The Survivor

by DiAnn Mills

She picked up her speed as she passed a home that housed a German shepherd behind a wrought-iron gate and brick wall. Dogs were the one angst in life Kariss hadn’t conquered. She’d been bitten as a little girl and had never been able to forget the experience.

  “It’s only me, taking a walk,” she told the barking dog. She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

  An eerie sensation swept over her, and she turned to look over her shoulder. No one was following her. She’d been reading and writing too much suspense. Some of the TV series were even worse, with their vivid shots of gory crime scenes. When she didn’t close her eyes fast enough to avoid the blood, she dreamed about it. Or the imagery brought on the nightmares.

  The dog’s deep-throated growls could be heard all over the neighborhood. Heaven help her if the animal got loose.

  Across the street, an old man limped, somehow managing to keep pace with her.

  So that’s what was holding the dog’s attention.

  The man had his hands shoved into his pockets, and he wore a cap pulled down over his ears as though the temps were in the twenties instead of the forties. After her fall a few minutes ago, she could identify with an uncomfortable gait. The man glanced her way and stopped. She shivered, as though he might be a menace. Nonsense. Maybe he’d lost his way, wandered from home. Possibly an Alzheimer’s sufferer.

  “Do you need help?” she called to him.

  He merely stared, as though looking through her. An inexplicable fear crawled up her spine. If she knew any of the people living in these homes, she’d knock on a door. She reached for her phone. Dead. Why hadn’t she charged it?

  The man limped across the street toward her. His scruffy beard, combined with the hat he wore, hid his face. Beneath his coat, it was obvious he was a broad-shouldered man. What was she thinking? Paranoia had definitely set in.

  “Are you lost?” she said.

  He laughed and continued toward her.

  Kariss hurried forward, her heart thumping against her chest, the pain in her hip increasing. Surely she was overreacting, a combination of the unexplained threats and the dog’s growls.

  “Kariss.” His voice sounded strong.

  She whirled around.

  “‘The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.’”

  She sucked in a breath. It was a quote from L. P. Hartley’s book The Go-Between. A coincidence?

  He knew her name.

  He’d been following her.

  He’d quoted a line from a novel … like Amy’s attacker.

  The urge to run spurred Kariss forward though her hip felt as if it were on fire. She’d thought that when adrenaline flowed, everything else escaped the senses. But not this time. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she forced herself to keep moving.

  Where was he? If she turned to see if he’d gained ground, she’d surely fall.

  Did she feel his hot breath on her neck, or was it her imagination?

  Her complex’s security gate loomed in sight.

  “Kariss, running from me will never save you.”

  CHAPTER 36

  12:55 P.M. TUESDAY

  How do you eat hot sauce on everything?” Ryan pointed to Tigo’s rice, where he’d added his favorite hot sauce. “I need a TUMS just inhaling the fumes.”

  “Keeps my body moving. Makes me want to dance.” Tigo gestured around the Mexican restaurant, one of his favorite places. The hum of voices and the strum of a Spanish guitar combined with the spiciest hot sauce on the planet suited him perfectly. His mom had had a recipe straight from Argentina, but Tigo hadn’t been able to duplicate it.

  “Never mind what it does to me,” Ryan said. “Note that you’re the only one pouring liquid fire on your food.”

  Tigo laughed. “You complain every time we eat here, which is about once a week. Don’t I accommodate your craving for Chinese?”

  “That’s different. It’s healthy. Vegetables.” Ryan folded his fajita and licked his fingers. “Hey, I gotta hand it to you.”

  “For what? My increasing need for hot food?”

  Ryan tossed him a disgusted look. “Not food. The way you gave Taylor Yeat a bit of theology.”

  Tigo chuckled. “My mother made sure I knew those stories inside and out.”

  “Do you think Darena’s guilty?”

  Tigo added sugar to his iced tea. “Her body language didn’t say deceit to me. Just arrogance. But we’re all about protocol and following through.”

  “Explain why—”

  Their Blackberrys simultaneously alerted them to a notification from the FIG. Tigo pulled his phone from his shirt pocket, and Ryan did the same.

