by Meryl Sawyer
Turning the key in the ignition, he said, “You started to tell me why Kesseldorf is so important.”
He shot a glance at her as he drove away. The solemn expression on her face and the chilling look in her eyes alarmed him. Uh-oh.
“After Chloe drowned, I wanted to die. I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t talk. My stepfather didn’t know what to do. I suppose I needed professional counseling, but we were poor and lived out in the country.
“One of his bloodhound bitches had a litter but her milk ran dry. There were seven pups who constantly needed to be fed. He marched me out to the barn, showed me the puppies, and told me they were my responsibility. If I didn’t take care of them, they would die.
“At first, I just sat there, feeling sorry for myself, refusing to help. He left me alone with them. I couldn’t let helpless little puppies—all ears at that stage—starve to death. With no one to help me, I couldn’t take a break or sleep. In saving them, I saved myself.”
“Oh, Jenny, I wish I’d been there.”
“After that I threw myself into working with bloodhounds, training them to track, schooling others to be mantrailers. For a time, the only talking I did was to the dogs. Hiram was patient with me; he wasn’t much of a talker anyway. Gradually, I pulled out of my depressed state.
“I’ve never gotten over Chloe’s death, but I no longer think about killing myself. I have my stepfather to thank. Through his contacts, I worked at a kennel to help put myself through Georgia State. Before coming to Miami, I worked the Atlanta airport with a team of dogs who checked luggage for drugs.”
“Dogs are special to you,” he said. “They’re more than a career.”
He drove along, slowed by cars full of tourists who were gawking at Key West’s unique buildings. While Jenny had been talking, he’d kept an ear tuned to the scanner to see if the sheriff was looking for Jennifer. He wasn’t certain what any of this had to do with Kesseldorf, but with when Jennifer opened up, she took her time and told you the whole story. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Yes, dogs are special,” she said as she reached over the back of the seat to pet Sadie. “They remind me of a very special man. Hiram Whitmore adopted me, and in his quiet manner, loved me as if I’d been his own flesh and blood. My mother’s death, the pregnancy, then Chloe drowning were blows that came one after the other. I don’t know what would have become of me if it weren’t for him.”
Nothing in her tone suggested she blamed him for not being there for her, but he couldn’t help being upset with himself. It had never occurred to him that she was pregnant. While she’d been suffering, he’d acted out, deliberately behaving badly and getting himself into trouble because he was mad at the world over his father’s death.
“Four years ago, Hiram was diagnosed with cancer. I gave up my job in Atlanta and went home to take care of him.”
He shuddered inwardly, thinking she had experienced so much pain for someone so young. With a dull ache of foreboding, he decided her past life had changed her in ways he was only beginning to discover.
“He lingered a year, suffering terribly,” she said. “By then I knew how much I loved him, and I realized how lonely his life must have been. We talked a lot. He told me the happiest years of his life were after I came to live with him. He loved me so much. My real father—wherever he is—couldn’t have loved me more or helped me when I needed him.”
Kyle spotted a parking place and pulled into it. He shut off the engine and turned to Jennifer. “Jenny, I’m sorry. I wish—”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m just trying to explain why I want to go to Kesseldorf. Hiram had nothing to pass on to me except his ability to work with bloodhounds. I’ve always dreamed that one day I could start a kennel of my own. Not just any kennel, but a first-rate one where I could train dogs for S&R and police work. Kesseldorf is the best training facility in the world. Attending classes there would put me among the elite of trainers and handlers.”
“What about the antiterrorist work?” His voice sounded weak even to himself. He could see how important this was to her, and he had no idea if he fit into her plans.
“I’ll stay with the team for a while. Between Kesseldorf and my antiterrorist training, I’ll have the best credentials imaginable. My dogs will be worth a fortune.”
“Jenny, I—”
“Listen!” She turned up the volume on the scanner.
