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

by Jan Coffey

  “Sleeping. That’s all they do, sleep.” He wrapped his thin arms around Curtis’s neck and gave him a kiss before letting go of him.

  “We’ll get the rest of them up pretty soon,” his wife said meaningfully. “Today is a big day for someone.”

  Curtis looked at his wife. She frowned at him, her expression saying he’d better remember. Shit, he thought. He’d almost forgotten.

  “I’ll say it’s a big day.” He gave David another hug. “A big birthday, I believe. Happy birthday, my boy.”

  “We’re having a party here at 7:00,” Ann emphasized the hour, reminding him not to be late.

  “I’m more excited about lunch,” David said. “Mommy said we’re coming to pick you up at work, and we’re all going out for lunch.”

  Curtis remembered he’d promised his daughter that he’d take her and the kids out today, since they were all planning to go home on Sunday. It was on his schedule, but he’d forgotten about it.

  “Well, I can’t wait, either,” he said.

  There was a call from downstairs that his driver was here. Curtis made some quick excuses about having a breakfast meeting and poured himself coffee for the ride to the office.

  His wife brushed a kiss on his cheek, whispering that she’d kill him if he was late for David’s party tonight.

  His grandson picked up Curtis’s briefcase and carried it as far as the door. David gave him another hug and handed it to him. “Love you, Grandpa.”

  Going down the elevator, Curtis thought about how critical he’d always been of Mitch and his tenderness and devotion to his family. It was ironic that Curtis was only learning now the value of family…and all through one little boy’s affection.

  By the time the doors opened in the lobby, though, he was thinking about NanoCure and all he had to do today.

  Back on track. Back in the business groove. Back in his world.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 36

  Friday January 18, 3:50 a.m.

  Reno, Nevada

  Sitting up in the bed, Lexi startled awake. Her dreams had been vivid. They were all about Juan. In her mind’s eye she had seen him on a stage during one of his music concerts. Then the dream would jump to seeing him in a wheelchair, incapable of operating the simplest controls to push himself forward.

  She’d had more than a dozen patients over the years who had become comatose because of stroke or a head injury. The survival rate for those patients had been slightly better than fifty percent. And even at that, the recovery for all of them had been slow and grueling, with only one of the patients regaining the full physical capacities of her pre-injury condition.

  Lexi knew that she and Juan would have a long road ahead of them. But she was prepared for it. With her son not going to prison or to some kind of government institution, she knew they would do whatever they had to do to make him better. Maybe not perfect. But as close as they could make it.

  Lexi realized that she’d had a life before this, and now she had another life to live. She missed her son.

  She looked across at Bryan. He was sitting in the chair.

  “How long do you think it’ll take before they have an answer for us,” she asked quietly.

  The key card had been picked up some time ago by one of the agents staying at the motel. Bryan and Lexi decided to stay where they were, in case what they’d found didn’t amount to anything. There was still the possibility that there was a person out there trying to contact her.

  “I assume we’ll know something by morning,” Bryan told her.

  She noticed that he was on the phone.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He’d been on his cell phone a lot during the past couple of hours.

  “That’s sounds very encouraging,” Bryan said. “Now, I want you to repeat all of that one more time.”

  Lexi found him watching her.

  “Yes, she’s right here,” Bryan said a moment later, getting up and coming toward her, holding out the cell phone.

  She cleared her voice, having no clue who was on the phone. A second later, she was thrilled to realize Dr. Dexter was the one who’d been giving “encouraging” information to Bryan. She’d tried to reach him twice overnight, but each time had only been able to get as far his voice mail. This was the real person.

  Lexi sat up straight in bed.

  “What I was telling Agent Atwood a minute ago was that Juan has started displaying a generalized response,” Dexter said cheerfully. “He’s a bit inconsistent, but that’s expected this early in his recovery.”

  “How are his reflexes?” she asked, pushing the cover back and hanging her legs over the side.

  “Reflexes are limited and are mostly the same, regardless of stimuli we’ve been using. But once again, that’s to be expected,” the neurologist explained. “In a couple of hours, we’ll start testing his localized response.”

  Lexi asked the physician some specific questions about Juan’s physical condition. The answers were all encouraging. The episode back at the hospital in New Haven didn’t appear to have caused any serious damage. By the time Lexi ended the call, she was feeling incredibly upbeat.

  She stood up and handed the phone back to Bryan.

  Standing by the window, he looked tired. The circles under his eyes showed his lack of sleep. He’d changed into a navy blue tee shirt after their search of the motel room.

  “Did you call him or did he call you?” she asked.

  “There were so many calls. I really don’t remember,” he said, pocketing the phone.

  “Agent Atwood, I’d like an answer,” she said, not letting him drop the subject.

  “Does it really matter?” he asked, starting to move past her.

  “It does to me,” she said softly, taking hold of his arm to keep him from walking away.

  “Okay, I called him.”

