Deadlock

by DiAnn Mills

  “I owe you an apology.”

  She avoided him. “Accepted. I can be difficult at times too.”

  He smiled. “Have you solved it?”

  “I wish.” She turned and gave him a smile. “Thinking about scorpion characteristics. Again.”

  Were those lashes for real? “And you’ve determined we’re crazy?”

  “Not exactly, even though it’s not my normal method of analyzing an investigation. But a serial killer works his own psychosis. Not ready to write it into a report for SSA Preston.”

  “Are you as hungry as I am?” he said.

  “Yeah. I did a PowerBar at ten thirty, but it’s worn off.”

  “How about Mexican food?”

  “I’m not in the mood to cook.” Her finger traced Alicia Javon’s face as though the answer lay in the touch. “But I’m open.”

  “What about Pappasito’s?”

  “Perfect. Love their food.”

  They left in Thatcher’s car for the restaurant and within five minutes were pulling into the parking lot. He rubbed his eyes. “I could sleep for hours.”

  “Me too. Let’s hope the food does the trick, and we don’t fall asleep at our desks.”

  “After lunch, I want to talk to the medical examiners who performed the autopsies on each victim.”

  She grimaced. “That might have been a better stop this morning.”

  “And here I thought you’d want to see their tools.”

  “Not my idea of a post-lunch field trip.” She sighed. “What do you do when you hit bottom?”

  “I meet with my bud Daniel, the guy who’s now engaged to Special Agent Laurel Evertson. We get together most Saturday mornings for breakfast. I unload then. What about you? Are you close to your mom?”

  “Depends on the time of day. She believes in being submissive, so when she does contact me, it’s usually about Dad’s agenda and not pleasant. The director of Noah’s Loft, Elizabeth Maddrey, is my good friend, so we talk a lot. Do you see your mother often?”

  “No, but I call her once a week. She’s lonely.”

  “I can see you’re being supportive. You’ve been great with Carly.”

  He opened the car door. As they walked toward the restaurant, Bethany’s cell rang.

  Her face paled, and she covered the phone. “Go on in and get us a table. I’ll be right there.” She returned to lean against the car while he walked inside the restaurant. He hoped her news wasn’t bad. A prayer swept through him. What he hadn’t told Bethany about the Saturday morning meetings with Daniel was that they spent the time exploring the Bible.

  He and Daniel Hilton had discussed law enforcement and the issue of why God failed to intervene and stop the bad guys—many times. More and more of what Thatcher once thought was confusing and didn’t make sense now had clarity through the lens of the Bible, the one book he’d sworn he would never read. Three weeks ago, he’d prayed with Daniel to ask the Lord into his life. But he hadn’t told anyone yet. Thatcher needed to digest his decision because for the first time, his out-of-the-box method of living had God in charge. Combine his old self with a love of psychology, and he could fill a volume with questions. But understanding would come. He had to acquire the trait of patience.

  He was seated near the window where he could see Bethany, although her face was turned away from him. She dropped her phone into her purse and kicked the tire. He chuckled. Oh, she could be formidable. Heading his way, she swiped beneath her eye.

  A dark-green Volkswagen sped straight toward her.

  He pounded on the glass, frantically begging her to hear his warning. A young man rushed from between parked cars and dragged her to safety as the Volkswagen zoomed by.

  Thatcher blew out his relief and hurried outside the restaurant to join them. The man was young, muscular, which accounted for his fast reflexes.

  Thatcher reached out to shake the young man’s hand. “Thanks for saving my friend’s life.”

  “Glad to help.”

  “Oh yes, thank you.” Bethany shook her head. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  The young man tugged on his baseball cap. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Working on lack of food and sleep makes one stupid.”

  “That was too close,” Thatcher said. “But I got the license plate number. Did you see the driver?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” the young man said. “The driver probably has a record and no insurance.”

  “I saw nothing but a blur of green heading straight for me,” Bethany said.

  The young man took a step back. “Take care.”

