Deadly Encounter

by DiAnn Mills

  “We will. The plans for the Grand Parkway are on hold, so there goes that theory, and the FBI hasn’t unraveled Connor’s shell company yet.”

  Their phones alerted them to updates. They grabbed their devices and read. Lynx Connor had agreed to talk in exchange for protection. They’d receive a transcription tomorrow morning.

  “Better news on that front,” Alex said. “He claimed to fear for his life.” He zeroed in on the time. LA agents had scheduled the interview in fifteen minutes. The case had gotten way too personal—Stacy, Whitt, Bekah Howe, his city, national security, possible terrorism . . . He read the second update. “More positive news. The DNA testing on Stacy’s clothes contained no traces of Todd Howe, only the dog’s DNA.”

  Ric peered into his face. “The dog that might kill her.”

  WHITT KNEW WHAT MUST BE DONE and wrote her a note. For months, the appropriate words had sailed in and out of his mind. But what flowed from the pen now was exactly how he felt.

  Dear Miss Stacy,

  Thank you for all you’ve done for me. No one has ever given me care and concern like you have. Love for me shows in your eyes, and I’ve memorized the special sparkle meant only for me. We’ve laughed together, and you’ve comforted me when I’ve cried.

  You taught me about life and God, and because of you, I’ll not forget to look for Him.

  I could list the things you’ve purchased for me with the dollar amount, but this note isn’t about things I can touch. This is about the heart, and I have difficulty expressing those things.

  Miss Stacy, this is good-bye. Risking social services walking into the hospital room and placing me in foster care is worse than death, and only you know I’m not exaggerating. I have to leave the city and find a way on my own. You know me well enough to understand my emergency exit plan has been in existence for months. I can take on life and determine my place, obtain an education, and fulfill my dreams of helping others in some capacity unique to my abilities.

  I hope when your mom and dad come to visit, you’re able to fully reconcile with them. I have no idea what the problem is between you, but I hope for your sake it’s over. Maybe someday I’ll meet them.

  I saw you cry when you read this from Emily Dickinson. I want to live up to these words.

  If I can stop one heart from breaking,

  I shall not live in vain;

  If I can ease one life the aching,

  Or cool one pain,

  Or help one fainting robin

  Unto his nest again,

  I shall not live in vain.

  When you were delirious, you said to me: mother and son come from the heart, not from a piece of paper signed by a judge. I’ll never forget those words.

  Love,

  Whitt

  P.S. Tell Special Agent Alex LeBlanc that I appreciate him, and I’ll mail him the forty dollars once I get settled.

  He folded the paper in thirds and wrote her name on the front. He slipped it under her cell phone with her name sticking out. Once on his way, he could pick up a prepaid phone and keep her posted on his welfare. Glancing into her peaceful face, he whispered a prayer for her recovery and forgiveness. Abandonment rang like a sour note in a concerto. As much as he despised his parents for discarding him, he was doing the same to Miss Stacy. Perhaps Alex would step in and be her friend.

  No wonder God dealt him a continuous bad hand. He wasn’t worth the trouble.

  Whitt rose to his feet, already missing her. Watching the nurses’ desk, he slipped down the hall and to the stairway exit. No one even looked his way. The bus would stop outside the hospital in six minutes.

  Once he found a seat on the bus, he relaxed slightly. Maybe he should have stolen to the lab and tried to find his vials of blood before they tested it. Yet the risk of getting caught negated the idea. He was healthy. No reason for alarm.

  He’d memorized his escape plan, and when dread hit him in the middle of the night, he recalled every detail. Foolproof. No one would ever find him. He’d hide out for around five days, then hitchhike to Arizona, using a random trail. Eventually he’d reach an orphanage for illegal kids who crossed into the US, continue with his education, and take his GED so he could begin college as soon as possible. Although his light hair and gray eyes would never pass for Hispanic, he’d purchased brown contacts from a sleaze in their neighborhood and hair dye weeks ago to counter the identity problem before leaving Houston.

