by DiAnn Mills
A young woman greeted her. “I’m sorry, Miss Walker,” the woman said after hearing Kariss’s request, “but Dr. Garrett will be detained until midafternoon.”
After writing a quick note to Amy, she exited the building. Holding tight to her umbrella, she hurried across the street.
“Don’t know when to quit, do you?”
Kariss swung around to face Baxter Garrett, who was still dressed in the same dirty jeans and dark-blue pullover from Saturday afternoon. He smelled rank. Stepping closer, he invaded her personal space.
“Excuse me?”
He lifted his chin. “I don’t appreciate your turning my sister against me.”
“You accomplished that all by yourself.”
“We were fine until you contacted her about writing that book.”
“Get your facts straight. She contacted me.”
“I hate a liar. This is the last time I’m warning you to stay away from my sister.”
Kariss’s knees weakened. Where were the police when she needed them? “And if I don’t?”
He smiled from the corner of his mouth. “I’m not stupid enough to say what. But your pretty face might not look so good. Only a warped mind would use what Amy went through to make money.”
“Don’t you have a job?”
“Looking down on me with your so-called success won’t stop me.”
She moved her right hand toward the top of her purse. Her 9mm handgun lay just inside. “I told you last time what I’d do if you persisted with your threats. So now you can tell your pathetic tale to the police or the FBI.”
Baxter’s hand flashed out. He gripped her right arm and squeezed. “You need to learn a lesson, and I’m just the man to do it.”
Kariss dropped her umbrella. Keeping her right arm close to her body, she swung the heel of her left hand into his Adam’s apple. Baxter lost his grip on her arm and stumbled backward onto the pavement.
“Think about that before you decide to teach me a lesson.” With water dripping from every inch of her, Kariss picked up her umbrella. “Do you want more?”
Baxter attempted to stand.
“You’re pathetic.” She slid into her car and locked the doors. She wondered whether to contact the police or phone Tigo.
The latter won out. Tigo already knew the situation and had Baxter’s name. After all, bad guys were his area of expertise.
CHAPTER 30
10:30 A.M. MONDAY
What has the FIG turned up about Joanna’s college days?” Tigo stepped into Ryan’s cubicle, wishing the Yeat case was solved so he could move on.
Ryan’s brows were drawn tighter than stretched rubber bands. “I’ll get it when you do,” he snapped.
Tigo shook his head. “Sorry. My mind’s occupied with too many things.”
Ryan gave a half smile. “Didn’t mean to bite your head off. Cindy’s birthday is Friday, and I haven’t bought her anything. I’m thinking it should be more of a peace offering, what with the decision we need to make about her mother.” He rubbed a hand over his bald head. “Sit down and counsel me.”
Tigo slid into a chair. “Flowers, jewelry, and chocolate.”
Ryan frowned. “Which one?”
“All three. Can’t miss with that. Might even get you out of the doghouse.”
“It would be worth it, no matter the strain on my wallet. Okay, a dozen red roses, a garnet necklace, and Godiva chocolates.”
“She’ll be butter in your hands. Take her to dinner too.”
“Experience speaking?”
Tigo scowled and didn’t attempt to hide it. “Not lately. But it’s supposed to charm the ladies.”
Ryan sighed. “It’s been so hard to discuss the situation about her mom with the kids around. We’ve resorted to email, which lacks that personal touch. And our night out didn’t happen because the babysitter canceled. So I’ve lined up things for Saturday—birthday and getting our marriage back on track.” Ryan jotted down a few things on a pad of paper. “But back to you. You’re distracted, and I know you saw Kariss this morning.”
“I did, but it’s the Yeat case that’s driving me nuts. We’ve hit one snag after another. But I think Vanessa gave us a good suspect.”
“Ian saw Joanna with a man, and she refused to discuss it. Then she tells Vanessa about a guy from her college days harassing her. She files for divorce on Tuesday and is killed the following day.”
“Could Jonathan have been the target?” Tigo said. “A way to keep Joanna in line?”
