The Divine Appointment (33 page)

Holland’s heartbeat quickened even more. He felt a sensation similar to what he had felt on the Fourth of July night beside the Washington Monument. This time, however, he wasn’t as scared. He was more angry than scared. He was angry that someone was following him. But he was even angrier that someone was watching Jill.

Who is it?

It made his blood boil just to think about it. Her safety—perhaps her life—was in jeopardy, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her if he could help it. He felt as if he had let Tiffany Ramsey down somehow, but he wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to Jill.

Holland made up his mind to evade the person pursuing him not for himself but for Jill. Her safety depended on it. He had to escape so he could rescue Jill. It sounded noble and brave—new attributes for him, he knew. But that was his plan, and he was firm about accomplishing it. He had never even received a speeding ticket but decided he would violate every traffic law on the books in order to protect Jill. She was worth it.

In the middle lane, Holland approached the intersection of Georgia Avenue and Piney Branch Road NW. There were two cars in the left lane and slightly behind him. An older-model red Dodge pickup was in the lane to his right. The traffic light changed from green to yellow as he approached the intersection.

Holland accelerated the Camry. The car between him and his pursuer and the vehicles on either side of him slowed for the light. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the left—across the left northbound lane—and maneuvered onto Piney Branch as the traffic light for Georgia Avenue changed to red. The intersection was odd. Piney Branch crossed Georgia at an angle rather than perpendicularly, so Holland’s Camry slid into the southwest-bound lanes, almost striking a blue Ford pickup waiting at the light. Horns blew from several directions, and Holland accelerated even more.

He checked his mirror again and didn’t see his hunter.

One and a half blocks later Holland veered to the left onto Twelfth Street NW, which ran into Fort Stevens Park. He made another left onto Rittenhouse Street and then a right onto Georgia Avenue, this time going south.

He checked his mirrors again. No cars were near him.

Arlington, Virginia

“You lost him?” screamed Hal Crowder into his wireless. Frank Melton was on the other end of the call. “How could you possibly lose him? He’s a newspaper writer—not a race-car driver!”

“He made an illegal turn, and I was pinned in. There was nothing I could do. By the time I got turned around, he was gone,” Melton reported.

“You didn’t anticipate that he would try to get away?”

“I didn’t think he ever saw me.”

Hal pounded his fist against the beige leather passenger’s seat in his green Yukon.

“Get here as quick as you can,” he barked to Melton. “He won’t do anything without the Baker girl.”

“Yeah, he’s still out there,” Jill said. “I checked right before you called.”

Jill was relieved to hear Holland’s voice and even more relieved that he was safe. She had worried terribly from the time he’d called last until now. In the interim she’d paced back and forth across the room and indiscreetly peeked through the curtains. She’d tried to make herself not look at all because she feared the man in the Yukon would see her. But the more she thought about not looking, the more it became impossible to keep from it. She lost track of how many times she’d peered out with one eye at the green Yukon across the parking lot.

Because of the way Holland had acted in front of Tiffany Ramsey’s town house, she’d been convinced that he didn’t have a courageous bone in his body.

But Holland Fletcher had proved her wrong. He was daring. She was amazed by how gutsy he was. He had eluded his pursuer and was now on his way to help her escape somehow.
But how?

“Good,” Holland replied. “I’m still thirty minutes away because of the detour, but I’m on my way again. Do you have everything packed?”

Holland hadn’t described his plan to Jill yet, and she wasn’t certain he had one. But plan or no plan, she was ready to make a break for it. She was locked securely in her motel room but didn’t feel safe. She felt trapped. Something had to give.

“My bag and laptop are sitting by the door. What do you have planned, Holland?”

“I’ll call you back when I get closer. When I do, I want you to double-check to make sure he’s still there. Then leave your room very nonchalantly, put your luggage in your car, and drive away like nothing’s going on. Don’t even look in the direction of his vehicle.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“You’ll see. But you can’t go to the airport. They’re probably waiting for you there.”

“I’ve thought about that. Where am I supposed to go?”

