by Vella Day
Richard reached for his chair and slid down onto his seat. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He'd put his wife and children in jeopardy, but he'd had no choice. He'd borrowed so much money to give his wife a second chance at life, and now he might lose the one woman he loved.
**
While Jake waited for his early morning take out order, he called the hospital to make sure Susan was okay. Once they assured him no one had entered her room, he dialed T-Squared. His gut churned knowing he'd have to break the news to Susan about Travis Simmons' death. She'd be devastated, and on more than one level.
“Joe's Bar and Grill.” His friend used the code they'd established.
“Thank God I got a hold of you.”
“I wouldn't have answered if hadn't been you. You do realize this is when I sleep?”
Jake stepped closer to the restaurant door, not wanting anyone to overhear the conversation. “Sorry.”
“No problem. What's up?”
Jake told him about the fire.
“She okay?”
“She will be. Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
The door opened and three kids rushed in, skateboards tucked under their arms. Based on the clientele, Jake hoped the food was good. “I need the names of the remaining three jurors.”
T-Squared whistled. “You know that's illegal.”
“So is killing people. Think about it. Even after we put those people into our safe houses, someone was able to get to them. You tell me how.”
Other than the sound of some construction noise in the background, silence filled the air space.
“You suspect a mole in the Bureau?” Tom said.
A thin girl behind the counter placed an order next to the cash register. “Yarnell?”
Jake held up a finger, and then pulled out cash to pay for his meal.
“You got a name of who you think might be leaking the information?” Tom asked.
Jake maneuvered around two tables and stood at the register. “If I did, I'd be back in D.C. in a heartbeat ready the kill the guy.” The cashier's eyes widened. He gave her his best smile and her stance softened. “Look, I need to warn the remaining jurors their location might be compromised.”
“That's Thomason's job.”
He turned to the side in an attempt to keep the conversation more private. “That might be, but I need to do this on my own. No telling who he blabbed to.”
“You think Richard is—”
“I don't know who the mole is.”
Jake handed the cashier a twenty and motioned she keep the change. He headed outside.
“You think it's wise to drag Susan around with you?”
He had debated asking the Tampa office to supply her with another bodyguard, but he didn't trust anyone else. “She'll be safer with me than in another supposedly safe house.”
Tom groaned. “I'll have to hack into the system to get the information. It's not like they post the addresses on the bulletin board.”
A wave of relief hit him. “I owe you one.”
Once Jake checked out the parking lot, he jumped in the car and started the engine. The rich aroma of burgers and fries filled the car. They didn't have steak.
“I'd say you owe me about a hundred.”
Jake laughed. “And the three times I saved your life doesn't count for anything.”
T-Squared cleared his throat. “You know it does. Back at you in a few.”
As Jake drove out the entrance, two men in a white sedan glanced his way before looking away.
Shit. He and Susan had to get the hell out of Dodge. Now.
6
Susan shifted in the car seat. “I can't wait to shower and put on the new clothes we, or rather you, purchased for me at the mall.”
Jake nodded. Thankfully, he didn't wrinkle his nose. Even after doing a sponge bath, she didn't smell the best.
“I wish you had agreed to another day in the hospital to recuperate.”
“I didn't trust anyone.”
“I understand.” Jake adjusted the side view mirror, moved the air slider right, then left, and wiped the dash with his palm.
His obsessive behavior was unnerving her. “What's the matter?”
He twisted his mouth. “Richard Thomason called last night.” His hands clutched the wheel so hard the beds of his nails turned white.
“Don't tell me he knew about the fire?” Her pulse rose.
“No. He called because Travis Simmons was shot dead in the head.”
Susan gasped, the horror churning her stomach. “Another juror? That makes, what, nine?”
“Yes.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to visualize what the juror looked like. Only the image of his stats surfaced. “He was a prominent doctor. That's so unfair.” She twisted toward him. “Why did you wait until now to tell me? What was all the talk about trust if you don't share?”
“I didn't want to upset you.”
“Like hell. I need to be in the loop and you know it.”
“Fine. Next time when you're struggling to survive, I'll be sure to dump more bad news on you.” His lips pressed together.
The boring scenery suddenly became interesting with all the scraggly pine trees whizzing by. “Maybe I came across a little harsh, but not telling me the killer is one step closer isn't right.”
He waved a hand and glanced at her. “You're smart. I thought you'd figure something was up when I didn't argue much about you leaving the hospital before the doctor was ready to release you.”
That's why he'd given in so easily. Two more jurors under FBI protection had been killed. This madman would stop only when all of them were dead—including her.
Sweat slickened her skin from the sun pouring through the car window. Or at least she wanted to believe it was the sun's fault and not fear choking her. She couldn't breathe. Susan pressed the button to lower the window half way, and the cool breeze poured in. She inhaled deeply. The tinge of exhaust mixed with fresh green trees perked her up.
“I can turn on the AC if you'd like,” he said. His tone came out so sweet she wondered if he was feeling guilty for withholding information.
