The Survivor (29 page)

JANUARY 29

1:10 A.M. TUESDAY

K
ariss had yet to fall asleep. Tigo hadn’t called, and as much as she prayed for his undercover work to be in God’s hands, she still couldn’t let go of the fear—and the image of Jerry’s and Hank’s dead bodies. To make matters worse, two agents were inside her condo. A man and a woman. She knew both—Hillary, who had dreams of publishing a fantasy novel, and Scott, an avid sports enthusiast. They had the night shift, the hours when two-thirds of violent crimes occurred. But whoever was after Kariss and Amy didn’t follow the typical MO.

Thinking about the killer’s intelligence was driving Kariss crazy.

And then the note left at her table this afternoon …

Why didn’t Tigo call?

She wanted to check on the agents. Tossing back the quilt, she grabbed her 9mm and phone while making her way to the living room.

Hillary and Scott looked at her in surprise. Kariss realized how ridiculous she looked in her pink, ruffled pajamas, gun in hand.

“Is something wrong?” Hillary said, muffling a laugh. “Or have we been set up for a photo shoot?”

“I can’t sleep. Keep thinking about Hank and Jerry.”

Hillary sobered. “I suggest putting the gun away and crawling back into bed before you hurt yourself.”

Feeling the sting of Hillary’s reproach, Kariss stepped back
into her bedroom. Hillary wanted to discuss her new novel idea after she was relieved of her duties at 7:00 a.m., but Kariss knew the woman needed to do a lot of work to make her manuscript semi-presentable. Hillary’s latest idea was about a futuristic world where oversexed dragonflies took over the universe. When Kariss had hesitated in agreeing to the meeting, Hillary had become defensive. That probably explained her condescension.

Kariss’s cell phone rang, and she nearly dropped her gun. Tigo. Finally. She needed to get used to this. Her prayer life just doubled.

“Hey. Sorry it’s so late.” He sounded alert. Excited. His adrenaline must have been flowing.

“Did you get what you went after?”

“I think so. We’ll wrap things up on Thursday.”

She calmed at the sound of his voice. “Can I tag along for research? I’ll wear a disguise so I fit in.” He moaned and she laughed. “Just wanted to give you a bit of yesterday.”

“It wasn’t so long ago. The answer’s the same as it was then.”

“Maybe you could tell me about it afterward.”

“Over dinner? Give you all the chilling details?”

“Sure. I’ll write them into my next novel.” She inhaled, gathering courage to tell him about this afternoon. “He was at the restaurant today.”

“How do you know?” His low voice indicated his uneasiness.

“What happened?”

Her cell beeped, indicating another incoming call. “Someone’s calling me.”

“Recognize the number?”

“No. Whoever it is can leave a message.”

“Answer it. I’m right here. Could be important.”

“All right.” She clicked over.

“The agents in your house look real good. I’ll leave ’em alone tonight. But when I’m ready, not even Tigo can stop me. You looked real pretty today. Hope they bury you in purple.”

JANUARY 30

8:05 A.M. WEDNESDAY

W
hen Tigo arrived at the FBI office, Darena was waiting in an interview room with Ryan. She claimed she couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. Taylor had orchestrated his brother’s murder because Jonathan had threatened to tell the deacons about his and Darena’s affair. That Joanna and Alexia had died instead was an accident. Based on Darena’s signed statement that Taylor had begun planning to kill his brother weeks before it happened, agents had been sent to bring him in for questioning. Tigo knew Darena hadn’t uttered a word of truth, but they had to follow protocol.

“Now you can put him in jail where he belongs,” Darena said. “Poor Jonathan and my nephews can put this tragedy behind them.” Syrup dripped from every word. “I can’t believe I fell for his inappropriate advances and lies.”

“We can’t make an arrest based solely on your statement,” Tigo said, noting her flirtatious body language, which reminded him of the last time she was at the FBI office.

“Why not?” Her tone changed to ice. “I told you what he did.”

“We need corroborating evidence to show probable cause before seeking a warrant.”

Some cases intrigued Tigo. They challenged his instincts and his ability to move among the unsavory characters of
Houston. But the bombings and subsequent murders were headaches. He turned his attention to Darena. “What about Dr. Amy Garrett? How does Taylor fit into her car bombing?”

Darena didn’t miss a beat. “He found out I was seeing Amy for counseling. I told him I wanted to end our relationship and work on my marriage. But Taylor refused to end it and blamed Jonathan.”

“There’s no evidence of your visits to Freedom’s Way.”

“I used a different name. Even disguised myself. Went during my lunch hour.” Her mouth twitched. Contempt. “I heard Dr. Garrett was recently involved in a shooting. Taylor is insane.”

“Facts solve a case,” Tigo said. “Not the word of one person.”

