by Chad Zunker
“Then we’d better solve it.”
He pitched his head slightly. “Listen, Jess, you don’t have to do this with me. This is certainly not what you signed up for when you came walking into my office. There’d be no shame in stepping away. You’ve already survived one deadly encounter. I don’t expect you to keep putting yourself in harm’s way because of some stupid court order.”
She gave him a playful frown. “You’re cute. How long have you been practicing that dumb little speech?”
A tiny grin touched his lips. “The whole drive up. But I do mean it.”
“Well, nice try, but I’m not going anywhere. Someone has to stand in the gap for that boy. Plus, I owe it to Bobby Lee to see this thing all the way through now. And I think I may have a serious lead on something.”
“Tell me.”
She pulled out her phone and showed him photos of a man and a woman passionately kissing in the back doorway of a house. “I followed Dyson into this neighborhood from his bar. He drove to a house just around the block from here where he met this woman.”
“Who is she?” he asked.
“Max Legley’s wife.”
David looked up at her with a wrinkled brow. “Are you serious? The dead federal witness’s wife?”
“Yes. Get this—it turns out the two of them have been having an affair for at least the past six months.”
“How do you know that?”
“I spoke with that same bartender at Dyson’s bar a few minutes ago, and he told me his boss started bringing her around back in the spring. He didn’t know much about the woman other than she went by Christy and was clearly his boss’s latest fling. He said the two of them were private about it but not that private. Christina Legley would even come hang out at the bar sometimes without Dyson. When she’d had too much to drink one night, she told the bartender that her husband was an abusive cheater who constantly threatened to ruin her financially if she ever left him, and she wished he was dead.”
“Damn. A bartender told you all of that?”
“Yes.”
Dave gave her a quizzical look, waiting for further explanation.
“Don’t ask,” Jess said with a small grin. “I have my ways.”
“I’m sure you do.” David rubbed his chin, tried to process this new information. “So what if the death of Max Legley has nothing to do with Rick Kingston and the federal fraud case? What if all of that was just used as a smoke screen? I mean, we have a rich wife here who wishes her cheating husband was dead having an ongoing affair with a businessman who’s in dire financial straits and desperately trying to save his bar from closing.”
Jess twisted up her mouth. “You think in the throes of their affair, they both saw a golden opportunity to help each other out of their own difficulties?”
“Perhaps—if they were willing to kill to do it.”
“Which would mean Christina Legley intentionally lied to the FBI. She claimed her husband felt like they were in danger because Kingston had previously said he knew a guy who would kill someone for them.”
“Right. Don’t you find it odd that they never voiced any concern for their own safety to the feds before Legley’s death?”
“I certainly do now. But it is a great cover. She really sold it.”
“And maybe they would’ve gotten away with it had Parker not been sleeping in the park that night.”
They both took a moment to consider the weight of what suddenly felt like a plausible theory.
“It’s still mostly supposition,” Jess offered.
He nodded. “We definitely need something more to put a stamp on it.”
“So what do we do?”
David sighed, considered that. “Is Dyson still at her house?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s watch and wait. See what Dyson does next.”
“I’ll watch and wait,” Jess suggested. “You go find Parker.”
David agreed. Both of them didn’t need to be sitting in a car outside Christina Legley’s house. He’d go stir-crazy knowing Parker could still be hiding somewhere near his office building.
“Okay, call me if anything happens.”
THIRTY-NINE
Parker poked his head around the corner of a brick building and closely watched the front entrance of the downtown restaurant. He figured it was pricey because of the way people were dressed and the types of cars in which they were arriving. Mercedes, Lexus, BMW. He already knew what he had to do. He was getting out of town as fast as possible. And not just to the next city over from Austin. He had to go much farther if he had any chance of disappearing from both the FBI and whatever men wanted him dead. No one could be trusted. Not even Mr. Adams. Parker was on his own for the rest of his life—so he’d better get used to it. He was going to Mexico. And the only way for him to get to the border tonight was by somehow stealing a car and driving himself there. No easy task—but he had a plan in mind.
