The Survivor

by DiAnn Mills

  Garrett sneered. “Duh. It’s my sister’s office, and whoever bombed her car might be hanging around.”

  “Finding him is not your job.”

  “Well, the authorities didn’t find who slit her throat when she was a kid, so I don’t have any reason to believe they’ll find who planted the bomb in her car.”

  “Did you do it?”

  Baxter pounded the table. “Are you deaf? I’m her brother. I protect her. It’s what I do.”

  “Calm down, Mr. Garrett.” Tigo had seen that wild look plenty of times before, and it read clearly unbalanced and addicted.

  “Someone forced my sister to make those calls. She’d never have contacted a cop about family business. We handle our own problems.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “It became our business when Dr. Garrett’s car was bombed and you assaulted Kariss Walker and then resisted arrest.”

  Baxter scowled. “That Walker woman is behind this. Fine. My folks will bail me out.” He pointed at Tigo. “Kariss Walker is a moneygrubbing user. Why didn’t the cops pick me up instead of you guys?”

  “Guess you’re just lucky.”

  “I want to talk to my lawyer.”

  Tigo would do everything possible to keep Baxter off the streets for a few days, but he’d probably be out on bail in twenty-four hours. “Understand you will appear before a judge for assaulting Miss Walker.”

  “Right. You’re wasting taxpayers’ money running down an honest man. I’m my sister’s bodyguard. I clean up what your type fails to.”

  CHAPTER 32

  4:15 P.M. MONDAY

  Kariss listened to her cell phone ring for the third time in the past twenty minutes. She knew the caller. Both previous times he’d left a voice message, but if she turned off her phone, she might miss something important. There was only one way to stop this annoyance.

  “This is Kariss Walker.”

  “Ah, the great writer emerges to respond to the peons of the universe.” Mike McDougal never failed to deliver a heavy dose of arrogance. “I knew I’d get your attention sooner or later.”

  Preferably never. “What do you want? Aren’t you busy enough with Channel 5 and your blog? What’s that called? McDougal Snorts?”

  “Very funny. McDougal Reports is up to ninety thousand followers.”

  “Are there ninety thousand people in the Houston area with poor taste? Make it short, Mike. I have things to do.”

  “And to think, I called just to see how my ex-girlfriend was doing after her car accident.”

  His syrupy words hadn’t worked for a long time. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I saw you were run off the road. Who’d you tick off? I bet you’re onto another story. I heard the execs at Channel 5 tried to get you back.”

  “They tried, but I was afraid you’d have to work for me.”

  “You’re running down a big one, aren’t you? Is this one as good as the Mexican gang and gun-smuggling case?”

  Kariss wasn’t going to discuss any of the past or the present with Mike, but with him, anything but his agenda was a moot point.

  “We’d make a good team again. Remember when I helped you learn the ropes for Channel 5?” he said.

  “Not interested. And for the record, I made my own way.”

  “You were green and naive, Kariss. You owe me for your career. All of it.”

  “Your ego just popped a blood vessel in your brain.”

  “Are you still seeing that FBI/bodyguard type?”

  Now what did she say? “My personal life is none of your business. So—”

  “You must have broken up. I’m so sorry. Not really. How about dinner? You can tell me all about it. I might even let you cry on my shoulder. Or more, if you’re sweet.”

  The thought of Mike’s hands on her made Kariss cringe. “No thanks. This conversation is over. Don’t call me back.”

  “Will I need to write about your cold treatment on my blog?”

  “Go for it. Won’t be the first time.” Kariss ended the call.

  Mike called back, leaving a message again. Three calls later, Kariss finally turned off her phone. No doubt their conversation would be twisted into an unflattering, libelous blog in the next McDougal Reports.

  4:30 P.M. MONDAY

  Tigo stared at his computer screen as though the answers to all his problems would magically appear. He didn’t know what irritated him more—Joanna’s and Alexia’s unsolved murders or Baxter Garrett’s threats to Kariss and his possible involvement in running her car off the road. Both involved crimes against the innocent, and Tigo hadn’t managed to nail anyone for either case. The best he could hope for was a quick lead from Hershey.

