The Survivor (27 page)

5:10 P.M. SUNDAY

K
ariss pulled into the driveway of Tigo’s large home. He’d bought the stately two-story brick house about eight years ago after he’d returned from Saudi Arabia to take care of his mother. She’d had a stroke, and her condition had worsened when she was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor on her kidney. Shortly thereafter, his old college friend, Linc Abrams, had recruited him for the FBI. To ensure his mother received the best professional care available, Tigo had overseen around-the-clock nursing care. And a dozen red roses arrived in her room every five days for the remainder of her life.

Tigo was a complex man who had a tender side that many of his FBI friends failed to see. His mind fascinated Kariss. He was a troubleshooter who couldn’t rest until crimes were solved and the people responsible placed behind bars.

She took a deep breath. What should she say to the man who’d stolen her heart and had now given his life to Christ? Congratulations? We’ll be in heaven together? Peace, brother? Her emotions were so frayed, she feared she’d simply cry. And the good Lord knew that when Kariss Walker cried, her nose put Rudolph to shame, and her splotched face resembled a bad case of measles. None of the dainty, nose-dabbing feminine responses she’d seen in other women—she sobbed and hiccupped.

But she wanted to see his face, his eyes. And tell him how truly happy she felt. Opening the car door of her rented vehicle, she cringed at the creak. She hoped her head healed faster than
her Jag, which would be in the shop for another week before the repairs were completed.

She could do this. Be his friend and let God guide both of them.

Tigo must have been standing near the window and watching for her arrival, because he opened the door before she had time to ring the doorbell.

She hid her shock. His handsome face was void of stress lines, and his eyes held a peace she couldn’t express in words. He did have a huge Buzz Lightyear bandage on the top of his right hand, but he wore an incredible smile.

“How’s the patient?” she said.

“Much better now. Got my heart right, and the rest of my battered body will heal.” He took the bag of food and set it inside the door. He opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace. His arms were as strong as she remembered, but now he had the power of God flowing through his veins.

She sniffed. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry.”

“Why not? Will it spoil your makeup?”

“Of course.” She let the comfort of his arms soothe her a while longer. “I’m so proud of you.”

“You mean that I’m an idiot, and it took wrecking my bike to get the message?” He stepped back. “Come on in before my neighbors video us and we find ourselves on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube.”

“Or worse—
McDougal Reports.
”

The familiar smell of his leather furniture mingled with the scent of rich coffee.

She’d come home.

She’d missed this house.

She’d missed him.

“I just made coffee.” He held her hand, and she didn’t pull away.

“Smells wonderful.”

He laughed. “I hope heaven has a Starbucks.” He limped
toward the kitchen, her hand still clasped in his, and his left hand holding on to the Panera bag. “I’ll get us coffee. Still have your diva cup.”

“Wrong, Agent Harris. You’ve been injured, and I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

He pointed at the food. “You brought chicken soup and bread.”

“White bread. Just this once. And a cinnamon bun.”

“Maybe I’ll be hurt for a couple of days,” he said.

“You’re incorrigible.” She nodded to punctuate her remark but couldn’t resist reaching out to touch his face.

“I see something special in your eyes.”

She shivered. Hiding her feelings from Tigo was getting harder. This time she wouldn’t let him go. But what if he’d been so burned in his first marriage that he couldn’t make a commitment?

“Do you remember when we first met?” he said.

“You hated me.”

“I thought you were hot.” His impish grin caused her to giggle. “Can I say that?”

“You’re still a man.” She took a breath and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll pour the coffee.”

“Better add a few ice cubes to mine.”

She needed an iceberg. “Did you phone Ryan?”

“Yes, and Linc. But I didn’t tell them I’d wrecked my bike or about the snake. Couldn’t ruin my image.”

“Ah … blackmail?”

He frowned. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’ll name my price and let you know.”

He slowly eased into a chair in the kitchen. “It’s strange how what I’d read and heard all my life now makes sense. Feels good. Real good. I still don’t understand why He allows evil. Guess that understanding will come with age. And I can’t imagine sitting in church or Bible study not watching the clock
so I can get out of there. But knowing me, I’ll probably relive a few of those times.”

“We all do.” She poured their coffee—hers in her diva mug, his in a Buzz mug. “Sorry you had to get banged and bruised to realize the truth of God’s love.”

“In the great epic of life, it was worth it.”

“Are you getting philosophical?”

