Authors: Claire Gillian
“Move. Back in the house. We need to find Bob to wrap up the last loose ends.”
I’d never been married nor had any children. I kept thinking, what a waste if I had to die before I experienced either of those milestones in my short twenty-four years.
What would my brothers think when they found out their little sister had been murdered? How would they and my parents react?
Would they find my body in shallow grave in the woods near Marilyn’s house, or would I become one of those people who disappeared, my face on flyers plastered on convenience store windows and bus stops? The media would interview my teary-eyed parents holding my last photo, my mother begging for help from the public to help find me.
The anguish my family would suffer was unfathomable.
Dear God, I can’t do it to them. I can’t.
The stress built to unbearable levels.
Screw him.
If he planned to kill me anyway, I’d be damned if I’d roll over and let him. I had to make a move soon.
After climbing the second step to the porch, my next leg motion wasn’t forward but a powerful back kick into Jeff’s soft middle. I loved kickboxing for exercise and hoped what had never been more than an aerobics move before might have a life-or-death application.
With a loud grunt, Jeff toppled backwards to the sidewalk. His head sounded like a bowling ball being released as it hit the pavement. I bolted past him and around the side of the house. His gun clicked, but no shot rang out. He was out of ammunition, but he knew it, too. Whether or not he had the ability to reload was the huge unknown.
Where the darkness swallowed up the light, I made a hard left and veered toward the woods on the side of Marilyn’s house. I ran as fast as my former eight hundred meter sprinter’s legs would carry me and immediately regretted dropping wind sprints from my running program.
“There’s nowhere to run out here, Gayle,” Jeff called out in a singsong voice.
As I hit the tree line, shots rang out, but they didn’t sound like they’d been fired toward me. I ducked behind a cluster of trees. The darkness offered cover, but rustling leaves and crackling twigs grew louder, closer.
Oh shit!
I started moving again, but the farther away I ventured, the less light penetrated the forest. My face and arms bore the brunt of several low-lying branches as I pushed on. Tripping or crashing into a tree and knocking myself out rose higher on the probability graph. I slowed and found what felt to my hands like a fairly dense bush. I wormed in as close to the low center as I could, froze and cocked my ear toward Marilyn’s house.
Nature’s graveyard of dead foliage sounded the alarm as Jeff moved closer to my spot. A beam of light danced through the tree trunks at waist level. I hoped my cover would be dense enough to keep me hidden if he lowered the angle of his flashlight.
Running was no longer an option.
He paused, his labored breathing far too loud and far too close. The light searched for me, piercing the space above my head. I held my breath for several heartbeats until the footsteps continued past.
Only then did I take a few shallow breaths.
From the direction of Marilyn’s house, an engine rumbled to life, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel. I assumed Bob was the driver, pursuing Marilyn to avenge Leslie’s death or fleeing to save his skin.
The footsteps returned my way. Their maker swore as he crashed into an obstacle.
More tires on gravel, accompanied by strobe lights, wormed their way into my hidey hole.
The police?
Jeff’s movements stopped a few feet past where I crouched. He retraced his steps away from Marilyn’s house and continued through the trees.
I glanced over my shoulder. The glow of his flashlight illuminated a path. Perhaps Bob waited for him on the other side of the trees, or he had his own vehicle parked in the vicinity. I emerged from my hiding spot and ran toward Marilyn’s house.
Jon was the first person I saw. “Gayle!” He ran and captured me in his arms, smothering my cries of joy, saying for the both of us, “Oh, thank God! Thank God.” He kissed the top of my head. “Where’s Jeff?”
“In the woods, heading away from here.” I rattled all my words off against his chest because I had my arms locked around his waist.
Jon broke free of my death grip and relayed my information to the officer in the police car. The vehicle made a wide turn and departed, flipping up gravel in its haste. Another squad car and an ambulance arrived. The officers and emergency personnel spoke to Jon, who pointed to the house and the upper floor. I assumed he told them about Leslie and where to find her body.
The FBI had had an unsuccessful evening—Marilyn missing, Leslie killed, Bob and Jeff on the run.
