Five minutes later, he was again behind the wheel of his Mustang. He put the car in gear and with a screech of tires headed toward the depot. But an hour later he was ready to ditch the conversation with the man at the security desk. He was sun-bronzed and wrinkled with age, sun or both. He looked like he’d been working far too long. Worse, he refused to reveal any information. Instead, he stated that it was an infringement of traveler confidentiality and his oath of employment. Faisal doubted if he’d taken any oath of employment but whether he had or not, it was clear the conversation was going nowhere. He turned away in frustration but the feeling of eyes on him had him turning around. She was a plump woman somewhere between forty and fifty-five. Her brown hair was bobbed in an efficient shoulder-length style and she had a suitcase by her side. She seemed to be giving him the literal once-over—like she was deciding if she should trust him or not. Her lips tightened and she let go of the handle of her suitcase. It was as if she’d made her decision.
“I may know what you need,” she said. The words sounded ominous and hollow like something from an old murder mystery, much like the tattered Agatha Christie in her hand.
He almost turned away—she could be an eccentric looking for a little excitement in her day. Judging from her flowered dress and the way she seemed at home, as if hanging around a bus depot was what she did, there might be a good chance of that. Yet his instinct told him to listen, and experience had taught him that evidence could come from the most unlikely places.
“I saw her, you know. The woman you’re looking for.” She put the book down as he closed the distance between them. “Gorgeous woman, at least I think she could have been but she looked sickly, frightened even. I didn’t speak to her. She left here late last night.” She looked at her watch and then sheepishly back at him. “I suppose I’ve lost track of time.”
There was something about the fact that she never quite looked at him, and the way the ticket attendant had looked at her with disdain that made him doubt that the woman was a credible witness.
“Me, I’m headed here and there,” she said vaguely, as if he had asked. “She got on a bus to Fort Lauderdale.” She frowned and leaned forward. “You don’t believe me?”
“I never said that.” He’d put no thought into her last words other than Fort Lauderdale was where he had planned to meet Dan Adams. It was possible that Ava went there to find answers. He met the woman’s bloodshot, brown eyes. The determined tilt to her chin seemed to say that she was going to make it despite her circumstances. “It’s true. I don’t know what her ticket read but that was the bus she got on. Hard woman to forget. If I were younger I might have been mighty jealous.”
“Anything else?”
“Fort Lauderdale, like I said.” She shrugged. “I’d love to go myself but funds are...” Her voice trailed off.
Faisal peeled off enough bills to get her across the country. “Here,” he said simply. “Treat yourself to a trip.”
Her eyes lit up as she took the money almost reverently. “My daughter lives in Chicago,” she said simply. “I’ll go there.” And for the first time, there was purpose in her expression that made Faisal feel that she might not be the only one whose luck was about to change.
Reluctantly, he moved away. He looked at his watch—it was nearing noon. She could already have been there and left the bus depot heading for another destination. Enough time had passed. His phone buzzed.
“Zaf,” Faisal said as he answered. “Things have changed direction here.” He went on to tell Zafir how the occupant of Ava Adams’s room had died, possibly murdered by suffocation. “One thing is clear—if it was murder, the murderer thought they were taking out Ava. The records hadn’t been switched over, some foul-up at the front desk.”
“So if it’s murder, the murderer didn’t know what Ava looked like,” Zafir said thoughtfully.
“He knew alright. Thing is the victim had long dark hair and was close in age. If her head had been turned...”
“A case of mistaken identity.”
“Unfortunate,” Faisal said, “that anyone had to die. But what I have out of all of this is that the description the administrator gave of the man they think is the murderer matches Ben Whyte. He was the second man on the yacht that night.”
“You’re assuming he’s alive. It could be a long shot but on the other hand, if he is you’ve got yourself a suspect.”
“This case is not like anything I’ve seen before.”
“I won’t disagree with you there. My question is, what are the chances that Dan’s still alive?”
“Not good,” Faisal said grimly. “That’s why, considering what’s just happened, I’m focusing on Ava. Her safety is paramount. This death, it makes my skin crawl. Who would want to kill her?” He moved the phone to his other ear as he collected his thoughts and a breeze pushed a strand of dark hair across his eyes. He pushed it back impatiently.
“She knows something,” Zafir said and there was a dark edge to his words.
“You’re right about that. She had some traumatic memory loss when I saw her but eventually that’s going to go away. Meanwhile, we’ve upgraded to a red,” he said. He thought of the danger to Ava, which would also shadow him as he’d do anything to protect her. He’d do it for any client—but for her... He paused.
“Go out of touch—”
“And you’ll send help,” he interrupted. “Meantime, I’m heading to Fort Lauderdale.”
“Dan Adams’s intended destination.”
“Exactly. But not just that—I had a tip at the bus station. Ava may be headed there.”
He ended the conversation shortly after that. The longer Ava stayed missing, the more Faisal worried for her safety. Especially now that he knew there was a killer on her trail, and she was running out of time.
