by Diane Kelly
When the lawyer called back an hour later, he had no answers for me.
“We didn’t recognize him,” the attorney said. “Of course Metroplex Mutual employs over six hundred people. Those of us in the legal department don’t know them all. Besides, the video isn’t all that helpful. The phone obscures the man’s face in nearly all of the footage.”
Argh! “Thanks for trying.”
I phoned Ross O’Donnell to see about getting a warrant to send to the insurance company.
“Before Judge Trumbull will issue a warrant,” he said, “you’ll need to get affidavits from the people who had insurance polices with Metroplex Mutual. They should stipulate that they provided the name and social security number of each person whose identity was later used by the bogus leasing agent. It would be even better if one of them happened to have a copy of the application they filled out when they applied for the policy. You know, so that it would show that they had listed the victim’s private information.”
In other words, I had a bunch of hoops to jump through today.
But jump through them I did. I made phone calls. Obtained e-mail addresses. Typed my fingers off, chipping a nail in the process. By the end of the day, I’d prepared affidavits and e-mailed them to Sebastian Rivera’s sister, Michael Simpson’s brother, and Tyrone Robinson’s uncle. As soon as they sent the executed affidavits back to me, Ross and I could ask Judge Trumbull for the warrant.
Yippee!
chapter twenty-five
Hiding Out
As Nick followed me home to Bonnie’s that evening, he called my cell. I jabbed the button to put him on speaker.
“We’ve got a tail,” he said without preamble. “A black SUV. It’s been behind us for a couple of miles.”
My heart did a backflip and my chest tightened in fear. “Are you sure?” I said on a shallow breath.
“I’m not taking chances,” Nick said. “Not with your life.”
Aww. He really does love me, doesn’t he? “What should we do? Evasive maneuvers?”
There was too much traffic for us to use our weapons. I was a sharpshooter, but even with my top-notch gun skills I couldn’t guarantee a clean shot out of a moving vehicle, especially when I’d have to keep my other hand on the steering wheel. I might accidentally shoot an innocent person or cause a fatal accident.
“If they make a move,” he said, “I’ll run interference and you get the hell out of here. But I don’t think they know we’re on to them. This could be our chance to bust their asses.”
If we could nab the culprits right now, heck, I was all for it.
“Skip the exit for my mom’s house,” Nick directed me, “and keep going straight. I’ll call 911 and get Dallas PD out here to pull them over.”
“Good idea.”
When we ended our call, I checked my rearview and side mirrors. Sure enough, way back, I caught a glimpse of a black SUV that came into view in my side mirror as I rounded a small curve in the freeway.
My heart pulsed at warp speed, my skin vibrating. Steering with my left hand, I reached down and pulled my gun from my holster, holding it at the ready in the unlikely event I’d be able to get a clean shot. Of course even if I could get a clean shot, I couldn’t fire until they’d taken a shot at me first. No way could I risk another excessive-force trial. But chances were good that, if they took a shot, they’d shoot me from behind where I wouldn’t see it coming. Maybe they had a long-range rifle and a scope, ready to do just that. Maybe my blood and brain matter would end up splattered all over the car just like the water drops from the wet dog.
Yikes.
I slumped down in my seat, doing my best to keep my head low. Of course that also made my eyes too low to see well. Add in the fact that I was trying to watch what little I could see of the road in front of me as well as the SUV behind me, and the situation posed more of a challenge than I was up for. I was no Danica Patrick.
The early evening sun streaming through the windshield glinted off my engagement ring. Will I live to see my wedding? Each of these incidents made me less and less certain. Maybe Nick and I should just go to the justice of the peace first thing in the morning and say our I dos. That way, if I were killed, at least I’d have had the privilege of being Nick’s wife for a short time.
HOOOOONK!
The driver in the next lane not only laid on his horn but also treated me to a raised middle finger and a mouthed Fuck you! So much for Southern hospitality, huh? I must’ve accidentally swerved over the line.
