The Chase (2 page)

K
ariss zipped along outbound Highway 290 to the FBI office on a sun-bathed morning, clearly a good omen for her new writing project. She admired the fluid precision of her silver Jaguar XKR convertible, barely six weeks old. Its dynamic sound system rivaled a concert hall, and she imagined a tuxedo-dressed conductor ushering Bach into action. She detested the statements that people deserved this or that, but this car was definitely worth the sticker price. Of course, if Meredith made good her threats, Kariss would be selling the Jag in a heartbeat.

Traffic on the inbound lane merged bumper to bumper. Another reason for living inside the loop and working from her condo. She’d go nuts if she faced this every day. However, today her destination was worth any price.

Mentally checking what she needed once she reached the FBI office, she pushed aside Meredith’s insensitive attitude toward her goals. Her agent would change her mind once she read the first chapter of her suspense novel — and the book’s dedication.

She’d like to add some romance and the grit of a heroine who was not afraid to help solve a crime. The storyline was a little vague, but after today the detailed plotline should fit right into her spreadsheet — a writing technique she hadn’t used before. In the past her books were straightforward and pretty easy to write. All she needed to do each morning was take her place at her computer and work through the plot in her head.

Taking a deep breath, Kariss envisioned the exclusive book signings and TV interviews. Admittedly so, she was hungry to make this work.

A late-model green Toyota sped alongside her on the left. At the car’s speed, it must be shaking. How did a vehicle that beaten up stay on the road? Her attention swept to the driver, a Hispanic man, and for a brief moment their gazes met before he cut directly into her path. Slamming on her brakes, she stiffened. What a jerk. He’d nearly caused an accident.

She reached to palm her horn, but the driver looked like the type who might whip out a gun. Great for her novel, but not for real life. He sped down the highway, weaving in and out like her granny’s knitting needles.

“You’ll get yours.” She turned up the radio, still shaken but certain HPD patrolled both sides of the road. Some people didn’t deserve a driver’s license.

Taking a drink of her Starbucks mocha latte, she eased into the right lane, maintaining her speed at the posted limit of sixty miles per hour. The make of her car kept her on the radar of over-enthusiastic police officers. No time for a speeding ticket today.

A police car whizzed by, red light flashing, and she laughed. Sure enough, he had Mr. Toyota in his sights. By the time she passed the police car, both vehicles were chummy at the side of the road.

Kariss turned right onto West 43rd toward Houston’s FBI office, her fury over the driver who’d cut her off dispersing. She parked in the designated visitor area and snatched up her laptop and purse with a goal to whiz through security. Her fingers tingled at what lay ahead. Oh, the glory of story.

A sign inside security stated no laptops. Why hadn’t she remembered that stipulation? Back when she frequented the FBI office, she hadn’t needed her tool of the trade.

She pasted on a warm smile. “I have an appointment with Special Agent in Charge Lincoln Abrams. He won’t have a problem with my laptop.”

“Yes, ma’am. I still need to scan it and you.”

“Then I can take it with me?”

“When I’m finished.”

She’d planned an early arrival, knowing the paperwork required before her appointment. Her foot tapped against the concrete of the security’s floor.
Patience. You’re not a one-legged tap dancer.
Twenty minutes later she sat in the reception area, her paperwork completed, her laptop resting in its pink sleeve beside her.

“Miss Walker?”

Kariss hurried to the receptionist. “Yes, ma’am. Is Mr. Abrams ready to see me?”

The woman smiled. Her black jacket and pants radiated power as her dark eyes narrowed with authority. “I’m sorry. Mr. Abrams has been detained for about forty-five minutes. Would you like to wait?”

Kariss hid her disappointment. Linc held a prestigious position, filled with responsibility and unexpected interruptions. “I’ll wait. Thank you.” She did have downloaded emails to answer, and she hadn’t touched the marketing plan for the new novel.

Nothing could snip her excitement for this writing project.

Tigo’s neck stung along with his pride for getting pulled over by one of Houston’s finest.

“You’re late.” Linc Abrams settled back into his chair and steepled his fingers, just like he used to do in college during study groups — when he was right. A file sat on his otherwise cleared desk, empty except for his computer and pictures of his wife and teenage son.

“Got a ticket.” Tigo flashed a smile and took a chair across from Linc’s desk. His watch registered forty-nine minutes past the scheduled meeting time.

“Flying like a speed demon again?”

“Something like that.”

Linc leaned in, his dark-brown gaze calculating yet not unfriendly. “Were you solo this morning?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I know your habits. Your methods give a whole new definition to
furtive.
”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Not today. I got a report from HPD. Firefight involving the Arroyos and an unidentified driver of a green Toyota.” He pointed at Tigo’s face. “The giveaway is your bleeding neck.”