“Attention! Attention! This is an All Points Bulletin. Wanted for arrest for murder: Jennifer Anne Whitmore. Five feet four inches tall. Blond hair. Blue eyes. The subject is considered armed and dangerous.”
Chapter 32
“Oh, my God!” cried Jennifer. “What am I going to do?”
Kyle’s large hands cupped her face, and he looked directly into her eyes. “We, not you—we. We’re in this together, and we have a plan.”
She’d been alone so long, with no one to count on but her stepfather. Now she faced another crisis, and she had no idea where to turn. She had to trust Kyle to help her.
They listened in silence as the APB was again repeated this time with more information. They knew so much! She’d been seen last with Kyle Parker. They had descriptions of both their cars. And Sadie.
She reached for the door handle.
Kyle grabbed her hand. “What in hell are you doing?”
“Leaving you. Please take care of Sadie.”
“I said we’re in this together. I meant it.”
“Think again. If you help me now, you’ll be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive. It’ll ruin your career if nothing else.”
“To hell with my career,” he said in his deep voice. “I love you. I’m not bailing out on you. Not now, not ever.”
The expression on his face was so galvanizing it sent a tremor through her. She knew he meant every word.
He pulled her roughly to him, looked directly into her eyes, then said, “I love you, Jenny. Repeat after me: We’re in this together.”
She hesitated a moment, then found herself saying, “We’re in this together.”
He let go of her and turned down the volume on the police scanner. “I have an idea. Since it’s Sunday, no one will be working at the house Trevor is restoring. There’s a garage where we can hide the car. We’ll use the house until it’s dark, then we can sneak into Thunder Island.”
He started the car, and she scrunched down low in her seat, hoping no one would recognize her. “We’re still going to start by checking on Tyler Langley?”
“Yes. If he really worked in Colombia, then the CIA has a file on him.”
They were only blocks from Trevor’s house on Angela Street. They drove there without seeing any of the sheriff’s deputies or police. The single car garage was a narrow building that dated back to Model-T days. They parked the car, then closed the garage door.
“Anybody here?” Kyle yelled as he went into the back door of the house.
The only response was the hollow echo of his voice in the empty building. Sadie hobbled in with them, her cast clack-clacking on the wooden floor. They set up a makeshift table by using a sawhorse and set up the computer on top of it.
Sitting on spools of electrical wire, they linked-up to the satellite to access the computer in the Pentagon. As Kyle tapped on the keys, she watched him and wondered how she was going to deal with him.
She loved Kyle; she always had. He’d given her the most precious gift of all—Chloe. Even though her young life had ended so tragically, Jennifer still treasured every second they’d spent together.
She knew Kyle expected more of her than she could possibly give. He deserved someone who shared his dream of a big family. Kyle had been an only child. She vividly recalled their discussions when they’d been young and in love. He’d been lonely; he wanted his children to have lots of brothers and sisters.
Kyle turned to her while he waited for the computer to verify his identity. “Let’s hope Tyler Langley is his real name.”
“The way my luck’s going,
I’m not betting on a thing.”
“I’m verified.” He punched the keyboard with a vengeance. “Let’s check the CIA database first. Too bad we don’t know his middle name, in case there’s more than one Tyler Langley.”
Waiting, she bent down to pet Sadie. The dog nuzzled her hand.
“Son of a bitch! I think our luck has just changed.” He covered enough of the screen with his big hand so she couldn’t read it. “They have Tyler. What do you think he really does for a living?”
“I give up.”
He winked at her. “Since you’re so cute, I’m not going to torture you by making you guess.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “He’s a special agent with the FBI.”
“No!” She slapped her bare thigh. “He doesn’t seem like the type. He callously told Thelma Mae the truth, then she killed herself. Or do you think he made that up?”
“Why would he?”
Kyle took his hand off the screen, and she closely inspected Tyler’s picture and the information about him. “He’s with the computer fraud division. Along with techies at AOL, Tyler cracked the Melissa Computer Virus case that screwed up everyone’s e-mail. What do you suppose he’s investigating at Thunder Island?”