She slammed her palm against the table. “While a murderer goes free?”

“Ma’am,” Ryan said, “we appreciate your information, and we will look into it.”

Darena scowled. “Am I being dismissed?”

Tigo smiled. “We’ll contact you if necessary.”

“My family needs closure. It infuriates me to see how inept you are. Aren’t you supposed to protect the community?”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

After Darena left the FBI building, the agents questioned Taylor.

“She lied,” Taylor said. “I confess to having an affair, but not murder.”

“Then why did she come to us?”

“Because I broke it off. Confessed the whole thing to my wife.” His shoulders fell. “Darena doesn’t take rejection easily. She can be … vindictive.”

Tigo had no doubt about that. After Taylor was released, Tigo joined Ryan at the squad board. Relief normally came with more insight into a case, but not this time.

“I believe Taylor,” Tigo said. “We’ve done all the legwork
on him already, and he’s not a suspect. Darena is out for revenge about something.”

“I agree.” Ryan shrugged. “But we have to follow protocol and check out her claims.”

“What a waste,” Tigo muttered as they walked toward their cubicles. “Has anyone contacted Wanda Yeat?”

“Not yet. The media is all over it. Darena must have leaked Taylor’s questioning. Our media coordinator didn’t have time to put together a press release before the news broke on Channel 5.” Ryan glanced at Tigo. “Want to guess who reported it?”

“McDougal?”

“The one and only. He was all over the FBI’s failure to solve the case.”

At his cubicle, Tigo called the church office for Wanda Yeat. Again he received the answering machine. Jonathan didn’t know how to locate her either, and her cell phone went directly to voicemail.

None of this added up.

Taylor would have been seventeen years old if he’d assaulted Amy twenty-three years ago.

Taylor didn’t have a gun registered in his name.

And he neither read crime novels nor owned a black pickup.

In the middle of Tigo’s pondering, Wanda Yeat returned his call. She’d heard the news about Taylor’s questioning on the radio while driving to church after volunteering at a soup kitchen. Then she’d checked her phone messages.

“I’ll be right there,” she said.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” Tigo said. “If you have time, I can ask questions over the phone.”

“Sure. Taylor and I expected Darena to pull something after Taylor broke off their relationship. She even called me and said she wasn’t finished with him. I suppose if I didn’t have an alibi during the time of the bombing, she’d be accusing me too.”

Darena in full swing.

Wanda sighed. “Taylor thinks he deserves whatever happens because he’s disappointed God. But my husband didn’t murder anyone, and I’m not going to stand by and do nothing while his name is smeared across the media.”

“Did he have any connections to Freedom’s Way and Dr. Amy Garrett?”

“Not to my knowledge. Agent Harris, I’ve known about this little party for several months. I’m mad. Real mad. But I love my husband, and I believe we can weather this. The innocent victims are the children involved. Did Darena tell you she’s pregnant and claims Taylor is the father?”

Now everything with Darena made sense.

2:07 P.M. WEDNESDAY

Kariss read about Pastor Taylor Yeat’s questioning about the bombings on her iPhone. She should have been elated, but she’d reported on enough crime in the past to understand that important details could be missing. Seeing that McDougal was the first to break the story, she doubted its validity. A pastor of a megachurch? A man beloved by his congregation? She didn’t think so.

She pressed in Tigo’s personal cell number, knowing if he was busy, he’d call her back.

“Hey,” he said. “I suppose you saw the news.”

“Is it over?”

His hesitation told her the truth. “I’d like to keep you in protective detail a little longer. Our guy’s still on a mission.”

Her stomach did a flip. “What about Pastor Yeat?”

“According to his wife, he was conducting a funeral when you were having lunch with Vicki, and he was in bed when you received the call last night. Wrong guy, in my opinion.”

Kariss attempted to keep frustration from seeping into her words. “This is hard, Tigo. My mind is screaming for answers, and I know you’re bound to secrecy. When’s it going to end?”

“Maybe tomorrow night we’ll be closer to more answers.”

God, help me be the woman Tigo needs.
“Be careful.”

“I don’t sell ice cream for a living.”

“One of the things I … like about you.” She started to say “love.”

“Can I stop by later, and we’ll have dinner?”

“Where?”

“I’ll bring something to cook.”

She sighed. One more night at home. “I’m not a coward, Tigo. I can’t sit back and wait for you and Ryan to stop this crazed killer. If he wants me or Amy or anyone else, he’ll find us.”

“One more day, Kariss. Maybe two. But we’re so close I can smell him.”

JANUARY 31

10:05 P.M. THURSDAY

T
igo drove to the bar where he and Ryan had met Araña earlier in the week. Tigo checked with backup, considered all the things that could go wrong in the next few hours, and confirmed alternate plans. Ryan’s earring mic and Tigo’s implant ensured communication.

