Outfox

by Sandra Brown

  “Drex? When he turned in, did he go left or right?”

  “They talked about the trip. At length. Both last night and this morning.”

  He pivoted toward the stove. After a second’s hesitation, he went over to it and stuck his fingers in the narrow crack between it and the cabinetry where he’d placed the tiny transmitter while waxing poetic about the best way to cook corn on the cob.

  It wasn’t there.

  He fell back a step, took several breaths, tried again, wedging his fingers in as far as they would go, but he knew where he had attached the bug, and it wasn’t there.

  “Drex!” Gif shouted in his hear. “Left or right?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to find their car.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Hold on.” He walked over to the spot where he had let Jasper catch him crouched in front of the cabinetry. He knelt down now and ran his hand along the baseboard.

  And came up with the transmitter.

  “Drex? Are you out of there yet? What is going on?”

  “Jasper moved the transmitter.”

  “What? He couldn’t have. He didn’t know where it was.”

  “He found it. And, as an inside joke, he put it right where I had pretended to hide it that night.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “We overheard exactly what they wanted us to hear.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “In spades,” Drex said. “We’ve been played.”

  Chapter 18

  Gif was yelling in his ear, being a hard-ass coach, drilling him. “Get out of that house. Vacate the apartment, too. Hurry.”

  He’d needed the drilling to knock him out of the momentary stupor he’d lapsed into upon realizing that he’d been duped.

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  He disconnected. With Gif’s urgent instructions ringing in his ear, he launched himself off the floor. On his way out, he reset the alarm and locked the back door, leaving both as they’d been. He straightened the lock on the screen door so one couldn’t tell simply by looking that it was damaged.

  Then he ran like hell to the garage apartment. Precipitation had made the stairs treacherous, but he charged up them and into the apartment. No sooner had he closed the door behind himself than he heard the siren.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding!”

  He stood in the center of the room, heart booming, lungs laboring, mentally shuffling through options and discarding them until he was down to only one.

  In a flurry of motion, he felt for the wall switch behind him and flipped on the overhead light. Blinking against the sudden brightness, he peeled off the latex gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of his windbreaker, exchanging them for his pistol. He shucked the windbreaker and threw it aside where it landed carelessly in the ratty easy chair.

  With pistol in one hand, he unbuttoned his jeans with the other, then pogoed on alternate legs toward the bedroom, pulling off his jeans as he went. He left them on the floor and switched on the lamp. His duffel bag was on the bed. He returned his pistol to it and took out his computer and the stained original manuscript—bless Pam’s heart. He carried them into the living area and hurriedly staged his workspace.

  Out on the street, flashing lights created fuzzy streaks of color in the mist. The siren wailed down as the police car wheeled into the Fords’ driveway and came to a jerky stop. Both doors opened.

  Drex rushed back into the bedroom, stripped off his shirt, put on the fake eyeglasses, toed off his shoes, and grabbed the duffel by the strap. As he did, he spotted his FBI ID wallet lying at the bottom of the canvas bag.

  He stopped to consider. He could use it now and, damn, it was tempting. But if he did, he would be blown. He couldn’t revert to being the hapless writer cum gigolo. It was a dilly of an ace, but if he played it too early, he stood to lose the big pot: Jasper Ford.

  He zipped up the duffel bag and shoved it into the closet. He then dashed into the living area and took a beer from the fridge. He twisted off the cap and poured half down the sink, then took the bottle with him to the table where he set it beside his laptop. He dropped into the chair, dry scrubbed the sweat off his face, and tried to appear tormented by writer’s block.

  As it turned out, he had plenty of time to catch his breath. It was five minutes before he heard them clumping up the stairs. He let them get halfway up, then scraped back his chair and ambled over to the door, arriving at the screen door the same time they did.

  Looking back at him was a pair of patrol officers, the patches on their uniform sleeves designating the Mount Pleasant police department. Young. Crisp. And looking surprised to be greeted by a man in just his underwear.

  Drex pretended to realize only then his state of undress and looked abashed. “Sorry, guys. What’s going on?”

  “What’s your name?” officer number one asked.

  “Drex Easton.”

  “You live here?”

  Drex shot the room behind him a deprecating glance. “It’s a roof. I’ve rented it for three months.” He explained about the Arnotts. “Do you want to come in or…” He let the invitation trail to nothing.

  But they took him up on it, came inside, and looked around.

  “You live here alone?” number two asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s that?” Number one pointed to the manuscript.

  “First novel.”

  “You’re a writer?”

  Grimacing, Drex said, “Not according to the heap of rejection letters.”

  Number one chuckled. Number two asked, “Do you know the people in the house across the way?”

  “The Fords? Sure. We’ve hung out.”

  “Their security alarm went off.”

  Feigning puzzlement, Drex looked toward the house. “I didn’t hear it. When was this?”

  “Twenty minutes ago, give or take,” officer number one told him. “Siren didn’t sound. It cut off with the warning beeps. But Mr. Ford has an app on his phone that signals him when the alarm is activated. Since nobody was authorized to go in, like a cleaning lady or something, he called us.”

  Drex nodded understanding but held his tongue.