Washington DC

Holland gave Jill explicit instructions about where to go after leaving the Hampton Inn—assuming his plan worked. He tossed his wireless on the passenger seat again and kept driving. He continued on Georgia Avenue until it changed names to Seventh Street NW at the Florida Avenue intersection. Two turns later he crossed the Potomac River on the Fourteenth Street Bridge and was in Arlington, Virginia.

Although he hadn’t calmed down completely, the adrenaline rush he’d felt earlier when he’d eluded his pursuer had subsided. But as he drove west across the Fourteenth Street Bridge his anxiety returned. He breathed deep and exhaled.

Holland glanced at the digital clock in the dashboard: 5:53. Dawn was slowly emerging behind him and the traffic thickened around him. He retrieved the pocket pistol from under the seat and wedged it between his right leg and the seat cushion. He was two minutes from the Hampton Inn, where Jill waited for rescue.

He called her again on her wireless. She must have been holding it in her hand because she answered before the first ring was completed.

“You ready?” Holland held the phone to his ear with his left hand and steered with his right. He’d never felt so nervous but tried to hide his anxiety from Jill. He wanted to appear confident but wasn’t certain she was convinced.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just call the police?” she asked again. “At least they’d come and investigate. Maybe the guy would leave if the police came.”

“But we don’t know who he is or who hired him. Right after I called Cooper Harrington, someone started following us. If Senator Proctor’s involved, the police won’t help us. We’ve got to get away from everybody and decide what to do next.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. Then a confident reply. “I’m ready.”

“You still remember everything?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Get started. I’m almost there.”

Holland removed the phone from his ear and was about to close it when he heard Jill say, “Holland.”

“Yeah.”

“Be careful.”

Arlington, Virginia

Hal Crowder was still incensed that Frank Melton had allowed Holland Fletcher to escape. He’d talked to Melton again ten minutes earlier and had heard the complete story of how Fletcher had slipped away with an elementary school move that any respectable private eye should’ve been able to prevent. Hal decided that he’d give Melton a good tongue lashing when he got to the Hampton Inn parking lot. Then he’d make sure the guy never got another job in DC.

The sun was beginning to peek over the eastern horizon when Hal noticed Jill Baker exiting her motel room. He glanced at his watch—5:55—and back at Jill. He slumped down in his seat and tried to hide below the dashboard.

Jill was leaving early for her 8:45 a.m flight but not necessarily too early. She was likely the type who wanted to arrive two hours early and have coffee and a bagel while she waited to board, he thought. He watched her stash her luggage in the rear seat of the white Ford Taurus and then climb into the driver’s seat.

Her Taurus backed out of the parking space and then forward to his left and toward the exit from the parking lot onto Jefferson Davis Highway. Hal turned his head slightly but mainly followed the car with only his eyes. When the car entered the highway, he sat upright in this seat and shifted the automatic transmission of his Yukon into drive. He began to accelerate to catch up with Jill’s car.

Out of the blue, there was a burst of movement coming toward him from his right. It startled him. He jerked his head around just as a camel-colored Camry slid to a stop in front of his vehicle. The front of the Camry was beyond the driver’s side of the Yukon. The rear half of the car was directly in front of him. He looked through the left edge of the Yukon’s windshield at the driver of the Camry and immediately recognized the red-haired man behind the steering wheel.

Fletcher!
he screamed in his mind.

Hal slammed the transmission into park and started to exit the vehicle, then thought better of it. At first glance it appeared as though Fletcher was waving at him, but Hal noticed a silver object glistening in the man’s hand. Hal’s eyes grew wide and he tried to duck beneath the dashboard again. He reached into his shoulder holster for his nine-millimeter pistol. His heart leaped into his throat. He’d worked a lot of jobs but had never had anyone point a gun at him.

He won’t shoot me
, Hal thought.

But before the thought was completely out of his mind, he heard the
crack
of Fletcher’s pistol.

Arlington, Virginia

Jill ran to Holland’s Camry as soon as it came to a stop beside her rental car in the visitors’ parking lot of Arlington National Cemetery. He had told her to meet him there, assuming both of them escaped from their pursuers. He knew the location would be easy for her to find. The entrance to the cemetery was on Jefferson Davis Highway—the same street her motel was on—only farther south.

