Deadlock

by DiAnn Mills

  “Kid stuff. Ever kill anybody?”

  Thatcher smirked. “Not that I got caught.”

  “Have a piece?”

  “Yep.” Thatcher squared off with the man.

  “Anybody looking for you?”

  “Not in Texas.”

  “What about the woman?”

  Thatcher humphed. “I’m partial to her. Been with me in the ups and downs. Doesn’t ask questions.”

  The man pushed back his chair. “All right. If I can do business tonight, where can I reach you?”

  “Right here with my woman gettin’ a square. Who knows? I might decide to move on by morning.”

  He shoved his fist under Thatcher’s chin. “If I find out you’ve double-crossed me, you’re a dead man. No one messes with Groundhog.”

  He raised his hands. “I’m no fool.”

  “After the church service. Behind the building by the Dumpster. Alone.”

  Thatcher joined Grayson, playing the role while watching the clock. By seven, the group was escorted into a chapel area. There, while a young preacher urged the people to find Jesus, Thatcher played bored. When the closing prayer ended, he nudged Grayson.

  “I’ll meet you outside, sugar.”

  “Sure, hon. Ain’t we stayin’ here?”

  “Haven’t decided.”

  “Well, if you take too long, I’m leaving for our usual place.”

  Thatcher exited the building and scanned the darkened area near the meeting place waiting for Groundhog or the man called Deal. When nearly two hours had passed, he made his way to the front. Darkness hid the shadows of those who’d roll him for a dollar. Backup followed him in case the man discovered he’d been set up.

  Should he show up tomorrow night at the Lighthouse, or would it be another waste of time? Investigations took time, something the FBI had fallen short of. Bodies were dropping, and the killer still ran loose.

  CHAPTER 43

  7:15 A.M. FRIDAY

  Bethany refused to let yesterday’s punch keep her out of the loop. She’d told Thatcher last night to meet her at Starbucks at the same time for breakfast. Except this morning, she sipped on a Sprite, picked up at a convenience store, while her body craved a horizontal position. Although a BOLO had been issued on Lucas, so far he’d managed to evade law enforcement. Nothing new there.

  “You look awful,” he said.

  “Thanks. And for the record, I’m here.” She desperately craved a healthy body. “Appreciate your call last night.”

  He bit into a scone. “Sorry to wake you, but I figured you’d want to hear about it. Tonight can’t come fast enough.”

  “Is Grayson going too?”

  He lifted a brow. “Do I see a bit of green?”

  “I’m woman enough to admit it. But you can’t arrest what you can’t see. What about the man who pulled you aside?”

  “A thug who’s in and out of the system. We’re leaving him alone for now.”

  “Makes sense. Thatcher, last night I was in a groggy state when we talked. What I needed to convey is my texts may be coming from two people—Lucas and a mystery person. Can’t be Dorian or Paul Javon when they’re in jail.”

  He laid his half-eaten scone on a napkin. “Who has your work cell number besides the FBI?”

  She scrolled through her contacts. “It’s the only one I use. Elizabeth, Mom, Lucas, Dorian, and anyone I’ve given my card. Not sure why I got so bent out of shape when Dorian called me when the number’s not that hard to find. Before my mind dissolves into mush, Elizabeth called last night. Saw what happened to me on the news. Apologized for not following up on Dorian.” Bethany didn’t mention the tears they’d shed over the phone.

  “She’s out of the hospital?”

  “With her parents until the doctor has results from a few tests. Headaches must be excruciating.” She paused. “I’m sorry. You were asking me questions, and I raced down a rabbit trail. You’re rubbing off, partner.”

  He grinned. “We’re good. Wish you’d stayed home today.”

  “No way, Special Agent Thatcher.” She propped her chin on her palm. Was she flirting? Instantly she resumed an appropriate stance.

  “Did Lucas have your number when you received your first text?”

  “Mamá could have given it to him.”

  “Can we ask her?”

  She leaned her head back, thinking how great the bed had felt this morning. “We have a BOLO out on Lucas. No one in my family will give a straight answer. They’ve hidden him in the past, and I’m sure he’s among them somewhere.”

