He checked his time. Ten minutes had passed since calling the cab company.
Into a large tote bag went all his CDs and several three-ring binders full of codes and instructions. He booted the computer, and, with a sad sigh, started his nuclear program. The hard drive would thoroughly scrub itself and rewrite the data several times before reinstalling an image of a pristine operating system. He doubted the Sheriff’s office had a geek smart enough to recover the data. If they did, by that time, he would already have salvaged some funds and be untouchable.
That’s when he noticed the new footprints.
He followed them throughout the house. Before leaving the house the last time, he’d run the vacuum, of that he was certain. And he kept that in the kitchen pantry, so there were no footprints when he left.
He followed them around the house, from the garage straight to the den, to the computer desk.
To the file cabinet.
Who did they belong to? There was only one set, all the same size. If it was a police officer, they’d still be here, with a search warrant, waiting for him. Putting one of his own feet alongside one of the phantom prints, he realized what had happened.
For the first time in his life he felt unbalanced. The answer was obvious, but she had given him back his keys.
He thought about it. She could have made a spare set. He immediately discounted that theory, remembering the prints came from the garage, not the front door.
Then he remembered.
Garage door opener.
All his loose ends were tied except for Mitch. She had to be taken care of. Unless she was dead, the killings would always be hanging over his head.
A dead witness couldn’t testify.
He finished and waited by the door for the cab. It arrived only two minutes later than predicted, and the driver helped him load his bags.
“Where to, sir?”
John thought for a moment. “TIA. Cayman Airways departure.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mitch stirred the large pot on the stove before returning to the table where Ed, Ron, Sam, and Jim pored over the printouts. “It’s there, Sam, I know what we need to nail his ass is in that damn computer somewhere!”
At the center of the pile was the copy of the mysterious fax received from Texas. After placing a few phone calls to the Texas Rangers, Sam reported to the group that the office there was forcibly closed, its assets seized, and both state and federal agents were poring over records, looking for information to tie them into John’s purported drug smuggling.
The list was a series of dates and times for the next two months, with some codes that probably represented places, but Mitch had yet to connect the dates with anything in John’s records on the computer.
He shook his head. “We have to have proof, Mitch.”
She sighed. “I know.” She popped a peanut open and sucked the meat out of the shell.
Sam reached out and took one from the bowl in the center of the table, shelled it and ate it, dropping the shell onto the paper plate. “These are good, Mitch.”
“Thanks. I like to make my own.”
He studied her. “Do you make those a lot?”
She shrugged. “I used to. John loved them. They’re easy to make. This is the first batch I’ve made in months.”
Startling realization flooded his brain and he staggered to his feet, his mind reeling. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god!” he yelled.
Jim frowned. “Sam, what the hell is wrong with you?’
He grabbed his cell, his fingers obviously trembling with excitement as he dialed. “Yes, this is Sam Caster, Pasco County Sheriff’s Office. Put me through to Kenny Schoenborn immediately, please. Yes it’s urgent!”
Mitch and Ed exchanged puzzled glances while Jim looked like a lightbulb had gone on in his brain. “Oh, shit!” he exclaimed.
“Sam, what is it?” Mitch asked.
He turned. “What color is the interior of John’s Porsche?”
She thought for a moment. “Tan, I think, or beige, or whatever they call that color.”
“Kenny!” he interrupted her, talking on the phone again. “Sam Caster here. Listen, get your men over to John Tyne’s immediately! Suspicion of murder. I’ll have you a witness for a probable cause search warrant in about one hour.” He turned to Mitch. “Yes. She’s sitting right here.”
* * * *
Sam and two deputies drove Mitch and Ed to Tampa to Kenny Schoenborn’s office, where she gave a sworn statement. They got an emergency bench warrant and as soon as it was signed, Kenny gave the team on the scene the word to enter the house.
The Carrollwood house lay empty. The Porsche, however, sat in the garage. After the crime scene technicians finished and secured it, it was towed to the sheriff office’s lab. Matching fibers were found to connect him with Denise Stanley.
Now all they needed was their suspect.
Sam had his deputies drive Mitch and Ed back to Ed’s house to wait for news. He told them he’d return in a couple of hours and to sit tight.
Ron showed up before Sam, and was already trying to talk the two into leaving. Sam picked up the argument immediately upon his arrival.
“Ed, take Mitch, and go off for a couple of days. Get a rental car and leave your truck here. We’ll post a couple of deputies that resemble you two and hope John does something stupid.”
Mitch still didn’t like the idea of leaving. She knew Aripeka, grew up in its close-knit confines. A stranger was easily identifiable. If they did leave and John managed to follow them, there was no telling how much danger they’d be in. There would be no way to watch their backs and know for certain that John wasn’t close behind.
“How long are we supposed to keep our lives on hold? How long are we supposed to keep running? What happened to keeping a close eye on the key witness?” Mitch sniped.
“What about the fact that he’s got some sort of connection either here or up in Hernando Beach or Bayport? Someone who knows the area? How about the next time he tries something we find you scattered all over Bob’s parking lot and we bury you in a coffee can after we pick you up with table spoons?”
