. Then, he heard a car. He ducked behind the nearest palmetto scrub as a car rolled into the rest stop. It slowed as it passed the transport van, then rolled on and stopped at the other end of the parking strip. Maybe they recognized it as a prisoner transport van, or maybe they were just antisocial. Either way, it worked for him. There was no way they could see or hear anything at that distance.

  He pushed his way into the thicket, breathing in the rich loam of moist earth and rotting vegetation. He could hear rustling in the undergrowth—snakes and rats loved the palmettos—but it didn’t bother him.

  Ironic. It was the sheriff who taught him to conquer the outdoors. In his attempt to force the teenage Sidney to clean up his act, the sheriff dragged him to the Everglades for a week with only the clothes on their backs and a knife each. Sidney emerged from the ordeal with a sound knowledge of survival skills and a deep admiration for the sheriff.

  And Sheriff Cord Arbutten had loved Sidney. Until Allie Grainger ruined everything.

  He felt his gut twist. No time to worry about that now. He slipped deeper into the pines and undergrowth. They wouldn’t find him now. Unless his luck ran out and some observant motorist heard noises from the van, he wouldn’t be missed until he didn’t appear for today’s hearing. Then, they’d contact Seminole County before they began to trace the missing guards’ route.

  He had four—maybe five—hours to make it to Cocoa and get temporary wheels. Then, he’d drive to the Melbourne Airport and pick up something in the long-term lot. A quick plate switch and he was good for another couple of days at least. Once he had wheels, he’d find a flop. He might even visit his parents’ house.

  His uneven gait slowed as the idea blossomed. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. His mom always kept plenty of cash lying around, and unless the sheriff had confiscated them, his uniforms should be in the closet. He knew h
is mom would keep his room as if she expected him to come back home any day. Well, she’d get her wish, although she wouldn’t know it.

  Then, and only then, would he begin his campaign. He intended to destroy Allie Grainger’s credibility and then her sanity before he finished her. He felt a little bubble of glee rise from his deepest recesses as he realized he’d done it. He was free! Christ, it was almost too easy, but he’d take easy for now. It would get difficult soon enough.

  “I’m coming, Allie Grainger,” he whispered to the forest, “and soon, you’re going to know it.”

  Five

  Allie peered around the room as her eyes adjusted to the dim lights. Plenty of custo­mers, but no Sheryl.

  Lester’s was a small bar in a strip mall on the 520 Causeway, the main drag from Cocoa Beach to the mainland. The causeway was comprised of a highway with elevated bridges that allowed free access for boat traffic on the Indian and Banana Rivers before the two rivers merged and dumped into the Atlantic Ocean thirty-five miles to the south.

  Allie still shuddered when she remembered how near she came to plunging into that river when Sidney shot out her front tire and sent her careening into the bridge embankment.

  When Allie initially returned to Cape Canaveral, Sheryl chose Lester’s for them to meet on the premise that, because no cops frequented it, they could do some uninterrupted catching up. In reality, everyone found them there, from Joe before his death to Allie’s ex-boyfriend Marc Frederick. These days, the bartender and Sheryl were dating. It had been going on for almost six months now, and Allie was beginning to suspect they were getting serious.

  Sheryl and Del had founded their relationship on respect for each other’s toughness—Del had belts in most martial arts, and he could disable a six-foot man just by squeezing a spot on his hand; Sheryl carried an unconcealed weapon, and she could freeze a man in his tracks with a look.

  Not that Sheryl needed to be tough to do that. Her looks alone could—and often did—reduce the average man to a stammering mass of jelly, with her dark beauty and hour-glass figure. By contrast, Allie was a pale second, with straight blonde hair and freckles and a body that refused to put on weight in the right places. Although her ex-husband Garrison had tried to convince her otherwise, she now believed she looked good enough. Marc had thought so. And Rand certainly thought so.

  Marc. She would have to call him and explain.

  Several guys sitting at the bar also seemed to think she passed inspection. Allie ignored them and made her way down to the far end of the bar where she and Sheryl usually sat. Del was there before her.

  “Long time no see, Allie. What’ll it be?”

  “Information.”

  “Huh?”

  Allie laughed. “OK. A Diet Coke and information.”

  Del shuffled his feet. “Uh—Sheryl said I should give you regular Coke when you ordered Diet. You know, so you can put on weight. But, hey, if you want the Diet…” His voice trailed off as he looked around the room.

  Allie smiled. That was so Sheryl. When Allie returned to Cape Canaveral, Sheryl had appointed herself Allie’s protector, usually protecting Allie from herself. Sometimes, she even succeeded. “OK. Regular Coke and an order of fries. How’s that?”

  Del beamed. “Hey, that’s good. She said I was to push the wings and fries on you. Wow! That’s great.”

  He set a Coke in front of Allie and vanished into the back. Del was a good guy. Maybe not a scholar, but ambitious in his way. He was working at Lester’s to save money to open his own dojo. In the meantime, he taught classes at half a dozen martial arts schools in the area. Allie wondered how he had the time to date Sheryl, but they managed. Allie knew Sheryl brought her roommate Libby here often for dinner, and Del had completely won Libby over, a feat that earned him even higher marks in Sheryl’s book.

  And that reminded Allie why she was there. When Del came out of the kitchen, she motioned him over. “Have you seen Sheryl lately?”