Parker swallowed, tried not to think about what had just happened several blocks over. His sweatshirt hoodie had been completely soaked in blood from the FBI agent who’d gotten shot while throwing him to the ground. So Parker had tossed it into a trash can. But now he was freezing in only his T-shirt and jeans. He rubbed his skinny arms, tried to warm himself, but it wasn’t helping much.
His eyes went back to the valet stand, where two guys were scrambling back and forth to a lot two blocks over from the restaurant, parking and retrieving cars for the diners. Parker wondered if the luxury cars would be too fancy for him to figure out how to drive. The old truck at Judd’s grandpa’s ranch did not have lots of dials, switches, or touch screens. There was no computer in the truck, either. It was stiff and rigid but straightforward. Then again, maybe these cars were so fancy, they would be even easier for him to drive—maybe they’d drive themselves.
There was only one way to find out.
Parker eased away from the building and walked down the sidewalk to get closer to the valet station. Both valet guys wore the same dark-blue shirts with some kind of parking logo on the front. One guy had bushy brown hair; the other had short blond hair. They looked like college students. The valets were trying hard to keep up, but the restaurant seemed busy tonight. Parker inched closer until he was pressed up against the building just ten feet away from the valet stand. Several nicely dressed people were leaving the restaurant and waiting for their cars to arrive. So it was easy for Parker to kind of blend in with everyone out on the sidewalk.
A black Lexus sedan pulled up to the curb in front of the valet station. An older man in a suit and a woman in a pretty dress got out, handed their key fob to the bushy-haired valet, got a ticket, and walked inside. Parker was carefully watching how everything was tagged and where the two valets put the key fobs—on a rack of small hooks inside the valet stand. They did not lock up the rack because they were so busy. The bushy-haired valet jumped into the Lexus sedan, drove up the street, and took a right. Parker had already scoped out the parking lot next door. The blond valet arrived with a fancy SUV for a family. Seconds later, Parker noticed the bushy-haired valet run up the sidewalk, back to the valet stand.
Parker’s eyes narrowed, watched exactly where the valet placed the key fob. He kept his eyes locked on the spot while the bushy-haired valet gave out another ticket and jumped back into a car. At the moment, neither valet was at the booth. One was out taking a car, the other, picking up a car. Parker knew he had to move right now if he was going to do this. He started to tense up but then pushed the fear aside. He was done being afraid. He was ready to get his life back on his own terms.
Parker moved to the valet stand. Arriving, he took a quick glance down the sidewalk. No valets in sight. He scanned the front doors. No diners giving him a second look. Reaching inside the stand, Parker grabbed the key fob to the Lexus, shoved it into his jean pocket, and then hit the sidewalk at full speed. Within seconds, he crossed paths with the blond valet. At the street corner, Parker took a sharp right and started running. He
turned one more street corner and spotted the valet parking lot. His eyes quickly skimmed the four rows until he spotted the black Lexus sedan in the second row.
Rushing forward into the lot, Parker hit the “Unlock” button on the key fob. The lights on the Lexus blinked. Within seconds, he had the front door open, dropped inside the luxury vehicle, and shut the door behind him. The black leather car seat was way too far back for him to reach the pedals. He found the buttons that moved the seat around and pressed one until the seat was as far forward as possible. Another button raised him up to see over the steering wheel. Parker was relieved when he could both reach the pedals and see through the windshield enough to drive.
He put his hands on the steering wheel, felt his heart pumping nearly as fast as it had been when he was running away from the shooting a few minutes ago. Headlights from another car suddenly flashed right in front of him. Parker ducked down out of the way, hoping he wasn’t spotted by one of the valets. He waited a moment and then poked his head back up. The bushy-haired valet parked a Toyota SUV in the row directly in front of him. The guy jumped out and took off running again.
