The Survivor

by DiAnn Mills

  “No.” She rubbed her arms.

  “Do you have information about the Yeat bombing?”

  “No. I’ve never met Joanna or Jonathan Yeat.”

  “That you are aware of.”

  “I’m positive.” Amy reached for a tissue in her purse. “I feel like anyone who gets close to me ends up getting hurt.”

  “Feelings, Dr. Garrett? Those might work in your office, but not here. I exist on facts.”

  “I don’t have anything to tell you.”

  “Don’t or won’t?”

  As much as the ache in Kariss’s head consumed her, she was coherent enough to recall that Amy had seemed evasive from the beginning. On more than one occasion, her words had sounded mechanical … rehearsed. Kariss had been left with more questions than answers, and yet she’d agreed to help Amy tell her story. Maybe she deserved to get shot for her own stupidity.

  “Ditch the feelings and give me an answer.” Tigo glared at her. “What did you mean by your original statement?”

  Amy toyed with her bracelet. “I never figured Kariss taking a bullet for me into the equation. I only wanted to draw him out with the book. Period.”

  “Draw who out?”

  “Wait just a minute,” Kariss said. “I believed you when you said you wanted to write this novel to help other women who have been victims of violent crimes. When were you going to tell me your real motive?”

  “When you agreed to write my story.” Amy’s gaze darted around the room. “But the appropriate time to tell you never came.”

  “I asked you specifically about the assailant reading the book, and you dismissed the idea. You claimed he wouldn’t read a novel written by a women’s fiction author. And what about that line you fed me about being a woman of integrity?”

  “I lied.” Amy raised her chin. “I’m sorry.”

  “Is that what you’d have said for my eulogy?”

  Tigo held up his hand. “Look, we can’t stop this man if we don’t have the truth,” he said. “Do you realize an innocent woman could have been killed, not to mention yourself? What about Joanna and Alexia Yeat? How many people need to be killed or wounded before you realize the seriousness of the situation? You, Dr. Garrett, are withholding information essential to an FBI investigation.”

  Amy reached across Kariss’s bed and jammed her finger into Tigo’s chest. “You have no idea what this is about. No clue. Maybe my brother’s right.”

  Tigo’s face flushed red. “How?”

  “You haven’t caught this guy in twenty-three years. What makes you think you can now?”

  Kariss fought the sleep enveloping her. Did Amy care more about finding her assailant than who might be killed in the quest to do so?

  CHAPTER 43

  11:10 P.M. WEDNESDAY

  Tigo glanced around his living room, everything orderly and in place. Exasperation ate at the lining of his stomach. The intricacies of the two cases baffled him, and he needed to clear his head. Snatching his keys and a coat, he headed for the door. His mind wouldn’t let him rest until today’s shooting and the two bombings made sense.

  Keeping Kariss safe was his mission. But he’d failed.

  Outside, under a veil of blackness, he walked the streets of his neighborhood. The only sounds were an occasional barking dog or a vehicle driving past. The lights from other homes were slowly being turned off for the night.

  If only Tigo could figure out the key players. Too many people had motive and too few had the means. But only one person shook hands with both crimes.

  Amy Garrett hid behind the walls of her past. From what he’d seen, she tore them down only to build another one. And Tigo didn’t need to be a shrink to diagnose her condition. Her demons clung to her PhDs and allowed her to help others while she continued to suffer the consequences of her childhood.

  Amy’s parents had arrived at the hospital around seven o’clock. Calm people. No pretense in their body language. Genuinely concerned about their daughter and Kariss, a woman they’d never met. Neither of them had done business with Jonathan or Joanna Yeat. When he and Ryan questioned them about Baxter, regret filled their words. Their plans were to have him enter rehab upon release from jail. But Tigo still needed to investigate the older Garretts. At this point, he needed every detail covered.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked on. He understood Kariss’s desire to befriend Amy, although he didn’t agree with her rationalization. She had compassion for what happened to Amy as a child, more than most people …

  His thoughts drifted back to last summer, when he’d begun working with Kariss as a favor to Linc. During her days as a news anchor for Channel 5, Kariss had helped Linc solve crimes by reaching out for public support. One of her reports had been influential to Linc’s career, which led to his current role as Special Agent in Charge of the Houston FBI office.