“I'm good.” She faced forward not wanting to think about poor Travis and his family. “Did you believe the fire marshal when he said the blaze was a result of an overloaded circuit?”
“Yes.” He tapped the steering wheel. “What I don't buy is the fact an electrician failed to install all of the fuses properly, especially in an upscale community as the one we stayed in.”
Susan kept one eye on the side view mirror, not convinced someone wasn't following them. A gray sedan had appeared and disappeared more than once. She replayed in her mind what the fire marshal had told them.
“Could a lack of fuses actually cause a fire?” Her ex-husband had been the handy man in the family. She didn't know squat how circuits worked.
“No, but a fire will erupt if some worker plugs in a space heater in a socket that isn't rated for that appliance. It was a little chilly last night. Turns out the heater the carpenter brought in clicked on. Without a fuse to stop the overload, the place caught on fire.”
She took a sip of water from the thermos Jake has purchased for her. He said she needed to keep hydrated.
“Could overloading the circuit have been done on purpose?”
He glanced up at the rear view mirror, his jaw tense. She didn't like it.
“That would by my guess. It's why I want to head north. But first, I need to shower at the motel.” He sniffed the air and scrunched up his nose. “I stink.”
The way he skewed up his face made her smile. “Like I don't?”
She guessed it wouldn't hurt to stay in Florida a little while longer if only to get clean.
Susan quickly sobered. “How do you explain the lack of batteries in the smoke detector in our place?”
Jake turned off the main road and entered the motel parking lot. “I can't. That's another problem. You know
I don't believe in coincidences. Someone has a way of finding us. I plan to put a stop to that.”
“How?”
“Stay where I decide. Tell the Bureau one thing, do another.”
She cocked a brow. “I thought you were a big rule follower.”
“Not when you could get hurt.”
The determination in his tone bolstered her belief he was there to keep her safe. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
Oh. Nothing personal. She guessed he didn't want any black marks on his record.
“This place looks nice,” she said.
At the motel, Jake drove around the parking lot before stopping, and her good mood evaporated.
“You think someone could have followed us?” she asked.
“Can't be too careful. I thought I noticed someone pull out of the mall right behind us. They kept only a few car lengths behind until I turned in here.”
Why was this happening to her? “What should we do?”
“Wait here while I check us in.” He jumped out before she had a chance to suggest she go with him.
The three-minute wait seemed to take forever. She half expected someone to pound on the window or come charging at her with a gun.
Jake returned. “All taken care of.” He drove across the lot to their first floor room. “Get in the room before anyone sees you. Here's the key. I'll be back in a sec.”
Susan was about to argue, but the tight lines around his mouth told her not to put up a fight. She grabbed her purchases and dashed inside the room.
The small room had one bed. Thank goodness they only planned on showering and not spending the night.
She'd just spread out her purchases to organize them when Jake strode in.
He dumped his stuff on the small table in the corner. “I didn't find anyone who looked suspicious.”
“Great.” Or had he been outside for a quick rendezvous? Stop it. He saved your life.
“Why don't you shower first,” she said. “I need a few minutes to take off these tags and to figure out what to wear.”
He shrugged. “You don't have to tell me twice.”
Jake pulled his shirt over his head and dumped it in the trash. Next he unsnapped his jeans.
“What are you doing?” She'd been unable to take her gaze off the strip tease.
“I'm betting the trashcan in the bathroom won't hold my ruined smoky clothes.”
He shucked off his shoes and dropped trou.
“That's not what I meant and you know it.”
Part of her wanted to turn her back, while the other half wanted to watch. The good half won and she flipped around.
Jake chuckled.
“What's so funny?”
“I know you were married. You must have seen a man in his underwear before.”
“You aren't my husband. Would you mind getting naked in the bathroom?”
“I wasn't going to strip completely.”
Heat raced up her face.
Packages rustled, and then his bare feet padded across the carpet before stepping into the bathroom. Susan dropped onto the bed, exhausted from the exchange. She'd never been a prude, but with Jake she didn't know how to react. The last year of her marriage to Carlton had been as lifeless as Travis Simmons' dead body.
Susan sorted through her purchases, deciding what to wear. Whether she looked presentable or not shouldn't matter, but somehow her appearance had become important to her. She hadn't minded wearing a baggy sweatshirt and equally ill-fitting pants back at the townhouse, so what had changed? The day at the beach? The hamburger and fries he'd brought? The nice way he treated her?
Jake stepped out of the bathroom and all thoughts of any outfit disappeared. Man, he cleaned up nice. Dressed in tight jeans and a body fitting t-shirt, her first reaction was that Jake would make a great cover model. She blinked to clear her head.
Her eyes told her to trust him, but the lawyer in her said to hold back judgment.
“Next.”
He had the nerve to smile, as if he could read her mind. She wasn't staring that hard, was she?