  “Wait a minute,” Bethany said. “What’s your name?”

  “Zack Adams.”

  “Can I do anything for you?”

  “No. I was supposed to meet someone here, but they forgot.”

  “I see. Are you a student?” She pointed to his U of H T-shirt.

  He beamed. “Junior at the University of Houston.”

  “In case HPD needs a witness to what happened, can I have your cell number?” she said.

  As Zack rattled off his cell number, gut reaction kicked in, and Thatcher lifted his phone to snap the young man’s pic. But Zack whipped his attention to the street before disappearing through a mass of vehicles.

  Inside the restaurant, Bethany and Thatcher’s table had been taken, and they were reseated away from the window. Bethany stared at her hands, a sign of inner turmoil, as he’d noted on other occasions. The phone call or the near hit? “What are you thinking?”

  “The call was my brother, and when I refused to give him money, he exploded.”

  “You have enough on him for an arrest.”

  “Not yet. The case comes first.”

  “You have nothing to prove to me.” His gaze lingered on her face.

  She moistened her lips. “Thanks. My mind is on what just happened.”

  Thatcher didn’t believe her for a second.

  She pulled her cell from her purse and pressed in a number. A moment later she set the phone on the table. “Zack Adams’s phone number is bogus. He was standing outside a Camry when we pulled up. If I’d been paying attention to my surroundings, I wouldn’t have nearly been run over.”

  Thatcher waved his hand in front of her face. “Back up. What are you saying?”

  She picked up her phone and typed. “I want to know if the FIG has anything on him, and who owns the runaway Volkswagen.”

  He gave her the license plate number. She was hungry and tired, running on fumes. But it appeared her actions backed up his suspicions.

  “Would you forward me Zack’s pic? I’m sending another inquiry.”

  Midway through Thatcher’s pulled pork enchiladas and Bethany’s beef fajitas, both phones alerted them to a message.

  Thatcher grabbed his first. “The Volkswagen’s license plates belong to a car reported stolen a month ago. There’s no Zack Adams at the University of Houston. Neither is he enrolled in any of the Houston area colleges. The cell number he gave you doesn’t appear in any college or university directory. No facial recognition with the baseball cap, and he turned just before I took it. Doesn’t exist, which means no record either. Pull out your notepad. Let’s figure out what just happened.”

  She took another bite of her fajitas and pushed the pad and paper toward him. “You write, and I’ll talk.”

  He nodded. “Fire away.”

  “Poor choice of words, partner, but here goes. As I said earlier, Lucas called. He requested we talk privately, and I thought he was about to admit his poor choices. Dumb me. Once the phone clicks in my ear, I set out to join you, and a stolen car nearly hits me. I’m saved by a stranger who lies about his identity and doesn’t want me calling him.”

  Thatcher carefully formed his words. “Here’s what I think. Your brother followed us from the office. He set you up for a hit-and-run, and you’re looking for a way to excuse him.”

  Her eyes blazed. “That’s ridiculous. A stunt like this would land his rear bac
k in jail, most likely prison.”

  He wanted to shake her. “You’re doing the same thing as your family. ‘Poor Lucas. It’s pure coincidence his actions seem to parallel a potential hit-and-run.’”

  She rubbed her forehead. “After this case is closed, I’ll do something.”

  “Be an idiot if you want, but I’m not looking forward to writing ‘I told you so’ on your tombstone.”

  She tossed her napkin on the table. “Our case is not about Lucas.” Her eyes shot arrows at him while fury sped through his veins. Tears welled in her eyes, and she stared down at her half-eaten food. “My family is no concern to you. I’m an agent, and my personal life isn’t up for discussion.”

  “Family problems are the worst. I’d rather face a dozen bad guys unarmed. You’re right—the case isn’t about Lucas, but he’s interfering with a good agent’s investigation.”

  Confusion and reality met him as Bethany looked up. “Let’s find Scorpion. Then I’ll deal with Lucas.”

  What spoke the loudest to him was what she didn’t say. Her response about handling Lucas later was fast becoming a worn excuse.