  At the time, Tigo couldn’t think of a worse assignment than helping a woman write a suspense novel. He’d even referred to it as babysitting a diva. Kariss’s book was based on a five-year-old cold case about a little girl named Cherished Doe who’d been starved to death, her body discarded in a grove of pine trees. The case had touched all those who’d learned about the crime, including Tigo. He’d kept the child’s autopsy picture and often reviewed the case in hopes of finding a reason to reopen it. As Kariss had examined the facts for her novel, she’d gotten involved in the research. Danger stalked her … nearly killed her. That’s what Tigo feared now—Kariss again walking the line with a crazed killer linked to Amy Garrett and the Yeats.

  At a street corner, he stopped to examine how he felt about the renowned Dr. Amy Garrett. She had lied to Kariss about her true motive for writing her story and had knowingly put Kariss’s life in danger. Kariss insisted she’d known the risks involved in writing another cold case novel but had jumped in with her laptop anyway.

  God, will You protect her?

  He’d done it again. Prayed as though he believed in a deity … who cared.

  Questions continued to bombard his mind like mosquitoes buzzing around a stagnant pond. But he couldn’t drive them away because he didn’t have the answers. What about the nutcase Baxter Garrett? Were the older Garretts withholding information?

  Tigo crossed the street and continued down the other side toward home. He was cold and still didn’t have any answers. He was convinced that the car bomber in the two incidents, today’s shooter, and the assailant in Amy’s cold case were the same person. But how was Tigo going to pull it all together? How could the assailant have known about the book project if he wasn’t close to Amy?

  The book … As Tigo entered his home, he wondered if Amy had mentioned the book on social media. He went to his laptop and checked her Facebook page, skimming through the many posts.

  “New York Times bestselling author Kariss Walker has agreed to write my story.”

  Amy had purposely baited her assailant, and Kariss had taken the fall. What was the woman thinking? He respected Amy’s determination, but he also wanted to shove her into a box labeled “Selfish.”

  On Amy’s Facebook page, other posts referenced conversations between her and Kariss. Today she’d announced to cyberspace that the two were having coffee at a Starbucks, and she’d indicated the exact location. She’d sent the shooter an invitation.

  Tigo checked Kariss’s Facebook page and saw she’d announced the book project but hadn’t given any details.

  Tigo grabbed his keys and laptop. If he was going to be up all night, he’d rather work beside Kariss at the hospital. At least he could help her if she needed anything. He wanted to be there when she opened her eyes, to see if a light for him still shimmered in those brown pools. He’d seen it before, but he hesitated to give his heart away again, considering what happened with Erin. But Kariss was different—full of life and spunk and so unlike Erin. If only Tigo could be the man Kariss deserved.

  He couldn’t hold her and kiss away the problems. But tonight he’d watch over her.
/>   JANUARY 24

  2:30 A.M. THURSDAY

  Long after midnight, the hospital hummed with activity. Staff talked and laughed, ignoring the courtesy of providing a restful environment for patients. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway never ended. But Kariss slept anyway.

  A police officer, courtesy of HPD, stood outside her door in case the shooter decided to finish the job. Tigo wouldn’t let anyone who planned to hurt her inside the room, which was the reason he’d chosen to sit facing the door. He studied the woman who’d captured his senses. In the shadows, with a hint of illumination streaming across her features, her beauty held him captive.

  Earlier, when the ER had been full of officers and family, she’d protested against spending the night. But her dad and Vicki had been the voices of reason, and she’d relinquished. Not many days ago, Vicki had won the argument against an overnight stay in the hospital. But she hadn’t been shot.

