The Survivor

by DiAnn Mills

  “What about now? I could bring lunch. Panera is on the way, and I remember your favorite salad.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a few.”

  Tigo had come up with another idea for keeping her safe, and he’d need more than a truck bed of charm to make it happen. After picking up their lunch and showing his ID at the security gate, he parked in front of her condo.

  Kariss met him at the door wearing a dazzling smile, which he hoped stayed intact. A blue sweater and designer jeans hugged her curves in just the right spots.

  “I’m starved,” she said, motioning him toward the kitchen. “Went to the shooting range this morning without breakfast.”

  Why was he not surprised? “How’d you do?”

  “Good. Getting better.”

  He thought about bringing up the fact that her excellent marksmanship had saved his life last summer, but he needed to dive into another matter. They sat at the kitchen counter to eat, but his appetite was zilch.

  “Go ahead and eat,” he said. “I need to ask you something.” He swung his bar stool her way.

  “You’re wearing your serious face. I hope this isn’t a lecture.”

  “No. It’s a proposal.”

  “Interesting.” She stabbed a piece of apple in her salad.

  “Would you consider letting me stay here in the evenings if a female agent joined us?”

  “Tigo—”

  “Hear me out. We could spend hours talking, everything from us to theology. Even do a Bible study together.”

  She eyed him with a tilt of her head. “Are you trying too hard?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Who’s the female agent?”

  “You know her. Hillary—”

  She lifted a finger. “It won’t work for more reasons than I care to list. Hillary and I don’t do well together. Is there a new development in the investigation?”

  “Jonathan Yeat found a package outside his front gate.”

  Her eyes widened. “A bomb?”

  “A note that proves his family’s tragedy and your connection to Amy Garrett are related.” He touched her face. “It said you wouldn’t be writing Amy’s story, and if Jonathan wanted you to write his story, that wouldn’t happen either. All of you will be dead.”

  3:43 P.M. SATURDAY

  After Tigo left, Kariss sat in her living room and thought over his words. Nothing changed her determination to help Amy tell her story, but now she needed to take precautions. Precautions that wouldn’t involve Tigo and Hillary spending their nights in her condo.

  During her musings, a text came in from Amy.

  N THE MOOD TO COOK. DINNER @ MY PLACE 2NITE? 6?

  GREAT. I HAVE UR ADDY

  Perhaps getting away from her whirling thoughts and her raw emotions about Tigo would give her new insight. Shortly after five thirty, Kariss followed her GPS instructions to a relatively new subdivision in northwest Houston. It was a lovely area with three-quarter-acre lots and mature trees. Amy lived in a one-story brick home in the subdivision’s cul-de-sac. It was strange to be invited to dinner, but Amy’s loneliness became more evident each time she and Kariss were together. Since they’d survived two dangerous situations, a bond must have cemented her trust in Kariss.

  Amy’s manicured lawn was a work of art, and Kariss could use the vibrant pink and purple pansies near the front door as a conversation starter. She rang the doorbell and heard a dog bark, the deep growl vibrating to her toes. She realized it must be Apollo, Amy’s German shepherd. Kariss hoped her host remembered her fear of dogs. The sound of locks unlocking reminded her of Amy’s obsession with security. What would she do in a fire?

  The door opened, and Amy held on to Apollo’s leash. The large, snarling dog looked as though he’d enjoy Kariss’s leg as an appetizer.

  “He’ll be fine once he gets used to you,” Amy said.

  Kariss’s heart felt as if it would burst from her chest. “Can you put him in another room?”

  The dog attempted to lunge at Kariss, but Amy held him tight. “Are you that afraid of dogs?”

  Nausea had set in. “I am. But if it’s too much trouble, we can go to a restaurant for dinner.”

  “I’ll put him in my bedroom.” Leaving Kariss standing outside, Amy closed the front door and—from the sound of things—secured all the locks.

  This might not have been one of Kariss’s best decisions.