“Maybe. I think we have our man, especially if the artist’s sketch IDs him.”
“I told Kariss I’d work on the Garrett bombing case.” Tigo switched topics. “I already called Ric Montoya, so I won’t be stepping on HPD’s feet. We’re good there.”
“We? How did I get so lucky?” Ryan said. “And how did Kariss get involved?”
“The Garrett woman is a friend.” Tigo shoved aside his feelings for Kariss so he could focus on the case objectively. “The two are collaborating on a book. Cold case.”
“Sounds like déjà vu to me.”
“She’s too smart to knock on danger’s door again.” Tigo wished he believed it. But when it came to championing a victim, Kariss was the first to bat.
Ryan raised a brow. “So you believe in Santa Claus and the Easter bunny too?”
Tigo’s iPhone rang. Kariss. He figured she must want information about the bombing. He responded with his best professional voice—for Ryan’s benefit.
“Tigo, I need your help.” Her voice sounded shaky. “I’m in over my head. Can’t figure out how to handle this mess on my own.” She paused briefly. “If you’re busy, I’d appreciate a call back later.”
But his attention had zeroed in immediately. “What happened?”
“I went to Amy’s office to see if I could do anything to help. When I left, Baxter Garrett came breathing down my neck. He threatened me and grabbed my arm. Said I needed to learn a lesson. I defended myself. Anyway, I’m ready to file charges and get that menace off the streets.”
“HPD wants to bring him in for questioning anyway. Where are you now?”
“Home. I wanted time to think before calling you.”
“I’ll be there after work. By then I’ll have more information.”
“Would you rather I contact HPD? I know this is out of your jurisdiction.”
“You did the right thing. Stay put today. I mean it. No detective work. Don’t answer the door or the phone unless it’s someone you know.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Tigo dropped his phone back into his pocket. “Amy Garrett’s brother just stepped over the line. He assaulted Kariss.”
“Is she okay?”
“Says she is.”
“Sure you don’t want me to handle it?”
Tigo grinned. “And ruin my chances to get back together with her?” He clenched his fist, realizing his anger could affect his judgment. “Baxter Garrett has no idea how tough I can be.”
Their Blackberrys sounded with an incoming message from the FIG. The message informed them that Joanna Yeat had worked for an escort service while in college. She’d also done some modeling for the same company. The photographer was David Smith. An alias. No known address. No social security number. Possibly linked to other crimes.
“Blackmail,” Tigo said. “I want to talk to this guy as soon as we can find him.”
11:30 A.M. MONDAY
Kariss poured a glass of blackberry-sage iced tea and walked into her office. Depression hung over her like a shroud. The idea of staying home while her mind raced faster than the Indy 500 had no appeal, but her other choice fell off the deep end of common sense. She’d tried to call Amy again, but there’d been no answer. Baxter’s unexpected presence at Amy’s office building had shaken Kariss, but she did know how to take care of herself. Still, chasing down trouble usually meant trouble ended up chasing her—with deadly intent.
Could Baxter have been the driver of the pickup on Saturda
y morning? That meant he’d been waiting for her to leave her gated community. Eerie thought. Premeditated aggravation … if there was such a thing. But Amy had assured her that Baxter’s truck didn’t have custom rims, so it couldn’t be the same one that had landed Vicki in the ER. What about the funeral flowers and card? And the emails? Kariss was fishing for answers but not getting any bites.
The thought of Baxter harming his sister made little sense, unless his disturbed mind believed this was the only way to convince her she needed protection.
Kariss shuddered. Weird people were capable of bizarre behavior. The media reported on tons of them. The FBI had files filled with information about them.
Okay, so what could she do to occupy her mind before Tigo arrived later this afternoon? Her editor wanted her to brainstorm a stand-alone novel involving the Border Patrol in Texas. And she wanted to explore an ending to Amy’s story. But she couldn’t concentrate on either one. Vicki planned to take Rose to a late-afternoon doctor’s appointment … which meant Kariss and Tigo would be alone.