“I should have driven the speed limit.” They danced this kind of interrogation on a regular basis. Next time Tigo would stop to treat the cut. “I was there chasing a lead.”

“Nearly lost a friend this morning and all you can say is you were out chasing a lead?”

“This case is driving me nuts while the gunrunner trade escalates.”

“We’re a team, remember? Who gave you the info? Candy?”

Tigo chuckled. “That’s three questions in a row.”

“Congrats. You can count. Next time remember ‘two,’ as in you and your partner, Ryan.”

Adrenaline continued to flow. Or rather, it dripped like the blood trickling down his neck. “I work better alone, but I’ll watch my rear—”

“You’ll take Ryan. The far-reaching effects of these gangs and cartels will get you killed. You were disguised today?”

Tigo nodded. “Okay. I’ll do what it takes. I’ve worked Operation Wasp for a long time, and my patience is running thin. We’re being tipped off about some of the Arroyos’ transports, and we don’t know who is setting them up or why.”

“Humor me here and answer my questions.”

“Questions two and three are the same. Yes, it was Candy.” He shrugged, still fuming with what had gone wrong this morning. “She didn’t show.”

“Good reason. HPD found her dead after midnight near her corner. Throat cut.”

He clenched his fist. “We know Cheeky had her killed. I suppose they’re bringing in Bling?”

“Looks like a classic. She ticked off her pimp once too often.”

Tigo blew out an exasperated breath. “She either sold me out or the Arroyos caught on to what she was doing. Or both. Can I get some coffee?”

“Sure. Looks like you need it — and a Band-Aid. By the way, you had another appointment thirty minutes ago.”

Tigo flipped open his Blackberry. He had his schedule memorized. “I don’t think so.”

“Get your coffee. Do something with that neck. And get back here. We need to talk.” Linc stood and walked to the window. “Bring me a cup too.”

Less than ten minutes later, Tigo lowered himself into the “think” chair, his reference to the other side of Linc’s desk. Coffee in hand, he breathed in the aroma. Not the savory South American beans he ground each morning, but right now he needed the caffeine. His last birthday had pushed him into the backside of thirty, and it was catching up with him.

“I can’t take on another case until Cheeky is arrested. Between the drugs and gun smuggling, I want the Arroyos stopped.”

“I agree, but no choice in this one. It’s more of an assignment than a case.”

Tigo didn’t like where this was going. While taking a sip of the bitter brew, he considered the ways he could negotiate out of this. Gang warfare and gun smuggling were his top priorities. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“I need a favor.”

Tigo maintained his composure, but his nerves seemed to grind. “What kind?”

Linc rested his hand on the file before him. “Do you remember about five years ago when Kariss Walker worked as news anchor for Channel 5?”

“I do. She was influential in enlisting public sentiment for many of our cases as well as HPD’s. Never met her. Why?” Had the woman turned up dead?

“She’s been writing novels since then.
New York Times
bestsellers.”

“Suspense and thrillers?”

Linc shook his head. “No. Women’s fiction. I’ve only ever glanced through her books, but Yvonne reads them. She thinks they’re well done.”

“What does she want from the FBI?”

Linc scratched his jaw. “I owe her, Tigo. Remember how she helped me infiltrate a drug ring by encouraging public support? Right after that I received a promotion.”

“So the agency is indebted. But you’re not answering my question.”

“I’m getting to it. Kariss wants to write a suspense novel. She’s requested permission to use a cold case, one she reported on and investigated. The second request is she’d like to shadow an agent.”

A shot of heat raced up Tigo’s neck and into his face. “Oh, no. You’re not asking me to babysit a woman who wants to be a faux crime fighter.”

“In fact, I am. A Memorandum of Understanding has been drafted and already gone through our legal department. She understands the confidentiality aspect of FBI protocol.”

“So you and Miss Walker have been discussing this little arrangement for a while?”

Linc blew out a sigh. “Yes … we have. When she’s finished with her book, I’ll also need you to review the material for accuracy.”

The day continued down the drain. “Where does our media coordinator fit into this?”

“You’ll both meet with her later. She’ll explain the guidelines before you sign the MOU.”

Tigo rubbed his temples. His neck throbbed, and the coffee tasted like dirt. He’d had better mornings digesting sand in Saudi Arabia.

“Tigo, I wouldn’t ask if I had time to help her myself.”

“Is this your discipline measure for my independent investigations?”

Linc attempted to mask a laugh. “Hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but it sounds good.”

