“For the time being,” Rankin said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angela said.
“Interfering in a federal investigation is a serious matter,” Rankin said. “It could also have repercussions for your license as well.”
“I think you should get out,” Angela said.
Gerritsen took a card out of his coat pocket. “If Mr. Keller gets in touch with you,” he said, “please ask him if he’d call me at this number.” He held out the card.
Angela didn’t take it. Finally, Gerritsen sighed and put the card on the counter. He turned and walked out behind Rankin.
Angela sat down. She was shaking. She pulled the phone over toward her and dialed Keller’s cell phone.
***
As Keller pulled his car onto the concrete-slab driveway of Marie’s house, he noticed a vehicle parked on the road, across the street and one house down. He flicked off his headlights and sat in the car for a moment. As his eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, he identified the vehicle as a Ford Taurus. He could make out the outline of a pair of shadowy figures in the front seat. He got out of the car, his eyes on the other vehicle. He thought he could see the shadow behind the wheel turn and say something to the person in the passenger seat. He began walking toward the Taurus. The headlights of the vehicle came on and the engine started. Keller broke into a run. The Taurus pulled quickly away from the curb and sped past him.
Keller tried to get a license number, but the bulb on the license plate light was out and he couldn’t make out the number in the darkness. He thought he could see the bright yellow decal of a local rental company on the rear bumper. The Taurus reached the stop sign at the corner, failed to slow down, turned, and was gone. Keller stood in the middle of the road, watching. In a few moments, he saw headlights approaching. Marie drove up in her gray Honda. Keller stepped out of her way and over to the curb as she pulled partway into the driveway.
“Hey,” she called over to him as she rolled down the passenger-side window. “What were you doing standing in the middle of the street?”
“I’ll tell you inside,” he said. Marie shrugged, rolled up the window, and pulled the rest of the way into the drive.
Keller opened the passenger side and reached into the rear seat, where Marie’s son lolled in the car seat, fast asleep. Ben was big for his five years, with a shock of tousled curly brown hair. Keller undid the straps holding Ben in the car seat and lifted him out. The boy murmured grumpily and squirmed a bit, but settled down as his head came to rest on Keller’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” said Marie, hauling a small bright green backpack out of the backseat. She fumbled briefly for her keys, then let them into the house. The front room was dark except for the steady red blink of the light on Marie’s answering machine on the table by the door.
“Don’t turn on the light,” Keller whispered. “You’ll wake him up.”
“I still need to get him into his pajamas,” Marie said. “But go ahead and put him in his bed. I’ll be in as soon as I check messages.”
Keller navigated by memory through the darkened living room, down the hallway, into Ben’s room. He laid the boy down on the bed and pulled a blanket over him. Ben yawned, then rolled over on his side and curled up. Keller stood looking down at him for a moment. He reached out as if to stroke the boy’s hair, then pulled his hand back. He turned and walked out of the room.
When Keller reentered the living room, Marie was standing by the answering machine. She still had the backpack slung on her shoulder. She had turned the light back on, and Keller could see an angry frown on her face.
“Trouble?” he said.
“Message from my ex,” she replied. “Guess the FBI’s gotten to him about me. He’s not exactly happy.” She pushed the button. The voice that came out was pure country, thickened with anger. “God damn it, Marie,” the voice said. “I don’t know what the hell you got into this time, a coupla FBI agents just left here askin’ about you and that damn boyfriend of yours. I’m talkin’ to my lawyer in the mornin’. I need to get my son outta that house.” There was a click. A mechanical voice announced “Sunday. Twelve. A.M.”
“I see you still haven’t learned to set the clock on that thing,” Keller said.
“Don’t make jokes, Keller,” she said wearily. He held out his arms and she came into them, letting Ben’s backpack slide to the floor. Keller held her tight. Finally, he said, “It’ll blow over. You said he gets like this every now and then.”
