The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15

by Catherine Coulter

  “How do you know all this about her, Ms. Schuster?” Sherlock asked.

  “She dated my son for four months,” Carly said simply. “I saw her up close and personal. Of course Jason talked about her. I know she was having sex with him, and I’ll tell you, that scared me.”

  Savich and Sherlock waited.

  Carly drew in a deep breath. “He broke up with her last spring. Though he wouldn’t admit it, I think he was a little frightened of her. After the breakup, she threatened to kill him. That might sound like a melodramatic teenager, but I was afraid for him. She accused him of sleeping with another girl, though he hadn’t. A few days later, the girl, Lindy, was struck by a car while she was riding her bicycle, broke her leg. We never found out who hit her. Lissy didn’t ever hurt Jason, but someone slashed the tires on his old Honda.”

  “Is Jason around, Carly?” Sherlock asked.

  “No, I’m sorry. He’s in Spain with his father, my ex. He won’t be back until September. You know, I think Jason breathed a big sigh of relief when Lissy and her mother left town.”

  25

  THEY’D JUST CLIMBED INTO the Porsche when Céline Dion’s beautiful voice sang out the theme from Titanic on Savich’s cell phone.

  “Savich.” He listened, then said, “I’m betting on a twenty-two and a Bren Ten, ten-millimeter auto ammo. Yeah, verify when you know.” He slipped his cell back into the pocket of his leather jacket. He met Sherlock’s eyes.

  “You wanna know something fantastic? The deputy is alive, out of surgery, and we can head up to Overlook Hospital in Pamplin, try to speak to her. The hospital is filled with her family and cops. The sheriff said we’re to go directly to the ICU on the third floor. He’ll meet us there.”

  “It had to be Victor and Lissy, on their way down here. I wonder why she’s alive?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure hoping she can tell us.”

  Sherlock said, “The license number was off an old Impala, right?”

  He nodded again.

  Sherlock closed her eyes, remembering clearly getting shot herself, wondering if she would die. “What’s the deputy’s name?”

  “Gail Lynd. She’s been in law enforcement for six years. She’s married, two small kids. As for the deputy they killed, he also had a family.”

  “We’ve got to get them fast, Dillon, before they kill anyone else.”

  “My gut keeps telling me Victor will head for home, for Winnett, North Carolina, though I know that doesn’t make sense. We were right about Fort Pessel, but they’re not stupid. Everyone and his mother are looking for them. But they’ve got to go under for a while before they try for me. Maybe Victor knows a place to hide in or near Winnett. I want to get home, though, after we speak to Gail at the hospital.”

  When Savich pulled into the parking lot in front of the hospital, Galen called again, told him about the break-in at Kougar’s Pharmacy in Fort Pessel, and the couple dozen stolen Vicodin. “Maybe that’s why she fell asleep.”

  Sherlock and Savich walked the long third-floor corridor. The walls were a light green, meant to be restful, she supposed, but it didn’t work for her. She felt itchy, jumpy. They passed some uniformed officers and what must have been family in the waiting room but didn’t slow or look in.

  The sheriff wasn’t waiting for them.

  Nurse Dolores Stark eyed them and their creds over her bifocals. “The sheriff had to leave on an emergency.”

  Sherlock said, “Talk to us about Deputy Lynd.”

  Dolores, an ICU nurse for twenty-three years, tough as her mother-in-law, said with a big smile, “She got through surgery, both of them. Dr. Lazarus worked on her for four hours, and then had to go back in for bleeding. They lost her twice but got her back. She’s going to make it, barring anything else coming down the road we’re not expecting. I’m not sure she can speak right now, they just extubated her a couple of hours ago. Ah, Dr. Lazarus, these are Special Agents Savich and Sherlock, here to see Deputy Lynd.”

  Dr. Lazarus didn’t look happy. But neither did he look like he’d spent the night inside someone’s chest. He wasn’t rumpled, didn’t have any bags beneath his eyes, like he wanted to fall over and sleep for a year. Instead, he looked like he’d just waltzed in from the golf course but had shot too many bogies. “You can’t,” he said. “She’s not up for it yet. Maybe tomorrow. Call me.”