Jill hugged him vigorously. He put his arms around her slender waist. They didn’t speak for several seconds as they recovered control of their emotions, but thousands of words were spoken between the two as they held each other.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” Holland said. “They’ll be looking for us soon.”

“What’d you do at the motel to get away?”

Holland pushed away from Jill so he could see her eyes but didn’t release her from his arms. “I shot his front tire out.”

Jill’s face turned pale. “You shot his tire out? You have a gun?”

Holland glanced around at the mostly deserted parking lot. “Don’t say that too loud. Yes, I have a gun. It was the only thing I could think to do. I knew he couldn’t follow you if he had a flat tire.”

“Did anybody see you?”

“I don’t know, and that’s why we’ve got to keep moving.”

“Holland, I’m scared. Let’s call the police.”

“Not yet. Let’s get to some place safe and then decide what to do.”

Jill hugged him tightly again. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Holland gave Jill a firm squeeze and reluctantly released her. He held both of her hands in his and gazed into her warm hazel eyes that were filled with fear and worry. “And I’m glad you’re not hurt. I don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to you. Don’t worry. I’m going to make sure nothing happens to you.”

“You’re amazing, Holland Fletcher.”

Holland forced a smile but knew he and Jill weren’t out of the woods yet. They still needed to reach someplace where they couldn’t be found.

“We need to go. Follow me.”

Jill and Holland returned to their respective cars and exited Arlington National Cemetery onto Jefferson Davis Highway headed south. Holland led and Jill followed, closely. They were soon on George Washington Memorial Parkway and inside the city limits of Alexandria, Virginia.

Things were different between him and Jill, Holland knew. He kept his eye on her car in his rearview mirror and thanked God that she was all right.

Arlington, Virginia

Hal Crowder, steaming mad, was standing in front of his Yukon when Frank Melton arrived. Hal needed Melton now—or he would have terminated his employment. Melton exited his vehicle, crouched beside Hal’s Yukon, and examined the ruptured tire. Hal stood with his back to Melton and his hands on his hips.

“What happened?” Melton asked.

“The fool shot my tire out!”

“Who?”

“Fletcher.”

“Fletcher’s been here?” Melton appeared amazed.

“Yes, he’s been here. I just said he shot my tire out, didn’t I?” Hal said, glowering. “And I didn’t even get my pistol out of the holster.”

Melton stood up and walked back to his vehicle. “Did you call the police?”

“No. I don’t want them involved. They’ll recognize me immediately, then we’ll never find Fletcher and the Baker woman.”

Hal eyed the shredded tire again. He was mad and embarrassed. Holland Fletcher had outsmarted him and gotten away. The thought that
an amateur
had gotten the better of him incensed him. He didn’t know why Cooper Harrington wanted Fletcher and the Baker woman, but he knew that Cooper would be furious when he heard they’d escaped. He dreaded telling him and decided to wait awhile before calling him. Hal hoped that he and Melton would find Fletcher and the Baker woman quickly.

“Did anybody hear the shot or see anything?” Melton asked.

“The motel manager came out, but I told him the tire had exploded from a puncture,” Hal said. “I’m not sure he believed me, but at least he didn’t call the police.”

“What do we do now?”

“We’ve got to start looking for them. I’ve got two other guys at Reagan National, waiting to see if they show up there.” Hal walked around the front of Melton’s vehicle—a red-over-tan Chevy Silverado—and continued talking. “I doubt they will since they know we’re on to them, but they might. They went south on Jefferson Davis. Let’s go.”

Melton jerked his head back toward Hal’s vehicle. “What about your Yukon?”

Hal got in the passenger seat, and Melton resumed his place behind the steering wheel.

“We don’t have time to repair it now,” Hal said curtly. “We’ve got to start looking. I’ll call somebody to come get it. I can’t leave it here long before someone gets suspicious and calls the police.”

Alexandria, Virginia

They had two cars and had to dispose of one of them. Two cars were easier to spot than one but Holland couldn’t decide which one to ditch. Both his car and Jill’s rental were identifiable for whoever was after them. All along the short eight-mile trek from Arlington to Alexandria, he thought about how to hide both vehicles but keep at least one close enough in case he and Jill needed it.

