He was Walking Alone

by P. D. Workman

  “Okay.” Kenzie complied with his order, calling Campbell back again to give him the two numbers to track. Zachary couldn’t hear what Campbell was saying back to Kenzie, but she cut her eyes toward Zachary, and said, “We’re on our way there making due haste… let me know as soon as you locate them, and we’ll adjust our course if they’re somewhere else.” She held on to the door as they careened down the exit ramp to the interstate. “You’re going to get pulled over for speeding, Zach!”

  “They’ll have to catch me first.”

  But he took her point. Getting stopped by the police was the last thing he needed. It would take time for Campbell to get what he needed from the FBI. Zachary didn’t know how long it would take for them to figure out where Devon and Mr. Peterson and Pat were. He eased his foot off of the gas and let the car slow to the speed of traffic. As usual, the flow of traffic was somewhat over the speed limit, but not fast enough to soothe his nerves. He pressed the gas again, until he was going just fast enough to overtake the cars in front of him and pass them, but not fast enough for anyone to take notice and call 9-1-1 with reports of some crazy driver speeding down the highway at a breakneck pace. Kenzie settled back into her seat, blowing her breath out through pursed lips, like a whistle.

  “You don’t think he’d really do anything to Lorne, do you? He didn’t kill Harding, just sent him messages. I think that words are his only weapon. He’s trying to drive you crazy with worry, but he wouldn’t actually do anything.”

  Zachary bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t point to anything that suggested that Devon was a violent person. He wasn’t the one who had been driving the night Hope was killed. He hadn’t, as far as they knew, done anything physically violent toward Harding. He hadn’t been the truck driver and hadn’t hired Donaldson to do his dirty work.

  There was nothing wrong with Kenzie’s logic. Devon was a university professor. Not a killer. He could have been going home for the holidays, like everyone else. His taunt to Zachary could have just been hot air, intended to goad Zachary into doing something stupid like getting into a crash on the interstate or humiliating himself in front of someone he loved. Just a bluff to see how far he could push Zachary.

  “I don’t know. There’s no way to know, so I have to assume it’s true.”

  “I agree,” Kenzie said, “I know you have to do something; I’m just saying, he probably won’t actually do anything. We probably don’t really have to worry.”

  Zachary nodded. She might be able to choose not to be worried, but he certainly couldn’t. His heart was pounding as hard as if Devon were holding a knife to Mr. Peterson’s throat. What if he got to their house and found the dead? What if Zachary were responsible for destroying the one long-term relationship he had managed to maintain?

  He tasted blood and didn’t care, switching to chewing the cheek on the other side instead. He stayed focused on the road, carefully snaking his way through the traffic, doing the best he could to get to his friends before anything could happen to them.

  His phone rang. Kenzie answered it rather than letting him take it on Bluetooth, probably figuring he had enough to concentrate on with his driving. She spoke few words, mostly listening to what Campbell had to report, then hung up.

  “What did he find out?” Zachary asked, when Kenzie sat there without a word to him.

  “They’re still working on it.”

  He navigated around a slower-moving SUV. “They couldn’t get a location?”

  “Apparently, his phone is turned off. So they only have his call history to go by, and his most recent calls were made from the university.”

  “We already know he’s not there. What about Mr. Peterson? Where is he?”

  “Campbell is still trying to talk them into tracking his phone. They’re being cautious, not convinced there is any real danger to Lorne and Pat.”

  “Can’t they track them anyway? Just to make sure they’re safe?”

  Kenzie shook her head. “Apparently not. Privacy concerns. Campbell’s working on it. I think he’ll convince them sooner or later. He just hasn’t yet.”

  Zachary thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, frustrated.

  Kenzie didn’t say anything else, but she took a sidelong look at him that communicated she was holding something back. Zachary gripped the steering wheel, breathing slowly.

  “What else?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Kenzie. What else did he say?”

  “I don’t think I should get you any more upset while you’re driving. You have enough to focus on.”

  “Holding something back is going to distract me more than telling me what it is. I need to know everything Campbell found out.”

  “Zachary…”

  “Tell me.”

  Kenzie rested her head back against the headrest, giving in. “He has a concealed carry permit.”

  Zachary felt sick. It took all of his willpower not to stamp the gas pedal to the floor. It would do Mr. Peterson no good if he ended up having an accident or getting pulled over because he was driving recklessly. Kenzie was watching him, waiting for him to explode or melt down. Eventually, she looked away. Neither of them said anything about what it meant. So much for Kenzie’s evaluation that he wouldn’t do anything violent. Mr. Peterson didn’t carry a gun. Zachary didn’t carry a gun. They were going to rush into a confrontation where the only one with a gun would be Devon. Zachary had no idea how they were going to handle it.

  Campbell would make sure they had police and FBI backup as soon as they located Lorne and Pat. Now that they knew Devon was likely to be armed, they wouldn’t fool around.

  But that wasn’t true, because even knowing that Devon had a permit for a concealed weapon, they were still reluctant to track the phones of two citizens who might be in danger.