  Sherlock gave him a lovely smile, walked up into his face. “Would you like to accompany us, Dr. Lazarus? We’re hopeful she’s with it enough to give us information about who shot her. What room, Nurse Stark?”

  “Room Three forty-three,” said Dolores.

  Savich and Sherlock walked quickly down the hall, Dr. Lazarus on their heels. “Wait! You can’t do this. I can’t allow—”

  Savich waved Sherlock on and turned to say easily, “You can monitor, Dr. Lazarus, all right?”

  When they walked in, it was to see Sherlock bent over Gail Lynd, her fingertips lightly stroking her forearm. “Gail, can you hear me?”

  No response.

  “You see, she’s not—”

  “Gail? Can you hear me? I’m Special Agent Sherlock, FBI, and I really want to find the yahoo who shot you and throw him in the Mariana Trench. That deep enough for you?”

  Gail Lynd moaned.

  “That’s it,” Sherlock said, and continued to lightly rub her fingertips over Gail’s forearm. “You don’t have to open your eyes, but I would like to see you, if you can manage it, and you to see me.”

  Deputy Gail Lynd managed to open her eyes. She looked up into blue eyes the color of the August sky. “The Mariana Trench should be fine,” she whispered.

  “It’s good to meet you, Deputy Lynd. We both have blue eyes. Call me Sherlock. Do you think you can tell me what happened last night?”

  “Last night? It was just a moment ago, no, it was—” Gail felt something wonderfully cold and wet rubbing lightly against her mouth, and she licked it. Sherlock turned to Dr. Lazarus, who looked like he wanted to leap on her to protect his patient. That made her smile a bit. “Water?” she asked him. “A little bit?”

  At his unsmiling nod, Sherlock held Deputy Lynd’s head up a bit and put a straw between her lips. “Just a little bit, we don’t want you to get sick to your stomach.”

  “Thanks,” said Gail Lynd, her voice a croak. She blinked, surprised she could actually speak.

  “Are you in pain?”

  Gail thought about that a moment, then shook her head. “No, fact is, I feel dead from the neck down.”

  “Probably a good thing,” Sherlock said. “Now, Gail, I don’t want you to overdo. If you get tired or there’s pain, tell me and we’ll stop.”

  She started slowly, but ended in a rush. “…and I heard the shot, saw Davie go down, and I went running toward the Impala, yelling at Davie, and then this young guy leans out of the driver’s side and he shoots me.” She looked at Sherlock, her eyes pooling with tears. “No one ever shot me before. I know what it’s supposed to be like, you know, we discuss it, but it wasn’t like I thought—it slammed into me like a sledgehammer, knocked me backward. I saw him coming down over me. I heard the girl yelling at him to shoot me between the eyes because if I didn’t die right away, I could live long enough to tell someone. Her mother told her that.” She broke off, held very still for a couple of moments, raised her eyes to Sherlock’s face. “Her mother,” she whispered. “This is what her mother told her to do.”

  “Thankfully for the world, her mother is dead,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. “Did she say anything that might help us find them?”

  “She was crazy, Agent Sherlock. I don’t know about him, but that girl was crazy. I couldn’t do anything except lie there, helpless. It was…horrible. To wait, knowing you’re going to die. Just waiting, and you hurt so bad you can’t really accept it, not really, and you wait.”

  Sherlock gently wiped the tears that were seeping out of the corners of Deputy Lynd’s eyes. “You want to rest now?”

  “N
o, no, let me finish it. I want you to catch these two. The thing is, when the young guy—she called him Victor—when he came back down over me, I knew he was going to shoot me right between the eyes, I knew it, and I was helpless. Helpless.”

  No one said a word. Dr. Lazarus stared at the young woman whose life he’d managed to save. Sure, he’d been inside her chest, taking out the bullet and repairing her lung, he’d watched her heart stop twice, but now he was inside her head, living her memories with her of being shot with that bullet, of what it was like to almost die, and know it. He didn’t think he’d ever forget this moment as long as he lived. He took a step back from the big FBI guy in front of him. He rubbed his hand over his chest. It hurt to listen to her, hurt—

  “It was so weird; he winked at me, twice, and he fired, only the bullet hit the pavement maybe six inches from my head. I heard her yell, ‘Notch that boy’s belt!’—something like that. I heard Randall—he’s the dispatcher—yelling on my cell, and I knew in that moment that maybe I had a chance.” She raised her eyes to Dr. Lazarus. “You saved my life?”