The familiar race of adrenaline kept Tigo hyped up, but he also sensed a twinge of something else—concern for all the gang members and those being recruited into the gangs. Kids as young as junior high looked up to these guys and did whatever was necessary to be a part of the group. Tigo couldn’t drive all the gangs off the streets, but he could do everything within his power—with the help of some divine power—to eliminate key figures.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Ryan said.

“Just thinking through what we need to do.”

“The stakes are raised when loved ones are affected by our choices.”

Tigo grinned. This time the love thing from Ryan didn’t grind at his nerves. “The part of me that doesn’t mind taking risks, stepping into whatever role is needed, just went into hyperdrive. I want to take Araña alive. Find out who he’s selling to. Then I toss in the God thing. A strange mix for a man who’s always been a loner.”

“How’s that working for you?”

“Think Buzz Lightyear taking off in a quest for truth.”

They arrived at the bar at 10:45 and parked in the small parking area behind that bar that only had one way in. Gang members and those who lived outside the law filled the dingy building. Dancers moved to deafening music, only their alluring smiles free. Araña’s man stood near the left back corner of the room with at least three other Skulls. None of the other agents were posted inside. If Tigo and Ryan got into trouble in here, they were on their own until backup arrived.

Not the first time.

The captain moved toward them.
“Suponía que vienen solos.”
You were to come alone.

“You have your men. I have my captain,” Tigo said in Spanish.

The man sneered and returned to his post. Once in his corner, he made a call. No doubt to Araña.

At 10:55, Araña stepped in with his royal entourage—men whose rap sheets would have filled a volume the size of
War and Peace.
Kariss’s literary phrases had begun to rub off on Tigo.

Showtime.

Araña wove through the crowd, greeting some select few. A dancer bent to kiss him, and he took his liberties. Pancho Villa had no less a following. Thirty minutes later, Araña’s captain summoned Tigo and Ryan, along with three of his men, into a locked back room that contained a single metal shelf and a desk littered with paper.

“Quién es este hombre?”
Tigo nodded at the captain in question, asking who he was.

“Conejo.”
Rabbit.

“What makes you think we have a deal when you were supposed to come alone?”

“I don’t do business without my captain.”

Araña referred to Ryan as something less than a male.

Tigo nodded at the door. “I’ll take my business to Mexico. Money’s the same color. Get more respect there too. We had a deal—five kilos of Semtex.”

“Pat them down,” Araña said.

As expected, Tigo’s and Ryan’s guns, knives, and cell phones were confiscated.

“Where’s the money?” Araña said.

“In the trunk of my car.”

Araña nodded toward the door leading outside. Tigo and Ryan followed Conejo and Araña. The buy was a gamble. The gang’s plan could be to kill them once Tigo handed over the cash, or they could consider him a market for their explosives. Since Hershey had given Tigo and Ryan references, including bank accounts that backed up the paperwork, Tigo was hoping for the latter.

In the dark parking lot, an SUV sat running with its engine facing the only exit. The driver must have been ready to roll at a moment’s notice. That part was covered by other agents. Without weapons, surviving the buy appeared risky. All Tigo could do was trust that backup had them covered.

Tigo opened Swiss Cheese’s trunk, its creaking muffled by the sounds coming from the bar. He lifted a backpack onto his shoulder. It contained $14,000 in twenty-dollar bills. “I want to see the Semtex.”

Araña gestured to the pickup. “Of course. Do you think I’d cheat you?”

Tigo chuckled. “I know your reputation. Thing is, you don’t know mine.”

“Fourteen K is hardly worth my time.”

“Depends on how fast you can supply me with explosives.”

Araña stared at him in the shadows.

“Did you bring it or not?” Tigo said.

Araña pressed the fob, and the rear opened. Conejo reached inside and pulled out a box. Tigo chuckled again … The packages reminded him of bread wrappers.

Araña leveled his gun at Tigo’s face. “I think you set us up.”

Tigo sneered. “What makes you think that?”

“One of my men saw you at Pablo Martinez’s apartment after his little accident.”

Tigo grabbed the man’s wrist and shoved the slide back on Araña’s semiautomatic. He pressed his thumb against the palm of Araña’s hand, forcing him to drop the gun. With one foot on the gun, Tigo twisted Araña’s hand behind his back while holding the man as a barrier against the shooters behind them. Araña’s free elbow hit Tigo’s chin before he spun around to level a punch into Tigo’s gut. On his way to the ground, Tigo grabbed the semiautomatic. A knife sunk into his right side, sending bursts of pain through his body. Tigo aimed and fired into Araña’s chest, propelling the man backward.

The one man who could have led them to the bomber was dead.