  Tigo wanted to touch Kariss’s hand but was afraid it might wake her, so he turned his attention to finding out who was behind the crime. The hospital staff provided him with a code to get onto their Internet so he could establish an encrypted VPN connection and search the FBI-secured sites.

  Tigo had requested a list of every woman who’d ever been counseled at Freedom’s Way or attended a conference. Fortunately, Amy had agreed to the request earlier in the evening and had forwarded him the files. Scrolling through the names, he found that Vanessa Whitcom and Joanna Yeat had attended a women’s conference a year ago at Houston’s First Baptist Church, where Dr. Amy Garrett had spoken three times over the course of a weekend.

  The FIG never stopped working, and information continually streamed through his Blackberry. Right now it was showing him that none of the women who’d sought counseling from Dr. Amy Garrett had criminal records.

  Voices in the hallway brought Tigo’s attention to the door.

  “Sir, you cannot enter this room,” the young female officer said.

  “I have to see Kariss Walker. It’s important,” a male voice said. “I’m a reporter for Channel 5. See? Here’s my ID.”

  Disgust washed over Tigo as he closed his laptop and stood. He recognized McDougal’s voice.

  “I repeat.” The officer’s voice demanded attention. “You cannot enter this room. If you don’t leave now, I’ll have to detain you.”

  “Oh, we can work this out. How about a crisp hundreddollar bill? Just between you and me.”

  The officer picked up her radio and asked for backup.

  Tigo leaned against the doorway and smiled at Mike McDougal. “The officer asked you to leave. Now I’m telling you. Or should I assist HPD in making an arrest? Sounds tempting, since there’s a bribe involved.”

  McDougal raised his hands. His lips curled, a giveaway for his contempt. “Hey, I’m just looking for a story. Heard my good friend Kariss had been shot, and I wanted to get to the truth.”

  “At three in the morning?” Tigo jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m sure if she wants you to gain any more notoriety than you already have, she’ll call.”

  McDougal’s eyes narrowed. The man was easier to read than a comic book. “Do you have any idea what I could do to destroy the public’s view of the FBI? I know how badly you thugs want to look good in the community.”

  “I’ve read your blog. This is the real scoop, McDougal. I’m not denying you a story. The people of this city have a right to know what’s going on. My problem is when you attempt to undermine law-enforcement mandates in a manner that doesn’t reflect the integrity of Channel 5 and choose to break the law.”

  “Your day is coming. One day Kariss will toss you out like three-day-old trash. Then your bodyguard days will be over.”

  “Out of here. Now.”

  The two backup officers arrived. McDougal offered a mock salute and moved down the hall. Tigo turned to the police officer. “I have no doubt you could have handled him. He and I just have some history. It’s all about his name on the next story.”

  “No problem. But I was itching to handcuff him.”

  “Do us all a favor. If he returns, haul him in.”

  “And throw away the key,” Kariss said quietly. “Talk to me, Tigo. Why are you here?”

  3:15 A.M. THURSDAY

  Kariss needed rest to heal, but she wanted to talk to Tigo. Their last conversation about their relationship had exposed the truth, but nothing had been resolved. At least in words. One of Vicki’s comments wouldn’t leave Kariss alone—“It’s hard to trust again when you’ve been hurt.” That was Tigo’s fear, and instead of addressing it, Kariss had swept it under a rug.

  “Do you feel like talking?” she said.

  He chuckled. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

  “That’s loaded.”

  His hand tightened around hers. “What’s inside that pretty head?”

  “Us.”

  “Can’t think of a better subject.” He hesitated. “Unless I’ve hit ground zero.”

  “I think we’re halfway up the peak.”

  In the shadows, the lines on Tigo’s face softened. Not everyone saw this side of him. His Buzz Lightyear image wouldn’t permit it. “Where do I stand?”

  “I miss you. We could try again. Date. Slowly. Go to church together.”

  He nodded. “I keep hoping God will text so I’ll know He’s real.”

  “Then it’s not faith.”

  “You have a point. I’ve heard that as long as I’m searching, God will find me.”

