Reclaim My Life
Page 21
“Why the goofy grin, Wil?” Lorraine asked. She switched his cooling mug for a fresh, steaming one as he took his seat.
“I’m just happy to see you, darlin’,” he drawled, earning him one of Lorraine’s yeah, right eye-rolls. She walked away, and he lowered his voice to Ronda Lou. “So tell me about the firearm.”
She smirked over her coffee cup. “Good morning to you, too, Sheriff Drake.”
“Sorry. I’m wound up about this investigation.” And Elizabeth Stevens—or Fia Desalvo. He’d be struggling all day to concentrate on anything but their wild night of sex, but he must. Two homicides had to be solved as soon as possible. “So, good morning, Ronda Lou.”
“All right, I’ll skip the small talk. Ballistics matches the bullet that killed the first victim. The twenty-two was purchased two years ago by someone in Texas, a Morgan O’Hare.”
He frowned at the news. “In Texas?”
“It gets better.” Ronda Lou frowned. “Or worse, depending on your perspective. Morgan O’Hare checks out at first. But further investigation reveals Morgan O’Hare died at the age of six, about twenty years ago, and is buried in Idaho.”
Wil bit back an expletive. “So we’re nowhere.”
“Not quite. Morgan O’Hare—or whoever he is— purchased a number of weapons, both handguns and rifles, in about eight different states. The FBI has a file on him. When we get back to your office, I’ll tell you the rest. First, I’m having some French toast. It’s really good here.”
Boyd’s French toast had impressed Elizabeth, too. Everything reminded Wil of Elizabeth and their night together. He had to get a grip. When Lorraine returned, he said, “I think I’ll order eggs and toast.”
Back in his office an hour later, he studied the reports Ronda Lou handed him about Morgan O’Hare. “How’d you get this stuff so fast?”
“I’d like to tell you I have a lot of clout. The truth is the FBI has been trying to nail this Morgan O’Hare imposter for some time. They’re pretty excited about your finding the weapon.”
“It’s not like it has fingerprints.”
“In a way, it does with its serial number. Remember a few years back when thousands of guns used in crimes where traced back to a single gun shop in California?”
“Sure I do. They seldom did background checks, and they sold to gun traders. I also remember it took the FBI more than a decade to shut them down. But—”
“This Morgan O’Hare bought guns from them about five years ago. A lot of guns.”
“Could Morgan O’Hare be our suspect?”
“Our offender probably bought his weapon or weapons from this arms dealer.”
He glanced at the reports, planning to read them later in more detail. Thoughts of arms dealers brought up a different image to Wil, of international smuggling of UZIs and bombs, a common misconception. Ordinary guns got into the hands of criminals or minors on too regular a basis, thanks to people like Morgan O’Hare. He’d read recently that 57 percent of crime guns were sold by a mere 1 percent of the gun dealers.
He held up the manila folder. “If the guy isn’t our killer, why are we excited about this?”
“The FBI is tracking all weapons connected to him. They could find the person he sold this particular weapon to.”
“That would be good.” Wil needed more sleep and more coffee. As if reading his mind, Zelda appeared at his door with two Styrofoam cups of fresh brew. As for sleep, he’d willingly give it up again for another night with Elizabeth.
Sunny stood in the doorway to Elizabeth’s office at lunchtime. “Where shall we eat? Please don’t say the cafeteria again.”
“We don’t have a lot of choice.” Elizabeth slid her lesson plans into her middle drawer, then changed into her athletic shoes. “There’s Hardee’s, Dairy Queen, Boyd’s, or we could drive over to Miller’s IGA and grab a salad.”
“Miller’s. Can you drive? I rode my bike.”
“In this weather?” Elizabeth grabbed her purse and then stood.
Sunny shrugged. “I live close, and the rain hasn’t started. If that storm hits, I may not get to ride for days. I need to keep in shape.”
Together they descended the stairs and headed for the main door. When Sunny pushed open one of the doors, the wind gushed inside, whipping their clothing and hair askew.