  He nodded, wordless.

  “Thank you, Doctor. Agent Sherlock, will you please get these two killer kids?”

  “Yes, we’ll get them.”

  “The girl, Lissy, she shot Davie?”

  Sherlock nodded.

  “She would have shot me between the eyes too.”

  Again, Sherlock nodded.

  “I wonder why he didn’t?”

  Because Victor knew Lissy couldn’t see what he was doing. Sherlock closed her hand around Gail’s, squeezed just a bit. “That is an excellent question. Maybe there’s something in him that can still be redeemed.”

  Sherlock leaned close. “I know it was horrible. You will always remember this as being horrible, but you know what? The shock of it, the pain, the hopelessness of what you felt, it will fade when you begin to laugh again, when you smile at yourself in the mirror, when you hug your kids. I was shot not long ago, and you know what? It is beginning to fade. Never forget, Gail, you survived. I’ll be checking on you. You get well, no setbacks, okay?”

  Gail Lynd managed a smile as she closed her eyes.

  26

  TITUSVILLE, VIRGINIA

  Monday morning

  Ethan walked into his kitchen to see Autumn throwing kibble to Lula, Mackie, and Big Louie. She was laughing. When she saw him, she gave him a huge smile. “Ethan, when Big Louie slides, you can hear his fingernails scraping the floor.”

  He leaned down and hugged the little girl. She was wearing a pink T-shirt with tulips on it. “You sleep okay, kiddo?”

  She hugged him back before she nodded. “Mama didn’t. She had a nightmare and started moaning. I had to wake her up.”

  “No wonder. So much has happened. I’m glad you didn’t have a nightmare too. Would you like a bowl of Rice Krispies and some toast?”

  She nodded and threw another piece of kibble to Lula, who went flying out of the kitchen after it.

  “It was the last one,” she said, and rubbed her hands on her white shorts. “I hope you catch Blessed today, Ethan.”

  From the mouths of children. “I do too. Everyone’s trying, Autumn. Sit down now.” He poured cereal in a bowl and handed her the milk. As she poured it, she said, “I’m going to try to call Dillon again tonight.”

  She took a big bite and chewed while he pushed the bread down in the toaster, then stared at her. “Dillon? Who’s he?”

  She grew very still. She looked scared.

  He came over to her, knelt down beside her chair. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “I’m not supposed to say anything.”

  “Anything about what? About Dillon?”

  “Even my mama doesn’t know about me calling Dillon. I didn’t want to tell her. I knew it would upset her, and she’s so scared right now, so worried about me. But I know she was going to tell Uncle Tollie.”

  Tell him what?

  The toast popped up. He frowned as he buttered and added strawberry jam to each slice, one for him and one for Autumn. “Here you go. My mom made this jam; it’s pretty good.”

  She gave him a guilty look and ducked her head. She didn’t eat, only sat there. Big Louie trotted over and laid his head on her leg. She began petting him.

  Ethan waited.

  He said, “Did you use your mom’s cell phone to call Dillon?”

  Autumn cocked her head to one side. “No, I don’t know his number.”

  What was going on here? “Then how did you call Dillon?” She kept her head down, petting Big Louie faster.

  “Autumn, sweetheart, you’ve got to know you can tell me anything. If you’ve got something to say that will help me help you, you should tell me.”

  She looked up at him then, and sighed. “Uncle Tollie would help us, but he’s not here. You’re here, Ethan.”

  Ethan nodded and waited.

  She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I called Dillon last Thursday night, real late. I think he was asleep. I haven’t been able to speak to him since then. He hasn’t been there.”

  “How did you do that?”

  She closed her eyes a moment, then whispered, “Mama will be mad at me.”

  He waited, impatient now, wondering what she was doing.

  “I called him because I saw him on TV, standing in front of a bank. He stopped a bunch of bank robbers. He was a hero. I knew he could help us, so I waited until it was real late and then I thought hard about him, made him clear in my mind, and he was there and he could hear me and see me too, just like Daddy when he was in prison. He wasn’t scared or anything. I told him Mama and I were in big trouble. I’m going to try to call him again tonight, when it’s real late again.”