  Del frowned. “I was going to ask you the same thing, but I didn’t want to pry. I called her a few times, but I didn’t want to bug her or anything. I mean, if she’s really busy. With work or whatever. I mean, it’s not like she has to stop by or call me back.” He wiped the clean bar, not meeting Allie’s gaze. “So, you haven’t seen her, either?”

  Now Allie really was worried. She had assumed Sheryl was tied up in taking care of Libby or going hot and heavy with Del, but if neither was seeing much of her, where was she keeping herself?

  She realized Del was waiting for an answer. The guy looked forlorn. Allie didn’t have the heart to worry him more, but if she lied and told him she’d seen Sheryl, and Del hadn’t, would that cause him to fear Sheryl was avoiding him? For all Allie knew, it might be true. She decided on a middle ground.

  “Well, you know she’s tied up with Libby, and work’s always demanding. She keeps such crazy hours, especially since they’ve been training that new deputy to replace Sidney.”

  Del swiped at the bar, unhappy, but apparently resigned. “Yeah, that loser. What do you hear about him these days?”

  “Not much. I know he’s in some kind of mental facility pending trial.”

  “When’s the trial set for?”

  Allie snorted. “It’s not. From what Sheryl tells me, his attorney keeps setting up hearings on pretrial motions. At this rate, he won’t go to court for years, which is OK with me as long as he’s safely locked up.”

  “That is one seriously bad dude.”

  “Don’t I know it.” It wasn’t a question. Sidney had made two serious attempts on Allie’s life. Both almost succeeded. Her nemesis of childhood had morphed into her nemesis of adulthood. It wasn’t fair—which brought her thoughts back to J. Leonard Garrison, her other childhood nemesis.

  She wanted to like her brother. After all, he was her only sibling, but early, the lines were drawn. Len belonged to her lawyer mother, and Allie belonged to her English professor father, at least, until she changed her major in college from English to Journalism and went to work with the Atlanta Journal Constitution after att-aining a mere BA. Then, he’d pretty much washed his hands of her. Len, on the other hand, was his mother’s rising star, a partner in Vivian Grainger’s law firm. He possessed all the qualities her mother admired—a bent for the law, the gift of flattery, and unquestioning obedience.

  “Your mother loves you, too, Allie. She even admires you in her own way. She just doesn’t show it.”

  “You have to be kidding! She doesn’t admire me.”

  “OK. Fears, then.”

  “Why in the world would she fear me? She has half the judges in Fulton County scared out of their britches. What’s scary about me?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. Don’t you see, Allie? Vivian controls her world by inspiring fear in those around her. She’s not the first person to use the technique, or the last. That’s how she controls your brother. Len is terrified of her disapproval. You don’t fear her or her disapproval, and that’s what terrifies her. She can’t control you.”

  “What a lovely thing to hear.” But what kind of daughter wanted her mother afraid of her?

  Del put a basket of fries—a double order, if Allie wasn’t mistaken—in front of her, along with another Coke. He and Sheryl were serious about fattening her up. When she’d returned from Brussels at the end of her disastrous six-year marriage, she was a scarecrow, all in an attempt to please her impossible-to-please husband, who maintained she was chunky. She’d also highlighted her blonde hair when he said it lacked luster and briefly considered colored contacts when he said her green eyes were drab. Grrrr…

  “What’s got you looking so mean?” Del asked, leaning against the bar.

  Allie wasn’t going to discuss Garrison with Del. Sheryl had probably already given Del a blow-by-blow of the marriage and breakup, but Allie didn’t want to get into it. Besides, thoughts of Garrison weren’t the only thing making her feel mean today.

  “My brother showed up on my doorstep this mor
ning.”

  “Hey, that’s great.”

  Obviously, Sheryl hadn’t shared Allie’s opinion of her family with Del. “It’s not great. It’s gall. Len didn’t come here because he wants to see me. He came here demanding his share of my inheritance from Aunt Lou. He’s been after me to sell the house since I got it.”

  Del shrugged. “Well…”

  Allie narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even go there. If I decide to sell, it’ll be my decision, not my brother’s or my mother’s or Myrna’s.”

  “Who’s Myrna?”

  Allie waved the question away. “Someone I work with at the paper.”

  “Hey, I read all the articles you did on the sheriff. You did a real good job.”

  Allie looked up. The man was such a teddy bear. “Thanks, Del. You’re a shot in the arm.”

  Allie heard loud noises at the other end of the bar. One guy shoved another against the bar. Before Allie could blink, Del had vaulted the bar, and he had one guy by the scruff of the neck. She couldn’t hear what Del said, but she saw the guy hand Del some money before Del helped him out the door. Maybe not such a teddy bear after all.

  Del took the more conventional way back behind the bar and came straight back to Allie. “So, is your brother gone?” he asked as if there’d been no break in the conversation.

  It took Allie a second to focus. “Hardly. I sent him to the Hilton, but not before he threatened to take me to court. Like he has a leg to stand on. But he’s a lawyer, and you know what they’re like.”

  After a moment’s silence, Del said, “You don’t think he deserves any of the inheritance? After all, two million bucks—” He looked away, clearly embarrassed. Apparently, Sheryl had shared that bit of family history with him.

  “It was two-point-three million, and I’ll kill him before he’ll get a red cent of it!”

  Her words rang out in the quiet room. Allie looked up the bar to see every head turned in her direction. Her face burned crimson.