She had to stay focused on anything but giving in to how she felt about Tigo.
What if his explanation for his deceit made sense?
What if he’d made the decision to follow Jesus?
Kariss wished her writer’s mind would stop exploding with what-ifs.
After updating her Facebook status and re-tweeting a mention on Twitter, Kariss typed up a blog post about eccentric behavior in characters. Once she was done with that, she decided that making a batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies would keep her mind off Baxter and Tigo. She could smell the cookies now, made with real butter and extra cinnamon. Her cooking attempts were a disaster, but baking she could do.
First she’d check email.
Her agent had received a contract offer for Amy’s story. Wonderful news. The novel had potential to help other victims of violent crime and give Amy some closure. Ultimately, though, Kariss knew Amy’s nightmare wouldn’t end until the case was solved and the assailant was brought to justice. Amy wanted her story told to help other women, but Kariss hoped the novel might somehow lead to a break in the case.
Kariss scrolled through her in-box and spotted a message from sender J. T. Ripper. It had been sent at 11:43 a.m.
YOU MADE A MISTAKE GOING TO AMY’S OFFICE TODAY.
I’M WATCHING. YOU’RE STUPID, KARISS WALKER. KEEP IT UP, AND YOUR CAREER WILL BE OVER.
Baxter had just made another huge mistake. Kariss’s fingers pounded the keyboard.
HOW AM I MAKING A MISTAKE?
She pressed Send, but the message was instantly returned with a delivery-failure notice. Another email sailed into her in-box from J. T. Ripper.
DON’T YOU WISH YOU KNEW WHAT WAS GOING ON? LEAVE AMY ALONE. SHE’S MINE.
Rubbing her arms, Kariss walked to the window and closed the drapes. Baxter Garrett had more than a few issues. Tigo would want to know about these emails too. He’d trace them and end Baxter’s little tirade.
CHAPTER 31
12:30 P.M. MONDAY
Tigo frequently needed information found only on the streets, but his informants often needed a little encouragement. This was especially true of the man who’d helped the FBI save Kariss’s life and close down a gun-smuggling operation last summer. A face-to-face accompanied by cash for past services would sweeten the conversation.
Tigo and Ryan left the FBI office dressed in torn jeans, black T-shirts, and baseball caps. Tigo drove his latest junk heap, a ‘77 Ford Taurus he’d named Swiss Cheese because of all its bullet holes. He drove to the southeast part of town to talk to Hershey, the informant, who operated a gun shop. Sometimes legal and sometimes not. The man had skirted the law with his gun trade for the past decade. Supposedly he’d ended his lucrative career of modifying vehicles so they could transport illegal weapons into Mexico, but Tigo would tackle the downside of Hershey’s dealings another day.
Outside the gun shop, African-American gang members played rap and talked trash. Every nerve in Tigo’s body was on alert.
“I love this part of our job,” Ryan said.
“Don’t you know it.”
“Want to take on a few of these guys?”
Tigo chuckled. “Hershey might not appreciate us running off his customers.”
With their Glocks tucked into the waistbands of their jeans, Tigo and Ryan exited the car and buzzed the alarm for Hershey to unlock the door. Once inside, Tigo waited for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light.
“You’re bad for business.” Hershey’s voice came from a rear corner.
“Hey, Hershey,” Tigo said. “Miss me?”
“Come back in six months and ask me again.”
Tigo laughed. “Turn on a light so I can see your ugly face.”
“Yeah. At least I got friends.”
“Mine don’t have records.” A light flipped on. Hershey leaned against a dirty glass display case and waved. “I see you brought your partner, the one who always has his fingers resting on his Glock.”
Ryan laughed. “You got my game.”
Tigo stepped up to the counter and slipped Hershey his payment.
“What’s up?”
“Who’s selling Semtex now that Pablo Martinez is dead?” Tigo said.
“Ask me something easy.”
“You’re the expert.”
“Not this time. But I’ll see what I can find out.”