  A few moments later, Amy went through the unlocking ritual again and opened the door. “Won’t you come in?” Dressed in jeans and a green turtleneck sweater, she looked relaxed.

  Kariss stepped inside and waited while the door was relocked and an alarm system was enabled. The foyer opened to a spacious living and dining area with a glimpse of the kitchen to the far right. Kariss admired the cream-colored upholstery, dark hardwood floors, a grand piano, and many pictures and figurines of elephants. “You have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you. It’s my haven.”

  “And you have another collection of elephants here, like the ones in your office.” Kariss wondered if her theory was true.

  “Elephants never forget.”

  “Vengeance?”

  Amy tilted her head. “Justice. Did you know elephants use their feet to listen? They pick up vibrations of other elephants through the ground. Interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Unusual.”

  “And their hearing is poor despite their large ears.” Amy pulled her hair back, revealing her own large ears. “Elephants and I have much in common.”

  Kariss grinned. She stood in front of a picture of an African elephant, a majestic animal with huge tusks. “I learn more about you each time we meet.” Kariss pointed to the piano. “What’s your favorite type of music?”

  “Jazz. Straight out of N’awlins.” Amy’s pronunciation of New Orleans caused them both to laugh. Amy could write her own blues.

  “Maybe you’ll play for me sometime?”

  “Sure. It needs tuned badly. That’s one part of my hearing that isn’t gone yet. The woman who tuned it for years has retired, and I haven’t a clue who to contact.” Amy shrugged. “I’m leery about having strangers in my home.”

  No surprise there. “My cousin Lance tunes pianos. I’ll give you his name before I leave tonight.”

  “Great. Come into the kitchen, and let’s chat while I put the finishing touches on dinner.”

  Kariss followed Amy into an area that any gourmet cook would have envied. She’d be sure to tell Vicki and Tigo about it. Copper-bottomed pans hung from an island workstation. A six-burner gas stove hugged the wall. Stainless-steel appliances sparkled, and there was a coffee machine that rivaled the ones at Starbucks.

  “Whoa. You must cook to relieve stress.”

  “Not really. I made the investment for resale value. Good staging in the event I want to move.”

  “It would sell me, and I don’t cook, only bake. I smell something yummy. Is it butternut squash bisque?”

  “Ginger-carrot. Is that okay?”

  “Perfect. What can I do?”

  “We’re having hand-pulled chicken-salad croissants and wild-greens salad with strawberries and a zesty dressing. All I need to do is put the croissants together and ladle our bisque into bowls. Ah, but first I should show you my garden.”

  Kariss joined Amy at a wall of windows in the living room. The professionally designed backyard was a gardener’s dream. A high stone wall surrounded an area of lush growing plants. Even in the dead of winter, the area looked inviting.

  “You’re looking at my corner of paradise,” Amy said. “It’s where I go when life stresses me to the max. Not the kitchen.” She smiled. “My bedroom faces there too. Apollo’s in my room right now, and I’m sure he’s sitting in front of the bay window.”

  Kariss smiled. “I can see why both of you enjoy it. Southern Living could feature your garden.”

  The courtyard was paved in slate pavers. A huge oak tree in the corner reminded Kariss of an umbrella as it shielded b
looming impatiens, ferns, and other shade-loving plants. A round wrought-iron table and cushioned chairs sat in the middle of the courtyard, urns of plants adding color to the paved area.

  Kariss turned so Amy could read her lips. “How do you keep this so beautiful?”

  “Many hours of hard work. It’s well lit, and I often work either late into the night or early in the morning.”

  “You do all of this yourself? Why not hire a landscaping service?”

  “I don’t want anyone back there. I even make Apollo use a fenced area to the left of the house for his business. You see, there are only two ways in—through my back door or through the garage.”

  “You should be very proud. Your courtyard is incredible. Do you have good neighbors?”

  “Perfect. The couple on the right spends the winter months and most of spring in Colorado, and the lady on the left is elderly. Nothing behind me but a creek.”