  He typed into his phone. “I’ll have another agent contact your parents.”

  “Thatcher, what if whoever texted me in the hospital is Scorpion? From press releases he knows we’re assigned to the case. If I’m right, what does it say about his behavior?”

  He hesitated as if contemplating her theory. But she’d thought this through.

  “Bethany, I’ve been weighing the same idea ever since you started receiving the texts.”

  “But why me? You’re the dogged investigator. I’m just the limping sidekick. Some of the texts sound like Lucas, but not all. The three yesterday were sent within moments of each other, indicating the sender knew I’d been poisoned from cookies. Who knew about it? Dorian, the cook, and a few six-year-olds?”

  “Media reported it within the hour.”

  She nodded. “Don’t concern yourself with the cook being responsible. She’s a pastor’s wife, highly reputable, and her background’s clean. The other two jarring comments were that the sender wanted me to like him, and he insinuated he was Scorpion with the ‘You will be stung before you find me’ text. Is this bravado on Lucas’s part or something else?”

  “From the texts you’ve received, you’re looking at a borderline personality disorder. The sender wants you to like him, but he despises you. Can turn emotions on a dime.”

  “Okay, but Lucas has never cared if I liked him. He cares only for himself.”

  “He could have a neurochemical problem. The sender knows exactly where you are and hasn’t acted. It’s more about power and control that makes him tick. This has Dorian written all over it.” Thatcher made sense.

  “Then you think Lucas is claiming to be Scorpion to frighten me?”

  “My observations are without a psychiatric eval in front of me. We have to interview him to answer your questions.”

  Urgency to see her brother in custody flooded her senses. She picked up her cell to check the latest, more so to see if her brother had been picked up. A derogatory blog post had hit again. She shook her head.

  “Bethany, you okay?”

  “I wish.” She stared into his brown eyes, lost for a moment in what she wanted to deny. “Another anonymous post beating us up again. It’s titled, ‘Women and Their Chocolate.’”

  “Read it to me.”

  “It’s even better than the last one. ‘Special Agents Bethany Sanchez and Thatcher Graves are wasting taxpayers’ money again. Sanchez is an idiot. She gets herself poisoned by eating chocolate-chip cookies given to her by a suspect. Yes, readers, is she hormonal or what? So dip into your pockets, because she ran up a huge ER bill. How long will it take for her to recuperate? Gorilla SSA Preston needs a brain transplant to keep these two on the case. Wake up, Houston. We have a problem, and I’m tired of this merry-go-round. Aren’t you?’”

  She rested her phone on the table, depression oozing into the pores of her skin. “I believe there’s a reason for everything that happens. I don’t understand how Scorpion is evading us, or why my brother is so selfish, or why these posts try to make us look like the bad guys. Seems to me we’re fumbling, and I don’t know how to gain yardage.”

  10:15 A.M. FRIDAY

  Bethany’s morning had been routine—boring paperwork and a body working on recovery. She ached as though someone had beaten her with a stick. The FIG reported all her texts had come from burner phones, and SSA Preston had sent them to the behavioral analysts.

  L
ate tomorrow afternoon, she and Thatcher had an interview with Melanie Bolton, the director of the Lighthouse. Bethany took a long drink of Sprite, wishing it were a Diet Dr Pepper. A packet of Goldfish pretzels called her name. The only thing that hadn’t upset her tummy.

  Her phone buzzed—Lucas had been spotted at the Galleria Mall entering the Apple Store.

  “I want him brought in for questioning,” she said to Thatcher. “It sounds crazy, but I want to know if he has information that will lead us to our killer.”

  Thatcher and Bethany rushed inside the second-floor entrance of the Galleria Mall through the parking garage. Her heart hammered and her body threatened to fold.

  “You’re not up to this,” Thatcher said over his shoulder.

  “I won’t disappoint you,” she said breathlessly, her short legs doing their best to keep up with him.