  Whitt’s first stop was to free Xena from the clutches of Doc Kent and the researchers. Although rescuing the dog poked a hole in his logic, he feared she’d be destroyed. Xena had been his friend, and he couldn’t walk away. Leaving Miss Stacy was low enough. Thoughts of the dog infecting others bothered him, but if need be, he’d live a solitary life for a while. Right now, he had to get away before they were apprehended by well-meaning people.

  Shaking off the consequences of his actions, he headed to the nearest ATM to draw out three hundred dollars. The other six hundred dollars left in the bank belonged to Miss Stacy, since she’d signed on the account, fed him, and bought so many things. From there he’d purchase a phone.

  Success meant he had to move fast. The clinic would be flooded with health department types, but not Miss Stacy’s house, not until the investigators discovered he’d escaped. No one had reason to be watching the rear, where an unlatched window awaited him. A change of clothes, a little food and stashed items, dye his hair and insert the brown contacts before heading to the back roads. A surge of confusion seized him. Had he made the right decision? Would she hate him?

  The note to Miss Stacy indicated he’d leave Houston when in truth, he had a destination just outside of the city until the authorities gave up searching for him and assumed he was dead. Statistics showed runaway kids often disappeared, and he intended to be one of those who were gone without a trace.

  Stacy opened her eyes in the darkness of the hospital room, her body much too warm under the pile of blankets. After shoving them aside, she pressed the nurse call button. Could her prayers have been answered, and she was on her way to healing?

  She looked for Whitt. “Are you in the bathroom?” Maybe he’d gone to the cafeteria.

  The nurse stepped in. “How can I help you?”

  “Would you mind taking my temperature? I’m no longer experiencing chills, and I’m more alert.”

  “That would be wonderful news. I’ll be right back.” She stepped into the hall and returned within moments to pop a thermometer into Stacy’s mouth. “Dr. Broussard, your temperature has dropped to 99.9. I’ll contact your doctor immediately. The combination of antibiotics seems to be working.”

  Thank You.

  Stacy wanted to sleep, but joy filled her. “Tell him I want to go home. My parents are arriving in the morning.”

  “You are still very ill. Your doctor will want to keep you until a cure for the disease has been found.”

  “But look at my temp.”

  “That only means the antibiotics have lowered it, not that you’ve been cured.”

  “I have important matters to take care of. I allowed this problem of human brucellosis to spread because of my negligence. I’m not spending another day here when I can help others.”

  The nurse smiled gently, shook her head, and bid her good night. Stacy reached for her phone and texted Alex.

  Fever down to 99.9.

  Within three minutes he responded. I’m doing a Snoopy dance.

  She laughed. Do 1 4 me. Please pray 4 others.

  Will do. C u soon.

  She laid her phone on the nightstand and that’s when she saw the note.

  IN THE EARLY HOURS OF WEDNESDAY MORNING, Whitt huddled under a small tent. While reading about various camping supplies, he’d found the perfect fold-up tent that could be easily condensed for instant travel. Although he and Xena were squashed, he didn’t mind. Once the sun went down, the heat eased a bit. Here in the woods of Montgomery County, where years ago his grandpa McMann had shown him the beauty of nature, h
e could hide for the next five days. By then, authorities and volunteers would have given up, and he could head north for a while and on to Arizona a few days after that. Getting across Texas was his worst obstacle. Everywhere authorities would be looking for him.

  He patted Xena, and she plastered a wet kiss on his face. He no longer cared. If she infected him with the disease, no big deal. Depression had hit big-time, and the only person who’d given him hope was gone. The one thing his social worker had been right about was the suicidal tendencies. After Miss Stacy became more involved in his life, those feelings faded away. But now he was on his own, and he feared they’d come back.

  Did it really matter whether he had brucellosis?

  Promptly at seven o’clock, he fed Xena a packet of nutritious dog food. From his own stash, he ate an apple and a protein bar. When he’d purchased the tent, he’d also bought pills to purify the worst of water. The problem was finding a source. For now he had a stream about thirty yards from his site. His fingers wrapped around a pocketknife, which he’d use for protection against snakes and whatever or whoever threatened them. Not much different from hiding in a closet during one of Dad’s drunken temper fits. He’d never had the courage to use it before, but now he was older. Smarter. More desperate.