“Give me a break!” I hollered back. “Someone’s trying to kill me!” There was no possible way he could hear me with my windows up. Heck, he was a good ten yards ahead of me now. Still, if nothing else, the yelling made me feel better.
Nick phoned me back a few seconds later. “The SUV was coming up fast but they exited right after you swerved and that car honked. They must have realized we’d noticed them and that they’d lost the element of surprise.”
Dammit! My stupidity had let them get away. On the other hand, if they’d been making a break for me, maybe it was a good thing I’d swerved. They might’ve gotten a headshot in before I could drive away. I could be dead right now, my brains decorating my dashboard. There’s a happy thought.
I put Nick on speaker and set the phone in my cup holder. “What now?”
“Take the next exit and loop back.”
Keeping in touch by phone, we performed all sorts of evasive maneuvers in case they tried to return to the freeway and catch up with us. But neither Nick nor I noticed a tail any longer. We took surface streets for a couple miles, returned to the freeway, and backtracked. When we pulled into Bonnie’s garage, we lowered the door as quickly as we could to hide our vehicles.
Bonnie met us at the door, my shotgun in her hands. Her face was puckered with worry. “I just got a phone call from some woman. She didn’t say who she was, but she asked for you, Tara.”
Holy shit! The people who are after me know we’re staying at Bonnie’s! They could be on their way here right now!
“What did you say?” I squeaked, terror clutching my throat.
“I told them I’d never heard of Tara Holloway and they must have the wrong number.”
Nick and I exchanged glances. If the caller knew Bonnie was Nick’s mother, they’d know she was lying about knowing me. It might have been better if she’d admitted knowing me, but had feigned confusion as to why they’d think I was at her place. But regardless, it was water under the bridge now.
I pulled my phone from my purse. “I’ll call Dallas PD.”
Nick yanked his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call the U.S. Marshal’s office.”
As we placed our calls, we rushed around the house, turning off all the lights and closing blinds and curtains to make it more difficult for anyone on the outside to see in. Daffodil dashed around after us, seeming to think we were playing a game. Woof! Woof-woof!
“I’m IRS Special Agent Tara Holloway,” I told dispatch when a male agent answered. “I had a tail and I believe whoever followed me might be on their way to my mother-in-law’s house. That’s where I’m staying. I need backup here ASAP.” I rattled off the address.
“We’ve got a unit in the area,” the dispatcher said. “I’ll send it over.”
I stood next to the front window, my back flattened against the wall as I peered out around the edge of the curtain to keep an eye on the street. Nick did the same on the other side, while Bonnie peeked out the kitchen window, watching the backyard. Two cars drove past on the street out front, but neither was a black SUV. The next car was a cruiser from Dallas PD. I closed my eyes for a moment and exhaled a long, relieved breath.
Two uniformed officers, one blond and one balding, exited the vehicle, careful to watch their backs as they came up the drive. I hurried over and opened the door as they walked onto the porch. Nick stepped up behind me.
The bald one said, “We understand you’re the IRS agent who’s being stalked?”
“Yes, that’s me.” I
extended a hand to shake theirs. “IRS Special Agent Tara Holloway.”
Nick put out his hand, too. “Senior Special Agent Nick Pratt. I’m Tara’s fiancé.” He gestured to Bonnie, who’d come over, too. “This is my mother, Bonnie Pratt.”
The blond-haired officer glanced down the street as a minivan approached. “I’ll keep an eye on things out here.”
We thanked him and stepped back to allow his partner inside.
Bonnie held out a hand to indicate the living room. “Please take a seat. Can I get you something?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”
“How do you take it?”
“Black.”
While Bonnie prepared a pot of coffee, Nick, the officer, and I sat down in the living room.
He pulled out a pen and notepad to take notes. “You were followed?”
I nodded. “By a black SUV.”
“Did you get the make and model? License plate?”
“No. It all happened too fast.” I looked to Nick. “Did you?”