He felt Marie nod against his chest. “Every chance he gets these days. ‘I’m gonna get my lawyer and take my son back,’ ” she said, her voice a practiced imitation of the one on the machine. “He goes in, the lawyer tells him it’s going to cost some money he doesn’t want to spend, so he satisfies himself by talking ugly to me for weeks.” She sighed. “I am so fucking tired of this, Jack.”
“I know,” he said. Suddenly he remembered the Taurus. “I think they were outside,” he said.
She pulled back and looked up at him. “Who?”
“The FBI. There were two people in a rental car parked across the street. When I noticed them, they drove off fast.”
Her face darkened with anger. “They’re watching my house?” She stepped away. “Jesus!” she fumed. “Who do these bastards think they are?” The look on her face turned to uncertainty. “What’s going on here, Jack?”
“I don’t know,” he said grimly. “But Angela’s talking to Scott McCaskill. You get hold of Tammy Healy and let her know. I’ll have a talk with this agent Wilcox and see if he’s the one that sicced the Feebies on us. We’ll put a stop to it.”
She nodded. “In the meantime,” she said sadly, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here to night, Jack.”
He started to protest, then shut his mouth. “Okay,” he said after a moment.
She came back into his arms. “I want you to,” she said against his chest. “God knows I need you. And I dragged you all the way here…But if somebody’s still watching…and this thing with my ex…you understand.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Ben’s got to be your priority.”
She looked up at him. “You’re upset,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said again. “I am. But not with you.”
She buried her face in his chest again. “I love you, Jack,” she whispered.
“I love you, too,” he said. He rested his chin on the top of her head for a moment. Then he broke the embrace. “I’d better go,” he said.
She smiled. “You better,” she said, “before I change my mind.”
He drove away, down the darkened streets. Through the windows he saw the lights of houses, the soft blue glow of televisions. He wondered at the lives of the people in those houses, wondered what it would be like to lead a normal life. The thought of driving back to Wilmington and spending the night in his empty house depressed him even further. He turned on the radio.
He wanted the people he loved to be safe. But life seemed to have other ideas. It had been easier when there was no one to care about, he thought. After losing his men in Saudi to friendly fire, he had drifted through life, not giving much of a damn about himself or anyone else. Then he had started working for Angela. His lack of concern for himself made him fearless in the takedown. He would go places and take risks that other bounty hunters wouldn’t. But as he and Angela got to know one another, he found himself admiring her quiet strength and her particular brand of courage. Before long he had found himself falling for her. She had gently turned him away, the pain of her own experience making her fearful of ever becoming emotionally dependent again. Then he had met Marie. And Ben. Angela had found Oscar. And now everything was complicated. He had lost all sense of fear for himself, but fear had found him again, not for himself, but for the other people in his life. And the fear hurt. It was like broken glass in his stomach sometimes.
He realized that his aimless driving had taken him to the neon strip of Bragg Boulevard. The bars w
ere crowded, even on a weeknight. He picked one at random.
The place was smoky and noisy. The tables were full, and it was standing room only at the bar, which seemed evenly divided between couples trying to have earnest conversations and solitary drinkers staring morosely into half-empty glasses. At the back of the room a band with an aging and paunchy lead singer was grinding out a flaccid version of “Honky Tonk Women.”
Keller insinuated himself between two bar stools and ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. The drinks from dinner had lost their effect, and Keller wanted it back.
“Well,” a voice said, “look what the cat dragged in.”
He turned. Carly Fedder was standing behind him, a lopsided smile on her face. She was dressed in white slacks that hung low on her hips and a red midriff-baring top. She gestured to the bartender. “Put this one on my tab, Roger,” she said. Her voice was slightly fuzzy. Roger nodded, his face carefully expressionless.
Carly slid into the space between the bar stools with Keller. There wasn’t enough room, and the guy on the stool next to her had to shove over slightly, giving her a dirty look as he did so. She ignored him. The narrow space forced her up against Keller, the length of her body pressed against his, her face inches away. She smiled at his obvious discomfort. “So,” she said casually, “finding anything out?”