“Not exactly. I’m looking to the future.”

Her heart nearly leaped from her chest. “Do you have half-and-half?” she said as calmly as she could.

“Always, Kariss. I’ve had a carton in the fridge since last Thanksgiving. When it went bad, I bought another one. And another. There’s also mocha creamer in there. Replaced it a few times too.”

She flashed a watery look his direction. What more could she ever ask for than a man who showed so much caring?

He chuckled. “Are you getting emotional over a coffee additive?”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe. Tell me about your injuries.”

“My hand and my ribs.”

“Don’t you think you should see a doctor?”

“I have my own personal nurse.”

“That’s Vicki. I’m the other sister. By the way, I called her on the way here. Had to tell her about you.”

“Is she going to name her next baby after me?”

“She already thinks you’re a saint. I talked to Dad too. He was hootin’ and hollerin’ like a Cajun with a kettle of fresh gumbo.”

“Your dad’s a man’s man. Your mom’s great too. Do you suppose she’ll make me my own carrot cake since I’m on her side now?”

“I’m sure she will.” Kariss opened the Panera bag and spread their dinner over the kitchen table, keeping the cinnamon bun in the bag so Tigo wouldn’t eat it first.

Once they were seated, he took her hand. “Should I ask God to bless the food?”

That was a first. “Sounds like step two.”

So he did. After thanking God for the food, he ended the prayer. “Thank You for not giving up on me. Kariss too. Amen.”

She reached for her coffee, laden with half-and-half and a dollop of mocha creamer.

“Before you got here, I was remembering some of our past—the good times,” he said.

“As in the time I destroyed your headphones?”

“You warned me about the electricity thing.”

She took a spoonful of soup and held up a finger. “Remember when you and Ryan rescued me from the Arroyos, when you were in disguise?”

“You thought you’d been traded off to a couple of bad guys involved in white-collar crime.”

“I was so scared. When I found out it was you, I thanked God all the way home.”

“I should have listened to you and Ryan then.”

“In your own time, Tigo.”

“I bet Mom is smiling, glad to hear her bullheaded son finally listened.”

“I’m sure she is.”

He grabbed a generous hunk of bread. “You, dear lady, used to make fun of my Buzz Lightyear watch.”

“That hasn’t changed. And your T-shirt and your plastic dish, cereal bowl, and notepad.”

He laughed. “I’m in my second childhood.”

“I doubt you ever left.”

“I admit, some things stick.” The teasing left his face, and he took her hand. “Does this mean we have an even better chance to work out our differences?” His ardent gaze bored into hers, and she couldn’t deny her own heart.

“Some of our differences are what we admire about each other.”

“I hear a hesitancy in your voice. Can this superhero fix it?”

“Confession time for me too. All my life, I’ve been an overachiever. The grade A student. The 4.0 college grad. The newscaster who earned national awards. The bestselling writer.” She sighed. “I have to do my best in everything or I feel defeated. What if I disappoint you while we’re working on our relationship?”

Tigo stood, drawing her to her feet. “I don’t expect perfection, never did. We’ll both mess up at times. We’re not kids, and we’re both set in our ways. But I believe we can work through the challenges.”

She blinked back an unbidden tear. But maybe that tear was one of relief as she realized that she and Tigo might really have a future together. He circled his arms around her and kissed her. His lips caressed hers, lingering, intense. She struggled not to forget her own name as she melted in his embrace. “Challenge number one is how you make me feel this very moment.”

He released her. “Guess I’d better munch on that cinnamon bun.”

Tigo’s Blackberry rang. Concern creased his brow. “It’s Jonathan. I’d better take it.”

Kariss touched his arm and walked into the living room, hoping this call would have helpful information about the case. Needing to keep her mind busy, she studied the titles in his bookcase. So many biographies, something she’d need to remember at gift-giving time. If they made it that far. She learned a little more about him with each title—John Adams, Winston Churchill, Albert Einstein, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson …

“Hey, sorry about the interruption,” Tigo said.

She spun to face him. “No problem.” She stared into the eyes of the man she loved, the man who’d stolen her heart. “Anything you can tell me?”

He limped her way. “It’s sensitive, but I can tell you. It may
hit the media anyway.” He reached for a strand of her hair. “You are one huge distraction.”

“Thanks.” She kissed the hand beside her face. “Are you going to tell me?”