  Kariss wondered if the door to the courtyard had multiple security locks. Probably so. She glanced at the windowed wall and saw it was taped and wired in every corner and along the sides.

  “Let’s eat,” Amy said. “I’ve never invited anyone to share a meal but Baxter or my parents. You’re a first.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “You were right. I need a friend, and I have to take powerful steps to show I can be successful. You’re very good for me, and it’s time I practiced what I preach to my clients.”

  Poor Amy. Living her whole life in fear and caution had robbed her of the joy of having friends. But Kariss was proud of her for finally taking a step in the right direction.

  CHAPTER 53

  JANUARY 27

  9:20 A.M. SUNDAY

  Tigo refused to attend church this morning. For almost six months, he’d sat on a pew beside Ryan and his family. He’d read the Bible and attended Bible study classes. The choice humans had to make between living in dependence on God or living their lives separate from Him plagued Tigo. At times he believed God answered prayer. But today he felt more alienated from Him than ever before. Emptiness filled him.

  His bitterness grew each time he considered the Yeat case and the situation with Kariss. The connection? What was the connection?

  How could Tigo commit his life to a deity who allowed killers to go free? The dichotomy between a loving God and what was going on in the world around him wasn’t logical. Tigo wanted to believe. If only God would give him a reason why all this was happening.

  He paced his kitchen, a cup of coffee on the counter and another one on the table. Both cold. Misery swept through him. He needed to do something physical—something to get his mind off life. Free his head so all the pieces could come together in a landscape that made sense. Trail-biking should do it.

  Grabbing his keys, he headed to the garage. The thought of leaving his helmet at home crossed his mind, but he’d promised Kariss he’d wear it. She’d seen his daredevil antics in action, not understanding that his DNA nudged him to attempt what others thought ridiculous.

  Gray clouds threatened rain, but in his mood, he didn’t care. A chill caused him to head back inside for a sweatshirt. After pulling it on, he received a text from Ryan.

  WILL MISS U N CHURCH

  Anything he’d say would sound pathetic, so he didn’t respond. Shaking off his less-than-stellar feelings about his life, he raised the garage door. Near his subdivision, a twelve-mile bike trail wound through trees, across a creek bed, and over roots and bumps. Just what he needed. When his emotions were outpaced by physical exertion, he’d head home and reanalyze why his life hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned.

  The first three miles of the trail brought back memories of sharing this ride with Kariss.

  “Watch that turn,” he’d said.

  “I see it.”

  “Slow down for the curve.”

  “No problem there … I’m still waiting for this to be fun.”

  “Stay with it. You’re with me, remember? This tough FBI agent will keep you safe.”

  “Safe isn’t the problem. It’s the throbbing in my thighs and the ache in my back.”

  “But you’re strong.”

  “Did I mention the mosquitoes?”

  They’d laughed and repeated the same conversation during the next ride.

  On the fourth mile, the rain started, wet and cold. Suited Tigo’s current views about life. He took a narrow path down a muddy creek bed and up the other side, maneuvering the bike away from a tree trunk. His swerving caused his right pedal to scrape against a small tree, and he went airborne, flying over the handlebars and crashing to the ground. His breath left him in a whoosh. He struggled to regain his composure, glad he was alone. At least he wouldn’t end up being the brunt of a joke. Or, worse yet, having someone snap a pic and post it online. As it was, he might have bruised his ribs or broken a bone, just from riding a bike. How humiliating.

  Tigo moved his head first. A dull throb at the base of his skull was probably only the beginning. The rain’s momentum increased and splattered his face. He had to get up before he drowned.

  I’m a weenie. Buzz Lightyear would be ashamed.

  A glance at his bike revealed a twisted wheel. His bike was unrideable. Probably not even pushable.

  A rustle made him glance to the left. A rattlesnake emerged six inches from his leg. Too close for him to avoid it. Even though he was sure nothing had been broken, he didn’t dare attempt to move from the rattler’s path.

