by Jan Washburn
But Tracy had no faith in men. She had been betrayed by every man who was important to her, starting with her father when she was just a kid. And he let her down too—refusing to accept guardianship of Jeff, failing to tell her about Jeff’s rehab program, pretending there was nothing special between them. He tried to explain his reasoning to Tracy, but did she believe him?
He would table the idea of marriage until he won her trust, but he wouldn’t give up.
He sorted through the possible courses of action. It seemed that the only way to protect her now would be to make the news public that the jewelry had been found. When that hit the headlines, Timmons would give up the hunt and disappear. He would literally get away with murder, but Tracy would be safe.
Leif rolled into the parking lot behind the station and sat staring through the windshield, his brain churning. Announcing the find would create another problem. When the news came out that the jewelry had been recovered, Tracy would be in more trouble. Detective Diaz would be convinced that she was Timmons’s accomplice—that Rick hadn’t come back to look for the jewelry again because Tracy warned him away. Diaz wouldn’t waste any time getting a warrant for her arrest.
Leif was snared in a Catch 22. With a choice between bad and worse, the important thing was what was best for Tracy.
Three more days, he decided. He’d give their plan three more days. If Timmons didn’t make a move, Leif would phone Diaz and tell him to release the news to the media. And then Leif would fight the whole New York Police Department to convince them that Tracy was innocent.
****
The Fisherman’s Landing was busier than ever on a Friday night. The Landing was always a popular spot, not only for the fabulous seafood, but for the ambiance. The décor captured the lure of the ocean—fish nets and bobbins, starfish and conch shells, scrimshaw and antiques, and sailboats in bottles. There were even authentic relics of the old sailing ships, including a genuine figurehead.
All Tracy’s tables were full and she was running a marathon trying to keep up with the orders. But the tips were good and her financial situation looked brighter with every order she served. And better still, tourist season hadn’t even started.
She was grateful to have her car again, but it came with problems attached—number one, staying on constant alert for another visit from Rick Timmons, and number two, paying off the debt for repairs to the tune of $1800.
And there was something else, although she hated to admit it. She missed the time she and Leif spent alone in the confines of his SUV. Through all their ups and downs, they developed a bond that seemed to be growing into so much more. Of course, she still saw him at church and at choir rehearsals, but they were always surrounded by a crowd. Leif tried to explain why he needed to act distant and aloof. He was sure that Detective Diaz would be suspicious of Leif’s faith in her if the detective thought they were more than friends.
But maybe that wasn’t the real reason they saw so little of each other now. Leif was probably relieved to give up his part-time job as chauffeur. She had certainly taken up more than her share of his time. And yet, the day they visited Jeff at the rehab center, they had been closer than ever. She treasured the memory of being crushed in Leif’s powerful arms as he whirled her around the front yard. But that was a special occasion. Maybe she was making too much of that one exhilarating day.
As the evening wore on, the crowd began to thin out and Tracy took a moment to catch her breath. She stood near the planter box where her guests were able to signal if they needed her. And then that eerie feeling came over her again. The goose bumps were back. Someone was watching her.
Walking slowly among her tables, she refilled water glasses and checked her customer’s needs while she made a quick survey of the dining room. No one appeared to be blatantly staring at her. Diners tended to pay more attention to their food and their companions than their waitresses until they needed something.
She wanted to blame her uneasiness on an overactive imagination, but she remembered the old adage—maybe you’re paranoid, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.
A tall, well-dressed man talking to the headwaiter caught her attention. As she looked in his direction, he gave her a furtive glance from the corner of his eye. She felt a flutter of fear. She didn’t recognize the man—jet black hair, a closely trimmed dark beard and mustache that framed his mouth, horn-rimmed glasses. She forced herself to look away, continuing to check on her tables. But something about the man set off alarms in her head.
She couldn’t come up with a good excuse to interrupt the maitre d’s conversation, but if she paid a visit to the ladies room, she would pass closely behind them. Putting on an air of nonchalance, she moved casually in that direction, pretending to be unaware of the two men.
The headwaiter was speaking. If you’ll call customer relations tomorrow afternoon, they’ll be happy to help you make arrangements for your party, Mr. Johnson.
Thank you, the man responded. You’ve been very helpful.
Tracy almost skidded to a stop. She knew that voice. It haunted her nightmares since the night of the theft. He had completely altered his appearance, but she would recognize that voice anywhere. Rick Timmons.
She forced herself to keep walking toward the restroom, groping for the cell phone in her pocket. Ducking around the corner, she punched the speed dial and whispered a prayer. Please be there, Leif.
Chief Ericson. That reassuring voice.
Leif, she spoke just above a whisper. He’s here. Rick Timmons is here in the restaurant. He’s not at a table. He’s just talking to the headwaiter. I don’t think he knows that I recognized him. But why would he take a chance and come inside?
He’s checking to be sure you’re going to be tied up for a while. Hold tight. I’m on my way.