“No,” he replied, standing. “But maybe your cameras picked it up.”
Good thing he could think on his feet. My mind was still whirling. I’d forgotten all about the dash and rear cameras Josh had installed.
I fished through my purse until I found my keys and handed them to Nick. While he went to the garage to grab the cameras, the officer continued his questions. “Any idea who might be following you?”
“I’ve made a lot of arrests during my time with the Service, but I’ve already met with most of the people I considered likely suspects. Nothing panned out. The people who are after me appear to be a couple. A tall man and woman. I’ve seen them at the Cowboys stadium and at Neiman’s. The woman seems vaguely familiar. It’s possible she’s a stripper from Shreveport named Leah Dodd, but I don’t have any concrete evidence to prove it.”
The officer nodded slowly, mulling things over before offering a noncommittal shrug. “Sooner or later they’re bound to slip up.”
I’d had the same thought. But the next thought was always How much later? Seriously, how long could this go on?
Nick returned with the cameras and we huddled together on the couch to watch the footage on the small screens. Unfortunately, while the SUV had come briefly into view in my side mirror earlier, the rear camera, which had been centered at the back window, didn’t pick it up. Rather, the camera showed a steady view of Nick and his car following me, once in a while picking up the fender of a car to the right or left as we rounded a curve. Likewise, the dash camera showed nothing, no SUV slowing intentionally to let me pass. Evidently, the SUV had never been in front of me.
I closed my eyes in frustration, putting a hand to my forehead. “We’ve got nothing.”
“Dammit!” Nick stood from the couch to walk off his anger.
KNOCK-KNOCK.
I nearly ejected from my skin as someone rapped on the front door. A second later, a male voice called, “U.S. Marshal.”
The officer and I stood and went to the door. I opened it and let the marshal inside. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
We held a powwow in the foyer, Nick and his mother joining in, too.
I gave the marshal the details. “Detective Booth has gone with me to interview some of the potential suspects, but we haven’t had any luck.”
“Too bad,” he said. “This kind of thing, with the suspects approaching you in public places, raises the risk of collateral damage.”
In other words, innocent people could be hurt by the criminals who were after me. Guilt gripped my gut once more. This situation sucked from so many angles.
He turned to the officer. “Given that it’s a federal agent who’s the target here, seems best we marshals keep watch, let you all go about your usual business.” The marshal turned back to me. “We’ll keep a car and agent here round-the-clock for the time being.”
Good. Bonnie would have protection while we were gone.
The marshal added, “If the people who are after you think you’re staying here, there’s a chance they’ll come by. Maybe we can catch them then.”
If only. I’d been so anxious since the incident at Neiman’s it felt as if my stomach were spurting a constant stream of acid. I’d been on a steady diet of Tums.
The police officer made a move for the door.
“Thanks, Officer,” I told the cop, shaking his hand as he left.
“Anytime.”
Though the open door, I raised a hand to the blond officer outside, calling, “Thank you!” to him, too.
The marshal pulled out his cell phone. “Let me get your numbers.”
He added all of us to his contacts list, including Bonnie’s landline number. He pulled a handheld radio from a clip on his belt and held it out to me. “Take this. In case we need to reach each other quick.”
I took it from him. I wasn’t sure whether having the radio made me feel more or less safe. Sure, we could rouse the marshal faster. But—eek!—would we need to?
With the radio serving as a centerpiece, Nick, Bonnie, and I ate a quiet dinner. Afterward, we watched a little TV and prepared for bed, doing our best to pretend it was a normal night and that there was nothing unusual about having a marked cruiser from the marshal’s office parked like a sentry at the curb out front.
After donning my pj’s, I climbed into bed and Annie curled up next to me. Henry, on the other paw, seemed to sense the tension in the air. He hissed and fidgeted for half an hour before finally settling down at the end of the bed, staring at me through the darkness, his eyes reflecting what little light came from the clock.
I don’t like it any more than you do, buddy.
