by DiAnn Mills
Various sizes of boot prints indicated recent activity, but there wasn’t even a spent casing or a wrapper from their chew. None of the men leaving through the rear had been armed. Nothing suspicious warranted more of the agents’ time today.
“I’m hot and frustrated,” Alex said to Ric on the way back to Houston. “One of Reynold’s men testified to him storing illegal weapons, bombs, and ammo in some kind of a stronghold. He didn’t mention any drones.”
“That man got his brakes cut,” Ric said. “Reynold has a solid operation. His men are well-trained and keep their mouths shut. Backgrounds state every one of them have served in some branch of the military. All we can do is keep constant surveillance until we nail him.”
Alex opened a bottle of warm water from the cup holder. “On the surface, neither Todd Howe nor Lynx Connor are connected to Reynold or any of his known men. We already have him and his officers under surveillance. We’ll compare dates and times along with the enlisted men from Fort Benning who might be connected to either man.” He paused, remembering . . . “Reynold spouts white supremacy. His principles negate doing business with a Jew, but he wouldn’t have a problem killing him. Or anyone, for that matter.”
LONG AFTER Alex would have, should have, crawled into bed, he and Ric stopped in at the office and learned Russell Phillips had scheduled a late-night interview with the LA office.
Alex logged on to his computer. “Russell will be there in about fifteen minutes. I want to know what’s going on.”
Ric pulled a chair to Alex’s desk with his uninjured arm. “I’m in. The question is did Jensen contact him, or did he have some revelation?”
“I’ll take whatever we can get.” Alex refused to rest until the mastermind of this case was arrested, but weariness weighed on him. The antibiotics kept the fever down, but the disease zapped his energy, and both sides of his head hammered.
Once the connection was made, they observed a live video stream. The same agents who’d interviewed Connor and Russell in the past handled this one too.
“Mr. Phillips, Special Agents LeBlanc and Price are present in Houston. They may have questions as we proceed. We understand you have critical information about your nephew, Jensen Phillips,” the male agent said.
The professional businessman vanished, and in his wake was a man who seemed to carry far too much weight. “I believe so. Agents, I don’t know where Jensen is hiding. What I have to say comes from my association with Jensen. Since spending time with Special Agents LeBlanc and Price from Houston, I’ve focused on my only living heir and his brilliance. I’m guilty of ignoring the issues in his life, and I’m as guilty as the killer of so many innocent people.” He took a deep breath. “I have concluded his preoccupation with dogs and his desire to fulfill his own goals have resulted in the deaths of too many people. One of the victims was my lifelong friend.”
“Can you elaborate?” the agent said. “We see in your nephew’s background that he has his doctorate in veterinary medicine and completed a postdoctoral degree program in clinical pathology.”
Russell nodded. “His passion is dogs and their health. When he was a boy, he had a Lab. The animal was diagnosed with a disease. I don’t recall which one. His father, my brother, refused to invest in antibiotics and the precautions needed to continue keeping the dog alive. He had the animal put to sleep. In my opinion, Jensen never got over it. From then on, he was determined to be a veterinarian and focus on canine research. Although his love for dogs seems counterintuitive to his developing a genetically engineered disease, I can see how he could possess the knowledge to do so.”
“If you were making an educated guess, what would you say motivated him?”
“If I’d been charged and evidence produced to find me guilty, Phillips Security would have reverted to Jensen’s control. He’d have millions of dollars to use for canine research.” Russell seemed to age during the conversation. “I understand this may sound ludicrous to you, but I’ve spent hours thinking through his behavior patterns. Sophie, his Lab, does not leave his sight. He bred her once and had to take a leave of absence from work when her time came to deliver the pup. He was devastated for weeks about the pain she’d experienced and vowed never to breed her again. I learned from his wife that they haven’t consummated their marriage. The dog sleeps in a special bed in their room. It’s as though he considers himself a guardian for dogs.”