“Good grief! That’s a stiff wind.”
“Welcome to hurricane country, Liz. This is mild. Just wait.”
So much had preoccupied her that she’d given little thought to the hurricane warning. Now a shiver of fear seized her. She’d seen the destruction of Katrina and Wilma, and the news reports of countless other hurricanes. Just how prepared was she for the impending storm?
“The hurricane must be close. Dean Drake has closed the school for the rest of the week and canceled our drama rehearsals.” Elizabeth raised her voice to be heard above the wind.
“So what about tonight?” Sunny asked. “Ian says he can broil the burgers in the oven, so don’t let the weather keep you away.”
They reached her pickup. She beeped it unlocked and waited until they were inside with the doors closed before answering Sunny. “Wilson says he’ll come with me.”
Sunny gave her a wide grin. “Oh, Liz, I’m happy for you. You two make a really nice couple.”
“I thought you said he was so not my type.” She couldn’t resist teasing Sunny, even though the remark had originally peeved her.
“I was wrong.” Sunny waited for her to start the engine before asking, “So have you slept with him?”
“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” But heat crawled up her neck and reddened her face. Good thing she never tried her hand at poker.
Sunny took it in stride and fastened her seatbelt. “That’s a ‘yes.’“
She couldn’t deny it, not with her flaming skin, but she wouldn’t confirm it, either. Shifting gears, she traversed the backstreets to avoid the traffic on Main and First Streets. Within minutes they arrived at Miller’s IGA on Desoto. Parking took more time, as cars and SUVs filled every parking spot in front of the grocery.
Finally inside, they squeezed past the shoppers crowding the aisles until they reached the deli counter. She glanced around at the half-empty shelves. “Is there a sale we don’t know about?”
Sunny laughed. “Like I said, welcome to hurricane country, Liz. People are stocking up and getting ready to dig in.”
“How do you know so much about it? You’re from Boston.”
Sunny shrugged. “We do the same for blizzards. You never know when you’ll lose power.”
“I’m glad I already stocked up on drinking water and canned goods. I’d hate to fight this mob.”
Fortunately, the customers weren’t there for lunch, so the deli line was blessedly short. Sunny picked out an Asian salad and ordered a fountain Diet Pepsi, while Elizabeth grabbed the seafood salad and crackers, along with a can of Dr. Pepper. The checkout lines backed halfway up two aisles. Both cashiers rang up items and bagged them at a frantic pace. Finally, Elizabeth and Sunny paid and escaped the madhouse grocery.
Returning to the cab of the truck, which Elizabeth had parallel parked a block down Desoto, they ate their lunch and sipped their sodas in peace and quiet. Through the windshield, they had a view of Miller’s IGA. At regular intervals, the shoppers exited hauling armloads of plastic bags and jugs of water.
Sunny broke the silence. “I made an appointment for next week with an attorney in Jacksonville.” When Elizabeth gave her a puzzled look, Sunny added, “You know. The estate lawyer. I want to protect my trust fund … in case.”
“In case.” In case she divorced Ian? In case she died? “I thought you and Ian were okay now.”
The wind rocked the cab of the truck, and Sunny rescued her drink from the dashboard. “I don’t think everything’s okay. Let’s just say if anything happens to me, tell that sheriff friend of yours to check out Ian.”
“Why don’t you tell him now yourself? If you’re afraid—”
“You must have a reason for this change of heart, but it’s not my business—”
“I told you, he’s spying on me. That’s creeping me out.”
“So did you mention marriage counseling?”
Sunny took a long time to answer. “Not yet. I probably overreacted. But just in case, I needed to say something to somebody. You’re the best friend I have in this town.”
Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “You’re the best friend I have in this town, too.” Well, except for Wilson, who knew her secret. There were some things she couldn’t tell even Sunny.
They returned to campus. After she’d parked her truck and gathered her trash, she turned to study her friend. Normally vivacious, Sunny frowned and seemed more pensive than usual. Were her concerns about her husband unfounded, or could Ian be a Jekyll and Hyde?
