Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Volume Two: Three Complete Novels: Road Kill, Puppet Master, Cross Wired

by Jan Coffey

  Alanna realized she was talking herself out of accepting the offer.

  “It’s no problem, Dr. Mendez,” he said, looking at her meaningfully. “You said someone hit your car in the parking lot. It’s a very common situation. People come and ask to do this all the time.”

  Because it was lunch time, the two of them were the only ones in the security office at the moment. The other security personnel were out enjoying their break. She looked down at the line of monitors again and saw herself in one of them. A camera mounted high in the corner monitored those who did the monitoring.

  Alanna decided that the lie will be hers. “Yes, a scratch. They didn’t leave a business card or anything.”

  Juan motioned to her to come around the counter. “Why don’t you have a seat by that monitor, and we’ll see if we got anything useful?”

  Alanna hadn’t told him over the phone anything about having seen her dead fiancée. She’d only asked if she could see the tapes of the parking lots and the bus stop for that particular morning. Juan hadn’t asked any questions. He didn’t need any further explanation, and Alanna hadn’t offered any. He knew she was no spy. He knew she had no plan to sell the layout of the parking lots to either North Korea or Wal-Mart. What he didn’t know was that she was only testing her sanity.

  The fact that he knew she rarely drove her car to work was unimportant. Actually, since seeing Ray, Alanna had driven to work every day.

  Juan sat at another computer, and Alanna turned her attention to the screen in front of her.

  “Four days ago, you said?” he asked.

  “January 3. The day everyone got back from the New Year’s holiday.” She looked at the screen, realizing what Juan was doing. He was already on the right date, and he had eight videos running on a split screen in fast motion. They showed each stop inside the complex along her bus route and several views of parking lots. Concurrent military times showed in the lower corner of each video.

  The only video clips that really interested her were the two on the lower left. The stop where she’d seen him, and the parking lot across the street.

  “Am I going too fast?” Juan asked.

  Alanna shook her head. She stuffed her ice cold fingers between her knees. Her throat was dry, and she could feel her heart pounding. She wanted to know the truth, but at the same time, whatever was or wasn’t going to appear on that screen terrified her.

  Another security guard came into the office carrying his lunch. He nodded to Alanna and held up the bag for Juan. “They were out of the fried egg sandwiches, so I got you a scrambled egg and bacon.”

  “Jeez,” Juan said. “That’s the second time this week he’s run out of my sandwich.”

  The other guard shrugged and went to another desk.

  “This is close to the time,” she managed to croak. “When I…uh, parked.”

  She had parked in this very lot the next day. She’d arrived an hour earlier, pacing the parking lot, waiting at the shuttle stop, hoping to see Ray.

  “Can we just look at two of those views?” she asked, pointing.

  “Sure.” Juan froze the frames and enlarged them so that only the two views were on her screen. She leaned in closer, looking at the people lined up at the bus stop first. Ray wasn’t there.

  “Can you take it forward? And would you zoom in on the specific areas?” she asked.

  “Sure. Tell you what, Dr. Mendes, how about if you sit here and look at what you want? ” Juan suggested. “I’ll just grab my lunch and I’ll be here if you need me. But I know working these computers is a piece of cake for you.”

  “Are you certain that would be alright?” Alanna glanced at the other guard, who was opening a newspaper to the sports section.

  “Sure, it is. Right, Mo?”

  “Why not?” the other guard said, his mouth full.

  Alanna moved to the monitor as Juan vacated his seat. A moment later, he was retrieving his lunch from his co-worker’s desk.

  She turned her attention to the monitor. The parking lot view might as well have been a satellite image. Methodically, she went through every square inch on the screen. Nothing.

  She looked at the bus stop and zoomed in. The camera didn’t go out as far as the area on the sidewalk where she’d seen Ray, but he had been walking toward the stop. He would certainly come into the picture a moment after the bus left the stop. Then, carefully, she advanced the video until she saw the shuttle arrive, stop and depart. She continued.