  CHAPTER 26

  4:55 P.M. FRIDAY

  Bethany stood in her cubicle and rubbed the chill bumps on her arm. In the past few days, Lucas had broken into her home and threatened her and Thatcher. Granted, he tried the death tactics whenever he was angry with anyone, but who was she fooling?

  She fought the doubts and warring emotions that bombarded her mind about Lucas. Today’s near hit-and-run reeked of a setup, just like Thatcher said. Her stomach twisted, not from lunch but from incidents destined to slow her timing. Thatcher, with his psychology background, had insight into criminal minds. Whereas she carried too much family guilt. Her brother had committed the worst of crimes, and nothing about him spoke of rehabilitation. But she didn’t have time for any of this. Lucas Sanchez needed to be behind bars to protect those around him.

  She was a fool to believe the driver of the stolen Volkswagen wasn’t paying attention and panicked when she stepped into its path. Or that Zack Adams saved her from getting hurt and didn’t want to get involved. If she weren’t so exhausted, she’d have come to the same conclusion at lunch. And Thatcher wouldn’t have had to swat her with his version of the truth.

  Lucas’s motivation had always been whatever pleased him at the moment.

  Tonight she’d sleep. Her logic always worked better after a good night’s rest. But her mind refused to stop spinning. The meeting with the medical examiner gave them a clinical report and little else. She’d spend the weekend analyzing the investigative reports.

  A text seized her attention, but it wasn’t from anyone she recognized. Lucas again? Oh, God, I can’t take much more.

  This is Dorian from Noah’s Loft. Need help bailing a friend out of jail.

  Bethany regretted the day Elizabeth introduced her to the woman. What nerve. What guts. Where did she get her cell number? Surely not Elizabeth.

  Bethany typed in her response. I don’t bail anyone out of jail.

  Why?

  Shouldn’t have gotten arrested. Where did u get my number?

  None of ur business. R u going 2 help a good cause?

  No. Call someone else.

  Some do-gooder u r. All mouth no feet.

  Bethany shouldn’t have responded at all, but this crazy woman volunteered with those who expected healthy staff members. Why did Dorian think Bethany would hand over bail money? She set her phone aside, but another text sounded.

  I no the right people.

  Right people 4 what?

  Kind that break windows & arms. No matter ur FBI.

  How did you learn my job?

  TV news

  Bethany contacted the FIG for a trace. Moments later she learned the messages came from a burner phone.

  Elizabeth needed to be informed about Dorian’s inappropriate messages. Bethany pressed in her friend’s number.

  “Hi, Bethany, how’s your day?”

  “Right in line with what I do.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Elizabeth, I just received a text from Dorian Crawford.”

  “Our volunteer?”

  “The same.” Bethany read aloud the dialogue exchange.

  “What was she thinking? I admit she’s impulsive, and I’ve had to rein her in a few times this week. But I really doubt she’s the one who texted you.” Elizabeth blew out her anger, a trait Bethany rarely saw. “I should have better checked her references, but when Alicia was killed, I needed someone ASAP.”

  “It’s not too late to check them.”

  “I will. By any chance, did you give her your phone number?” Elizabeth said. “Because my office and file drawers are always locked. No one has volunteer numbers but me.”

  “Absolutely not. I was about to ask if she had access to your files.”

  “No way,” Elizabeth said. “This is crazy.”

  “I’ll find out where she got my contact info.” Bethany glanced at her watch. She had a few things to do before heading home. “Do you store info in the Cloud?”

  “If you mean computer and iPhone, then yes.”

  “Dorian could have accessed my number that way.”

  “Trust me, she’s not bright enough to figure out technology. Or I’d be worried about what else she could stumble onto. But I am talking to her about this as soon as I’m finished with a new resident.”

  “Elizabeth, I’ll do it tomorrow. No point in dragging you into this. Maybe she found my number and my FBI status from somewhere else. I could have dropped a business card. This is my problem with Dorian, and I’ll set her straight. All I ask is that you check her references.”