  “We have the forensic report from the Garrett bombing,” Ryan said.

  “I’ve had my fill of car bombings lately.” Tigo read through the report. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He met Ryan’s startled gaze.

  “Semtex used in both bombs?” Ryan settled back in his chair. “Same color and gauge of wire. Cell phone trigger.”

  Tigo read the report again. Slower. He needed to digest the implications. Think beyond Joanna and Alexia Yeat’s killings to a psychologist who’d survived a childhood attack—a woman Kariss was writing a novel about. “This changes everything.”

  “Sure does,” Ryan said. “Let’s have them box up our food.”

  “Great idea. I want to get back to the office.” He caught Ryan’s frown. “What links these bombings to our bad guy? Is he hired out?”

  “I’ve got to think about it. Need more information. And we need to study the forensic reports side by side.”

  Tigo tried to get their server’s attention as impatience wove a familiar path through him. “The Yeats and Amy Garrett made the wrong people mad, and there’s a connection somewhere.”

  “Could Joanna have seen Amy Garrett for counseling?”

  “She was dealing with Ian’s behavior, and she and Jonathan didn’t agree about how to handle it.” Tigo finally got the waiter’s attention. “Then there’s the issue of whoever met her at the mall.”

  “Let’s find out if Joanna was a client at Freedom’s Way.”

  The two paid their bills and left the restaurant. Once they were in Ryan’s car, Tigo phoned Freedom’s Way, hoping to catch Amy between appointments. Instead, he reached her answering service and left a message, mentioning he was from the FBI.

  Linking Joanna to Freedom’s Way didn’t explain why Kariss had received threatening emails. These had to be separate incidents. But Tigo didn’t believe in coincidences. Never had.

  Tigo punched in Jonathan’s number.

  Jonathan picked up before the call went to voicemail. “Hi, Tigo. Let me get to my truck for privacy. I’m outside one of my warehouses talking to a foreman. Before you ask, I do have a bodyguard with me.”

  “Glad to hear you’re taking precautions. We have a new development.”

  Jonathan moaned. “My brother’s calling me. I’ve ignored his last two calls. Is it okay if I take his call while I walk to the truck? Call you back in a few?”

  Tigo assented and then turned to Ryan. “Taylor’s phoning him. That should be a prized conversation.”

  “Taylor has his pockets stuffed with answers, but Jonathan’s onto his bad habits,” Ryan said. “From the looks of Darena’s husband, he could easily tear Taylor apart.”

  “Fear does weird things to a man, and Taylor has plenty of reasons to be running scared.”

  Ten minutes later, Jonathan phoned Tigo. “I hear you talked to my brother this morning.” He chuckled. It was the first time Tigo had heard Jonathan show any signs of amusement.

  “We did,” Tigo said.

  Jonathan sighed. “I hate this. I just want it to end.”

  “What did your brother have to say?”

  “He mostly raved.”

  “Do you think he could be involved in the bombing?”

  When Jonathan didn’t respond, Tigo repeated the question.

  “I don’t know. I’m going to say no. Tayl
or may be caught up in lust for Darena and may have messed up covering his tracks, but he wouldn’t plan a murder. Darena, on the other hand, is capable of anything. I told Taylor the same thing. Maybe he’ll get smart and leave her. Who else knew we switched cars that morning? Ignore me. I’m rambling.”

  Tigo listened and then shifted focus. “I have a question. Was Joanna receiving counseling from Dr. Amy Garrett of Freedom’s Way?”

  “Not to my knowledge. But she could have kept that from me too. I’ve heard of the organization. Even contributed to last year’s fund-raiser. Why?”

  “On Monday morning, a bomb exploded in Dr. Amy Garrett’s car. She wasn’t in the vehicle. The bomb was identical to the one that killed Joanna and Alexia.”

  “Why can’t you find this guy?”

  Tigo wanted to say the bomber had thought through every detail of his crimes. But why make himself and Ryan look like kindergarten agents. “We’re getting closer, Jonathan.”