  Frame by frame she advanced the video. The people who got off the bus went out of the picture. She waited. He should have shown up. Other’s came along the sidewalk into the picture and passed by. But not Ray.

  Not Ray.

  Alanna backed it up and ran through the video again. The third time through, she stared at the time notation, looking for gaps. Nothing.

  No one on the screen resembled Ray. Those few seconds trapped in her memory weren’t on that screen. She rechecked the time and the date again. She went to the split screen again, advanced the video, and saw herself getting out in front of Building 23.

  She looked like a zombie getting off the bus. Alanna saw herself standing at the stop for a long time after the shuttle had left. She was just standing there alone on the sidewalk, staring down the road, looking lost.

  Oh, yes. This was the right day.

  Still in denial, she rewound the videos and went through every step again, checking every nearby parking lot for the two hours after the time she’d seen him. Nothing.

  “Did you see anything?” Juan asked.

  Alanna realized she’d been sitting there for some time, staring at nothing. She took her fingers off the keyboard. The two men were done with their lunch. She slowly stood up, summoning all her strength and trying to keep her composure.

  “Nothing,” she managed to say.

  “I think you can file insurance paperwork with Moffett for the damage to your car, even though it doesn’t show up on the security tapes,” the other guard started telling her. “You were parked inside the facility gates, so they might just cover you.”

  Alanna nodded, not completely hearing everything that was being said to her. The guard handed her some papers he dug out of a file drawer. She thanked both of them and left.

  There were two people waiting to get on the elevator, so she took the stairs down the two levels instead. Walking along the line of parked cars, she filled her lungs with the sharp, cool breeze. As she passed a bus stop, she stopped and sat down on the empty bench. Alanna considered going home, but she knew that was a bad idea. Their presentation to the committee from Washington was coming up. Her team depended on Alanna to justify and keep their jobs. There was also the question of what she would do at home?

  This week, especially the time she’d spent at her apartment, had been hell. All she did at home was cry. She only slept with the help of sleeping pills.

  A shuttle bus stopped in front of her. She shook her head at the driver.

  She needed to go back to her office. She needed to walk back to her building and bury herself in her work. That was the only answer. The only remedy that she knew would be sure to work.

  What else did she have?

  Alanna pushed herself to her feet and started walking.

  As she walked, she suddenly felt embarrassed about the phone calls she’d made earlier in the week. She was almost sorry she’d asked Juan to show her those security videos. She now understood how transparent she’d been—how desperate she must have looked to everyone around her. Her only relief was that she hadn’t said a word of this to her grandmother, who was fighting a cold and hadn’t come over.

  Her abuela, Lucia, would have told her exactly what was going on with a frankness that her grandmother was famous for. Chica loca. Alanna could hear her saying it.

  She walked on, thinking of her grandmother and their life together. Her abuela had worked hard to give her a solid, sane life. Working as a cleaning lady, Lucia had struggled as most illegal immigrants do to s
tay healthy and keep food on the table. Alanna’s mother had not been around very much. She’d been pregnant with Alanna when she first walked across the border from Mexico. Actually, it was a miracle that she’d found a clinic in San Diego where she could safely deliver her baby before depositing Alanna into Lucia’s arms.

  Miracles usually come with a price, though.

  Alanna could count on her fingers the number of times she’d seen her mother while she was growing up. She’d never known her father. Home to her was whatever room her grandmother’s current employers gave them to sleep in. As a child, Alanna was small and plain. She was shy. She didn’t socialize very much. The only thing that she felt she had going for her was her brain.

  Alanna had always been smart. She liked to read and study and work hard. Her abuela hadn’t even gotten through grade school. Despite that—or perhaps because of it—Lucia made sure that Alanna made the most out of what she considered a gift from God. She had supported her granddaughter every step of the way. Alanna would be forever grateful for that.