  “I knew it.” She smiled and slipped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his chest. His arms closed around her.

  “Does this mean that you’ll forgive me about the other thing?”

  “What other thing?” She looked up into his face.

  “Dexter had Juan moved to another location.”

  “Was there another threat against him?” Lexi felt herself growing immediately tense. Even though she released him, Bryan held onto her, not letting go.

  “Security there wasn’t perfect, but no problem ever really materialized. No one got as far as Juan’s floor. This move was completely covert. No one, outside of the personnel required to make the move, was told about it. His current location is also being kept under wraps. No one is to know where he is except for the lead investigators.”

  “So that excludes me?” she asked warily.

  “Of course not,” he said, smiling gently. “You’re absolutely our top investigator.”

  ~~~~

  Chapter 37

  Friday January 18, 6:55 a.m.

  Carlsbad, California

  Hank was in the second of three gray sedans that drove in through the gates of the Southern California Military Institute. After stopping at the security kiosk, the line of automobile continued toward the large white administration building.

  The sun was just rising above the distant hills behind them, and Hank glanced past the long shadows at the orderly clusters of dormitories and classroom buildings on the right side of the drive. Students in uniforms consisting of navy blue shirts and royal blue caps and pants could be seen moving singly and in groups between the buildings.

  Between the rows of whitewashed stucco buildings, the Secret Service agent caught glimpses of an athletic field. Squads of teenage boys were drilling there, marching in close order. Beyond that, he could see the Pacific Ocean.

  “Not a bad place to go to school,” the red-haired agent beside him said.

  “I went to a prep school back east,” Hank replied. “It was pretty, but not like this. We definitely weren’t so active this early in the morning. Different approach to discipline here, I think.�
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  “Interesting you should say that. I have a cousin who sent his kid here. The discipline made a real difference for him. He wasn’t making it in the public high school.”

  “Did he go on to any of the academies?” Hank asked.

  “No, as a matter of fact he went to UCLA,” the agent replied as the cars pulled up to the front door. “The kid is in his second year of law school now.”

  Hank looked out the window at the manicured lawn and gardens. Perfectly shaped azaleas were beginning to bloom.

  A local police car was already there, and the federal agents poured out of their vehicles. As Hank got out, a tall man in uniform stalked out the front door with a Carlsbad cop on his heels. A rather worried looking man, also in uniform, came out with them.

  “Gentlemen, I’m glad you’re here,” the tall man said, approaching them. “I’m Commander Cobb. I’m the Head of the Institute.”

  Hank introduced himself. Something was wrong. He could see it in the man’s face.

  “Cadet Tucker appears to be missing,” the commander said without any prompting.

  “What do you mean missing?” Hank asked. “Where could he be?”

  “We don’t know that, sir. Tucker wasn’t feeling well this morning during muster. He went to the infirmary immediately afterward. From there, he was escorted to his dormitory. That was approximately forty-five minutes ago.” He glanced back at the worried subordinate behind him. “There was a miscommunication among my staff regarding his being kept under surveillance. We’ve just ascertained that he left the dormitory sometime after that.”

  “He was supposed to be watched, Commander,” Hank said.

  “We understand that, sir. I take full responsibility for our failure to keep watch over him.”

  FBI couldn’t reveal any specific details about what Donald Tucker’s potential for violence might be or ;et the school know the tie-in to all the other recent school shootings. Hank figured the vagueness of why they had to keep Donald under surveillance was the reason for this mess-up.

  “Could he have gone home, Commander?” another agent asked.

  “It’s possible,” the head of the school replied. “We’re still searching the grounds of the Institute, however. He may still be here.”

  A thought ran through Hank’s mind. “I assume you have weapons and live ammunition here on campus,” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. We have an underground shooting facility.”

  “Donald Tucker has only been here since early December. Would he have access to weapons and ammunition?”

  “No, sir.” The Commander paused with a frown. “We do have classes there this morning, however.” He turned to his subordinate. “Go down there and see if Cadet Tucker is there, or has been seen there this morning.”

  As the man turned and ran back into the building, Hank glanced thoughtfully at the street beyond the wrought iron fence. The morning traffic hadn’t really gotten started, yet. Donald could be far from the school if he’d hitched a ride out of here forty-five minutes ago.

  “Commander, we need to make some decisions as to where he might have gone,” he said.

  “Of course,” he responded, adding, “For the record, we take our responsibility for knowing where our students are very seriously.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Hank said. “You said that Donald Tucker complained of not feeling well.”

  “That’s correct. He was having difficulty focusing on instructions at muster, and when asked about it, he complained of incapacitating headaches.”

  “Do you know if he’s had headaches like this before?”

  “Not to my knowledge, sir. We can check with his company leader—his dorm floor monitor—but I can tell you that we don’t generally excuse students from classes or activities for minor illnesses such as headaches. We only sent him to the infirmary today because of your call during the night.”

  “Commander, do you have a ‘lock-down’ procedure?” Hank asked.

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Then I suggest you lock down the school immediately while we bring in the Carlsbad Police Department to conduct a thorough search for the boy. In case he’s left the campus, we also need to see if we can determine what he might be wearing…if he is still in uniform or if he changed into civilian clothes.”

  “Of course.” The commander turned away, giving directions.

  “We need officers here immediately,” Hank said. “And a statewide APB broadcast on Donald Tucker.”

  The policeman nodded and spoke into the communications device clipped to his shoulder.

  It was a long shot that the boy would still be here, Hank thought. He could be heading for home…or anywhere else. And God help anyone who got in his way.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 38

  Friday January 18, 7:30 a.m.

  Reno, Nevada

  “I hope this is a legitimate lead, and we’re not going to Fullerton for nothing,” Lexi said as they climbed into a small plane that was going to fly them to California.

  “No one contacted you at the motel,” Bryan said. “This is our best chance.”

  As he’d hoped, the FBI lab with the right optical and research tools, had been able to come up with the name of a storage facility in Fullerton from the key card.

  “But as I said before,” he continued, “you don’t have to come with me. We don’t need any kind of search warrant. With this key we should be able to get inside the storage facility. You could be on your way back east.”

  Lexi shook her head. “I feel like we’re so close. A couple of hours won’t make a difference. Were they able to come up with a name of the person the key card had been assigned to?”

  “No, not yet. The storage space was purchased like a condo more than ten years ago,” he responded. “They’re searching the facility’s archives for the original registration and sales paperwork now. The manager of the facility says that by the time we get there, they might have the information.”

  The plane’s engines were warming up prior to takeoff. Bryan figured with the sunny west coast weather, this would be a much smoother flight than the two they had yesterday.

  “I think I know what he must have put into the storage?” Lexi said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I think they’re medical files. I think what we’re going to find are the data for the experiments they ran on these eleven kids, including Juan. If that’s what he has stored there, then it’s also logical that he would contact me. I’m an MD. He figures I’ll know what to do with the files and the information in them. At least, I’ll be aware enough to get them into the hands of the right people.”

  “What I don’t understand is why he’d come to Reno to contact you? Why couldn’t he have done it from California, where the storage facility is?”

  “Maybe he’s not from California. Maybe, he’s from here.”

  “He used a California State University account number for shipping. My money says he’s from California. In fact,” Bryan said, pulling out his cell phone, “there’s a branch of CSU in Fullerton.”

  She thought for a moment. “Are they still on their semester break there?”

  “Could be,” he replied. “We can check that easily enough.”

  “Maybe he was vacationing here and decided to do something about all these shootings?”

  They were thinking aloud, both of them.

  “All the children on that list were adopted in Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexico,” Bryan said. “Maybe the lab, or the clinic or hospital they worked out of, was located in Nevada. He came back here to his old stomping grounds for a reason.”

  “Is anyone looking at the listing of private clinics or hospitals around here?”

  Bryan nodded. “Geary has people on it.”

  “Is there going to be another team of agents meeting us in California?”

  “Absolutely. But don’t forget, the one-foot rule still applies there, too.”

  “Yes, Agent Atwood.” Lexi sat back in her
chair as the plane taxied onto the runway for takeoff. “I can’t wait to see what’s in that storage facility.”

  “I think maybe after medicine and forensic science, becoming a detective would have been a good career choice for you.”

  She smiled. “You already know me so well.”