Alex zeroed in on the last statement and connected with LA. “Russell, is it feasible Jensen would have developed an antidote?”
He stared into the face of the agent. “I think Alex has made a good point. If Jensen did develop this thing, I want to believe he’d also develop a cure.”
“Back to what you said previously,” Ric said. “What happened to Sophie’s puppy?”
“Jensen’s wife said it was a female and given as a gift to someone. She doesn’t know the recipient.”
“Mr. Phillips, is there anything else you’d like to tell us?” the agent said.
“Not at this time.” Russell looked into the camera. “Alex, Ric, whatever I learn, you and the agents here in LA will be the first to know.”
The interview ended and Alex turned to Ric. “Xena has to be the missing dog.”
“What are the odds Lynx Connor received Sophie’s female pup?” Ric picked up his phone. “I’m calling his ex-wife now.”
“In theory, Jensen didn’t have the patience to wait until his uncle handed over the business. His desire to work with dogs could have motivated his plans.”
Ric held up a finger. “Mrs. Connor, this is Special Agent Ric Price of FBI Houston. In our investigation about what happened to your husband, I have a question. Did your husband have a yellow Lab?” Ric nodded at Alex. “Do you have the dog?” A moment later. “Male or female? I see. Thank you for your time.” He set his cell on Alex’s desk. “Connor was given a female Lab puppy a couple of years ago. When he moved out of the house, he took the dog with him. She has no idea what happened to the animal. Sweet tempered.”
“Sophie must not have the disease, but Xena was injected,” Alex said. “Would Jensen have vials of the infection or maybe even a serum with him? With airports around the country on alert and his photo on every media’s report list, what are we missing?”
Ric clutched his injured arm. “Disguises would give him a head start.”
Alex’s mind darted in and out of scenarios. “He’s killed to protect himself, which makes anyone who gets in his way a threat.”
Alex contacted Taylor Freeman at Hooks Airport. If Howe and Connor had used a private plane to cover their covert operations, Jensen Phillips might do the same. He sent the young woman Jensen’s photograph with instructions to call or text if he showed up.
Alex stretched out on the floor of his cubicle. A few hours’ sleep, and he’d shower at the office and keep working. Ric had concluded the same thing. So much happening on this case that neither of them wanted to return home. If Whitt wasn’t found soon, he’d die. His loser dad might be the only way to find him. But from all indications, Whitt wouldn’t seek out his dad.
This all began with the murder of Todd Howe and tracking down who’d stolen the quadcopter.
The water hoax and Lynx Connor.
Russell Phillips.
Jensen Phillips.
Doug Reynold.
A text came in from the surveillance team keeping vigil on Reynold’s compound. Ace McMann had been spotted exiting a barn. If Ace had been hidden away there, were Whitt and Xena there too? While Alex debated taking a drive back to the compound, Ric approached his cubicle.
“Can’t sleep?” Alex said.
A nod. “How did we miss where McMann was hiding?”
“Reynold’s smart. He built every structure on that property. Who and what else is stashed away?” Alex weighed his words. “Up to driving to the compound?”
“I’m ready. You drive this time, so hold on while I retrieve my night goggles from my trunk.”
Once at the s
cene, a man on the surveillance team updated Alex and Ric. “We have Doug Reynold and Ace McMann together.” He handed the binoculars to Alex. “They’re leaving the house through the front door and walking toward a green pickup.”
Alex focused on Whitt’s dad. Under the inky night sky, Ace climbed into a dark-green pickup on the passenger side. Reynold sped out the rear of the property. Alex handed the binoculars to Ric.
“I’m against stopping them.” Ric viewed the truck. “Let’s see where they’re going.”
Alex drove his Jeep with Ric beside him and tailed the truck, staying far enough behind, yet having the FBI and law enforcement in close proximity. Reynold drove north on I-45.
Alex engaged his hands-free device and phoned a sleeping Stacy. “For your ears only. We’re following Doug Reynold and Ace McMann north on I-45. Have no idea where this is leading, but I’ll keep you posted.”