  With anxiety and anger burning a hole in his stomach, Zachary narrowed his focus to a fine point. He could do only one thing, and that was to get to Lorne.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  H

  e didn’t even hear Kenzie talking on the phone again. He was so narrowly focused on driving, shutting the rest of the world out, that it took Kenzie’s persistent nudging and calling him to get his attention.

  Zachary startled and glanced over at her. “What? What is it?”

  “They tracked Lorne’s and Pat’s phones. They’re okay, Zachary, they’re just not at home.”

  He found he could barely breathe for a minute or two, like he’d been kicked in the gut and had the wind knocked out of him. He rubbed his eyes.

  “Really? You’re sure?”

  “They’re at some kind of spa. Probably one of these places where they have a rule about leaving their phones in their lockers so that they can relax properly.”

  “Someone talked to them?”

  “No, just located the phones. If they’re not at home, they’re not in danger, Zachary. We’ll just keep calling them, and we’ll warn them when they answer. We’ll tell them not to go home until Devon is found.”

  “We have to go there. Can’t the FBI send someone just in case?”

  “There’s no danger. They won’t waste the manpower.”

  “What about Campbell? He believes me, doesn’t he? This guy’s got a gun.”

  “But Devon doesn’t know where Pat and Lorne are. They’re safe where they are.”

  Zachary glanced over at Kenzie. She really believed it. She wasn’t just trying to calm his anxiety, she truly believed they were safe.

  “Didn’t you see the paper on his door? Cyber Investigations. You know what that is, don’t you?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “Yes, of course I do. Computer research. Online and all that.”

  “And using other technology. Like the spyware on Ashley’s phone and computer.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t you think he could tell exactly where Ashley’s phone was once he had the spyware on it?”

  Kenzie’s irritation changed into uncertain
ty. She frowned. “Well… I suppose. But how would he have gotten something onto Lorne’s or Pat’s phone?”

  “The same way as he got it onto Ashley’s. Send them something that looks legitimate and wait for them to open it.”

  “But how would he even know their phone number or email address to send it to them?”

  “How did he know Ashley’s?”

  Kenzie was stumped. She looked for a way to argue his logic.

  “Did you get the name and address of the spa?”

  “I got the name. Let me look it up.”

  She used his phone to look up the address and directions. “There’s an exit in a couple of miles. We’re about half an hour away.”

  That was better than Zachary had hoped. The spa was closer than Mr. Peterson’s house, instead of farther away. For once, things were working in his favor.

  “Can Campbell send someone? Just in case?”

  “It’s out of his jurisdiction.”

  Of course it was. Zachary knew that. “And he can’t talk to the local police department? Or get the FBI to send someone?”

  Kenzie bit her lip. “I’ll see… but don’t count on it.”

  She wiggled her own phone out of her pocket instead of using Zachary’s, which still had the GPS program running to direct him to the spa. Zachary listened to the half-conversation, Kenzie presenting his arguments and pushing for them to please send someone, anyone, who had some authority and could back them up.

  When she hung up, she wiped her arm across her forehead. Zachary turned the car heater down, though he knew that wasn’t why she was sweating.

  “Well…?”

  “He’s going to make some calls, see what he can do.”

  “He’s never going to get someone out there in time.”

  Kenzie shook her head. “Probably not. But hopefully, he doesn’t need to. We’re assuming an awful lot. That it was Devon and not the boyfriend. That he would actually approach Lorne. That he would do him any harm. We don’t have any proof, just conjecture.”

  “We’ll have proof when we see him.”

  “He won’t be there.”

  “Then why are you nervous?”

  She looked like she was going to try to argue that she wasn’t nervous, then abandoned that plan. “Okay. I’m nervous because of the possibility. I’m nervous because you are so sure. But I don’t really think he’ll be there.”

  Zachary nodded and followed the instructions of his phone GPS. It wasn’t smart, walking in there unarmed against a possibly armed threat. Maybe there would be security guards who could help. Maybe an off-duty police officer there with his wife for a little pre-Christmas cleanse. A spa just wasn’t the sort of place that a person took a gun to.

  “It will be okay,” Kenzie assured Zachary as they pulled into the parking lot and scanned around it for any sign of disruption or trouble. It was, Zachary thought, more to reassure herself than him. He already knew it wasn’t going to be okay. Things didn’t turn out okay in his life. He ended up burning down houses, getting electrocuted, or putting friends in danger.

  There was no sign of trouble. If Devon was there, he hadn’t driven his car up onto the sidewalk or left it parked in a driving lane. If he was there, he had parked it neatly in its slot and walked in, acting as if nothing was wrong.

  Zachary also parked his car, though he picked a handicapped parking slot right in front of the building. He knew it was wrong, but if Pat’s and Lorne’s lives hung in the balance, he wasn’t going to waste time parking farther away in a legitimate space. He got out of the car, wiping his hands on his pants. The cold air was a shock, but a welcome one. It sharpened his senses and helped to wake him up. His adrenaline had been running too long to be effective anymore. It had sapped his energy while sitting in the car, unable to use it constructively.

  They walked into a warm, humid lobby that was full of light, green plants, and trickling waterfalls. A complete change from the frigid weather outside. Zachary took a second to acclimatize himself, looking around to be sure that Devon was nowhere to be seen, and then walked up to the smiling, fresh-faced blond woman at the reception desk.