Keller took his drink from the bartender. He gestured with it at the crowd. “You want to talk here?”
“Good point,” she said. “C’mon,” she took his arm and led him away from the bar. In a corner near the front windows, a wooden bench that looked like an old church pew ran along the wall. There were a few couples and small groups there, but Carly found them a seat that wasn’t too close to anyone else. The band finished “Honky Tonk Women,” paused briefly, and lurched into “Brown Sugar.”
“So,” Carly said. “Report to me, Mr. Detective.” She was so close that Keller could smell the liquor on her breath.
“Maybe we should wait until you’re a little more sober,” Keller said.
Anger flashed briefly in her eyes, but she smothered it quickly. She arched an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been drinking iced tea all night, I guess.”
Keller sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to fight with her. “Okay,” he said, “have it your way.” He took a sip of his drink. “Dave Lundgren’s AWOL. The reason the Army isn’t telling you where he is, is that they don’t know.”
She snorted. “Yeah. My lawyer told me you’d left a message. I don’t believe it.”
“Well, you might find it more believable when I tell you this. There’s been a couple of FBI agents asking around, trying to find out what we know.”
Her eyes widened. She sat up, tossing off her drink in one swift gulp. “FBI?” she said. Suddenly the brittle facade was gone. Her hand was shaking. “They must think something’s…oh my God…” The shaking became worse. She had gone pale. “Please,” she said in a small voice. “Can you please get me out of here?”
Keller stood up. She got up with him and leaned on his arm. “Please,” she said again, “I have to go now.”
“Okay,” Keller said. They made their way toward the door.
“Hey!” a voice cut through the din. Keller looked back.
Roger the bartender had picked a piece of paper off the bar and was waving it at them. “Your tab?” he hollered.
“Oh,” Carly said. “I’m sorry…I’ll…I’m…” she seemed totally out of it.
“Stay here,” Keller said. “I’ll take care of it.” He left her leaning on the wall by the door while he worked his way over to the bar. “Thirty-five seventy,” the bartender said. He shrugged at Keller’s surprised look. “She’s been here since five-thirty, man.” Keller took a pair of twenties out of his wallet and handed them across the bar. The bartender grinned. “Carly strikes again,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Keller said.
“Got someone else to pick up her tab.” The grin grew wider. “Don’t worry, buddy, it’s worth the investment. For a while.”
Keller turned and looked at Carly. She looked ready to collapse. When he reached her, she slipped an arm around his waist as if for support. His arm automatically went around her shoulders as they left.
It was a warm summer evening, but a light breeze was blowing and cooled things off a bit. The fresh air seemed to enliven Carly somewhat. She straightened slightly, no longer sagging against Keller.
“Where’s your car?” Keller asked.
“Hmm,” she said, considering the question. She gestured vaguely down the street. “Down there, somewhere,” she said. Then she began to sing in a surprisingly clear soprano. “Somewheeeere…out theeere…” She laughed. Then she looked at him. “I don’t think I should be driving, do you?”
He sighed, but she had a point. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”
“What about my car?” she said. Her voice was playful as she added, “Will you bring me back in the morning to get it?” The hidden meaning was anything but.
“I’m not staying the night,” he said. “Come on.” He led her down the street to his car. She was silent as she got in.
“If you don’t like me,” she said as Keller started the car, “why are you doing this?”
“I didn’t want you driving,” he replied. “If you’d gotten into a wreck…”
“Bullshit,” she said. “I could have gotten a ride from any of a dozen men in there. You could have walked away. Why didn’t you?”
He had put the car in gear, preparing to pull away from the curb. He put it back in park. “You asked for my help,” he said. “If you don’t want it now…”
“Aha,” she said, smiling triumphantly as if he had confessed to something. “So that’s it. That’s what makes Jack Keller tick. You want to hellllp.” She said the last word in a drawn-out, mocking singsong.