  Number two asked, “Have you seen anybody around the neighborhood who looks like they don’t belong?”

  “Besides me?” Number one thought that was funny, too. Number two, not so much. Good cop/bad cop. Drex turned serious. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of anybody, and I’ve been here all day. Well, except for a few minutes early this morning. I went out for milk. What did he take?”

  “Who?”

  “The burglar.”

  “Nothing, looks like. No sign of a break-in.”

  “Huh. Wonder what set off the alarm. Or maybe that app on Jasper’s phone is faulty.”

  “Could be. Because the alarm reset itself.”

  Drex rolled his eyes. “Technology, right?”

  The two young officers looked at each other and seemed to come to the tacit conclusion that he was harmless. Number two said, “If you see or hear anything peculiar, please notify the department.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Number one wished him good luck with his novel.

  “Thanks. I need it.”

  They thanked him for his time, said their good nights, and trooped down the stairs. A minute later, they backed out of the Fords’ driveway and were on their way.

  Drex drained the bottle of beer, then picked up his windbreaker from off the chair and fished his cell phone from the pocket.

  Gif was beside himself. “I’ve called you a dozen times.”

  “I had company.” He told him about his visitors. “If they’d arrived sixty seconds sooner, they would have caught me beating my way back up here. If I’d made a run for it when I first heard their siren, they could have seen me fleeing. False alarm.”

  “Close call. You need to get out of there. And I mean the apartment.”

  “Have you heard from Mike?”

  “He got to the fancy
hotel. I told him not to expect the Fords and brought him into the loop. He’s standing by, waiting to see what you want him to do.”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  “You need to clear out. This room has two beds. You can bunk here tonight. We’ll discuss options.”

  “See you in a few.”

  When he showed up at the motel without his belongings, Gif greeted him with exasperation. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “I didn’t clear out.”

  “We agreed—”

  “I didn’t agree.”

  “You didn’t disagree, either.”

  “I’m hungry. A mile back I passed a place.” Drex turned around and headed for his car. He’d left the engine running. Gif pulled the motel room door shut and followed.

  On the way to the restaurant, Gif said, “While I was waiting on you, I took the liberty of calling Mike.”

  “Did you interrupt his five-course, prix fixe dinner?”

  “He canceled his reservation.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know. Shocked me too. He was in his room, working.”

  “Doing what?”

  “If the Fords left the airport in the vehicle they arrived in, it would show up on surveillance camera video.”

  “That would only prove they left. Wouldn’t tell us where they were going.”

  “Mike’s going to look into it anyway.”

  The seafood shack was outlined in turquoise and pink neon, and had a sign with a fish jumping out of a skillet. The shrimp was hot out of the deep fryer, and the beer was icy cold. They ate in silence for several minutes before Gif again raised the subject of Drex leaving the apartment.

  Drex hadn’t had a change of heart. “If they return to their house, it’ll look better if I’m still there, carrying on as though nothing happened. I replaced the transmitter where Jasper had left it. That’ll be the first thing he checks. He will suspect that it was me who triggered the alarm, but he can’t prove it.”

  “Unless he has nanny cams.”

  “Even if he had me on video stealing Talia’s jewelry, would he drag the police in?” He shook his head. “No. He doesn’t want involvement with the police.”

  “He got them involved tonight.”

  “Only to let me know that he’s on to me. I’m sure he got a good chuckle out of that. But it was a tactical error.”

  “How so?”

  “Why would he play hide-and-seek if he didn’t have something to hide?”

  Gif thought on that and conceded with a nod. “But what if they’ve vamoosed, and we never lay eyes on them again?”

  Drex tried not to give in to the dejection that thought induced. To come away from this exercise with nothing to show for it would be a disappointing defeat. Even more crushing would be to think of Talia on an escapade with Jasper, the two of them laughing at him, crowing over how effortless it had been to gull him.

  “If they’ve flown the coop,” he said to Gif, “it won’t matter if I’ve moved out or not, will it? He’ll have vanished. We’ll be back where we started, except that I’ll be out three months rent on that rat hole.”

  Sensitive to his mood, Gif let the subject drop. They finished their meal, split the tab with a twenty each, and were sipping second beers when Drex’s phone vibrated. “Must be Mike.” He answered.

  Straightaway Mike asked, “Where are you?”

  “A restaurant. Just finished dinner.”

  “Gif there?”

  “I’m looking at him.”

  “Have you seen any news?”

  “No.”

  “Start moving.”

  Responding to Mike’s no-nonsense timbre, Drex scooted out of the booth and motioned for Gif to follow. As they wended their way through tables of diners, he asked Mike, “What’s up?”

  “The yacht that belongs to the Conner woman, the Laney Belle, right?”

  “Right. What about it?”

  “Well, around nightfall a Coast Guard cruiser came upon a capsized dingy belonging to it.”

  “What?”

  “The Laney Belle was located adrift about a half mile away. Nobody was on board.”

  “What?”

  “And that ain’t the worst of it.”

  Drex stopped so suddenly, Gif bumped into him from behind.

  “A body has washed up on shore,” Mike said.