  “Hi,” he forced a smile that he hoped was at least a shade as warm as hers. “I’m supposed to be meeting my friends here. I don’t know if they’ll be finished yet. Lorne Peterson?”

  “Oh, yes.” She gave him another smile, as if she had been expecting him. “Let me just see…”

  She tapped the keys of her computer. Zachary looked around, taking a few calming breaths. It was a peaceful, relaxing place. No indication of any threat. Maybe he could relax.

  “It looks like they should be finished their treatments,” the receptionist told him. “So they’re probably at the juice bar.” She pointed a tapered index finger to a set of glass doors. “Just through there, and follow the blue signs.”

  Zachary looked at Kenzie. She smiled back, clearly comforted by their surroundings. But Zachary didn’t like it. The place was wide open. Anyone could walk in. There was no security, no attempt made to screen visitors.

  “Let’s go.” He clutched at Kenzie’s elbow and walked more quickly than was comfortable. Since the car accident of a year ago, his physiotherapist had mostly focused on walking, but walking faster than his normal pace felt awkward and out of sync. He scanned the signs as they moved through the broad, brightly-lit halls with inspiring words painted on them and gorgeous landscapes on display.

  “Nice place,” Kenzie commented, as if they were there on a tour.

  “Yeah.”

  They eventually made it to the juice bar. Spacious and well-lit, just like the rest of the facility. Zachary bypassed the service counter and looked around at the tables for his former foster father. They were almost safe. They were almost to the end of the journey.

  With relief, he saw Lorne and Pat sitting at a table by the patio. They were partially blocked from view by a waiter with his back to them. Zachary hurried across the room toward them. The waiter turned slightly and Zachary saw his profile.

  It was Devon.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Z

  achary swore. His foot slipped on the tiled floor, and the resulting lurch as he caught his balance attracted the attention of Mr. Peterson. When he focused on Zachary coming across the room toward them, Pat and Devon both followed his gaze.

  “You can stop right there,” Devon warned.

  Zachary did. Devon stood with one hand in the large pocket of the apron he was wearing. He must have taken it off of a hook or a shelf on his arrival in order to blend in while he watched for Mr. Peterson and Pat. It was impossible to tell whether there was anything in the apron pocket, or whether the threat was only implied.

  “Zachary?” Mr. Peterson said, “What’s going on?”

  Zachary bit his lip. Keeping his eyes on the three of them, he tried to scope out the room peripherally. There were too many people there, coming and going. But he hadn’t seen any kind of security staff. No one appeared to be aware that anything untoward was going on. Would Devon dare to do something around so many other people? There was a big difference between sending someone bullying emails from an anonymous address and overtly committing violence in full view of a dozen people.

  “Kenzie,” Zachary murmured, very low so that only she would be able to hear him, trying not to move his lips as he spoke. “Get cops here now.”

  She gave no sign of having heard him, fiddling with her phone and then turning around to look at the densely written columns of ingredients over the juice bar.

  “This is a pretty cool place,” she said. “Really relaxing atmosphere. We should come back here, you know? I should ask them about packages. You should ask Pat and Lorne which package they got.”

  He wasn’t sure whether she really didn’t understand the danger they were in, or was just acting for Devon’s sake. But he couldn’t repeat the instruction and draw attention to it. He kept his gaze trained on Devon.

  “I don’t understand why you’re doing this
. Explain to me… why you are even here. Mr. Peterson never did anything wrong.”

  “You’re the one who needs to be punished. You’re the one who thought he could get away with it without having to pay the piper,” Devon growled.

  “Get away with what? I’m not the one who killed Hope.”

  “Not that. This isn’t about Hope. This is about you, burning down the house, putting all of those people in danger. They could have all died in the house because you were so stupid and reckless. Society has to weed out people like you. You shouldn’t be allowed to hurt other people with your stupidity.”

  Zachary resisted the flashbacks. He had to stay present to help Mr. Peterson. He couldn’t let Devon and the memories sweep him away.

  “What does that have to do with Mr. Peterson? If you want to punish me for what I did, then punish me. Not him. I didn’t even meet him until after that.”

  “He took you in. Instead of letting you rot in some institution somewhere, he was an accessory. He sheltered you and kept you from having to pay for what you had done.”

  Mr. Peterson sat there with his mouth open, shock on his features.

  Devon sneered at him. “People who protect murderers and arsonists should be thrown in prison themselves. They should have to pay the price!”

  Mr. Peterson closed his mouth, still staring at Devon. “Zachary wasn’t a murderer or arsonist,” he finally said. His voice was quiet and even, his most soothing, calming voice. Used to calm dozens of foster kids over the years. Used to calm Zachary himself during the weeks he had lived there and when he had returned for help over the years as a troubled child, panicked teen, and confused adult, always trying to escape a past he could never forget. “He was a scared child in need of a home. I was sorry he wasn’t able to stay with us for longer, but he turned out to be more than we were able to handle.”

  “He should never have been in foster care. Don’t you know what he did? He ruined their lives! All of their lives!”