  Tigo blinked. The weather was cold for snakes. It started slithering over his left leg, sending caution shooting through his mind. Wide-eyed and motionless, he felt the snake gliding over his leg below his kneecap and begin its ascent over the other. Helpless. The rain soaked his clothes while his pounding heart resembled a racehorse on steroids.

  Are you listening now, Tigo?

  Where had that voice come from? Tigo lay quietly … The snake covered both his legs, effectively paralyzing him. He waited for venomous fangs to sink into his flesh.

  Do I have your attention?

  Humbled and ashamed, Tigo recognized the voice that was whispering to his soul.

  I’m listening.

  In an instant, all manner of reasoning escaped him. His focus rested on the awareness of God’s presence. Even the snake’s precarious position on his legs slipped from his mind. In its place, guilt pelted him with reminders of the times he’d insisted on doing things his way. All his life, following God’s commands had been like ordering à la cart. He’d made his selections based on what made sense to him.

  For the next few moments, scenes from his life marched across his mind—the countless times he’d been snatched from death’s path. And had taken credit for it. Those events that had led him to be called a superhero and daredevil now held a miraculous, almost reverent significance. He’d been preserved from harm more times than he could count. But for what purpose?

  Jesus in his heart. How many times had he scoffed at this phrase, declared the speaker weak, childish. Tigo didn’t need a crutch. If the solution to a problem evaded him, he’d find the answer on his own.

  “Lord, I’m sorry.” His words were whispered, yet they rushed from his lips as though he couldn’t speak them fast enough.

  The cold rain continued, still soaking him, but the magnitude of what had happened surged far beyond the narrow path with the little tree that now bore scrape marks from his bike pedal.

  A new life.

  Purpose and meaning.

  No longer alone.

  Peace. What a strange sensation.

  He opened his eyes to see the snake had disappeared … gone like the sin that had infected his soul. Who would have ever thought Special Agent Santiago Harris would reach out to God and grasp the hand of the Creator?

  Ironic.

  Humorous.

  Symbolic.

  Time to move on. He carefully moved each arm and leg and found that his body hadn’t given up on him. As he slowly rose to his feet, sharp pain burst from his rib cag
e, from the bones that protected his heart.

  Thank You, God.

  The long, cold walk in the rain would give him time to think. Truth … a lifelong quest, but he was up for it. He’d hit his head, but he understood what had taken place.

  Once home, he’d call Kariss. She should be the first to know.

  3:45 P.M. SUNDAY

  Kariss saw the caller was Tigo. Sweet man. Every moment she spent with him convinced her that she was in love with him. But the thought twisted at her insides. There were too many obstacles for both of them to overcome. She’d lain on the sofa most of the morning, dealing with a horrible headache that had made her physically ill. It was from overdoing it yesterday.

  Her phone rang again, and she tossed aside the ice pack. His call could have something to do with Amy’s assailant. She pressed Talk.

  “Are you staying warm in this cold and rain?” she said and then inwardly groaned. Not a good question considering their quasi-relationship.

  “That’s loaded, but I’m trying. Do you have a few moments for me to tell you about my day?”

  “Sure.” She could hear the excitement in his voice and wondered what had caused it. A grocery list of things tumbled through her mind. Had the case been solved? Had an arrest been made?

  “I didn’t go to church this morning. I was too angry at God. I felt that He’d kept me out of the loop on far too many situations. Instead, I went for a trail-bike ride.”

  “In this rain?” She’d stayed home from church too.

  “It wasn’t raining when I left.” Tigo continued his story, telling Kariss about his fall and the rattlesnake—which he had decided was a speed bump to get his attention—and the whisper of God.

  Kariss gasped. “God spoke to you?”

  “Twice. It wasn’t an audible thing, but a heart thing. So I listened. I figured since I couldn’t go anywhere, and I was at the mercy of a rattler, I could take a moment to hear what He had to say.”

  “And?”

  “I was reminded of my lousy relationship with Him.”

  Kariss sobbed. She’d known God would find Tigo because he’d been seeking Him. “I’m so happy for you.”