He grinned at her, then shook his head. “Not good. Jonathan caught Ian clearing out cash from the home safe. Nearly ten grand.”

She gasped. “Did Ian say why he was stealing it?”

“Something about being tired of all the crap about his mom’s and sister’s deaths.”

“Do you believe him?”

“When it comes to Ian, I don’t believe anything. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

JANUARY 28

3:15 A.M. MONDAY

O
nce he heard Michelle’s even breathing, he rolled out of bed and walked to her side. He tucked the blanket under her chin and covered her ears. She’d been having a restless night until he gave her a sleeping pill. If only he had more years with her instead of months … weeks. Doctors at MD Anderson said her cancer had metastasized beyond medical treatment. They’d told him that all they could do was provide pain medication. Help her endure dying.

Until his wife breathed her last, he’d love her and make her remaining days comfortable. Hospice had been recommended, but he didn’t want anyone invading his privacy or taking care of Michelle.

He crept through the house, into the kitchen, and outside to his workroom behind the garage. Pressing in the padlock’s code, he glanced behind him to be sure he was alone. Not that he expected anyone to be around at three fifteen in the morning. He slipped inside the shop and locked the door behind him. Ah, his private sanctuary, where he allowed his other life to fill him with satisfaction. Inside the windowless area, he flipped on a light.

His prized vehicle was his truck, which stayed parked in his garage most of the time, covered and shining. Removing the custom rims had made him sick, but they were the one thing that could trace him to the Walker woman. Glad he’d had the foresight not to drive the truck to work.

You’re a smart man. No one will ever catch you.

Thank you.

But it’s true. We know it, and that’s why we help you see what needs to be done.

Photographs of Amy filled a bulletin board. She’d been the first to appease his craving for blood. The voices had urged him to take pictures before leaving her to bleed out, but he’d ignored them. Now all he had were memories of his failed attempt to kill. While she recovered in the hospital, cops had been planted outside her room 24/7. Sergeant Bud Hanson stuck in his mind, a man obsessed with the freckle-faced little girl. The cop had devoted his life to solving a crime, but he would never succeed.

As Amy had grown into a teen and then a woman, he had stalked her, always hiding in the shadows. He’d attended her high school graduation and snapped a picture of her smiling as she accepted her diploma. He’d managed to take pictures of her college graduation but not of her accepting her master’s and doctorates. Regardless, he had plenty of photographs to show what she’d done with her life. Amy should thank him for allowing her to live this long.

Other crime scenes decorated other bulletin boards. Most were newspaper clippings, because he couldn’t always get his own pics. Cops and investigators were getting smarter … interfering with his process. But they’d never outsmart him.

One bulletin board was now devoted to pics of Kariss Walker. In the beginning she’d simply been a curiosity. He remembered her reporting days and admired her guts in reporting tough stories. Unfortunately, she’d gotten in his way. Both Amy and the Walker woman needed to be eliminated before the cops were onto him. That should have happened last week. Well, the women had had a few bonus days.

He powered up his computer and clicked on the site that allowed him to overhear what was happening in the Walker woman’s life. All afternoon and evening, he’d longed to scan
through her recorded phone calls, hoping the custom app worked as well as the ads claimed it would. The device even recorded on-site conversations as long as she had her cell phone close by.

What he heard was worth the wait. The conversation at Amy’s house was priceless. As he listened, a plan formed. He’d need a little time to work out the details, but opportunities to bring both women together marched across his mind.

Later he laughed at the FBI agent doing the faith thing. Christians … they made him want to spit. He’d had his fill of them, wanting to get his wife into church. Hell was right here on earth, watching the woman he loved die in front of his eyes. Almost as bad were the POW camps in Nam.

“Honey, we won’t be able to travel, to see the world,” Michelle had said after her final prognosis. “Promise me you’ll visit Rome, Paris, and London. Pretend I’m with you.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“When you least expect it, I’ll touch your hand. We’ve been planning these trips much too long to simply cancel them.”

He kissed the top of her bald head. All those chemo treatments for nothing. Yes, he’d travel abroad—with or without her. Loving her meant abiding by her wishes even if she wasn’t physically beside him. She loved him and proved it every time she looked at him. Unlike everyone else in his life. His parents had disowned him for enlisting. That’s why they were dead. The American people had deserted him, scorned his torture and his sacrifice. But Michelle clung to him all the more. She’d saved him from insanity. But soon she’d be gone.

All he’d have left were his friends. The voices.