“Who says he’s investigating anything? It could be a vacation.”
“Can’t we get into the FBI database and see?”
He reached down and squeezed her knee. “Great minds think alike.”
This time it wasn’t so easy. It took over half an hour to ferret through the FBI files.
“Okay, here it is.” Kyle pointed to the screen. “He’s investigating an on-line fraud case. Who uses a computer at Thunder Island? Not Plotzy.”
“Chuck does. He day trades stocks.” She thought a moment. “Lisa may use her brother’s computer, but I’ve never heard her mention it. Raven doesn’t have a computer. She claims she’s roadkill on the information superhighway.”
She thought a moment, then added, “Why didn’t Tyler explain what he was doing to the sheriff? Then Sheriff Prichett would have investigated more thoroughly.”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to ask him.”
“Ask Tyler?” she said as he shut down the computer. “We don’t even know where he is.”
Kyle’s half smile assured her that he was cunning like a fox. “I’ll call the sheriff and pretend I’m an advance person with a big television network. I’ll say Peter Jennings wants to interview him and some of the other Thunder Island residents, but I don’t know how to contact the others.”
To Jennifer’s amazement, Kyle didn’t even have to speak directly with Sheriff Prichett. Those two magic words “national television” got him the information.
“Tyler is staying at the Banyan Resort over on Whitehead Street. I’m going over there and talk to him.”
“What if someone spots you?”
“Trevor keeps work clothes upstairs. I’ll change my shirt and cover my hair with a baseball cap.”
He was so tall, so distinctive looking that she worried it wouldn’t work. He’ll go to jail for helping you, whispered a warning voice in her head. But she knew she couldn’t stop him. He was every bit as stubborn as she was, maybe more.
“Stay right here,” he told her when he reappeared wearing a blue denim shirt splattered with paint, and a Marlin’s ball cap. “It may take a while. If something should happen to me, I’ll get word to you. Whatever you do, don’t leave. Promise?”
He headed for the door, but she couldn’t let him go without saying something. She ran after him. “Kyle, I know you’re taking an enormous risk for me. Th-thank you.”
“When you love someone, you help them any way you can.”
Kyle walked into the Parrot Bar, pulled off his shades, and squinted into the darkness. The woman at the desk of the Banyan House had said Tyler had gone to a nearby bar to watch the soccer match on the big screen. He spotted Tyler at a corner table, drinking a beer.
Tyler saw him and motioned him over. Aw, hell. So much for a good disguise.
His eyes adjusting to the darkness, Kyle quickly scanned the room. No law enforcement officers in sight. He wouldn’t have expected them to be here on the fringe of Bahama Village unless there was trouble in the bar. But the last thing he needed was for the cops to pick him up. He couldn’t do Jennifer any good in jail.
“What’s happening?” Tyler asked as Kyle sat down opposite him at the small table.
“You know there’s a warrant out for Jennifer’s arrest.”
“Yeah, too bad. She doesn’t seem like the type to—”
“She didn’t kill him. The sheriff’s just too lazy to investigate until he finds the real killer.”
Tyler kicked back the rest of his beer. “A good defense lawyer can get her off. No sweat.”
Kyle nearly vaulted out of his chair, but he reminded himself that starting a fight was a sure way to have the bartender call the cops. He calmly reached across the table, grabbed Tyler’s hand, and in one quick twist nearly wrenched his arm from the socket.
“Look, you son of a bitch! This is a woman’s life that we’re talking about. Do you want me announcing on the six o’clock news that an FBI agent was staying at the scene of the crime and failed to identify himself to the authorities?”
Even in the bar’s dim light, Kyle could see the color and the animation had drained from Tyler’s face. Kyle let go of the man’s hand, and Tyler rubbed his shoulder, glaring at him.
“I told the sheriff that I was with the FBI.”
Kyle bluffed. “But you didn’t say you were here on business, did you?”