  ~~~~

  Chapter 39

  Friday January 18, 10:45 a.m.

  Manhattan, New York

  Curtis continued to stare at the message his secretary handed to him. He was on a conference call with one of the largest investment groups in the Midwest.

  FBI Special Agent in Charge Don Geary is coming in at 11:30 to speak with you.

  He looked up and caught his secretary’s attention. He wrote down About what?

  She shrugged and shook her head, mouthing the words, “Official business.”

  She left the room and Curtis felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on him.

  They couldn’t have found Mitch’s body. He was toast…no, powder. But the files. Had he sent the FBI their old stuff? He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead and back of his neck. The FBI wouldn’t come here so casually if they had that kind of information, he reasoned. There would be a warrant for his arrest and they’d be breaking down his door.

  To just be safe, Curtis thought, he should call his lawyer.

  “Are you still there, Mr. Wells?”

  Curtis looked at the phone. He’d totally forgotten about the conference call. One of the people had asked a question a second before his secretary came in.

  “I’m very sorry, gentlemen,” he said. “I had an unavoidable distraction. Where were we?”

  One of the callers started explaining what they’d been discussing. Curtis realized it was futile to try to continue this conversation. He couldn’t concentrate. His mind was racing. He looked down at the note again. Special Agent in Charge. Shit.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen…and ladies. But there is an urgent matter in the office that requires my attention. How about if we continue this conversation another time.”