  HPD and other agents were on the manhunt too. Security cameras videoed Lucas leaving the Apple Store, then picked him up again entering Saks Fifth Avenue. He wore a baseball cap, torn jeans, and a dirty white T-shirt.

  Security cameras hadn’t located him inside the store. Lucas held a PhD in avoiding detection.

  “Let’s take the men’s section on the third floor,” Thatcher said on a dead run and speaking into his mic. “He could have ducked into a dressing room.”

  She didn’t respond. HPD and other agents were positioned on the street side exit of Saks. Lucas didn’t have a chance. She and Thatcher swung through the men’s area. She slammed into a display of dress shirts and knocked several of them to the ground. Officers swarmed the floor. A woman screamed.

  The dressing rooms were cleared.

  No one had seen Lucas.

  A thought penetrated her skull. “Thatcher, he’d head for the women’s department to throw us off.”

  “Which floor?”

  “The first, contemporary women.” She hoped she was right—the area was close to the street exit.

  They hurried down the escalator and toward the dressing rooms. Bethany struggled for balance to keep up with Thatcher. She crossed in front of a crowd of teens who seemed more absorbed in their phones than what was going on around them. Didn’t they realize they could get hurt? Near a checkout register, she whirled around.

  Lucas had been in the crowd of teens, the one wearing a pink fedora and a jean jacket. She raced toward the front door. “Stop. FBI!”

  The teens moved through the door, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.

  Bethany pushed by those who failed to adhere to her shouts. She’d made it to the front door when Lucas turned and flipped her an obscene gesture as he swung a leg over the back of a motorcycle. A crowd surrounded him. Lucas and the driver sped off on a Kawasaki with no rear license plate.

  You just think you won this round, Lucas. We will have a face-to-face.

  CHAPTER 44

  12:00 P.M. FRIDAY

  For the past hour, Bethany had wrestled with whether to go home or stay at the office. Her stomach tossed and hurt until she could barely focus. Fortunately or unfortunately, however she wanted to call it, she had a twelve thirty lunch scheduled with Carly Javon. She was meeting the young woman at the Red Onion and planned to sip on a Sprite while being a friend—and an agent. At times, her role with Carly bordered on gray, leaving her indecisive about herself. She wanted to be Carly’s friend, but even more she wanted the murders solved and stopped. The latter had not been easing off. Every hour that ticked by increased the chances of Scorpion striking again.

  Get a grip, Bethany. Do your job.

  Lucas had gotten by them earlier, and she blamed herself. Was the crowd an excuse for her not to pull her weapon? She wanted to believe it. Who drove the motorcycle? Thatcher hadn’t condemned how she’d reacted, unless he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble.

  At the restaurant, Carly already had a table for them. Makeup covered any telltale signs of her dad’s past abuse. The psychological scars might last a lifetime.

  “You were poisoned,” Carly said. “I expected you to cancel.”

  “And let the one who whipped up arsenic in my cookies gloat?”

  Carly laughed. “I want to be like you, tough and smart.”

  “You already are.” Bethany’s serious side took over. “We’ve been hurt by our families, and we survived. The best advice I can give is to learn and grow.”

  “More and more of my mother’s advice is sinking in. Do you know this is the first time I’ve been with you without Special Agent Graves?”

  “I have a life outside the FBI.”

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  Bethany inwardly cringed. If Carly had picked up on her fragile feelings for Thatcher, who else had?

  Carly tilted her head. “From the look on your face, Agent Sanchez, I asked a loaded question.”

  “It’s Bethany.” She plastered on her best agent expression and backed it up with a gulp of water. “Agents who find themselves in a relationship with their partner can let emotions override sound judgment. Can’t let it happen because one of us could be killed. In short, an impossible scenario.”

  “I see. But it doesn’t stop the heart.”

  Bethany smiled and picked up the menu and handed it to her. “Maybe I should recruit you for the FBI. Except you’re wrong in this instance.” Her insides fluttered, and it had nothing to do with stomach issues. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No. I want my education first.” She moistened her lips. “I hate what happened to Tyler. Shannon really loved him.”

  “Did you ever meet him?”