Tracy peered cautiously around the corner. Oh, no. He’s starting to leave.
Don’t cut off the phone, Leif cautioned. Keep the line open.
I’m going to watch and see what he does now.
Don’t let him see you! Leif was almost shouting.
As Timmons strolled out the door, Tracy darted up to the maitre d’. I’m sorry, Mr. LeBlanc. I have an emergency. I have to leave—right now.
Unlike most headwaiters, LeBlanc tried to accommodate the employees. He glanced quickly around the dining room. It’s slow now. I’ll tell Trisha to cover your tables.
Thanks so much, she gasped. I’ll be here on time tomorrow.
Her purse was in her car, but her keys were in her pocket. Still clutching her phone, she opened the front door a crack and peered out into the parking area. The lot was well lighted, but she didn’t detect any movement. A laughing couple appeared. She strained to see them, but no, the man was short and stubby. It wasn’t Timmons. The twosome located their car and drove away.
Hello, Tracy, she berated herself. Her car wasn’t in the front lot. She parked it in the employees’ area around on the side. Treading as quietly as possible, crouching close to the evergreen shrubs that lined the front of the restaurant, she made her way to the corner of the building. Forgetting to breathe, she put her head out just far enough to see her old Ford.
The dome light inside the car was lighted. Timmons had managed to open a door. Quickly she drew back. Leif, she whispered, he’s inside my car.
Tracy, for the Lord’s sake, be careful. I’ll be there in three minutes.
Tracy heard the slam of a car door and then the sound of heavy footsteps coming toward her. She plunged into the shrubbery, huddling in the shadows, hoping the glare of the neon sign wouldn’t reveal her hiding place.
Timmons stormed across the parking lot. He had to be furious to discover that the little leather case was missing. He climbed into a low-slung sports car and slammed the door with the force of an explosion. Leif, he’s driving away. I’m going to follow him.
No, Tracy, stop. Don’t try that. He’ll recognize your car. He’s already facing a murder charge. He’s got nothing to lose if he
attacks you.
But I can’t let him get away. She raced toward her car. Leif, he’s leaving—south on Route 28. Driving a black sports car—a Porsche.
I’ll try to intercept him before he gets to Wareham. You stay put. Do you hear me? Stay where you are.
Disregarding Leif’s warnings, Tracy leaped into her old Ford. She revved the engine and roared out of the parking lot, pushing the car to the limit. She gradually caught up with the Porsche. Don’t get so close that he can see you. She eased off on the accelerator, hanging back, keeping her focus on those distinctive taillights.
Another car pulled onto the highway ahead of her. Her pulse shifted into high gear. It would be trickier to tail Timmons with another vehicle between them, but the other car would serve as a screen. She would not let herself lose him. He was pushing the speed limit, but he wasn’t careening wildly as though he were trying to make a getaway. He didn’t know he was being followed.
And then the Porsche made a turn. Leif, he’s turning east at the Sunoco station.
Tracy, I told you not to follow him. Break off. Break off.
I can’t, she pleaded. Leif doesn’t understand . Her future hung on winning this battle.
The car that had squeezed between them turned off. If Rick looked in his rearview mirror, he couldn’t miss seeing her now. She dropped back a little further. The Porsche made another turn.
He’s turned into a motel, The Clamdigger, she croaked.
Don’t stop, Leif shouted. Keep driving past the motel. Go ahead to that ice cream stand about two hundred yards down the road. Wait for me inside. I’m almost there, but he’s out of my jurisdiction. I’ll have to call in the sheriff.
As Tracy drove past the motel, the lights on the Porsche went out. The flashing neon motel sign gave her a quick glimpse of Timmons climbing out of his car. Had he noticed her old Ford creeping by?
Approaching the ice cream stand, she felt a stab of fear. The store was already closed, the parking area dark and empty. No refuge inside.
Clenching the steering wheel, she pulled in close to the building and turned off the headlights. She didn’t know what a heart attack felt like, but she suspected she was about to find out. Peering out into the darkness, she counted the minutes. Hurry, Leif, hurry. Don’t let him escape.
****
Leif prayed for all he was worth as he raced toward the motel. He should have stayed on the main road. It was impossible to get up any speed on the winding back-country roads. He had radioed the sheriff’s office and deputies were on the way, but Tracy was in danger.
The little fool. What if that murderer knew she was tailing him? Stopping at that motel could be a ruse. Timmons might have backed right out again the minute she passed and turned back the way he came to make his escape. Or, much worse, he could be continuing down the road, hunting for Tracy’s Ford.
His adrenaline pumped like accelerant on a fire. In his years as a police officer there were times he had feared for his own life. But that fear was nothing compared to the terror that raged through him now. Tracy was out there alone with no way to defend herself. He’d give his life for her in a heartbeat.
He felt his heart leap into his throat when he realized the ice cream stand was closed. There was no one in sight. His heart sank slowly into place again as he glimpsed Tracy’s car in the shadows. He swerved into the parking lot and skidded to a stop.