  Glancing at his Buzz Lightyear watch, he saw that time had raced ahead while he’d been accomplishing nothing. He pulled up the Yeat case to look for missing pieces. Ryan had agreed that the sisters needed to be interviewed separately. One of them might reveal something about Joanna’s college days.

  So might Jonathan. What Tigo and Ryan had learned would devastate the strongest of men. How could a woman keep that kind of secret from a man she supposedly loved? But then, she’d filed for divorce, and he claimed to have no previous knowledge of her discontent either.

  Tomorrow they’d also need to talk about Ian’s problems, even though the thought of Ian planning a horrendous crime could destroy what was left of Jonathan’s family. Tigo alerted Ryan of his plan to phone Jonathan about their newest findings, and his partner joined him.

  “Maybe we’ll get a handle on this today,” Tigo said before pressing in Jonathan’s cell number.

  “A lead would be good,” Ryan said. “I feel really inept right now.”

  “I’m itching to go undercover, to get in a good fight.”

  Ryan laughed. “Be at my house tonight and watch my two kids when it’s time for homework.”

  Jonathan answered on the second ring.

  “We have a new development,” Tigo said.

  “An arrest or a suspect?” Jonathan sounded weary.

  “A suspect. This is of a sensitive nature. Are your sons with you?”

  “No. They’re with a tutor, trying to keep up with their classes. What’s this about?”

  Tigo took a breath. He’d invested a lot of time and energy into this case, and it kept getting worse. Plus, he’d allowed himself to become personally involved. Definitely a flaw. But Curt and Ian might never recover from this tragedy. “What do you know about Joanna’s college days?”

  “Nothing really. We met four years after she graduated.”

  Tigo figured as much. “She worked for an escort service owned by someone who called himself David Smith. He also photographed her.”

  “Escort service … What kind of photographs?” Jonathan’s words seemed forced, as though he’d guessed the truth.

  “The kind you wouldn’t want your sons to see.”

  A heavy sigh, then a cough. “Joanna became a Christian during the last semester of her senior year in college. She asked me once if I wanted to know about her past. I said no. Didn’t matter who she was then.”

  Tigo could only imagine how Jonathan felt.

  “Are you sure you have the right Joanna?” Jonathan’s voice cracked.

  “Our source is accurate. Recently David Smith had been in contact with her. Made threats. It was possibly the man Ian saw her with.”

  “God have mercy on this family.” Jonathan paused, probably allowing the news to sink in. “Can you keep this from the media? I can’t let Curt and Ian find out.”

  “We’ll do our best. No guarantees.”

  Jonathan moaned. “That means I need to tell them. Some of her mood swings and behavior the past few months are making sense now.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “Lack of interest in family activities. Depressed. Pulled back from her church and community work. Distant from me.”

  “Darena and Angela are next
on our list to call.”

  “Doubt if they know anything, considering their relationship with Joanna—or lack of. But if they do, I want a full report.”

  Tigo wouldn’t tell him about Joanna confiding in Vanessa. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “I’ll be at your office in the morning. I want to see the official report for myself.”

  “How about one o’clock? The morning’s tied up. Do you have a bodyguard? We don’t want you taking any chances.”

  “I do.”

  Tigo ended the call, then contacted the FIG. He wanted the man who called himself David Smith found.

  His next call was to Darena, the coldhearted woman who’d latched on to Pastor Taylor Yeat. Questions needed answering, and Tigo wanted to show Ian’s sketch of the man to her and Angela.

  “Darena, this is Special Agent Santiago Harris.”

  “What do you want? I’m about to leave work.”

  “Good afternoon to you too. I need to see you at our office in the morning.”

  “I work, remember?” The sarcasm was toxic.