  No point checking his burner phone when he had poor connectivity out here. Besides, he needed to conserve his battery. A big drawback, but he believed those looking for him would think his techy mind couldn’t survive without the world of knowledge. He’d prove them wrong, and he’d succeed.

  A twinge of a headache plagued him, and his stomach tossed. No need to worry. Caffeine withdrawal.

  Now to rest with Xena.

  Stacy called Alex after reading Whitt’s note.

  “I’ll get law enforcement notified immediately, and put out an Amber Alert. Would either of his parents know where he went?”

  “Probably not, but it’s worth a call.”

  “I’ll make sure they’re questioned. What about the results of his blood work?” Alex said.

  “Sometime this morning.” She refused to think about Whitt already infected.

  “My guess is he wouldn’t have gone to your home. Too obvious. What about friends?”

  “He’s a loner, Alex. Too many reasons to list.”

  “His note indicates he’s leaving the city. I’ll notify the bus station and check Metro’s cams. He left his phone . . . Smart move on his part to leave it behind so we couldn’t track him. Make sure Doc Kent is notified. I’m concerned Whitt might do something foolish, like nab the dog.”

  She sighed. “He’s very attached to her.”

  “Dexter Rayken might have already picked her up. Besides, the clinic would be locked up. If you’ll give me Doc Kent’s personal number, I’ll call him to check on Xena’s status.”

  She gave him the number. “I’ll hold on.” How had life gotten so muddy? She reread his note. Whitt . . . Where have you gone?

  “Stacy—” Alex’s voice pulled her from her thoughts—“I’ve spoken with Doc Kent. He doesn’t have Xena. Dexter Rayken had sent a representative from the LRN to pick her up. But someone removed her without his knowledge.”

  “Who?”

  “Good question.”

  “Had he seen Whitt?” she said.

  “No. He’s isolating every dog in his care and running tests on them. He has my cell number if Whitt shows up. Get some rest if you can. I’ll be in touch.”

  After the call, she lay awake until morning broke across the sky. If only the beautiful purple, pink, and gold came with a promise. The fever hadn’t returned, and she was going home as soon as her parents arrived. She’d called them in the wee hours of the morning with the good news. The reunion she’d prayed for was happening, and not like she’d ever imagined. But life had so much unpredictability.

  News would hit Houston about a disease-carrying Lab and a twelve-year-old-boy who might soon contract a disease that could cause his death.

  When would the tragedies end? Guilt pelted her spirit for not testing Xena, a stray dog who should have received thorough blood work.

  Shadows appeared in the doorway. A tall lanky man without a hint of slumping shoulders and a petite round lady. She heard her name, a sweet lilt of home, deep and rooted in the bayou.

  Was she hallucinating? “Mom? Dad?”

  The two familiar figures stood still, as though waiting for a sign, a welcome. Dare she take the first step since she’d been the one to choose to leave?

  She’d chosen to forgive in her heart, but to see them, feel their arms around her . . .

  “Can we come in?” Dad said. How she’d longed to hear his low rumble. He held up a mask. “We have these.”

  “Oh yes, please.” She opened her arms and they hurried to her side. She hugged them both at the same time. The scent of Polo cologne and roses embraced her. Tears flowed, and she wanted the moment to last forever.

  “I didn’t expect you for hours,” she said. “Didn’t someone tell you about the precautions?”

  “Didn’t ask,” Dad said, swiping beneath his eyes. “We couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

  “I’m so glad. Neither of you have changed a bit.”

  “You’re as beautiful as ever,” Mom said. “But your dad and I have added a few wrinkles. I expected that sweet boy to be here.”

  Stacy explained Whitt’s absence and how the city was out looking for him.

  “Poor dear.” Mom shook her head. “He’s scared. If he’d just waited, your dad and I could have looked out for him until you’re better.”