“Okay,” Keller said through clenched teeth, “I think…” He turned back toward her. She had leaned over so her face was inches from his, her eyes half-closed. “Help me, Jack,” she whispered. “Help me…” She kissed him. Her lips were soft and demanding at the same time. She placed one hand on his thigh below the knee, then slid it up in a bold caress. Keller felt his body respond instantly as her fingers traced his outline beneath the fabric of his jeans. “Mmmmm,” she murmured. “So strong…”
He broke the kiss and tore her hand away. “Cut it out,” he growled.
She didn’t back off, but she didn’t resume the kiss. Her eyes held his. “I need someone tonight, Jack,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be alone. You can help me.”
“You don’t want help,” he said. “You want to prove something. God knows why, but you were looking for a button to push. The minute you found it, you pushed it.”
She pushed herself away from him. “You think you’re so goddamn special,” she spat out. “A regular knight in shining armor. But I know how much you wanted me. You think I couldn’t feel it?” Her smile was as cold and sharp as a razor. “You’re no different than any other man.”
“Then I guess you proved your point,” he said. “And you didn’t even have to fuck me to do it. I’d call that a win-win. For both of us.” He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. She maintained a tight-lipped silence until they reached her apartment. She opened the door and prepared to get out. As she did, she turned back toward him.
“I’m calling my lawyer tomorrow,” she said. “I’m telling her to hire someone else. You and your girlfriend are fired.” She slammed the door without waiting for a reply. It was just as well, Keller thought; he couldn’t think of anything more original than “You can’t fire me, I quit.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
First thing Monday, Marie called Tammy Healy. “We need to talk,” she said.
“I agree,” Healy said. “Carly Fedder was on my answering machine this morning, screaming mad. She was telling me to fire you and, and I quote, ‘that sonofabitch boyfriend’ of yours.”
Marie felt a tighteni
ng in her stomach. “What happened?”
“She wasn’t specific, but apparently your friend Keller got into some kind of argument with her last night.”
“That’s impossible,” Marie said. “He was with…” She stopped. She didn’t know where Keller had gone after leaving her. She swallowed. “So am I fired?”
“I don’t fire anyone, Miss Jones, until I hear their side of the story. Can you be here at ten o’clock?”
“I’ll be there,” Marie said.
***
It took Keller almost ten minutes to fight through the secretary’s attempts to divert him from Wilcox. Finally, the CID man came on the line.
“You asshole,” Keller said. “You mind telling me why you sicced the FBI on me?”
“Hold on a second, Keller,” Wilcox began. “Just calm down.”
“I will not calm down, goddamn it!” Keller yelled. “Two agents showed up at my office yesterday and tried to threaten my boss. They’re watching my girlfriend’s house. Now tell me what the hell’s going on!”
There was a pause. Then, softly, “You found the kid yet?”
“No,” Keller said. Something in Wilcox’s voice sent a chill down Keller’s spine. “Why?” he demanded. “Do you think she might be in danger?” Silence. “Damn you, Wilcox, talk to me!”
“Not on this line,” Wilcox said. “I’ll meet you. You still in Wilmington?”
“No,” Keller said. “I’m in town. I can be at Bragg in about a half hour.”
“Not at my office, either,” Wilcox said. “Meet me for lunch. You like Chinese?” Keller said yes. Wilcox gave him the name of a restaurant near Cross Creek Mall.
“Twelve thirty,” he said.
“Twelve thirty,” Keller agreed. He hung up, more baffled than ever.
***
The plastic sheeting had most likely kept any traces of blood or tissue from the floor, but DeGroot was a careful man. He scrubbed the floor thoroughly with soap and brush. Burning the abandoned old house to the ground might have done a more thorough job of eradicating any evidence, but it would have attracted attention, even in this secluded area. Plus, an empty house far away from prying eyes or ears was a resource a man like DeGroot didn’t waste lightly. He had a number of these personal safe houses scattered at various places around the globe, purchased through a variety of aliases and shell companies. The things that made such places useful to DeGroot made them unattractive to most people, and therefore cheap.
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