Parker put his foot on the brake, pressed the button on the dash, and the car started right up. Mr. Bidwell used to have a Mercedes that started up in this same way. The headlights immediately popped on. Parker knew he had to get out of there right away, or he’d get busted. Reaching down, he tried to shift the car into drive, but it wouldn’t budge. He began to panic. Come on! Then he realized he needed to push the brake down to shift gears. He’d forgotten about that. Pressing the brake, he shifted into drive and eased his foot onto the gas pedal. The car jerked forward, startling Parker. The gas pedal was more sensitive than the one in the old truck on the ranch. He pressed down on the pedal again a little smoother, and the car began moving.
Using the steering wheel, Parker turned into the row and headed toward the exit. He reached the street and put his foot on the brake as cars moved past in front of him. Come on! Come on! Finally, traffic cleared. Parker pushed the gas pedal again and slowly drifted into the actual street. He made the turn just before a speedy little car moved in behind him. Parker tried to look in all the mirrors. Right behind the little car, he noticed another fancy SUV pull into the valet parking lot. Behind the wheel was the blond valet. Parker kept watching the mirror, driving really slowly, wondering if one of the valets would notice the missing Lexus. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the blond came sprinting out, looking all around. Would he press down the gas pedal and just go for it? Or pull over somewhere and start running?
Thankfully, he didn’t have to do either. In his mirror, he spotted the blond valet on the sidewalk, hurrying back toward the restaurant—business as usual. The little car behind him was getting annoyed at his slow driving. When it got a chance, the driver of that car whipped around him while honking his horn and giving him a dirty look. Parker actually welcomed a dirty look over a suspicious one. He hadn’t thought about how other drivers would react if they saw a twelve-year-old boy driving a Lexus.
Three blocks from the restaurant, Parker pulled over into a parking lot next to a construction site. He needed to get his bearings now that he actually had a vehicle. Searching the dashboard, he found the gas gauge. He was immediately relieved to see the gas tank nearly full. He had no money to put gas in the car. The digital gas gauge said he had 322 miles until empty. Parker’s eyes drifted over to the bright touch screen in the middle of the dashboard. He pressed the “Map” button, and the whole screen became a map of where he was in Austin. At the bottom was a box for him to type in his destination. Parker was unsure where exactly was the closest place to get into Mexico, so he simply typed Mexico border. Several routes immediately popped up on the screen, taking him down different highways toward Mexico. Parker pressed his finger on the shortest route.
Laredo: 253 miles. Three hours, forty-seven minutes.
Before leaving the parking lot, Parker tried out all the turn signals and buttons. He didn’t want to have to be searching out on the highway. When he felt like he had enough of a grasp of how the car worked, he swallowed the lump in his throat and shifted back into drive. He waited for a big gap of space and then pulled back onto the street. Following the map, he found his way onto the feeder road of I-35 within a few blocks. Cars were beginning to race past him now as they merged on to the interstate on-ramp. Parker knew he had to find the courage to drive much faster. He pressed his foot down harder, felt the car pick up speed. Forty. Forty-five. Fifty. Fifty-five. With every incremental increase, he felt his heart beat faster. He’d never driven the truck on the ranch above thirty miles per hour. He was already double that.
He followed another car onto the interstate and within seconds found himself in the far-right lane of a busy highway with an 18-wheeler rumbling in the lane beside him. Parker was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his hands were quickly becoming numb. Realizing he was holding his breath, he exhaled and loosened his grasp on the wheel. He allowed the 18-wheeler to move past him.
Parker stayed in the right-hand lane. He had no desire to try to shift in and out of multiple lanes on the highway. He would stay put right where he was for as long as possible. Fortunately, the map on the bright screen told him he never even needed to leave I-35. The long highway would take him straight to the border in Laredo.
With each mile that passed, Parker began to relax a bit more.
He could do this. No, he was going to do this.
The map said only 241 miles to go.