  5:13 P.M. FRIDAY

  Thatcher’s sweaty palms made him feel like a teenager. If he didn’t catch Bethany before she left for the weekend, he’d lose his nerve. He’d approached a lot of women in his day, mostly for selfish reasons, but Bethany had his senses on overload. Strange and unnerving. They were take-charge people, power-packed and determined to get the job done. Yet something about her drove him to distraction, as though he wanted more than a partner. So why did the thought of spending time with her outside work scare him?

  He texted her, the coward’s way of communication. Dinner plans 4 Sat?

  No. Do u have a gig?

  :) no. Talk scorpion case

  K

  Pick u up at 6:30? I no where u live.

  Scary. Where r we going?

  He hadn’t thought that far. Think, Thatcher. What a rookie. Wanna go 2 Brio @ Memorial?

  K

  Taking a deep breath, he rested the back of his neck in his hands. Warning signs exploded, the kind he chose to ignore. Agents with emotional connections to each other added up to agents making stupid decisions.

  Who was he kidding? Bethany probably had a boyfriend or had the sense to term her partner as off-limits.

  How long had they known each other? And why had he invited her to dinner?

  CHAPTER 27

  8:45 A.M. SATURDAY

  Bethany parked at the curb of Noah’s Loft with a twinge of regret. She should be working on the Scorpion case, but that meant letting Elizabeth and the residents down. Last night, she’d fallen into bed before eight and slept solid until the alarm went off at seven.

  She gave herself a mental shake to concentrate on her double duty this morning: helping the residents work through the grieving process of losing Alicia and focusing on any of them who might have information about the murder.

  Time to get her agent pants on.

  She rang the doorbell and the cook greeted her in the hall. Sweet lady with a heart for those in need. The scent of coffee and a mix of apples and cinnamon wafted through the air. “Do I smell apple crisp with fresh coffee?”

  “It’ll be ready soon. I made a separate pan sweetened with Splenda. Elizabeth told us you’re diabetic.”

  “How thoughtful.” Bethany gave her a hug. “Are you doing okay?”

  “As
best as I can.” The woman sucked in a breath. Alicia’s death had these precious women incredibly distraught.

  Bethany knocked and entered Elizabeth’s office. “What’s the plan?” She slipped onto a chair across from the desk.

  “I’ve invited the residents into the meeting room for an informal memorial ceremony, and I’ll encourage them to share about Alicia.” Elizabeth frowned. “You look tired. Is this new position more work than you bargained for?”

  “Rough case, but I’m managing.”

  “Don’t be afraid to admit you can’t handle the stress.”

  “When have I ever given up?” Bethany laughed and it felt good.

  “How about a few guys who tried to date you?”

  “I was bored. Do you want to have dinner Sunday night?”

  “Love it.”

  Bethany folded her hands. “Elizabeth, have you run a background on Dorian?”

  “Not yet. There hasn’t been a spare moment. By the way, she moved in last night, so now she’ll be helping full-time. Honestly, I think she’s simply lonely and needs a purpose. Let me know what happens after your talk with her.” Elizabeth worked 24-7 with the residents. Married to her job instead of a loving husband. She stood and picked up her worn Bible.

  “New jeans?” Bethany said.

  “If you call Goodwill new, then I’m all over it.”

  They laughed. “Our size?”

  “Any doubts?” The tiny lines around her eyes deepened. “We need to celebrate Alicia’s life, but this will be hard.”

  Bethany wrapped her arm around Elizabeth’s waist. “If it’s not hard, it’s not worth it. Without tears, there’s no healing.”

  Her eyes pooled. “Love you, my friend.”

  They walked up the stairs to the meeting room, where the women and a few children were seated in chairs or on the floor. Dorian Crawford, the last person Bethany wanted to see, rushed to her side.

  “Bethany, you’re here. Wonderful. I’m so excited. Are we working on résumés afterward?” She pushed her pink-framed glasses onto her nose.