“How in hell do you know—”
“It doesn’t matter. All I care about is seeing that Jennifer Whitmore isn’t convicted of a murder she didn’t commit.”
“My investigation has nothing to do with the crime.”
“How do you know until you talk it over with someone?”
Beads of sweat peppered Tyler’s upper lip, and Kyle knew he was still smarting from the little twist he’d given Tyler’s arm. Hell. He should have gone the whole nine yards—the way the Afghani rebels did—and bent Tyler’s arm until it broke at the elbow. Backwards.
“You’re to blame for Thelma Mae’s death. Do you want to take responsibility for ruining Jennifer’s life? If she’s arrested—”
“Hasn’t she turned herself in?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her in some time,” he hedged. “But I’m warning you, I’ll get you—when you least expect it—if anything happens to Jennifer.”
“Okay, okay.” Tyler pulled a few bills out of his pocket and threw them on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”
Outside, the afternoon sunlight nearly blinded him, and Kyle pulled on his shades. He quickly checked the nearby area and didn’t see any police. They walked along Whitehead Street into Bahama Village.
The village marked the division between the tourist area and the darker side of Key West. Rows of shotgun houses crammed between Cuban shops and Bahamian restaurants, the village was home to an ethnic mix of colorful people. But it was the kind of area where tourists didn’t venture.
Kyle had found the village was like a Caribbean island, and he enjoyed wandering the streets and back alleys. He was accustomed to danger, and whatever trouble could be found in Bahama Village was nothing compared to places he’d been.
They stopped and sat on the wall in front of a Cuban club that hadn’t yet opened. The blistering tropical sun beat down on the palms shading the area. The denim shirt Kyle had borrowed was too hot for this weather. A trickle of sweat dribbled down the back of his spine.
“Were you telling the truth about knowing Thelma Mae for years?” Kyle asked.
Tyler’s expression was somber. “Yes. Nothing I told the group was a lie. I omitted here and there—”
“Where?”
Tyler gazed at him a moment before answering. “What I said about my mother and Thelma Mae was the whole truth. My mother obsessed, and I mean obsessed, about the ba
by she gave up for adoption. It’s all I heard when I was growing up.
“It didn’t seem to matter that she had my father and me as well as my older sister, Mother kept thinking of the child she’d put up for adoption long before my father came along.”
“Okay, so?”
“So my mother died. She drank herself to death. I was fifteen at the time, almost grown, but her death haunted me. I kept wondering about my half brother.”
“Chad,” he guessed.
“That’s right. I used my FBI connections to track him down.”
“I get the picture.”
“I told Chad who I was and we hit it off. At first, I was really impressed with my half brother. We made plans to vacation together, and I told him about Thunder Island. I must have mentioned Thelma Mae.”
“Aw, shit. Come on. You told Chad all about Thelma Mae. Didn’t you?”
Tyler frowned. “Yes, I did because I didn’t want him to think our mother was any different than other mothers who’d given up babies. I had no idea Chad paid much attention until my next visit to Key West.”
“Let me guess. Thelma Mae’s long lost son has reappeared.”
“Exactly. From then on, everything I learned about my brother made me want to deny I knew him.”
The bitterness in Tyler’s voice stopped him short. He tried to imagine what Tyler had felt and how he might have reacted. Could Cain have killed Abel?
“Chad was after Thelma Mae’s money. He was a good actor, who could pretend he didn’t give a hoot about money, but money was everything to him. That’s why he wanted to marry Lisa. She was loaded.”
“Was?”
“Chuck lost most of their fortune speculating on stocks on the Internet.”
Something about the way Tyler answered made Kyle think the guy was holding back something.
“Did Chad know this?”
“Yeah,” Tyler conceded. “I told him.”
The way you told Thelma Mae the truth. What a guy!
“How did Chad feel about it?” Kyle asked.
“He didn’t give a damn,” Tyler responded, shaking his head. “He’d met some rich woman in South America. He’d planned to unload Lisa way before I told him that she was flat broke.”