I remembered my deadly chemical cocktail and yelled to the officers and EMT personnel. “Don’t go in the kitchen, there’s chlorine gas from a mix of bleach and ammonia.”
Jon held me by the shoulders. “Since I tossed a rock at Marilyn’s window to distract them, I’ve been running around trying to find you and Marilyn while remaining out of sight. Where were you the whole time? In the woods?”
“Jeff took me from the van at gunpoint, but I managed to get away, hiding and running all over the place. I capped Bob upstairs and went out on the roof, then down the drainpipe. That’s when Jeff caught me again, but I escaped into the woods. He chased me there. I guess I hid long enough for flashing police lights to convince him to flee instead of hunting me down.”
“Oh dear God!” He drew me into a new, tighter embrace. “But you’re okay?”
I nodded against his chest, and he released me.
“I need to check in and start looking for Marilyn.” He leaned against the van, pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
He gave the person on the other end of the line a brief update. There were some other exchanges of information that made no sense to me, probably some kind of code or jargon—secret FBI stuff off limits to my civilian ears.
He sounded very professional, like he did that sort of thing every day … when he wasn’t adding up columns of numbers or wading through stacks of invoices. What a weird combination of skills he possessed. Those might tend to make a person a little odd. Had his secretiveness drawn him to the FBI, or had the FBI made him that way? Perhaps it was a chicken and egg thing.
I climbed in the van after he did. “Where should we start looking?”
“I have a few places in mind, but—”
“Oh no, you are not dumping me off again, Jon Cripps.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest and slammed back against the seat.
“I wasn’t going to dump you off, Gayle.”
He didn’t elaborate further, so I knew he only shared part of the story. I read him well enough to figure out the unspoken parts of our conversations in his head. He knew I wouldn’t like his plan, and I didn’t, whether he voiced it or not. I traced his current thought trajectory back further.
“Taking me out on surveillance with you was just a ruse to keep an eye on me, wasn’t it? You were going to whisk me away somewhere with Marilyn. The bag in the back of the van contains my stuff, doesn’t it? Stuff you packed when you got my clothes for our date last night.”
His eyes darted to me before returning just as quickly toward the front windshield.
I heaved a loud put upon sigh. “Shit. Okay, then.” I was more angry with myself than with him. “I just needed to be clear on who you were, but now I know.”
“Your safety came first, Gayle, not my own personal interests.”
“Why couldn’t you have told me?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t go with me.”
He had a point. I would have pitched a fit if he’d tried to hide me in some hotel with Marilyn.
“You could have convinced me,” I said softly.
“Maybe, but you might have convinced me instead.”
I smiled in the dark, knowing he was right. I would have and still would.
“I’m not going now, that’s for sure. You know as well as I do that Jeff has gone to one or both of his homes to destroy evidence. Bob’s probably doing the same, or he’s licking his wounds. Two cars left Marilyn’s house. Jeff wasn’t driving one of them, and Leslie sure as hell wasn’t. If we don’t know where Marilyn is, then neither do they, which means she’s not in immediate danger and neither am I.
“Not necessarily. Bob could be chasing Marilyn. They may have more information than we do. There could be other parties involved. And why on earth did you become a CPA? You almost seem wasted in the profession.”
“Changing the subject to distract me won’t work either, so let’s go.” I patted the dash. “We need to go get the bad guys.”
“Not this time. The FBI has already moved in on all three residences.” Jon’s cell phone chimed with the arrival of a text message. He unlocked the screen’s display and read. “Ah. It’s from Marilyn. She says ‘BT, JH and Leslie tried to kill me. Prevented six pm meet. On my way to Alice’s. Meet you there. Think am being followed.’” He paused before he said, “Hmm.”
I voiced what I knew he had to be thinking. “Why didn’t Marilyn call you instead of texting you? How do we know Marilyn’s the one who sent the message from her phone? What if Bob or Jeff is trying to lure or divert you there?”
He smiled and leaned over to give me a kiss. His smile lines wilted, and worry rushed in to refill their tracks. “Our protocol is for her to meet me at the Lawless offices, not her friend’s house. That’s where we’re going first since it’s closer and on the way to Alice’s place. Nevertheless, I’ll have the FBI get a GPS on her last transmission.”