  And as the years went by, she had come to think that her intelligence, her education, her doctoral research, and her career would be enough to make her feel complete.

  She’d thought so until she met Ray.

  Love, passion, the “happily ever after” had always seemed to be the stuff of books. She’d never thought she would fall in love. Even having a steady boyfriend had never held a great attraction for her. Marriage wasn’t for her. Having children was a pipe dream. But then, suddenly, Ray had made her believe that all of it could be hers. He’d made her think that she could have everything she secretly wanted in life, but had been too afraid to even hope for.

  And she had been utterly happy, for those few months that they’d been together. Happily ever after…almost.

  Alanna stabbed away a tear as she turned up the sidewalk in front of Building 23. She’d lived a life in those few months that most people couldn’t experience in a hundred years. This was what she had to tell herself. And no more dreaming. No more imagining that Ray was coming back.

  He simply hadn’t been there on the sidewalk that crazy morning. Jill Goldman with the talk of her marriage had tipped Alanna momentarily over the edge. But that was over now. Alanna was back on track, back on schedule.

  She decided against the elevator and climbed the stairs to her floor. Walking into the soft office noise of computers and people was comforting. This was home to her, now. It had been her life for a long time and it would continue to be.

  Before she could get back to her office, she was stopped with questions from two of her project managers. Even one of the interns asked her to look over a report he’d been preparing. By the time she got to her desk, she was focused. Work was the only thing on her mind. Disappointment was locked away…for the time being.

  She sat at her desk and started checking her phone messages and her email. A message from another program manager about a five o’clock meeting that was cancelled. Alanna was checking the second voicemail when her phone beeped telling her of an incoming call. She looked at the display. The caller ID was blocked. She was surprised by that. She was under the impression that NASA didn’t allow a blocked ID call to go through. Better to let it go to voicemail, she decided.

  She opened her schedule for the afternoon. It was packed with meetings and presentations. She was also interviewing a potential hire at 4:00. The phone rang again. She looked at the display. Again, no caller ID.

  She reached for the phone but didn’t answer it. A couple of minutes later, she saw that, whoever it was, they hadn’t left a message. She tried to focus again on what she needed to do this afternoon, but she was distracted.

  Less than five minutes later, her phone rang again. Same blank caller ID. She didn’t hesitate to pick it up. “Mendes.”

  “Dr. Mendes?”

  Alanna grasped the table with her free hand. With the phone pressed to one ear, she held her breath. She knew the voice. But it couldn’t be. This past hour had confirmed it. Her imagination was playing cruel, vicious tricks. She remained silent, determined not to make a fool of herself for some stranger.

  “Dr. Mendes?” the voice repeated her name, this time softer.

  “Yes, this is she. Can I help you?”

  “Ali,” he whispered.

  Alanna’s head sank back against her chair. Tears rolled down her cheeks. He was the only one who ever called her by that name. “Who…who is this?”

  “I need to see you, Ali.”

  CHAPTER 7

  TERROR

  Antwerp, Belgium

  “A little to the left, darling,” Finn breathed. “Better. No, a little more…or we’ll be getting it on yourself and that pretty yellow dress.”

  In a moment, it wouldn’t matter. Dress or no dress, this was the time to hit his mark. As he stared through the long-range lens on the modified TRG-41, Finn saw the young woman turn and the chauffeur’s attention shift as well toward the door of the DurerBank’s Antwerp offices on Pelikaanstraat.

  One last time, the sniper considered the variables and recalculated the bullet’s trajectory in his head. Still no breeze, though that was hardly a factor. The Lapua .338 cartridge was designed for minimum wind drift. At 582 meters, a schoolboy would be able to hit this mark. Finn would fire as the banker moved between the door and his limousine.