Holland exited George Washington Memorial Parkway into the parking lot of a convenience store and parked behind the building. Jill immediately followed his lead in her rental. Before exiting his car, Holland stuffed his pistol under the driver’s seat. The barrel was still warm, and as he touched it, he saw a fleeting image of the surprised face of Jill’s pursuer.

“We’ve got to find somewhere to hide your car,” Holland said as he and Jill stood between the two cars. He could still see fear on Jill’s face.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Holland reassured her. “I’m going to see if they have a phone book inside. I’ll be right back.”

“Please hurry.”

Holland nervously entered the store and asked the clerk behind the counter if he could borrow a phone book. He thumbed through the listings for a parking garage and then asked directions. He returned to where Jill was waiting anxiously.

“There’s a parking garage six blocks up,” Holland explained. “We can leave your rental there. Let’s put your bags in my car.”

After all Jill’s belongings were transferred to Holland’s Camry, he led Jill to a parking garage on Roosevelt Avenue. He made sure Jill parked as far in the back of the garage as possible so her car would be harder to find.

When she was safely settled in the Camry with him, he reasoned, “Now we’ve got to find a place out of the way where we can hide. And turn the power off to your wireless. These people are dangerous, and professionals. They might be able to track us even if we don’t use our phones.”

After driving around for thirty minutes, Holland finally parked the Camry behind an Amoco convenience store on North Washington Street in Alexandria. He and Jill had circled the block three times to determine the best parking spot, where the car couldn’t be detected by street traffic on North Washington. They hardly spoke as they rode from the parking garage to the Amoco and continuously looked in different directions to see if they noticed the same vehicle more than once. Convinced they hadn’t been spotted, Holland steered the Camry into the parking lot and stopped precisely in the location he and Jill had identified. It was 7:45 a.m.

“I have an idea, and I’m going to make a quick phone call,” Holland said. He left the engine idling and the air conditioner blowing. He ran across the parking lot to a pay phone attached to the back corner of the convenience store. From his wallet he removed a scrap of paper that he had placed there weeks earlier and punched the numbers written on it. The number rang, and Holland glanced back at Jill.

“C’mon, answer,” he urged. He twisted back to the pay phone and stared at the key pad.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four rings.

No answer.

He replaced the receiver, then picked it up again. He slid more change into the slot on the phone and dialed the number again. Two more rings and finally a female voice said, “Hello.”

He immediately recognized the voice. It was
her
.

“This is Holland Fletcher,” he said.

“Holland Fletcher? What’re you doing calling me?”

“I’m working on a story about Senator Proctor. Remember?”

“I thought you’d given up after the Ramsey girl died.”

The metallic cord attached to the receiver was three feet long at most, but Holland paced anxiously on the sidewalk beside the pay phone as far as the cord would reach. His eyes darted suspiciously at the cars that entered and exited the convenience-store parking area.

“Given up? Not a chance. But I need your help.”

“Will it bring Lance Proctor to his knees?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“What do you need?”

Holland told her the abbreviated version of the story, beginning with Jill Baker’s arrival in DC up to hiding behind the Amoco convenience store in Alexandria.

“If I can get to my office at the
Post
,” he explained, “I can get the story written in time for tomorrow morning’s edition. I think I have enough that my editor will run with it. But I can’t get there because I’m sure they’re looking for my car.”

“I know these people, Mr. Fletcher, and I’m certain they’ll be waiting for you and Ms. Baker at your office and your apartment. You can’t go to either. Can you write the article from another location?”

“I guess so. What’d you have in mind?”

“Are you safe where you are?”

He scanned the parking lot again. “I think so. I’m sure they’re searching for us but haven’t found us yet. We’re doing everything we can to stay out of sight.”

“You and Ms. Baker stay put. I’ll be there within the hour. I know a safe place where you can go.”

Holland hung up the phone and dashed back across the parking lot to Jill and the Camry.

“Who’d you call?” Jill asked even before Holland had completely closed the car door.

“You remember I told you about the mystery woman who’d been feeding me information about Senator Proctor?”

“Yeah.”

“Her.”

“Her?” Jill’s eyes widened. “Why her?”

“Because I know she wants Senator Proctor’s head on a platter. And I told her enough of the story to make her help us.”