* * *
On Thursday morning, Bonnie stayed home with the pets and the marshal while Nick and I went to work. I felt guilty that Bonnie would be trapped in her house all day, but she told me not to worry. “I’ll catch up on my television,” she said. “Read some magazines I haven’t had time to get to.”
“Do you have plenty of groceries?”
“Of course. With a son like Nick, you know I keep my fridge and freezer stocked. Besides, if I need anything I can get it delivered.”
There was something to be said for living in an era when anything you wanted or needed could be brought to your doorstep. A few more years and going out in one’s yard would be considered an adventure. I placed a hand on Bonnie’s forearm. “I’m sorry about all of this.”
“It’s not your fault, Tara,” she said, patting my hand. “Don’t blame yourself. Blame whoever it is who’s trying to kill you.”
“You’ll keep the shotgun handy? Just in case?”
She reached over next to her chair and patted it. “Got it right here.”
At the office, Viola looked up as Nick and I stepped off the elevators. “What’s going on?” she demanded. The woman seemed to have a sixth sense about us agents, just like a mother has with her children.
I filled her in. “I was followed last night by an SUV.”
Her eyes went wide. “That doesn’t sound good.”
She could say that again.
“Be careful,” Nick warned Viola. “The security team downstairs does a good job, but if these people are intent on getting Tara, they might pull a stupid stunt here at the office.”
“I’ll get you my spare ballistic vest,” I told her. “I’d feel better if you were wearing it.” She wouldn’t feel better, though. Not physically anyway. The darn things were hot and heavy. But better uncomfortable than dead.
I scurried to my office and returned with the vest.
Viola took it from me, her eyes glimmering with excitement. “Can I have a gun, too?”
She wasn’t properly trained and qualified, so we couldn’t give her a weapon.
“Sorry, but no,” I said. “We can give you a quick lesson in close combat, though. How’s that?”
“Let’s do it!”
With Nick playing the role of the attacker, I showed her the defensive moves I
’d learned. “Go for the eyes, nose, neck, groin, or knees. Those are the vulnerable spots. At least on men. If it’s a woman attacking you, skip the groin.”
Really, why didn’t men have vagina envy? They walked around with that pendulous organ hanging out, making them vulnerable. They should be jealous of what we had. It could be just as fun and didn’t pose an easy target. Then again, after landing on that stool and smashing my girlie parts, I knew better than anyone that women weren’t entirely safe from crotch-centered catastrophes.
Viola tried the moves out on Nick, being careful to avoid actual contact. She swung the pad of her hand upward toward his nose. “How’s that?”
“You got me!” He fell to the floor in mock defeat, spreading his arms wide and letting his tongue loll out as if he were dead.
“Good job,” I told her. “I pity the fool who tries to take you on.”
Nick and I went to our offices to get to work. I checked my e-mails. While Tyrone Robinson’s uncle and Michael Simpson’s brother had returned their affidavits, I had not yet received a completed form from Sebastian Rivera’s sister. I hoped she’d hop to it. I wanted to get the search warrant, get over to Metroplex Mutual Life Insurance Company, and find out, once and for all, who was the man running the rental scam.
In addition to the two affidavits, my e-mail inbox included four replies regarding the rental ads I’d responded to. One of them gave the property address and noted that he’d be holding an open house on the upcoming Saturday from ten A.M. to noon. An open house was an efficient way to show a place to a lot of people in a short time. But it was not the method normally used by the con artist. I dismissed the reply. I also dismissed two other replies that had been sent by female leasing agents. I told all three of these that I had already decided on a place, but thanked them for getting back to me.
The fourth reply caught my attention. A purported leasing agent named Cliff said he could show me the subject property tonight at seven. Does that time work for you, Sara?
I wrote back. Yes, 7 is good. What’s the address?
His reply came in around three that afternoon. The house was on Peavy Road in a neighborhood known as Casa Linda Estates that sat a couple miles northeast of downtown.