  Drex’s shrimp and beer threatened to come up. “Whose body?”

  “Name hasn’t been released. All they’re saying is…Drex, it’s a woman.”

  Chapter 19

  Tossing his cell phone to Gif, who fumbled it before securing it, Drex said, “Talk to Mike. Ask him where we need to go.”

  He shouldered past the cluster of people waiting for tables, made it to the exit, and, once outside, broke into a run. Gif jogged along behind, Drex’s phone to his ear. By the time they were fastening their seat belts, Mike had explained to Gif the nature of the emergency and given him the name of the marina near where the woman’s body had been discovered.

  “Mike said the fastest route to take—”

  “I know how to get there.” Drex sped from the restaurant’s parking lot, tires squealing as he executed a shallow U-turn onto the thoroughfare. “Put the phone on speaker.”

  Gif did. Mike asked Drex what he wanted him to do.

  “Be honest with me.” Drex’s fingers flexed and contracted on the steering wheel. “If the dead woman has been identified, and you’re withholding that, I’ll cut your heart out.”

  “I swear, Drex. They haven’t released her name.”

  Drex forced himself to calm down, push personal considerations aside, and think pragmatically. “Pack up. Leave your car—”

  “Sammy’s car.”

  “Sammy’s car. We’ll square up with him later.” He checked the clock on the dashboard. It was going on nine o’clock. “I think the last flight from Atlanta to Charleston is at—”

  “Ten twenty-nine. I already booked a seat.”

  “Good man.”

  “Figured you’d want me there. Where should I go when I arrive?”

  “Hell if I know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “I’ll text when I’m on the ground.”

  “Any sign that Rudkowski is on your tail?”

  “None.”

  “Do you have another phone?”

  “Charged and ready.”

  “I’m gonna switch, too. You and Gif trade numbers.”

  Gif clicked off the speaker while he and Mike sorted out the new phone numbers.

  Drex concentrated on driving. He wove in and out of traffic, cursing motorists who went too slow. Gif held onto the strap above the passenger window but had the discretion not to comment on Drex’s speed and chancy maneuvering.

  As they neared the general vicinity of the marina, it became apparent that access to it had already been restricted. Some streets had been cordoned off. On those remaining open, traffic was being redirected by officers with flashlights and reflective vests. Seeing that one was about to signal him to make an unwanted turn, Drex whipped into the parking lot of a strip center where the shops were closed for the night and announced they would go the rest of the way on foot.

  “There may be barricades,” Gif said.

  “Keep your badge handy.”

  “Do you intend to muscle your way in?”

  “Only if I have to.”

  “If you do, Rudkowski will—”

  “Keep your badge handy.” Drex put a lid on Gif’s arguments. They would be reasonable. He would encourage prudence. He would advise that they tread carefully.

  Drex didn’t want to hear it.

  They made it to the base of the pier without being challenged. Drex indicated a roped-off area where the media had been shepherded. “Go mingle with the news crews. See if you can learn anything beyond what Mike has told us.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Up there.” He motioned toward the elevated pier. “Look for me at the ra
iling.”

  He climbed the steps. The pier was crowded with spectators, but they were unexpectedly subdued. Drex made his way through them until he reached the wood railing and saw what they were looking at on the beach below.

  EMTs were lifting a body bag from the packed sand onto a gurney. Once transferred, it was strapped down. The gurney was carried to an ambulance and placed inside. The doors were shut with a sound that had a finality to it. The ambulance drove away down the beach.

  As though watching the last scene of a sad movie, the crowd remained still and hushed before gradually beginning to disperse, talking quietly among themselves, posing questions of each other, speculating, philosophizing about the fragility of life.

  “Drex.”

  The soft-spoken voice brought him around to Gif. “It’s not official yet,” he said, “but they’re all but certain it’s Elaine Conner.”

  Drex felt as though his breastbone would crack and his chest cave in. From anguish over Elaine. And guilt-ridden relief that it wasn’t Talia. He turned back to the railing, braced his hands on the weathered wood, and bent double, taking deep breaths through his mouth.

  Gif let him have a full minute before continuing. “People in the marina saw the yacht leaving the harbor, wondered why anybody would be going out in weather like this. According to several witnesses, there, uh, there was a man at the wheel.”

  “Jasper.”

  “Unidentified.”

  “It was Jasper.” Drex took one last deep breath and stood up straight. “While he had us looking the other way, he must have come straight here from the airport and boarded the yacht.” Turning only his head, he looked sternly at Gif. His friend knew the question he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t work up enough courage.

  Gif raised his shoulders, looking apologetic. “It’s unknown if anyone else besides the man and Elaine were onboard.”

  What went unspoken was that the last time Talia was seen, she had been in the company of her husband, but whether as a victim or an accomplice remained unknown. As though following Drex’s thoughts, Gif said, “The authorities have had no indication of another casualty, so the search is being referred to as a rescue, not a recovery.”

  Drex stared out across the water. “They may find Talia, or her body,” he said in a voice scratchy with emotion. “But if they search till Doomsday, they won’t find a trace of him.” He pushed off the railing, turned, and started walking with determination toward the steps leading down. “The fucker can swim.”