  Finn relaxed his shoulders and waited. He knew almost nothing about Bernard Kuipers, the man who was about to leave the bank. But this was the way he did business. Address, city, country, date, time, name, pictures. He required a number of recent pictures. No sense hitting the wrong target. Other than these essentials, he required eighty percent of his money up front, in cash. Fifteen years of operating in this business with perfect hit record had earned him the high percentage up front. No one complained. He was reasonable, efficient and he had his own particular code of ethics. No children and no close-range hits. He was a sniper, not a murderer.

  The woman in the yellow dress walked toward the bank door with open arms. Finn saw his mark come out, all smiles. Kuipers embraced the woman. Finn focused the scope on the face. It was him.

  “Right on.”

  The two walked toward the open door of the car. They slowed and the woman started to climb in the car. Finn focused on his mark, the man’s head, and squeezed. The target went down.

  He laid the stock of the TRG-41 on the floor and eased the window shut.

  “Ninety-seven,” Finn whispered. He’d promised his wife that he’d retire after his hundredth hit.

  Three to go.

  CHAPTER 8

  DESPAIR

  Brooklyn, New York

  He had to rework the knot on the necktie twice before he got it right. He used to do this in his sleep.

  Small wonder, he thought. The last time David Collier had worn a tie had been for his wife’s funeral. He looked at the picture of her that he’d hung between the mirror and the doorway. Nicole’s smiling face was, as always, so full of hope. He wanted her here beside him, brushing some imaginary lint off the shoulder of his suit. He wanted to hear her soft voice, her encouraging words, telling him how much she loved him and how nothing else mattered. God, he missed her.

  He turned away and took a couple of deep breaths. “I need this. We need this.”

  His old briefcase lay open on the bed. The folder with his updated resume lay on top. At least, there would be no surprises. The gentleman who called him already had his complete CV, in addition to transcripts and findings of the court proceedings exonerating him. And they still wanted to talk to him. An absolute miracle.

  He wasn’t told the name of the company or his specific responsibilities. They were conducting first-round interviews. David’s qualifications matched their opening. The salary range was comparable to what he’d been paid four years ago as a CFO. Another absolute miracle.

  David closed the briefcase and turned toward the door.

  “Wish me luck, honey,” he whispered to his wife’s image. As
he passed it, David touched the picture like it was a mezuzah.

  The TV volume was a little too loud. The sitter, fourteen-year-old Megan, who lived with her parents in the apartment on the first floor, was on her cell phone. David found his daughter on the sofa, the blanket pulled up to her nose. Leah looked to be asleep. He picked up the remote and muted the TV.

  “I have to go. I’ll call you back later,” Megan told whoever she was speaking with.

  David glanced at her as he put the remote on the coffee table.

  “You have my cell phone number on the pad in the kitchen. Also, the pediatrician’s and hospital’s numbers are on the same list. Leah’s dinner is in the fridge. You have to pop it in the microwave for two minutes. She can’t snack or have anything to drink. But she can have one of the Popsicles in the freezer after dinner if she feels like it.”

  Megan nodded cheerfully. “This isn’t the first time you’ve left Leah with me, Mr. Collier.”

  “I know.”

  An hour ago, he’d let the teenager take Leah to the playground at the end of their block. The eight-year-old needed fresh air. She’d been home from school all week and had cabin fever. Still, he didn’t want to tell the young sitter that every day there seemed to be more complications with Leah’s health.

  “I should be gone no more than three hours.” He was meeting the gentleman who’d called at Ulysses’, a bar near Wall Street, at six o’clock. There’d been no mention of having dinner. He was sure he’d be out of there in a couple of hours tops.

  “Take your time,” Megan encouraged.

  David sat on the edge of the sofa to say goodbye to his daughter. He caressed her short dark hair. “That fresh air tuckered you out, didn’t it?”

  She made a soft noise in her sleep.

  Megan came over from the kitchen. “We had such a good time. She had to try every one of the swings and even the tall slide.”

  “I’m going now, sleepyhead.” He leaned down and kissed her brow. Her skin felt clammy. “Are you feeling okay, honey?”