Head held high, she picked up what she needed and brushed past him into the steamy bathroom. A hint of mint and lemon mixed in with the steam sent her thoughts in the absolute wrong direction. He'd been naked in here—or more exactly—wet and naked. A big, fluffy towel lay wadded on the floor, and for a brief moment she was tempted to pick it up and smell his scent, but the sane side of her said to undress before she became more confused.
Susan locked the door. The last thing she needed was for Jake to accidentally on purpose come looking for something he theoretically left in the bathroom, and she'd be naked with soap clinging to her breasts.
Move. Getting out of the stinky clothes was wonderful, but the sensation didn't compare to the hot shower. While she wanted to spend an hour in the bathroom, they couldn't afford to stay in one place long. She washed her hair as quickly as the pain allowed and dressed in record time.
The moment she stepped out of the bathroom, Jake smiled. Without a brush to pull through her wet tangled hair, she must look like Methuselah.
His eyes widened. “Nice.”
She couldn't tell if his comment was sarcastic or not, so she let it slide. “Thanks.”
With his feet on the small table, Jake's arms stayed crossed over his chest.
“Can we go now?” she asked.
He jumped up. “Sure. You're the boss.”
“As if you believe any part of that statement.”
His brows rose and a small smile lifted his lips. At least he helped her out with her suitcase.
Jake scanned the parking lot while she slipped into the car. The man did take his job seriously.
He backed out of the parking space. “While you were in the shower, I called T-Squared.”
“Who?”
“A friend of mine who is a whiz at finding anything on the computer.”
She appreciated he didn't keep this phone call a secret. “Because?”
“I had asked him to get the names and addresses of the remaining three jurors, which he delivered. I want to warn them to be careful.”
“You still think it's a good idea to warn them? The Bureau might not appreciate the interference.”
“I don't have a choice.” His jaw clenched, which was never a good sign.
Worry rippled up her spine. “Can't the Bureau assign each of them a bodyguard?”
“Contrary to popular belief, we don't have unlimited resources.”
She didn't like his answer. “If I hadn't been injured, would I have been on my own?”
His lips thinned. “Mostly likely.”
“Which means I'd probably be dead.”
“But you're not.”
For now.
With the addresses of the remaining jurors in hand, they drove to Lake City, Florida, which took the three hours Jake had predicted. The exit had about fifty restaurants, all clumped near the interstate off ramp. They stopped at a cute cafe with a chicken perched on top, and her meal tasted better than anything she'd ever eaten. Maybe it was the sensation of freedom that gave her back her taste buds.
They didn't dawdle or talk about the case, which was fine by her. Once Jake refueled across the street from the restaurant, he peeled out of the station.
“You know where you're going?” she asked.
He tapped the GPS. “I already programmed Mr. Marcadis’ address. It's less than three miles from here.”
“Did you call him to let him know you wanted to speak with him? Arriving at his house unannounced and knocking on his door might scare him. He might have learned about the other jurors.” He was juror number ten.
“Can't be helped. T-Squared only had the address and not his number.”
“Too bad.”
She took in the rather rundown surroundings as Jake drove to their destination. Strip malls flanked car dealerships, and there were more mobile homes than site built ones.
When he pul
led onto Marcadis' street, police cars and an ambulance sat in front of a yellow wooden house.
Every muscle tensed. She checked she'd locked the door. “What do you think is happening?” She rolled down her window to get a better view.
“I don't like it whatever it is.”
Her chest hurt, and not from the stitches, but from the blood knocking around inside. Had Mr. Marcadis been injured? Or was it a neighbor's house? She didn't want to believe he was dead too.
Jake drove on by and circled the block. “I want you to get in the back and lie down on the seat.”
His sharp tone sent her on alert. “Why? No one knows me here.”
He pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. “No one but the killer.”
Chills shook her. “Whose place was that?” She had a clue but wanted confirmation.
“That was our juror's house. If the ambulance is there, someone found him before we could warn him. No telling where our attacker is right now.” He clicked open the doors.
This time she didn't argue. Susan slipped out the passenger side, hopped in the back seat and laid down, her chest heavy. She prayed the man was still alive and could identify the maniac who was out to get them all.
“Please find out what happened.” Her voice shook.
7
Jake never liked flashing his badge just to gain information, but sometimes the situation called for using his credentials to get what he needed.
A wide-eyed cop stepped closer and examined Jake's badge, his thumbs jammed in his belt. The man whistled. “FBI, huh? Never had one of you guys here before. How can I help, Detective?”
“Does this house belong to Phillip Marcadis?”
“He's a renter. Stan Kranc owns the place.”
Two men in white, facing each other, pushed a wheeled cart through the opened screened front door. A black body bag sat on top. Anger and frustration flooded Jake's system. Damn it. They were too late. He swallowed the fear that twisted his gut.
“Watch out, everybody. Coming through,” one of the attendants called.
Jake and the two local cops stepped aside.
Jake nodded to the body. “Is that Mr. Marcadis?”
“Afraid so.”