Ronda Lou left for Tallahassee at lunchtime, escaping both the approaching hurricane and the smoke. After breakfast, winds had kicked up, fanning the embers in the Sticky Swamp. No longer contained, the fire spread at numerous patches throughout the national forest. The firefighters regrouped, trying to protect property as much as they could until the hurricane brought in drenching rains. Unfortunately, the approaching storm also brought the fierce winds.
Foster County couldn’t seem to catch a break. After checking on his officers and dispatch, Wil retreated to his office. He opted for a vending machine lunch of peanuts and a root beer at his desk. He had a stack of phone calls to return, although returning calls during the lunch hour often consisted of leaving messages and playing telephone tag.
One message was from his brother, probably to talk about hurricane preparations. The phone rang just as he hung up from leaving a voice mail. “Sheriff Drake.”
“Sheriff Wilson Drake?”
“That’s right. How may I help you?”
“This is Special Agent Cory with the U.S. Marshals. I understand you spoke with Elizabeth Stevens about her situation.”
He’d been dreading this call since the moment he’d matched the name of yesterday’s caller with Elizabeth’s handler. “Yes, she brought me up to speed, but I’ve kept it confidential—”
“I need a favor.”
Wil assumed the WitSec guy had checked him out by now and decided to trust him. “Whatever I can do to help.”
“Unfortunately, she’s been compromised.”
Wil’s body tensed, and his heart hammered against his chest. The words he’d dreaded, yet expected, clenched his gut. “She’s in danger?”
“Yes. I need to get down there ASAP, but the Jacksonville Airport is closed because of that hurricane. I’ll probably drive, or fly partway. But the interstates will be clogged with evacuees from the coast. I won’t be in Drake Springs for at least two days.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her—”
“Can you keep her in protective custody until I arrive?”
“I can’t put her in jail—”
“Protective custody. Stash her in a safe house or something. But you need to stick with her. Don’t tell anyone where she is. Don’t trust anyone else with her safety.”
“Sure thing.” The safest house that came to mind was his own. “But can you give me some idea about the people after her, so I’ll know what to expect?”
“I wish I could. That’s the problem. We learned the identity of Sullivan’s contract killer, an assassin who calls himself Conger. He’s a cagey character. We’ve yet to learn his real identity or find a description of him. We just learned he’s been working out of your area for some time and may be one of your citizens. He’s good at blending. I know that isn’t much help.”
“We fished a twenty-two caliber pistol from the Suwannee River that was used here in a homicide. The FBI traced ownership back to a Morgan O’Hare. That’s a fictitious identity, and may not mean anything to your case. On the other hand, I have two homicide victims who closely resemble your witness.”
“I’ll check out Morgan O’Hare with the FBI. Do your best to keep our witness safe until I can get her relocated.”
… until I can get her relocated. A fisted punch in the gut would’ve hurt less than Cory’s words. Wil cleared the painful lump in his throat. “You can count on me.”
Special Agent Cory thanked him and ended the call, but Wil barely heard anything above the buzzing in his head. A clammy sweat dampened his skin. His breathing quickened. He had to get to Elizabeth without delay.
He couldn’t dwell on the fact that she’d be disappearing from his life. His number one priority was keeping her safe at all costs. If he failed, she’d die. If he succeeded, she’d be moved to another location, lost to him in a different way. Either way, the price would be enormous.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After their picnic lunch in the pickup, Elizabeth returned to campus and parked. The wind whipped litter across the asphalt parking lot. Although the sky was charcoal gray, not one drop of rain fell.
“Woo-hoo! Look who’s waiting for you, Liz.” Sunny elbowed her none too subtly.
Walking toward the classroom building, Elizabeth followed Sunny’s gaze. Wilson Drake stood straight and tall, like a sentinel guarding the building’s door, his feet apart and his arms folded across his chest. He wasn’t smiling.