Tigo owed Linc for his own position at the FBI, although this stretched the boundaries of years of friendship. “How long will this take? She just needs to gather facts, right? All I need to do is pull the investigation report from the file, right?”

“That’s three questions.”

He shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning. “Lay it on me.”

“Three months max. Right now I’d like for you to change clothes before meeting her. She’s waiting downstairs in the reception area. I have a few things to discuss with her first. Then she’s all yours.”

Tigo frowned. He didn’t want to come within fifty feet of the woman. “If I’m to help her gather data for a cold case, why does she have to shadow me?”

Linc hesitated, and in that moment Tigo realized the worst was yet to come.

“She wants her book to be authentic, and we want the FBI to be well represented. She’s going to press you for protocol and details. Keep her away from obvious danger but let her accompany you and Ryan on minor calls. You’ll need to read her manuscript for content.”

“Any other good news?”

“Her book will be based on the last case she reported before leaving the station. You worked on the case — Cherished Doe.”

Oh, he knew that case well … “She picked a hard one.”

“I agree. She’ll be your sidekick for the next few months. I haven’t told Ryan. Thought you could handle it.”

This day had turned from bad to worse.

K
ariss attempted to sit still, but patience had never been one of her virtues. A sign in the waiting room stated visitors were prohibited from accessing the Internet. She’d responded to emails, but without connectivity she couldn’t send the dozen messages. Neither could she post to Facebook or Twitter or read the latest marketing blogs. Once she passed Linc’s inspection, she’d ask about using the Internet. Why hadn’t she brought her Kindle? At least she could read the manuscript her publisher wanted her to endorse.

Of course that could change.

After rereading her female protagonist’s characterization workup for the new novel, she played with scenes. Although Cherished Doe remained a mystery, Kariss hoped to write an ending that moved readers to be more aware of the children around them, to nurture and guard the world’s most precious treasures. Adults were responsible to protect children from abuse and neglect, and she’d fight anyone who claimed otherwise.

In the deepest part of her heart, the area where compassion should balance with justice and mercy, she nursed the thought of helping the FBI solve the outrage. In her reporting days, crimes against the public kept her glued to a case until the authorities were able to bring in the offender. But this atrocity haunted her, as if she hadn’t done enough to help the authorities identify the child. The lack of evidence had festered into a poison, causing her to shove aside mercy for vengeance. She wanted the killer found.

Kariss was hungry for a new adventure, ready to sink her teeth into a challenge above all other challenges. But what differentiated this new height was the passion for a situation she couldn’t right, only bring some semblance of justice to. Depending on what the day held, Kariss could later drive to the south side of town and the Pine Grove apartment complex to see if something rattled her memory. Something everyone who’d investigated the crime had overlooked.

The sound of a man’s deep voice caught her attention. Linc entered the reception area. Neither his six-foot-tall frame nor his average build commanded attention, but the way he carried himself did. Confidence filled the room, as though the very air around him stepped aside. Intelligence poured into his speech and warmth radiated from his dark eyes, more so than when they’d worked together five years ago.

He reached to shake her hand and smiled. A true friend. She’d definitely use Linc in her book.

“Good to see you, Kariss. It’s been a long time.”

The thrill of what was happening bounced into her response. “Yes. Too long. Congratulations on your promotions. You deserved them and more.”

“Thanks. Sorry for the delay. Had an urgent matter to address.”

“Of course. That’s your job. I’ve been busying myself.” She gestured around the room. “The new headquarters is impressive.”

He grinned as though taking ownership and walked to the glass-enclosed display case. A history of Texas’ Juneteenth Day filled the area, commemorating the date in 1865 when slaves were freed by the Emancipation Proclamation during Abraham Lincoln’s presidency. African American achievements in a historical timeline proclaimed Linc’s heritage. His mother must have known her son’s future when she named him Lincoln Abrams.

“We want the public to work alongside us, and this is one way to show we value them as well as our city, state, and country. We change the display monthly.”

Kariss observed the tintype pictures, then moved on to the artifacts and the progressive involvement of the African Americans in Houston. She hadn’t been aware of how her city’s culture, business, and politics were shaped by these hardworking people. This was Linc’s world and a reminder of the precision in which he carried out every aspect of his life.

“Are you ready for a tour of the new building?”

“Absolutely.”

Linc gave her a thorough tour, but she expected no less. He allowed her just far enough inside the glass doors of the restricted areas to whet her enthusiasm, then ushered her on to the highly sophisticated workout room. As special agent in charge of the entire Houston FBI operation, Linc knew every detail of the building.