Chapter Fourteen
Fort Lauderdale, Florida
Monday, June 13—3:00 p.m.
Despite what Faisal had been told, there was no evidence that Ava Adams had gotten off at Fort Lauderdale. And there was no information to be found at the bus station in Fort Lauderdale. The man at security was no more helpful than the guy in Miami. In fact, he appeared to be more interested in the sandwich he was chewing than anything Faisal had to say. It took all Faisal had not to yank the sandwich from his hand. But instead he had to take the high road and walk—there might be information to be had, but it wasn’t here or in this moment.
He stood outside for a moment and considered what he knew. Ava Adams had vanished. No one had seen a dark-haired, slim woman in scrubs. Faisal had asked every potential witness—the ticket agent, a number of other employees and a bus driver. No one had seen her. But it was possible that she’d disguised herself. Even a simple disguise, hair tucked up, a cap of some sort. The ditching of the scrubs—that is if she’d passed a clothing donation bin or similar such options. Providence could present all sorts of opportunities that one wouldn’t notice in other circumstances. Desperation was a strong motivator.
His phone buzzed.
“What do you have, Barb?” He knew there was an edge to his voice but frustration did that. Whether Ava had been on a bus heading through Fort Lauderdale or whether she hadn’t was still a question. As it stood, Ava had disappeared, leaving him concerned and beyond frustrated.
“Darrell Chan was the Vancouver man Dan Adams was in contact with a few times in recent days. He actually wasn’t that hard to locate—I hacked into Adams’s email and phone records and found him. Not too difficult to put two and two together. In fact, I think Ezra could have done it,” she said, referring to her five-year-old daughter.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, there was a smile in her voice. Besides her efficiency, that was the other thing that made Barb so great to work with—her ability to add humor to any situation, even some of the toughest.
“I don’t k
now, Barb, Ezra’s smart but you’re giving her a little too much credit,” he said with a slight laugh that surprisingly, despite the situation, came naturally.
“Watch it or I may require babysitting duties again,” she laughed. It was a standing joke between them that in a pinch a few years ago she’d brought Ezra to the office. He’d been in the office he used in Marrakech that day and the little girl was fascinated by the record player he kept on the filing cabinet. He’d spent the last hour of the day sitting on the floor with her tapping out the beat of “Smoke on the Water.” Barb had found the two of them there and never let him forget it.
“Tell her we’ll have another go next time I’m in Marrakech,” he said.
“I tell her that and she’ll be begging you to show up next week. She’s smart but her patience needs some work.”
Faisal laughed. It made some of the more difficult aspects of his job easier to have staff who knew him well enough to know when he needed just a moment of light diversion. A smile or a laugh to release the pressure before he exploded from the stress he was under, this time to save a woman he loved. And just like that his lighthearted mood dissolved into the turbulence of self-realization. His fist clenched the phone so tightly he threatened to crack the plastic. Love. He didn’t love Ava, he couldn’t. It wasn’t true and yet his heart told him that it was.
Barb continued, unaware of the revelation that had just broadsided him.
“This thing just gets bigger the more I dig. I’ve hacked one email that Chan sent. He seemed to be under the impression that Dan was partnering with Ben Whyte on land deals in a southern rural area of Texas. Chan had already paid Whyte for one property and had reservations about the second. This all happened in a very short period of time. Thirty days. Interesting thing is that there’s nothing filed online in the county land registry to verify any of this.”
Faisal shook his head at what Barb was implying. But there was no denying the fact that Dan had mentioned land transactions when he’d called. At the time, the call had been brief and he hadn’t gone into details. Still, he’d been surprised at the idea. Dan had never dealt in land before, not that he knew of. But real estate wasn’t illegal and he hadn’t given much more thought to it.
“Go on,” he said as she paused as if waiting for confirmation from him.
“Here’s what I have on Chan. He immigrated to Canada from Hong Kong while it was still part of Great Britain. Before it became an administrative region of China. As you know that all happened in 1997.”
Faisal bit back a comment. He’d learned that it was quicker to let Barb say what she had unearthed without interrupting.
“For a decade or more prior to 1997, wealthy Hong Kong nationals were acquiring property in countries around the world as part of an exit strategy. The Canadian cities of Vancouver and Toronto were hotbeds for wealthy Hong Kong citizens to acquire real estate. Chan invested in real estate and owns numerous properties in Vancouver, mostly commercial.”
“Anything else?”
“Not yet.”
“Thanks, Barb,” he said as he disconnected, smiling at the needless lecture on foreign affairs. But that was what made Barb so good. She never assumed you knew and she never wasted time asking the question if just flipping the information off would take less time. His mind switched to Chan. He wondered, since Chan lived a short flight away from Texas, whether he’d made the journey to verify his purchase or, more interesting still, whether he hadn’t.
He wondered if there was a connection to what had happened on the missing yacht—a shady business transaction didn’t seem likely. Dan Adams had always been a straight shooter.