Plunging out of the SUV, he raced toward her car. She opened the door and fell into his arms. He wrapped her in a bear hug, clutching her tightly against his heart. If he didn’t ease off, he’d probably crack one of her ribs. But he couldn’t let go. As long as he held onto her, he knew she was safe. Tracy, he breathed, you scared the life out of me.
But she didn’t seem to be afraid for herself. Aren’t you going to arrest him? she mumbled into his chest.
He groaned. I can’t, sweetheart. I’m out of my jurisdiction. The deputies will be here in a few minutes.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. But what if he gets away? Those gorgeous eyes pleaded with him to take action.
He couldn’t help himself. The only way to stop her questions was to lower his head and seal her mouth with a kiss. He didn’t lift his head again until two sheriff’s patrol cars swept into the parking lot.
More than Great Riches
CHAPTER XVI
Leif recognized the four deputies who arrived on the scene. He had worked with them before. Quickly he laid out the situation for Sgt. McNeill, the officer in charge, and they organized their plan of attack.
Tracy, come with me, he called. There was no way he would leave her alone in the darkened parking lot at the ice cream stand. Timmons could be somewhere along the road right now searching for her.
She jumped in beside him as the sheriff’s cars began to move out onto the road. You’re going to have to stay in the SUV, he warned as they followed the patrol cars out of the parking lot. If you hear shots, get down on the floor and stay there.
For once Tracy didn’t give him an argument.
Describe Timmons for me.
He’s tall, over six feet, black hair in a brush cut, a close-trimmed dark beard and mustache, horn-rimmed glasses, she reported. He was wearing a dark business suit. I think he might be using the name Johnson.
He smiled. Tracy was observant. She sounded like a trained investigator. She leaned forward in her seat, peering through the windshield as though that would help to speed up the arrest. The three cars rolled quietly into the motel lot and parked to form a barrier around Timmons’s Porsche. That sporty little car wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
The three deputies stood on sentry duty while he and Sgt. McNeill trooped to the motel office. A pasty-faced clerk looked up with an insolent expression, chomping on a wad of gum as they approached his desk. His expression changed dramatically when McNeill flashed his badge.
We’re looking for a man named Timmons, the sergeant said brusquely. He may be using an alias.
The clerk’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed his gum. We don’t have a Timmons registered, he squeaked.
Try the name Johnson, Leif said, repeating Tracy’s description of Timmons.
Oh, yes. The clerk looked relieved. That’s Mr. Johnson. Room 26.
We need the key, the sergeant snapped.
Do—do you have a warrant? Leif watched as the clerk seemed to have an internal debate—would he rather be in trouble with the motel manager or with these two tough-looking lawmen?
Would you prefer that we broke down the door? Leif asked politely.
The clerk fell over himself in his rush to accommodate them. Room 26, he gasped, producing the key.
McNeill signaled two of the deputies to station themselves outside, one in front and the other in back of the building. Timmons was not going to escape through a window. The third, Deputy Cabrera, followed as Leif and McNeill climbed the steps to the second floor. Room 26 was at the far end of the building. They moved swiftly and silently along the outside balcony.
Guns in hand, Leif and Cabrera flattened themselves against the wall. Sgt. McNeill stood to one side to avoid a bullet as he hammered on the door. Open up, Plymouth County Sheriff, he shouted.
Expecting resistance, Leif was surprised when the door immediately opened. The horn-rimmed glasses were missing, but otherwise the man was just as Tracy described him. He greeted them with a wide smile. So, what can I do for you, gentlemen?
Leif followed McNeill into the room, on alert for any wrong moves, but Timmons stepped back, waving them in as though he were hosting a dinner party.
Rick Timmons, you are under arrest charged with murder and grand theft.
Timmons never lost his smile as the sergeant began reciting his Miranda rights. He held out his hands to accommodate Deputy Cabrera in handcuffing him and frisking him for weapons. Apparently he was clean.
I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, he said pleasantly. My name is Johnson. Frederick Johnson. I have identification.
Leif
picked up the horn-rimmed glasses that were lying on the dresser. That’s an interesting prescription you have for your spectacles, Mr. Johnson. Clear glass.
Still smiling, the man ignored Leif’s comments. I’m a salesman for Rinker Products. The main office is closed at this hour, but I have my supervisor’s home phone number if you’d like to call him. He can confirm my identity. Or maybe you’d rather speak to my attorney about a lawsuit for false imprisonment.
McNeill paused, giving his prisoner the once over. Watch him, Cabrera, he ordered. I need to speak to Chief Ericson.
Leif followed McNeill out onto the balcony. The sergeant scowled. What do you say, Chief? Are you positive we’ve got the right guy? He’s a mighty cool customer.
Leif didn’t hesitate. I’ll get Tracy. She can make a positive I.D. He realized that all his doubts and mistrust of Tracy were long gone. He had complete confidence in her.