Mitch recoiled from his words as if slapped. He softened his voice and tried again. “Mitch, I can’t force you to go any more than I can force you to stay unless I locked you up under protective custody. I’m your friend, and I’m not going to do that. I’m asking you, not telling you, as your friend, please get the hell out.”
She looked up at Ed. “Well?”
“You already know my feelings on the matter.”
“Shit.” She walked over to Margarita’s cage and took the bird out, petting her. “What about Margarita and Pete?”
“I’ll stay here with them,” Ron volunteered. “Or we can move them to my house. Whichever you prefer.”
“No, you can stay here.” She sighed. “Give me a little while to get packed and Ron can drop us by the Ford dealership.”
The men all looked at her quizzically.
“If we’re leaving Ed’s truck here, we need a vehicle. I need to replace the Bronco anyway, so I might as well do it now. I’d at least like to have that much stability in my life, that I’m in my own goddamn car.”
She went into the bedroom to pack, wishing John would show up and get his ass shot just so her life could return to normal. Along that line of thinking, she remembered to pack the 9mm, the extra clips, and a full box of ammo for it. Probably an unnecessary precaution, but it made her feel a little better nonetheless.
* * * *
An hour later, they were at the dealership. The deputy, under orders to remain with them until they left in their new vehicle, shadowed them while they looked. She narrowed it down to three different choices and asked the salesman to give them a few minutes alone. He walked back to the showroom while she discussed it with Ed and the deputy.
She decided on a blue Expedition, a like-new four-door with a V8 engine and all the safety features, including antilock brakes and air bags. T
he only thing it didn’t have was power locks, but she didn’t care about that. They trooped into the sales office to find the salesman. An hour later, the deputy helped them transfer their luggage into the new vehicle and waited until they were safely on the road.
* * * *
The deputy never saw the car across the street pull out and follow Mitch and Ed. He had a picture of John Tyne supplied to Sam by Mitch, and any cars that drove into the lot he scrutinized for a familiar face. Perhaps if he’d been a former military man or Secret Service, he would have spotted the threat, but instead he called in to Sam Caster that everything went fine and then checked out, his shift over an hour earlier, and drove home.
* * * *
Mitch was in no mood to enjoy her new vehicle, and had practically shoved the keys in Ed’s hands when the salesman handed her the paperwork.
“I just can’t drive, Ed. I’m too upset.”
“That’s okay, hon. Where to?”
She waved her hand at the windshield. “I don’t care. South. Key West, hell, Cuba for all I care.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s nearly dark. How about we stop around Sarasota and get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll discuss it from there.”
Mitch leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Whatever. I don’t care.”
* * * *
The western horizon had melted into deep purple, the sun already down, by the time they crossed the Sunshine Skyway bridge. They drove mostly in silence, Ed’s attempts at conversation early in the trip unproductive.
I don’t know what to say to her.
He felt the change in her. Ever since learning about Jenna’s death, the anger and personal outrage she’d felt about John had been subtly replaced by guilt and even fear. He’d seen the full spectrum of Mitch’s emotions over the years, but never anything quite like the withdrawn, almost impenetrable brooding mask she now wore. Aching for her, he left her to her own thoughts and concentrated on driving.
He drove on for another fifteen minutes before turning off the interstate and heading west for Sarasota. He found a Holiday Inn on the ICW that had plenty of rooms available and a restaurant on the ground floor. Once they were checked into a room with a water view and unpacked, Ed called Sam and gave them the room number as well as the tag number and description of the new Explorer.
“Where are you going to end up?”
“I don’t know,” Ed said, looking at Mitch. “Wherever we end up at.”
“Hopefully, it’ll be safe enough for you to come home within a week. I’d say if he doesn’t show up or we don’t find any sign of him before then, he’ll be long gone. We’ve got border patrol notices up, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t already halfway to Texas or jumped a fishing trawler or something. Or he could have already hopped a flight out of TIA before we got the BOLO out.”
“Okay, Sam. We’ll keep in touch. Call us if anything happens.” He hung up and turned to Mitch. “Are you going to eat something, or will I have to force-feed you?” He smiled, trying to keep his voice light.
“No, I’ll eat, dammit. But I’ll be glad when we can go home.” They went downstairs. By the end of the meal, Ed had managed to coax a few smiles and tentative laughs out of her. Her state of mind, while not the best, was at least a little improved from that afternoon.
Their room came with a large whirlpool tub, and they made good use of it, taking time to soak in the warm water, simply holding each other, trying to ease the day’s tension away. Ed thought he’d managed to relax Mitch when he carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed until she took a moment to unpack the 9mm and put it in the nightstand drawer, fully loaded, a round chambered. Only then did she allow him to make love to her.
“You sure know how to interrupt the flow of things,” he gently chided her.
She nibbled on his ear. “It gives me a little peace of mind. I felt like someone followed us down the entire way today.”
He kissed a line from the base of her throat to in between her breasts. “You’re just jumpy, that’s all.”