He replayed in his mind everything Barb had said about Darrell Chan. The man had long since obtained a Canadian citizenship and established roots in the country. Considering the price of Vancouver real estate and the number of properties involved, Darrell Chan must be a very rich man.
An hour later, with all possibilities exhausted in Fort Lauderdale and no new clues as to Ava’s whereabouts, he stood in the penthouse suite in the Nassar-owned hotel. Faisal contemplated everything he knew. He hated this part of the job, when he was forced to wait, to gather information before moving forward. When his phone buzzed, he grabbed it.
“I had to dig hard for this,” Barb said. “Looks like Chan was fleeced.”
“Fleeced?”
“He was sold a piece of land that was never going to be transferred as the seller didn’t have ownership. Chan paid millions for a large tract of so-called ranch land. I found all that in a trail of emails in which he claimed Dan Adams was responsible as the seller.”
“Unbelievable. I’m betting that’s what the phone calls between Darrell Chan and Dan Adams were all about.”
It looked like Dan Adams had been speculating in land, an area that he’d never shown an interest in before. In fact, he’d reacted with disdain the one time the subject had ever come up. Now he appeared to have done an about-face. More disturbing was the fact that there was evidence of fraud. Dan Adams had neither the heart nor the need to steal. Something much more sinister was going on. But despite knowing all that, he was stunned into silence. He could only listen to what Barb had found.
Sales of land in southern Texas. Purchases where no land had ever changed hands, nor would it. Ranch land sold to foreigners—the perfect patsies, he thought. They would arrive to discover there was no land and by the time they did the perpetrator would be gone. Dan Adams’s name was on every deed. None of it made sense.
“Interesting thing,” Barb said, “I’ve found no official record.”
He hung up with a sense of foreboding. Something wasn’t ringing true about any of this.
* * *
Monday, June 13—9:00 p.m.
THE GRIND OF the road, the sleepless night, all of it had exhausted Ava. She’d been on this bus for hours and there were hours left to go. The rest breaks had only made her wary and they proved more tiring than being on the actual bus. There, she was constantly vigilant, afraid that someone had followed her. Now, she slouched back in the seat trying to get comfortable. It didn’t help. Despite cat napping through the journey, her head ached and her back hurt. The slight curve of scoliosis in her lower back ached as it always did without regular exercise. The nagging pain was the least of her problems.
On her head was a worn Chicago Cubs ball cap under which she had tucked her long hair so very little showed. She’d found the cap on the ground by the Miami charity clothing bin she’d raided before getting on the bus. She didn’t think about who might have been wearing the cap before—couldn’t. She was in survival mode.
A middle-aged man looked back at her from his place a seat ahead and across the aisle. There was a question in his eyes as if something about her bothered him. She knew her appearance was off, that she might appear lost or homeless in her worn, ill-fitting clothes. She hoped at worst she only looked down on her luck. She broke eye contact. Her psychology studies had taught her that the connection between strangers was fleeting. Memory happened when it was highlighted by an unexpected event or accentuated over a period of time or through repetition. She’d leave him nothing to remember. His ego and the memories that supported them were more relevant to his sense of self than she was.
She tapped her foot. The sneakers she was wearing pinched her feet, but there’d been no choice. They were the closest to her size in the hospital locker room. She felt bad. Someone would be going home in her work shoes.
She ran the back of her hand across her eyes, sweeping away dust, sweat and the remnants of the tears that the thought of her father always brought on. The air-conditioning seemed to barely move the air and the heat was cloying. She lurched in her seat as the road got rough for a minute and then settled into its regular rhythm. They’d encountered a detour only an hour ago and the ride had become slow and bumpy as they took a narrow, paved side road.
She looked out the window but there was nothing to see but the occasional sweep of blacktop, a road sign lit up by the headlights and darkness. She thought of Faisal. He’d been at the hospital every day, sometimes for hours. Once, she wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have stayed the night. She remembered waking up in the night and seeing him there watching her. He had made her feel safe, feel like it would all work out, that her father—she turned her head to the window. She couldn’t think of her father. It was all too grim, too seemingly hopeless. There was only his memory that she had to preserve, to make right. To ensure that his reputation and the charities he supported would remember him as the outstanding and upstanding man he was.
She tore her mind from the grim thoughts and instead her thoughts returned to Faisal. Seeing him again only reminded her of how much she’d missed him and of how much she still cared. It had been difficult not to tell him of her new memories, not to trust him. But that was the problem, she did trust him and she didn’t want to place him in danger. Despite the years they’d been apart, she cared about Faisal too much. It seemed like both yesterday and so long ago since she’d seen him. Over the last few years, he’d never been far from her mind but her studies had been more important. At least that was what she had told herself as the years had slipped by. But he’d never left her heart. The hard truth was that she’d lost track of Faisal but she’d never forgotten him. She’d picked up the phone so many times to call him but she’d never known what to say. It had all been so long ago. A time when she’d felt things for him that she shouldn’t have felt for a friend. They were feelings that she’d had to hide, for then Faisal had a girlfriend. She imagined it was the same now. He’d matured into an extremely handsome man.
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