  “Yes. A great guy. Strange how he turned out good when his mom knew zilch about nurturing her sons.” Carly tilted her head. “I introduced them one night at the Lighthouse when Shannon volunteered with Mom and me. The only time she ever went, but for her it was worth it. Shannon and Tyler were inseparable, but Dad never found out. I bet you’re wondering how much he told Shannon about his family and the other way around. I think a lot. Shannon and Tyler believed in being open about everything.”

  “I’m sorry it ended so tragically.”

  “Me too. I love my sister, and I’m afraid for her. Too many losses.”

  “How often did you and your mother volunteer at the Lighthouse?”

  “About twice a month for probably four months or so until she switched to Noah’s Loft.” She dabbed beneath her eyes with the napkin. “How much longer will this go on?”

  “It will be over soon. I promise.”

  “Bethany, I’m holding you to the promise. Mom deserved more in this life than she ever received. I’m begging for justice.” Carly studied her as though wanting to examine her soul. “I have something to tell you. Should have done so before. It’s about Ansel Spree. Happened several months ago at the Lighthouse. I didn’t know his name at the time, not until I saw he’d been killed.” She nibbled on her lip. “It was late at night, and I’d taken trash to the Dumpster. Heard a man sobbing. I asked if I could help, and he said he’d gotten bad news. I started to go for Mom or the woman who directs the shelter, but he stopped me. Said there was nothing anyone could do and begged me not to tell anyone. He said, ‘I won’t break the law for nobody, even if I get stung.’”

  Bethany’s heart pounded. “And you never told anyone?”

  “No. I promised him. Mom always told us our word was our integrity. I stayed with him beside the Dumpster for a long time. Then Scorpion kills him.”

  Carly was in danger, but the young woman had a stubborn streak when it came to taking advice. “Would you—?”

  “And I want my dad to stay locked up until I’m old and wrinkled.”

  “Have you considered forgiveness?”

  Carly slid her a half smile. “You sound like Mom.”

  The server took their drink and Carly’s food order. When the young woman ordered the snapper with queso, Bethany hoped she could manage the smell. Before lunch was over, she’d have to find a way to ensure Carly understood the danger she was in. They chatted about musi
c, Carly’s friends, and her plans for the future. Music had been her passion, and she also wanted to explore a singing career in the opera. Bethany purposely avoided asking more about family matters until they were finished. She sensed the young woman needed her as a mentor-type friend, a person to trust.

  “How are you managing with your aunt and uncle?” Bethany said.

  Carly’s face seemed to glow. “They are amazing. We laugh, and we cry. We do things together. Wonderful discussions about everything from musicians to historians. They believe in open communication, like Shannon and Tyler, so if there’s a problem, we talk it out. Not at all what I’m used to. Shannon goes to school and that’s it. She’s afraid to be alone. I suggested counseling, but she says talking about it only makes it worse.”

  “I’m praying for both of you.”

  “As I said, you sound like Mom. The choices I made to talk to you and Special Agent Graves, then move out of the house were the hardest and yet the best I’ve ever made. I haven’t given up the idea of finding evidence to prove my dad guilty. I’ve wondered if he thinks I know what really happened.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Your dad won’t be in jail forever.” Bethany despised the girls’ exposure to violence within their home, which should have been a safe haven. Her concerns for Carly sped in all directions. “You know enough for the killer to target you next.”

  The girl stared at her.

  “Would you be agreeable to missing some school?”

  “I suppose so. Can’t complete my education if I’m dead. Makes me wonder how we’ll ever sell the house after a murder has taken place. Oh, that was crude. Not sure where my head is right now.”

  “First of all, let’s get your aunt and uncle aware of possible danger. I’m calling them now.”

  Bethany spoke to Anita Cooke, scaring the woman, but the fear factor could keep her nieces alive. “Mrs. Cooke, we talked about the danger when Carly was in the ER. If I’d had any idea how much she knew then, I’d have suggested she leave the city. Is there a place the girls could go until this is over? I recommend outside of Houston. If not, I can look into a safe house.”