  What was he to say to that? Some imagination you’ve got there, kiddo, but could you eat your cereal and throw kibble to the varmints and get back to the real world?

  He said instead, “What did Dillon say to you when you told him you and your mama were in trouble?”

  “Well, I had some problems because I hadn’t spoken to anyone like that since Daddy died. He knows my name but not my last name, and he doesn’t know where we are. I’ve got to call him and tell him so he can come and help you find Blessed.”

  Joanna walked into the kitchen, carrying Lula in her arms. The small smile fell off her face when she looked at her daughter. She grew very still. Lula meowed, and Joanna set her on the floor. “What, Autumn? What did you say to Ethan?”

  Autumn didn’t say a word. She took a big bite of her toast and kept her head down.

  Ethan said, “She told me she spoke to someone called Dillon last Thursday night, like she used to speak to her daddy, and she’s going to try to call Dillon again tonight to come help us. Has she told you stories like this before, Joanna?”

  Autumn whispered, “Dillon’s a hero. Remember, Mama? He shot those bank robbers in Washington. I called him, just like I called Daddy, and he talked to me.”

  “Oh, Autumn, baby, you didn’t. I told you—” She broke off and gave a sideways look at Ethan. “Well, never mind, we can talk about this later, Sheriff. I’m hungry. How about I make some pancakes?”

  “No,” Ethan said, walking to her. “I don’t want pancakes. I want to know what’s going on with Autumn. Did you believe her story about speaking to her father in her head when he was in prison hundreds of miles away, and speaking to this Dillon last Thursday night? Is that why you doubted her story about the cemetery, because she’s told you stories like this before?”

  Joanna wrapped her arms around herself and began pacing the small kitchen.

  “Joanna?”

  Autumn said, “Mama, I told Ethan we were going to tell Uncle Tollie, and he’s not here. We need to tell Ethan, explain it to him.”

  Ethan said, a hint of sarcasm breaking through, “I’d sure appreciate anything you deign to tell me about all this, Joanna.”

  That got her. She drew up and stared him straight in the eye. “Very well, Sheriff, I will.
Autumn has a special gift, one I didn’t believe at first either until I met the Backmans in Bricker’s Bowl and saw what Blessed could do. She inherited it from her father, and I think that’s why they want to get her back, because she has the same gift her father had.”

  “You mean that Autumn has the ability to do the things Blessed can do?”

  “No, she can’t hypnotize people. But I believe Autumn can speak telepathically to some people. Not all that many people, but naturally with her father, and it seems this Dillon as well. Autumn, you really called this man who killed the bank robbers?”

  Autumn nodded and took a small bite of her toast.

  Joanna said, “He was crazy, what he did. What if there had been children in that bank?”

  “He’s a hero,” Autumn said again, her chin going up. “He was real nice to me, Mama. I mean, he was surprised when I called him, but he didn’t freak or anything like that. We talked. But I’ve tried to get him a bunch more times, but he wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you’re so worried about me, I didn’t want to scare you more. And you told me not to talk to anyone except Uncle Tollie.”

  Ethan looked from one to the other. He wasn’t angry for the simple reason that he’d had to accept Blessed as a reality. He didn’t want to believe any of this, but there was Blessed, always Blessed, and Autumn was Blessed’s niece. “Can you speak to your mother telepathically, Autumn?”

  Autumn shook her head. “I wish I could, but Mama can’t hear me. I don’t try to talk to people anymore. If they hear me, they think they’re crazy. Well, there was the boy at the gas station, and he liked talking to me in his brain, once he got used to it. He called me dude. He’d say, ‘Hello, dude.’ He was always wanting to borrow money from me. He thought I was a teenager, like him.”

  “Try to talk to me, Autumn.”

  She did try, and so did he. He concentrated on her, concentrated on relaxing, on opening up, but nothing happened. He had to admit he was relieved.

  Joanna said, “I overheard Shepherd say she knew Autumn had her father’s gift. The only thing is, I don’t really know how she knew it.” Joanna broke off and looked at her daughter. “Oh, no, you didn’t say something to them, did you, baby?”