  “Not close enough.”

  1:30 P.M. TUESDAY

  Kariss exited the expressway and drove to the city jail. She’d wrestled with the visit all morning, but she needed answers before contacting Amy. If Baxter knew more than what he’d told the authorities, then her job was to appeal to his cocky attitude and hope he offered the information. He might even confess to knowing the identity of the old man who’d followed her. She’d already thought about the fact that the stalker could have been in disguise. His voice had been strong …

  “Why did you want to see me?” Baxter spoke through the phone on the opposite side of a Plexiglas wall.

  She stared into his dark-rimmed eyes. He needed meds or a fix, and he’d get neither in jail. “Amy made the decision to have her story written long before she contacted me. You know your sister well enough to understand her determination. Have you threatened her too?”

  He curled his lip. “Amy gets weird ideas. Can’t believe everything she says.”

  “Give me an example.”

  He moistened his lips. Kariss had wanted to believe his mind was clearing and he’d be rational, but nothing indicated any change. Did he think that Amy had fabricated parts of her story?

  “Let me give you another news flash. Her attacker quoted from a novel,” he said.

  “Oh, I’ve read the reports, and I plan to use those quotes in my novel.”

  “Your type disgusts me.”

  “I’m really afraid, since you’re in jail and facing charges.” She laced her words with contempt and leaned closer to the shield separating them. “Are you working alone?”

  Baxter laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You’d be amazed at what can be accomplished while I’m in here.”

  CHAPTER 37

  5:15 P.M. TUESDAY

  Why haven’t you called the police?” Vicki pointed to Kariss’s cell phone. “That man approached you hours ago. I’m furious, sis. Why did you wait so long to tell me about it?”

  “I didn’t want to alarm you. What would I say to the police? ‘An old man followed me’? ‘And by the way, he knew my name’?” Kariss paced her living room while Vicki fed Rose. If only the answers would fall into her brain. She’d certainly not tell her sister about any of the other happenings nipping at her heels. “Maybe you’re overreacting. I mean, I was the evening newscaster for Channel 5 and have since written a few bestsellers. The man probably recognized me.”

  “Have you lost your mind? Will I read about your death on my iPad?”

  Motherhood had definitely made Vicki hormonal. “Calm down. I’m fine, and you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

  “Do you think I can be duped so easily? Have you forgotten what happened Friday morning? Has it occurred to you this could be the same guy?” Vicki’s brows narrowed. “And don’t tell me it was Baxter, because he’s in jail. What have you gotten yourself into?”

  She wondered herself, but she wouldn’t admit it to Vicki. “Sis, you’re overreacting.”

  “This scares me, Kariss.”

  Kariss’s mind zoomed in another direction. Her decision to not contact the police now looked insensitive. Jeopardizing her own life was a choice, but putting her sister and niece in danger was selfish. “I’m sorry. I don’t see what I can do. I have no proof or reason to believe the man intended to harm me.” But she had a gut feeling otherwise. Especially after seeing Baxter today … But he could have been bluffing.

  “What happened when you ran back to the security gate?” Vicki said.

  “The man had a bad limp, so he wasn’t able to follow.” The man had laughed—but Kariss wouldn’t tell Vicki about that. Neither would she tell her about his final words.

  “This isn’t a scene from one of your books.”

  Kariss’s gaze flew to her sister’s face.

  Vicki positioned Rose and patted her back. “When you got yourself into trouble before, I knew nothing about it until you were nearly killed. I’ve seen you in action. Remember? You have this stupid wild streak that defies danger. You think you’re all street-smart with your self-defense expertise and your concealed handgun license, but you’re not Superwoman.” Rose startled at her mother’s outburst.

  Kariss stared. Who was this woman? Had someone taken over her sister’s body?

  “This time I’m sharing your house,” Vicki said. “My child will not get caught up in your antics. Call the police or Tigo, or I’m moving in with Mom and Dad tonight.”

  Kariss moistened her lips and stared at her phone. She understood Vicki’s ultimatum. Her sister had every right to make the demand.