  “Be here at seven thirty. I’ll write you an excuse.”

  “Wait. What is this about?”

  “It will be in your best interest to be here.”

  “I intend to bring my husband and our attorney.”

  “Good for you. Do they know about your affair with the good pastor?”

  Darena cursed.

  “See you in the morning with your party face,” Tigo said.

  After scheduling Angela and Taylor for back-to-back interviews after Darena, he typed an email to keep Linc informed of his findings.

  “At least the morning will be entertaining,” Ryan said. “I think I could write a movie script from those three.”

  “Wouldn’t make the Hallmark Channel.”

  After answering some emails and taking care of some paperwork, Tigo gathered up his things and headed to the parking lot, en route to see Kariss. On his way, he phoned Jonathan again.

  “Agent Steadman and I would like to go through Joanna’s belongings,” he told Jonathan. A thorough search had already been conducted, but in view of new information, another look made sense.

  “I understand.” Weariness was heavy in Jonathan’s voice. “When did you have in mind?”

  “Is eight thirty tonight all right? With your permission, we want to search through Alexia’s personal items too.”

  “Whatever you think will provide answers. But I admit I haven’t been in Alexia’s room since it happened.”

  “You won’t be alone.”

  “Are you a believer, Agent Harris?”

  Tigo nearly moaned. “I meant Ryan and I will be with you.”

  CHAPTER 33

  5:15 P.M. MONDAY

  Kariss had spent the rest of the day in her condo just as Tigo had instructed. Not unusual, since many days she worked on her latest novel, wrote blogs, responded to email and social media, and became totally immersed in whatever project needed to be completed. But staying in on those days were her choice, and today’s mandate made her feel agitated. For a while, she shoved Baxter Garrett and the culprit who’d chased her off the road from her mind. But she couldn’t chase away the idea of Tigo making a second visit today—not for a moment.

  When a knock alerted her to his arrival, she nearly tripped over her own feet getting to the door. This had to stop or she’d be in his arms. The Kariss of a few months ago would have welcomed him into her home and heart without reservation. But not today. No matter how much she cared for him.

  No matter how much she wanted him.

  No matter how much she knew he felt the same.

  No matter how much she inched toward love.

  She couldn’t.

  The deceit keeping them apart would be tough to resolve, but they were about to tackle it. If this relationship was going to take the next step, then honesty had to reign. Taking a deep breath to slow her pounding heart, she opened the door.

  “Hey.” Tigo wore a smile that would have melted a glacier. His five o’clock shadow made him look all the more appealing. “Your friendly FBI agent is here to check on you.”

  Irresistible. A hero better than any she could create. “Come in. No problems since this morning.”

  Tigo stepped inside, her senses drowning in his presence. The moment she breathed in his intoxicating aroma—a fresh outdoorsy scent that reminded her of a wild ride on a motorcycle—she had to put on the brakes.

  “Can I get you an iced tea or coffee?”

  “No thanks. I’m good.” He grinned, and her stomach fluttered like a teenage girl’s. “Baxter Garrett is under arrest.”

  “Great news. He’s a loose cannon.” She gestured toward the sofa. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “How about dinner?”

  Her attention flew to his handsome face.

  “We can talk about the Garretts on the way there. And our situation at the restaurant.” His eyes said so much more. “I have an eight thirty appointment, so we have until eight.”

  She could handle dinner away from her condo. A good choice. “Okay. I’ll grab my purse.” She headed toward her bedroom.

  “You look great. Those jeans were always my favorite.”

  She whipped around with a smile, warmth flooding her cheeks. How old was she again? “Thanks.”

  “Do you remember the first time I asked you to dinner, and you gave me permission to access your laptop?”

  She laughed. “I do. That’s when you found out I’d gotten in too deep while researching a cold case, and now it’s part of our book.” She realized she’d used the word “our.” Too late now.

  “Do I need to take a look at your laptop again?”

  “There’s nothing there that points to danger.”