“Hello, Sheriff Drake.” Elizabeth studied his face for a clue to his mood. He’d certainly been smiling when he left her house that morning.
“Professor Stevens.” He nodded. “I need a word in private.”
“This is where I leave. See you at six.” Sunny gave a little finger wave and walked away.
“Your afternoon class is canceled. You need to come with me.” The grim set of his jaw warned her not to contradict him.
“What’s the matter?”
He took her by the elbow and turned her toward the parking lot. “I got a call from Cory. You’ve been made.”
She gasped. “Who did you tell? Was it that profiler—”
He recoiled as if she’d slapped him, and dropped his hand from her arm. “Didn’t I promise not to tell a soul? I probably compromised the homicide investigations by keeping your secret.”
“I’m sorry, Wilson. I’m just upset.”
“I know you are.” He tugged at her elbow again to pick up the pace. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Did Cory say how—”
“He doesn’t know. I’ll tell you all about it at your place. You need to pack a few clothes and toiletries—”
“I know the drill.” She blinked back tears that threatened to spill. Now wasn’t the time for weakness. “He’s relocating me again.”
They’d reached her truck. He placed his hands on her upper arms, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Not yet. As of now, you’re in protective custody. My protective custody.”
He followed her to her house and parked behind her in the driveway. He went inside ahead of her, his gun drawn. Her insides quaked. The seafood salad she’d had for lunch formed a hard ball in her stomach. She forced her rubbery legs to walk. She’d tried to prepare herself for this eventuality a thousand times. But nothing could have readied her for the onslaught of emotions that now besieged her.
How could she have allowed herself to fall in love? She snorted at the thought. Allowed herself? That was a joke. No matter how she’d resisted, she’d never stood a chance of escaping with her heart. Sometimes love happened no matter what life threw in the way.
“All clear.” He holstered his gun and drew her into the house.
“I guess I won’t be having that alarm system installed after all.” She stepped inside, scanning for any signs of an intruder. Everything looked the same as she’d left it that morning. “I’ll pack my things, but let me check my voice mail first.”
“Avoid the windows.” With that, Wilson went from room to room closing blinds and pulling drapes.
As expected, she
had a call from Cory. He’d left a vague message saying that he’d talked with Sheriff Drake. “Don’t call me from your house.” That ominous message sent a frisson of fear through her body. Her line might be tapped or her house bugged. If so, how long had someone been listening in on her? Would last night’s lovemaking be on someone’s digital recorder? Had they heard all that she’d told Wilson about WitSec?
She’d lost her home, her haven. Her privacy. She nearly screamed in frustration. “Ugh! I want my friggin’ life back!”
Wilson gave her a sympathetic nod. “While you pack, I’m going outside to close your hurricane shutters.”
“Please hurry. I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary.”
“I’m in as much of a rush as you are, sweetheart.” He disappeared, leaving her to pack.
Now wasn’t the time to lose focus. She steeled herself for what had to be done. Moving like an automaton into her bedroom, she pulled out a nylon duffel bag. Except for a few T-shirts and jeans, she stuffed it mostly with underwear and socks. Her monochrome wardrobe, which had kept her nondescript for a year, no longer served her. She left her pants suits hanging in the closet. Now she’d have to reinvent her appearance. Maybe she’d dye her hair auburn. Or white.
She bit back a sob. Be strong, Elizabeth. Or what name would she be given in her next life? Judith? Deborah? She’d know soon enough when she talked to Cory. Changing out of her beige slacks and shirt, she tossed them into the clothes hamper for someone else to wash. Someone else would be living in her house. WitSec would do whatever they did best to arrange the sale of the property and help her find another place to live. Next time she wouldn’t bother with a house. Just a studio apartment.
With each shutter Wilson closed, darkness closed in on her, forcing her to turn on a lamp. The shutters offered protection from hurricane winds, but they also shut out any peeping hit man. She dressed in khaki shorts and a dull plaid camp shirt, then laced her athletic shoes. Ready to leave, she stood and surveyed the room one last time.