  “I’ve never stopped praying for you.” Or caring.

  “Thanks.”

  Kariss more than cared for Tigo, but his failed marriage stopped him from giving his whole heart to her or God.

  Both of them needed patience with a heavy dose of prayer.

  CHAPTER 44

  10:00 A.M. THURSDAY

  Kariss waited for her doctor to release her from the hospital. She’d been poked and x-rayed and stitched. Not all in that order. But after she had awakened in the middle of the night and found Tigo at her bedside, the hospital routine didn’t seem to matter so much. Maybe she’d simply been vulnerable, but hearing his voice and seeing him towering in the doorway had eased away the pain.

  Though she was alone now, she wouldn’t forget his tenderness or the sacrifice of sleep he’d made for her.

  “We can’t give up on each other,” he’d whispered just before leaving earlier this morning. “Believe that, Kariss.”

  A tear had trickled down her cheek, perhaps an emotional response from the medication. “I—”

  “You don’t have to say a word.” He leaned over the bed. “I know your heart. I see what you feel in your eyes. We’ll get the junk behind us and move forward together. Just don’t give up on me.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I won’t.”

  “I can’t do the Jesus thing unless I feel it’s real.”

  “I understand … Thanks for being here. Not just for taking care of McDougal, but for everything.”

  “How could I sleep when I’m concerned about you?”

  She clamped onto her lower lip to fight the tears threatening to flow. She despised weak women. “You must rehearse what you say to me.”

  “It’s part of the package.” He smiled. “Even the things you don’t want to hear. But you are the bravest woman I know.”

  “I don’t feel brave.” Her determination to take care of herself had failed miserably, and Tigo deserved her cooperation. “I’m thinking about taking residence at a hotel for a few days, the kind with a pair of FBI agents assigned to keep me safe.”

  He planted a kiss on her forehead. “That makes me one happy man. I’ll make the arrangements when I get to the office. Remember Jerry Reiner? I’ll find out if he’s available. He has a new partner, and the two work well together. Call me when you’re released, and I’ll have them take you home and wait at the condo while you pack.”

  Hours later, Kariss regretted agreeing to protective detail,
but Tigo had seemed at peace with her decision. She would do this for him, even if hiding was a coward’s way out. Closing her eyes until the pain meds took effect again, she thought about their sweet early morning hours together.

  She heard a knock and turned to see Amy standing in the doorway. Kariss hadn’t decided how she felt toward the famed psychologist now. She pointed to a chair beside her bed, the one Tigo had occupied hours earlier.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d see me.” Amy scooted the chair away from the bed.

  “The jury’s still out. A little truth would go a long way.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” Kariss’s head throbbed. Or was the pain due to stress? “Have you been using me as bait?”

  Amy moistened her lips. “No. His anger should be aimed at me and only me. I fought the odds and won. Every day he lets me live is a bonus day. I never thought he’d target you.”

  Kariss attempted to manage her anger. “That’s rich, Amy. Oh, and what about endangering the lives of my sister and niece? How do you explain that? Or doesn’t it matter as long as you exact revenge? That’s what you really want, isn’t it?” Kariss endured another jolt of pain, but it didn’t bridle her tongue. “Says a lot for your Christian testimony. Do you encourage deceit in your counseling?”

  Amy glanced at the door, and then her eyes shifted back to Kariss.

  “Stay right where you are. I want to see your face when you answer me. Don’t even think about leaving. I’m in the mood to chase you down the hall.”

  Amy wrung her hands. Kariss had seen that mannerism before. The first time, it brought pity. No more. “Answers,” Kariss said. “I deserve honesty.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder.”

  “Now you sound like Agent Harris.”

  “He’s a good teacher. Look, I’ve been run off the road. My loved ones have been hurt and frightened. I’ve been threatened and followed. Now shot. I think you hit the bull’s-eye by using me to draw your assailant from his hole. Maybe he’s under my hospital bed. Maybe I was just plain stupid to agree to this writing project.”