An hour and thirty minutes later, the truck swung onto a remote road in Montgomery County leading into a wooded area. Alex held back until he sensed it was clear to continue. On the left side of the road, the truck sat deserted. Backup teams slid into place.
He phoned Stacy again. “Reynold and McMann disappeared into the woods.”
“Where?”
He hesitated to tell her, but if Whitt was found, she’d want to be here. He gave her the location.
“I’m on my way. I’ll have Dad drive. I’m calling Dexter. If these two lead us to Whitt and Xena, he’ll want Xena.”
“This could be nothing, Stacy.”
“I have to believe.”
Alex ended the call, praying tonight brought Whitt back to Stacy—alive.
VOICES MET WHITT’S EARS, and he tried to open his eyes. Was he hallucinating? Had he been found? Awareness filled him with quiet joy. Maybe he’d live, have a second chance to ask Miss Stacy to forgive him. He wanted to believe she’d not despise him for abandoning her. A light shone on him, but he couldn’t muster the strength to acknowledge it.
“Over here, Commander,” the man said. “Told you I figured out where he’d gone.”
Why did the voice sound like his incorrigible father?
“Are you sure, Ace? Black as pitch out here.”
Hell could not be worse than this.
“I’m lookin’ at him,” Dad said. “And the dog’s here.”
“Best put on a mask. Cash time,” the man said.
A second light blinded Whitt. He smelled his dad bending over him, the familiar blend of weed and alcohol oozing from the pores of his skin.
“My boy looks bad.”
“He’s dying. What do you expect?”
“He’s small for his age. Not sure I can leave him alone.”
“We came for the dog. Our weapon for power. We’ll load the virus into a drone sprayer and show the world we’re in control. As long as we keep wearing these masks, we won’t get sick.” A snap indicated the man had attached a leash to Xena’s collar. “Leave the kid. He’ll be dead before the night’s over anyway.”
“He’ll die alone in these woods.”
“Look, you said you wanted to be one of my soldiers. Fight for our rights and destroy our corrupt government. Live free. That’s why I sprang you. As commander, I’m ready to promote you to captain.”
“Sounds good.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“Not sure, Commander. I can’t leave ’im.”
“Either you walk out of here with me to join my men, or you’re a coward. My army has only brave men willing to sacrifice for freedom.”
Whitt refused to utter a sound. Dad made a choice about him years ago. No reason he’d change his mind.
“Reynold, you came after me when you learned my boy had the dog. I ain’t much, but only sorry scum walks away from his own flesh wasting away.”
“Suit yourself. When me and my men show this country who’s boss, you’ll be doing what I tell you whether you like it or not.”
The man kicked dirt on Whitt. Whitt opened his eyes through excruciating pain.
I’m not dead yet.
Reynold stomped off with Xena, leaving a trail of curses in his wake. Whitt hoped the dog took a chunk out of his rear.
Dad touched his forehead. So it took dying for his father to show he was human. Dad cursed. Nothing unusual. He slipped his hands under Whitt’s body, bringing a scream to his lips. Dad withdrew his arms and sobbed.
“This is my fault. I should have signed papers for Miss Stacy to raise you. Now you hurt too bad for me to get help. I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Try again,” Whitt whispered. “I won’t cry.”
“You’re awful hot.”
“Please.” Whitt drew in a breath and braced himself. Dad lifted him into his arms, and a thousand needles pierced his body.
“The law needs your dog too, but I failed there. They have medicines to break the fever, if it’s not too late.”
He wanted to live, even in a foster home. If medicine had been developed, then Miss Stacy would be fine. Every step Dad took jarred Whitt’s insides. At times he believed his bones would break. Raw agony tortured him, sending him in and out of consciousness. Wherever they were going took so long.
Angry voices in the distance disturbed him. The words morphed together, and he caught only a snippet here and there.
“Doug Reynold, drop your gun. You’re under arrest.”