“We also want to know who’s buying.”
“That’ll be harder.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“What I do know is this guy covers his tracks and eliminates the source.”
“All we need’s a name.”
“Call me in a couple days.”
“How about tomorrow?” Tigo said.
Hershey shook his head. “I’ll call you.”
Tigo nodded toward the door. “What’s going on outside? I counted a dozen men, all gang members. Are you having a sale?”
“Nosey, aren’t you? Couple of guys killed in a fight last night. Gang stuff. Does that suit you?”
“Maybe. Find out who’s selling and buying Semtex, and I’ll add a few more dollars to the next envelope.”
Hershey smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Never did.
3:00 P.M. MONDAY
Tigo had received a text about the FBI picking up Baxter Garrett at eleven thirty that morning, but he and Ryan had been busy until now. Garrett had been in a black pickup outside of his sister’s office in a no-parking zone. When he emerged from his truck, he took a swing at a female agent.
Not good for a man who’d possibly bombed his sister’s car.
Nor was it good for a man suspected of running a car off the road and threatening a woman.
Tigo and Ryan met with Garrett in an interview room. The suspect reeked of body odor, and his clothes were covered in mud. Garrett was tapping his hand on his knee. He crossed his legs. The tapping continued. He uncrossed his legs. Sweat dripped down his face.
After Tigo introduced himself and Ryan, he offered Garrett a bottle of water.
“Why am I here?” Garrett uncapped the bottle. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You’ve been a busy boy,” Tigo said. “And you need a fix.”
“What are you talking about?”
Garrett spat the words. “What’s your drug of choice?”
Garrett smirked. “What I do is none of your business.” He took a long drink of the water.
“Wrong answer, buddy. We have a list of questions.” Tigo picked up a printout of Garrett’s priors. “You’ve been arrested for possession and assault and battery. Got a temper, I see.”
“I was never convicted. Do I need my lawyer?”
“Your choice.”
Garrett narrowed his brows. “Bring on your questions. I haven’t done anything to break the law.”
That’s a joke. “Let’s start with Friday morning around eight twenty. A black pickup ran a car off the road. Happened in the Tomball area. The car containe
d two women and a baby. Where were you?”
Garrett twisted in the chair. “Running errands for my father. Documented and witnessed. I’ll even give you the numbers to reach the witnesses.”
Tigo vowed to follow up personally. “You own a black pickup.”
“So do lots of other people.”
True. Tigo’s truck was black. Most guys preferred black because it gave off a mysterious, macho image. But Garrett’s truck had a dent in the right rear bumper. Unfortunately, it didn’t have custom rims, and the license plate numbers didn’t contain a V or an 8. “We’ll need to check out your alibi. Let’s move on. You threatened Kariss Walker on Saturday afternoon and assaulted her this morning. Explain that.”
Baxter leaned in. “For the record, on Saturday I simply gave her my opinion about her writing my sister’s story. This morning she assaulted me for no reason.”
“According to Miss Walker, Saturday’s opinion escalated to a few threats, and this morning you grabbed her.” Tigo narrowed his eyes. “You said you were going to teach her a lesson.”
“She lied.” He nodded at Tigo and Ryan. “We were chatting. Friendly. Joking around. And it was raining. She started to fall, and I reached to help her. Just being a gentleman. This will end up biting her in the rear. I’m filing charges against her.”
“She beat you to it. We saw the email you sent her.”
Garrett lifted his chin. “I didn’t send her an email. She thought it was me, and I let her believe it. Helped my case.”
“Your case?”
“Exploiting my sister’s tragedy makes the Walker woman no better than the cops who failed to bring in the guy who hurt her.” Garrett’s entire body shook. He opened his mouth to continue speaking but couldn’t utter a word.
“Why did your sister phone the police twice on Saturday afternoon?”
“We … we had a misunderstanding. But we worked it out.”
Tigo picked up the police reports. “Not according to Amy Garrett’s testimony. What were you doing outside the office building of Freedom’s Way this morning?”