They entered his massive office, open and airy with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Kariss seated herself on a russet-colored leather sofa, and he joined her on a matching chair.

“Linc, how is your family?”

“Good. Ron is a senior this year. Planning to major in political science at Rice. And Yvonne is busy with her volunteer projects and teaching two days a week at Rice.”

“Please tell them I said hello. I’d love to see her and Ron.”

He walked to his desk and picked up two photos, then handed them to her.

“Yvonne looks stunning as always. Oh, Ron has grown.”

“We’re so proud of him. Do you remember his rebellious stage in junior high? Well, he made some changes, and we survived.” He replaced the photos and returned to his seat.

She recalled Ron’s run-in with the police and his parents’ subsequent drug intervention. They were survivors. “I’m really glad for all of you.”

“You were there. Hey, your career took a leap when you resigned from Channel 5 and began writing full time. Yvonne tells me you’re always on the bestsellers lists.”

“I try.” She pulled her latest release,
After Sunrise,
from her computer sleeve. “I brought this for her.”

He studied the cover then flipped it over to read the back. “Thanks.” He opened to the first page. “She’ll appreciate your personalizing it for her.”

“It’s the least I could do for old friends. Linc, I’m grateful for your help on my new writing project.”

“We want the public to know we’re on their side. Solving and preventing crimes works hand in hand. You’re in a position to help us achieve that goal.”

She thought about the case she wanted to use. An active and aware community diminished the occurrences of crime. “Will Cherished Doe ever be solved?”

“I’d like to think so. It would have to be a joint effort with HPD to reactivate the investigation. Is that the case you still want to use for your book?”

“Definitely. I want to write this novel so the ending reflects a solved case. Any chance of opening it back up?”

He pressed his lips and laid her book upside down on the table separating them. “Those of us who’ve worked Cherished Doe have not given up — not the special agents involved, Detective Montoya at HPD, the Texas Rangers, or myself.”

His passion to solve the child’s murder laced every word. Kariss’s throat tightened with the reality of the case’s unfortunate status. “Maybe something will turn up soon.”

He nodded. “We can hope and keep our eyes open. You’ve been assigned to a good agent. He’ll allow you to view what is appropriate in the file and ask questions.”

“Does he have any problems with a writer following him around for the next few months?”

He nodded his head. “I’d be a liar if I didn’t warn you.”

“No enthusiasm, huh? Then why him? A female agent would be fine.” They could be girlfriends, chat about the challenges of being a female agent.

“Special Agent Santiago Harris is one of the best. Perhaps
the
best. That’s why I want you to learn from him. You indicated a desire to show authenticity, to learn from an agent who has a reputation for being relentless in solving hard cases.”

She did need someone sharp. Oh, she could win Special Agent Harris over. Give him a copy of her latest release — her books had won national acclaim after all. Acknowledge him and his contributions to her research. Gush over his helpful attitude while giving TV interviews. Even fashion the lead agent after him. “I trust your judgment. This book may launch a whole new series featuring the FBI.”

“We aim to please. Are you ready to meet him?”

Kariss stood, gathering her purse and laptop case, now minus
After Sunrise.
She should have brought two copies to appease her assigned agent.

In the hallway Linc pointed to the right. “He’s waiting for us. Tigo—”

“Special Agent Harris?”

“Yes, he goes by Tigo. He’s a bit nonconventional. I can say that because we went to college together.” He chuckled.

Wonderful. Her book was taking form. “Does he do much undercover work?”

Linc stopped in the hallway and faced her. “Yes. But you are not to accompany him on those missions or ask about his current case. His work takes him into dangerous areas of town — restricted for you. Those places can get you killed. I haven’t forgotten a few of your antics in chasing down stories. Don’t even go there.”

She’d see if Tigo would rescind that stipulation.

“Is this clearly understood, Kariss? I see the wheels turning in your head. Let the reality of a murder investigation play out in fiction, not on your epitaph. Your research is through Tigo. Our media coordinator will meet with you two for the signing of the Memorandum of Understanding. She’ll also detail your limitations.”

“Of course. Whatever I learn or discover is confidential.” She smiled and tapped her foot. What an adventure. She might never write women’s fiction again.

They continued down the hallway and stopped at a cubicle, where a dark-haired man talked on a phone with his chair turned away from them. His hair touched his ears, slightly longer than she expected — probably because of undercover work. A few moments later, he ended the call and faced them.

Her heart leaped like the turbo in her Jaguar.
Surely not.

Blood trickled through the man’s Band-Aid and onto his shirt collar. He might be dressed in a sports coat and jeans now, but she recognized his face. He’d been the one who’d cut her off on the highway.