Using voice-activated dialing, he did just that as we drove.
“I’m not staying out in the van when we get there. I’m going inside with you whether you like it or not.”
Jon sighed and after a long pause, nodded.
Smart man.
I missed the days when I thought
I
was the one dragging
him
along with me on my escapades. However, I wasn’t going to do a complete one eighty and play the role of Jon’s precious cargo anymore. Fleeing from Jeff at Marilyn’s house had cured me of any illusions of being safer in the van than out of the van.
Stick to the man with the gun.
43
Once downtown, Jon parked on the street in front of the building that housed the Lawless offices. He pushed me behind him as we crept down the hall to the suite used by the FBI.
“Wait out here until I see if Marilyn’s inside and not in any danger.” Jon nudged me into a spot on the far side of the doorway.
He entered a code into an electronic keypad and slipped through the unlocked door. I scanned the hallways, watching and listening for any signs we weren’t alone but found none. I had already concluded our trip another dead end when Jon returned.
“No sign of her inside,” he said.
“Oh.” I bit back the urge to say I hadn’t thought she would be.
“I’m going to Anderson-Blakely.”
“Not Alice’s?”
“No. Not yet. Like you said, something’s not right about that text, and until I hear back from the FBI on her GPS …” He pulled out his cell and, with a soft ‘hmph’, returned it to his pocket. “I’m going to check out Anderson-Blakely’s office. I’m here, and it’s only a block away.”
“Sounds good. Let’s go.” I turned to walk to the elevator, but Jon caught my arm.
“You’re not coming with me. You’ll stay here until I return or send another agent for you.” He pushed open the glass door and drew me inside the law offices.
We kept walking past the reception desk and down the hall to the same conference room where we’d met with Agent Burrows.
Jon picked up the phone on the side table. “Okay, if you need to call, just dial a nine to get an outside line.” He jotted down a number on a pad of paper. “This is the code to the outer door in case you need to use the restroom outside the suite. It’s near the emergency exit on the south side of the floor.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “There are drinks and snacks in the kitchen next door to this conference room.” He took hold of my shoulders and lowered his head closer to mine. “You wait here.”
“But—“
“Seriously, Gayle. This is non-negotiable. Do you understand?”
I crossed my arms, a frown on my face as I gazed into the darkened office space beyond his shoulder. “Okay, fine.”
“Come ’ere.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me quite thoroughly before he left me all by myself in a dark and lonely lawyer’s office.
I wandered down the hall and found the kitchen. They didn’t have any diet sodas, and the coffee was cold and ancient. In the honor system snack box, the only remaining items were Rice Krispie Treats and pretzels, two of my least favorite snacks—not that it mattered—I had no money because I’d left my purse in the van.
Back in the conference room, I fell heavily into a chair and pondered what I’d do with myself until Jon returned. After whirling about in circles in some rickety chair until my head spun, I headed for the ladies’ room.
The bathroom held no unique charms. While washing my hands, I dissected the night’s events. Why would Marilyn go to her friend’s house instead of to a safe FBI location? She knew Bob and Jeff had her friend’s information, had even shared it with a criminal to use against her somehow. Maybe she was being held captive? Maybe Bob had her, and he was taking her somewhere to murder her. He’d probably killed Kenneth—what was one more, two if he’d been the one who killed Leslie. But why did he tell Jeff that Marilyn killed Leslie? Nothing added up, and the more I stewed on the hodgepodge of facts, the more worried I grew for Jon’s safety.
Jon wouldn’t do anything rash or foolhardy though. Surely not. He’d use caution, was trained and had his gun.
I shook off my misgivings. “Get a grip, Gayle.” I tried out the terrific acoustics again, opting to sing a tune about tits and asses from A Chorus Line.
“God, I’m going to go insane waiting here!”
Trudging a dirge-like pace back to the suite, I halted at the door and laughed. “Well ain’t this swell!” I’d forgotten to bring the keypad code. “Now what?” My arms dropped with a slap to my sides.
I hopped in the elevator and rode down to the empty lobby to see if the guard could let me back in the suite. The sign at his station said, ‘Back in ten minutes’.