“Make sure the dog’s in the cage.”
“Someone else is coming.”
“I have Whitt,” Dad called out. “He’s in bad shape.”
“Paramedics, we have the boy.”
Dad laid him on what must be a stretcher. Someone took his vitals while another prepared his arm to start an IV. For once, he didn’t mind the needle.
“Whitt!”
Was that Miss Stacy? But he was too weak to move his eyes and drifted into blackness.
Stacy rushed to Whitt’s side, where he lay still, unable to protest the IV being slid into his vein. She took his limp hand, her tears dripping onto his fingers. His fever-ravaged body shook her. Sobbing met her ears, and she faced Ace, the big man caught up in uncontrollable weeping.
“I’m sorry, Whitt,” he said.
“But you found him.” She despised the man, yet she pitied him. “No one else could. Thank you.”
“Is he dead?” Ace said.
“No, sir.” The paramedic worked without looking up. “He’s unconscious.”
She focused on her dear boy while an agent handcuffed Ace and led him away. Alex had cuffed Doug Reynold earlier, and now Alex joined her with Dad. Her heroes. Ric and Dexter made their way to Whitt’s stretcher, where he was being loaded into an ambulance. The road swarmed with vehicles belonging to other agents and Montgomery County police.
“Can I accompany him?” she said.
“Are you his mother?”
“No.”
The man offered a grim smile. “I’m sorry. We’ll be taking him to Tomball hospital.”
She wished she’d lied. Staring into Whitt’s face, she prayed for him to survive, to respond to the antibiotics. She bent to his face and kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered and released his hand. A moment later, the door to the ambulance slammed shut.
“I’ll drive you,” Alex said.
“What about Reynold?”
“I want to get you settled, then Ric and I’ll interview him.”
She glanced at Dad and he nodded. “Go. I’m sure he’s had more experience driving at breakneck speeds and weaving in and out of traffic than I have. I’ll phone your mother and have her take a taxi to meet us.”
“I’ll ride with your dad,” Ric said.
Stacy hurried with Alex to his Jeep. Whitt’s face stayed fixed in her mind . . . the gray shadow of death. “How long until we know if he’ll be okay?”
“I have no idea since he’s so sick.” He started the Jeep and headed toward FM 149 south leading to Tomball Regional Medical Center.
“I was relatively cognizant
, and he’s unconscious.”
“All we can do is hold on tightly to the rope of prayer.” He offered a smile. “One of my mother’s sayings.”
“Sounds like a fine woman.”
“She died when I was in college.”
“I’m so sorry. Is your dad living?”
“They were both killed in a car accident. Dexter and Eva Rayken were already friends, but then they became my family.”
“Alex, I’m really glad they were there for you. He told me about his daughter, Stacy.”
“Their only child, except for me.”
“In such a short time, I’ve grown fond of him, and I’m sure his wife is just as lovely.”
“Through their prayers, I healed and can now say I’m a Christian.”
A comfortable silence fell between them, as though they’d known each other for years.
“Alex, is Doug Reynold the man responsible for all the crimes?”
“Unlikely, but he might have critical evidence to plea-bargain. Doubt if McMann has been privy to anything.”
“Good thing the men in custody aren’t facing me,” Stacy said. “But you can be scary.”
He chuckled. “Glad to know I’m intimidating.”
She swallowed the acid rising in her throat. “I’m afraid.”
“Me too. But I’m planning on Starbucks for three.”
His comment lifted her spirits.
In the emergency room, Stacy and Alex stepped into Whitt’s curtained area. IVs pumped nourishing fluids and a combination of antibiotics into his body.
“I wish he’d open his eyes,” she said.
Alex’s phone alerted him to a message, and he read the information.
“Do you need to go?” she said.
“Yes. Text me when he wakes or when the doctor sees him. Or both.”
That was optimistic. “I will.”
He kissed her cheek, a small gesture that indicated his caring. “Don’t lose hope. Lean on those who care.”