FORTY
From the front seat of his Jeep Wrangler, Zegers stared across the street at a small one-story gray-brick house sandwiched in a neighborhood of nearly matching homes. His heart hadn’t stopped racing since David had told him about the yellow Camaro earlier—a car that he now spotted sitting in the driveway in front of him. Josh had been picked up earlier from school in an unidentified yellow Camaro. Zegers’s gut said it was no coincidence. Someone had grabbed his son. Why? Could whoever was behind the hit on the federal witness be planning to use his son to influence the investigation somehow?
Zegers again thought about having a potential traitor on his team. Could whoever had leaked info about their meeting with Parker earlier tonight also been willing to betray him and his family? He felt his stomach turn over in rage. He now planned to put every member of his crew who’d been involved with this investigation into a holding room, where he was going to have a very intense one-on-one conversation.
But first things first. He had to get his son back.
After leaving David’s office earlier, Zegers had immediately contacted the Austin Police Department and asked to speak with the detective handling the downtown hit-and-run incident from earlier tonight. The detective was already off duty but told him over the phone they had a lead but hadn’t found the guy yet. A downtown security camera had captured the incident and revealed a license plate. The car was registered to someone named Luke Detrich. The detective said he’d sent officers by Detrich’s home earlier but found no one there. He had an officer waiting outside in case the suspect returned.
Of course, Zegers was not waiting around. He immediately began his own investigation and was able to identify several addresses for Detrich’s local family members. For the past hour, Zegers had been driving all over town, looking for a yellow Camaro with black racing stripes. It was tedious work to do all by himself, but he was unwilling to bring anyone else from his team into the fold at this point. He couldn’t take any chances. Not with his son’s well-being on the line. He’d finally found the Camaro a few minutes ago sitting outside a house being rented by one of Detrich’s cousins.
Zegers looked down when his phone buzzed. Mark Anderson. The assistant US attorney had been incessantly calling him for the past hour, wanting an update. He’d obviously heard about the screwup downtown and was going to give Zegers hell about it. Zegers kept pushing “Ignore.” He didn’t feel like dealing with the man’s yapping at the moment. When his phone immediately b
uzzed again—once again showing Anderson’s name—Zegers finally turned his phone off.
He turned his attention back to the house. Sitting beside the Camaro was a small white Toyota truck. The grass in the yard was taller than other yards, and weeds were poking through the cracks in the driveway. Zegers couldn’t see inside any of the front windows. All the blinds and curtains had been pulled. But he could tell lights were on inside the house. Someone was inside. But would he find Josh?
Getting out of his car, Zegers drew his gun. He moved across the street and up the sidewalk to the driveway. A quick inspection of the Camaro showed dents across the hood and cracks in the windshield. He stood in the driveway for only a moment, considering his options. It was probably most appropriate to knock on the front door and identify himself as FBI. But he didn’t care about proper protocol right now. And he certainly wasn’t interested in giving anyone inside a heads-up.
Zegers moved to the front door. The front light was either not on or burned out. Either way, he was grateful to approach in the dark. He wondered if he’d have to kick the door open or even shoot out the lock. Gun in his right hand, he reached down with his left to the door handle. The door clicked open. No need to kick or shoot.
He slowly pushed the door open a few inches. He could now hear music blaring from somewhere in the back of the house. Sounded like some kind of heavy metal–punk rock mix. Slipping inside the entryway, Zegers shut the door behind him. To his right was a small dining room with what looked like antique furniture. No one was in the room. A hallway straight ahead led to the rest of the small house. Zegers saw a shadow of movement down the hallway and stretched out the gun in both hands in front of him. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself.
He moved deeper into the hallway, passed by a bathroom on one side and a closet on the other. He could tell the hallway led into a kitchen and living room just up ahead. The music was already giving him a headache. A young guy suddenly crossed from the living room into the kitchen just ahead of him. He didn’t notice Zegers. The skinny guy had long brown hair, wore jeans, and was bare-chested. A second later, Zegers heard, “We need more beer” from a deep voice in the living room.