“I hope you’re right.” She softly moaned as he took one of her breasts into his mouth and teased her with his tongue.
“I am. Just lay back and enjoy yourself.”
What he didn’t tell her was he’d had that same feeling. He didn’t mention the Chevy that appeared to stay with them all the way down US 19 to the interstate and across the Skyway. He didn’t really think it was anything to worry about, but he didn’t want to be caught on the road after dark either.
Mitch’s hand found its way between his legs. As she slowly massaged his balls before wrapping her fingers around his cock and stroking it, he soon forgot about the Chevy and concentrated on loving her.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her fingers sliding up and down his hard shaft. So many times he’d imagined her hands on him, her body underneath his, and now his dreams had finally come true.
When he couldn’t take it any longer, he rolled her over onto her back. “I want to taste you,” he hoarsely said before lowering his lips to her pussy.
Her eyes fell closed as her fingers plunged into his hair. If anything, his cock grew even harder at the taste of her sweet juices as he fucked her with his tongue. He clamped his fingers around her thighs and held her still as he slowly teased and tormented her. Only when she started begging him to make her come did he relent. He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, triggering her explosion.
Listening to her moans nearly finished him off. He sat up and sank his cock deep inside her, relishing the feel of her slick muscles grabbing at his shaft.
“Please!” she gasped, urging him to start moving.
He leaned in and kissed her. “Don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you so good, baby,” he whispered. He grabbed her wrists and encircled her with his arms, holding her hands above her head, cocooning her with his body. He kissed her again before nuzzling his lips in the crook of her neck. “So good,” he repeated.
She tried to urge him faster, but he wouldn’t be rushed. He savored it, holding back, wanting to make her come again first. Only when he felt her body tensing, climbing toward release, did he pick up the pace.
Her fingers curled around his. He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “I love you, Mitch,” he whispered.
Her gaze widened. He felt her pussy clench around him as her release exploded.
He smiled. “That’s what I wanted to feel, baby.” He began fucking her hard, fast, racing to catch up with her until with a cry echoed by her, he exploded inside her.
Winded, he collapsed on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him. “Please don’t ever let me go,” she whispered.
He rolled to his side with his arms protectively cradling her. “Never,” he said. “Never.”
She fell asleep in his arms, curled up against his side. Ed thought back to their dinner conversation.
He was acutely aware that Mitch hadn’t brought up any plans for the future, for their future, as she had been ever since they admitted their feelings for each other. He tried to force himself away from the macabre line of thinking that there might not be a future for them if John interceded, and finally drifted off to sleep, curled protectively around her.
* * * *
She ran. A brief, panicked glance over her shoulder was enough to send her sprinting down the stairs, across the dewy grass of the backyard, toward the dock. Whatever the dark, shapeless thing was pursuing her, identification would have to wait.
Mitch fled down the dock, over the rough wood, picking her feet up as she ran—
Watch out for splinters!
—even this was ingrained in her from childhood, drilled into her by her father and experience.
As the threat gained speed on her, too late she realized the jon boat was gone. Her only escape lay in the water.
She sped up, judging her distance. After she launched herself at the water, reaching her hands out to break her entry, she realized
she’d find no safety here as the water boiled and darkness broke the surface to devour her—
“Mitch!”
Ed shook her as she screamed, his eyes wide, still confused from sleep and fright. Her frantic thrashing and cries had awoken him, and he had the 9mm in his hand, safety off, until he turned the bedside light on and realized she was in the iron grasp of a nightmare.
Her eyes opened. When her brief disorientation passed, she collapsed in his arms, shuddering, unable to cry anymore. He held her until her shakes passed, then finally, her breathing became slow and steady as she sank back into the relief of sleep.
He put the safety back on the 9mm and laid it on top of the bedside table. He would not sleep for the rest of the night. He sat up in bed, the TV on low to keep from disturbing Mitch, watching over her.
* * * *
Mitch woke up before dawn from habit. As the day’s first, grey light crept into the room, she told Ed about her nightmare and her terror.
“And what if he’s out there right now? What if he’s watching for us in the parking lot?”
He bit his tongue, wanting more to calm her fears than add to them. “I doubt that, hon. He can’t possibly have followed us.”
She wanted to believe him, but the dream’s firm grip refused to let go. Darkness behind, darkness ahead, terror no matter where she turned.
Chapter Thirty-Four
John took a room in the hotel across the street from Mitch and Ed, where a twenty-four-hour Denny’s operated in the lobby. He asked for a five a.m. wake-up call and went out in search of a drug store. After making a rather unusual purchase at a CVS, he returned to his hotel, made sure their vehicle still sat in the lot, and went to his room.
By the time he went to bed, his hair had been buzzed short with the clippers he bought and was now a light blond. He hadn’t shaved since that morning, and his stubble was coming in quickly. The wire-frame reading glasses he bought were the weakest magnification he could get but still messed up his equilibrium a little. It didn’t matter, because he wouldn’t need to wear them very long. Only long enough to approach Mitch without her recognizing him until it was too late.
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