  “Kariss, this is me. Tigo. The guy you can’t fool. I can read you like a bestseller. You’re knee-deep in trouble. So what’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you in the truck.” Good. Stay in control.

  Once she’d snatched up her purse and her resolve to learn the truth behind the emails, she left a note for Vicki. Before she and Tigo had even driven through the security gate, he repeated his question.

  “So what’s up?”

  “I received another email this morning at eleven forty-five. Tried to respond, but it came back undeliverable. I assume Baxter wanted to make sure I understood his concern.”

  “He was picked up at eleven thirty this morning.”

  She frowned. What did it mean if Baxter hadn’t sent the second email? Shivers crept up her spine. “Well, he sent the first one.”

  “Denied it. But I expected that.”

  “An email can be written and then sent at a specific time.”

  “Right.”

  “What did Baxter’s body language say?”

  “He might have been telling the truth about the email.”

  She studied Tigo, wanting to ask more questions but knowing he wouldn’t violate FBI procedures. “There’s something else.”

  “Spill it,” Tigo said.

  “Sunday night I received a funeral wreath with a typed note.”

  Tigo immediately pulled the truck into the nearest parking lot, which belonged to a shopping strip. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” He took a deep breath. “What did the card say?”

  “It was addressed to me, and it had an Edgar Allan Poe quote on it. Something about the shadowy boundaries between life and death.” Kariss was amazed at her control. “I phoned the floral shop. A man wearing a baseball cap that hid his face walked in and paid cash for it.”

  “I’d like to see the note.”

  She reached inside her purse, retrieved the note, and laid it on the center console. “I’m sure it was Baxter.”

  He opened the note and studied it. “Hard for me to believe Baxter is this smart. Doesn’t strike me as the poetic type.” He stuck it in his pants pocket. “I’ll keep the note for now. See what I can find out.”

  Tigo drove them to a popula
r seafood restaurant and escorted her inside. Kariss hoped the hum of voices filling the room would hide the secrets of her heart. She focused on the Cajun decor mounted on the wall—a life-size stuffed alligator, a rusted canoe, a single oar, and a chipped sign that read “Gumbo and Dirty Rice.”

  “Do you remember this place?”

  “Sure.” How could she forget any of the places the two of them had frequented together?

  Tigo wore khakis and a light-blue shirt under his brown jacket. Casual yet professional. She realized he’d fit anywhere, but maybe not with her.

  She ordered Chilean sea bass with lump crab gratin, sautéed spinach, and roasted tomatoes. He ordered blackened catfish with shrimp, oysters, and crawfish in a lemon-butter sauce, served with fried rice and extra jalapeños.

  “And a bowl of seafood gumbo,” he said to the young man taking their order. “Can you toss a few jalapeños in there as well?”

  “You have a cast-iron stomach,” Kariss said once the waiter disappeared.

  He leaned on the table. “But my heart’s soft as putty.”

  “Is it, Tigo?”

  “I blew it with us.”

  “So then why are we here?”

  He drew in a breath. “You’re not making this easy.”

  While they waited for their food, Kariss asked questions about Baxter to avoid the dead silence and awkwardness of their situation. She wanted their relationship to work, but she was afraid of getting hurt again. “I’m assuming Amy was right when she talked about his temper?”

  He nodded. “With his dicey attitude and past record, I’m surprised he hasn’t done time.”

  “Maybe his dark side is revealed only when it comes to his sister, and he’s simply overprotective.”

  “He claims to have an alibi for Friday morning, by the way.”

  “If the Garrett family’s as dysfunctional as I think they are, they’ll probably cover for him.” She regretted her judgmental thoughts. “I’m sorry. I’ve never met the older Garretts. I have no clue what they’re like.”

  “We’ll look into them and their son. But unfortunately, his license plate doesn’t have a V8 in it, and other than a dent in the rear bumper, there was no sign that the truck had recently been in an accident. We’ve also confirmed that it doesn’t have custom rims.”