  “I’m going home, you know.”

  Dad furrowed his brow. “Your doctor released you?”

  “Nope.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll sign myself out. I don’t care if I have to go to his office every day for a shot.”

  “Such a stubborn Cajun.” Dad’s eyes twinkled.

  “I get that honestly.” She swallowed a huge lump of emotion. “I’m so glad you’re here, and I’m sorry it took this for us to see each other.”

  “God works in His own ways,” Mom said.

  She nodded. “He does.”

  Dad pulled up chairs for Mom and himself. “I’ve been preparing this speech, so while we wait for the doctor to release you—”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said.

  “Seriously, I want you to hear my heart. Your mom’s too.” He took a deep breath. “Ma petite fille.” Dad’s voice brought back the little girl in her, riding on his shoulders. “So proud of you takin’ care of animals, even if one of them has made you sick.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Thinkin’ back over all those times you hid animals in your room. The times you pulled fish from the line in my bucket and tossed them back. Mercy, remember the snakes and alligator you cried about until I returned them to their own home?”

  “I do. Haven’t changed much.”

  “It’s been thirteen long years, and not a day goes by that God doesn’t kick this Cajun about not chasing after you when you left after college.”

  She sobbed. No way to stop the flow. “Dad—”

  “I need to say this. You blamed yourself for your sister’s death, but KaraLee was born with a heart defect. If anything, your mama and I are to blame. We left you alone with her that summer while we worked. A little girl of twelve should never have so much responsibility.”

  “You had to pay for KaraLee’s medicine.”

  “No excuse. We were simply too proud to ask others for help.” Now he sobbed. “When I look back, I think we all believed she’d get better, that God would heal her, and He did. Just not the way we wanted. Took me years to get over my bitterness. Blamed myself. Believed I didn’t deserve you either. After a bout with pneumonia, I told myself family meant love. You started callin’ and warmed my heart. I was fixin’ to drive up here soon and see if we could talk. Put the past behind us. See if you’d give this old man a few minutes to love on you. Tell you how sorry I am. Can you forgive me, cher?�
��

  More tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry for never calling, never coming home for a visit. When KaraLee died, a bit of my heart went with her. Yes, I blamed myself. I was so full of shame.” Her thoughts tumbled to the afternoon when her sister had grown worse. Stacy had phoned the ambulance and Mom and Dad, but none of them would arrive for thirty minutes. She’d run to a neighbor for help, praying for God to save her sister, but when Stacy and the neighbor returned, KaraLee had died.

  “Cher, I love you. The more time that passes, the harder it is to make amends with those we love. Took my preacher to shake me up a bit. He told me you’d accepted Jesus as your Savior two months before God took KaraLee home. I was so wrapped up in work and the constant fear of her death that I ignored you, never talked to you about God’s ways being higher than ours.”

  By this time, Stacy’s nose ran with liquid sentiment. “Dad, you’re here now.” She sniffed. “I have a guest room, and the last I checked, the food in the fridge is okay.” She glanced into Dad’s wet, leathered face. “Are you still as good with animals as you used to be?”

  “I am.”

  “Good. I’m going to let you help me at the clinic. I want to open it up to the public so people can test their dogs. Provide information about canine brucellosis.”

  “Can’t wait to see my little girl in action.”

  ALEX WATCHED THE TIME while completing dreaded paperwork—8 a.m. and they hadn’t received the transcript of Lynx Connor’s interview. Of course, it was only six in LA. He couldn’t keep his mind off Stacy and Whitt. Researchers much smarter than him were working on a cure for the powerful strain of brucellosis infecting humans. Regulating the spike of fever was promising, but only a stabilization if the symptoms persisted. In the meantime, he doggedly worked a case containing far too many unanswered questions.

  Law enforcement had been unable to locate Whitt or Xena. Neither had anyone reported seeing the pair. He’d phoned Stacy twice since their initial conversation to see if the kid had contacted her. The search had gone statewide, and because of the contagion, media was broadcasting the unfortunate situation across the nation.