  Contacting the police meant explaining the entire situation about Amy and her brother. That left Tigo, and there was so much stuff between them—stuff she didn’t want to contemplate until everything calmed down around her. Baxter had implied that someone outside the jail could be working with him, but she didn’t have proof.

  Kariss took a deep breath and faced reality. Scary things had been happening since she’d agreed to write Amy’s book.

  “I’ll call Tigo.”

  5:40 P.M. TUESDAY

  Amy Garrett returned Tigo’s call shortly after five forty. He introduced himself and requested an interview.

  “Special Agent Ryan Steadman and I have a few questions about the car bombing,” Tigo said. “What time are you available this evening? We can meet you at your office or ours.”

  “My office,” she said, punctuating her words with ice. “We’re open until nine, and my last appointment ends at eight. Have you arrested the person who bombed my car?”

  “Not yet, but our investigation has uncovered additional information. Will you be alone?”

  “Three other counselors are scheduled with clients. Is there a problem?”

  “For your own protection, I recommend not working alone late at night until a suspect is apprehended.”

  “Excuse me? My building has a security officer. I’m capable of conducting my practice without assistance from the FBI.”

  Tigo bristled. Uncooperative people made his job doubly hard. “Dr. Garrett, our job is to keep people safe. I’m offering advice to protect you from whoever tried to kill you.”

  “The car blew up in front of Walgreens while I was inside buying a sleep aid. Did you note the time? It was a random act.”

  “A random act? What if someone had been walking by the car? Or the bomb had been triggered during the day?”

  “I understand you have a job to do, Agent Harris, but I won’t live my life in a cave because someone is unhappy with me. I meet disgruntled clients and those who don’t appreciate my work all the time.”

  “This is more than an unhappy client. This is someone sending a warning.”

  “I’ve been threatened before. Probably a man who’s upset because I suggested his woman not take any more abuse.” The phone clicked in his ear.

  Great, a martyr for the cause of victimized women. No wonder Tigo had a headache.

  Tigo and Ryan worked until after six thirty, then grabbed a couple of cheeseburge
rs and fries before driving to Amy Garrett’s office.

  After Tigo and Ryan displayed their badges, Dr. Garrett checked the door locks four times. Kariss had indicated the woman had an obsession with locked doors, and her actions proved it. But Tigo understood. If he’d had her past, he might surgically attach an MK-38 to his body.

  Dr. Garrett showed them to her office, where they seated themselves on facing sofas. Shades of green dominated the area, including the live plants and pictures on the wall. Tigo explained his and Ryan’s method of conducting an interview.

  “I apologize for my rudeness earlier,” Dr. Garrett said after telling them about her near-failing hearing. She clasped her hands. “It’s been a stressful week so far, and I took it out on you. But I am adamant about not hiding from anyone. Life’s too short to live in isolation.”

  “Keep in mind our role.” Tigo made sure to face her so she could read his lips. “I’m far too busy to investigate your murder. So I’ll get right to the point. Do you remember the car bombing last week that killed Joanna Yeat and her daughter?”

  “I do,” Dr. Garrett said. “A tragic situation. But I fail to see how it’s related to me.”

  “The bombs were identical.”

  Amy’s face blanched. “Are you saying the same person blew up both cars? How would you know?”

  “He left his signature.” Tigo explained Semtex and the two bombs’ similarities. “Both bombs were triggered by a cell phone of the same make and model.”

  “Agent Harris, this doesn’t make sense.” Her lips quivered for a tenth of a second before she seemed to gain control. “I’ve never met Joanna Yeat or any member of her family.”

  “She’s never been a client of Freedom’s Way?”

  “I’m positive we’ve never counseled her. I remember all my clients’ names. It’s who I am. Don’t you remember all your cases?”

  His headache mounted. “I do my best. Would you mind checking?”

  She hesitated. “I’m never wrong when it comes to remembering names. But if you’ll give me a moment, I’ll check my client files.” She rose and walked to her desk, where the computer sat.