The Night Stalker_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 33

"There are too many FBI agents hiding in the neighborhood. They've got rifles. Jed's scared of getting shot, and so am I."

The fear in her voice was almost palpable.

"All right," I said.

"I'm going to give you my cell number. Call it when you leave. I'll slip out of my mother-in-law's house, and meet you at the convenience store. Then we'll go see Jed."

I grabbed a pen and piece of paper off my night table. "Go ahead."

She gave me her cell phone number. Her voice was strained, and I sensed that she was holding something back. "Is there something you want to tell me, Heather?"

"I'm just afraid," she said.

"Nothing is going to happen to Jed. You have to believe that."

"I do. It's just..."

"Just what?"

She started to reply, then hung up.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX.

I lay on my bed and did ceiling patrol for a few hours, thinking about Jed. His father was about to be executed, his little boy had been kidnapped, and he was being hunted by the FBI. I needed to get him out of harm's way, and figure out who was behind these crimes. And I needed to do it fast. lay on my bed and did ceiling patrol for a few hours, thinking about Jed. His father was about to be executed, his little boy had been kidnapped, and he was being hunted by the FBI. I needed to get him out of harm's way, and figure out who was behind these crimes. And I needed to do it fast.

At six a.m. I dragged myself out of bed, and took a long, hot shower. It woke me up, and I threw my clothes on while listening to the rain.

I drove over the short steel drawbridge to the mainland with a cup of coffee in my hand and Jimmy Buffett's Songs You Know by Heart Songs You Know by Heart alb.u.m playing on the pickup's tape deck. The roads were treacherous, and I crawled through town and headed north to the interstate. alb.u.m playing on the pickup's tape deck. The roads were treacherous, and I crawled through town and headed north to the interstate.

As I drove, I visualized the convenience store in LeAnn Grimes's neighborhood. It sat on the corner of a busy intersection and had two gas pumps. I didn't like meeting people in places that weren't out in the open, not even people that I knew. Call it my survival instinct. I decided that the store was a good meeting place.

As I exited the interstate, I called Heather.

"It's Jack Carpenter," I said. "I'm five minutes away."

"Let me call you back," she said.

"Is something wrong?"

The line went dead. It was the second time she'd hung up on me. It gave me a bad feeling, and I glanced at Buster, who sat at stiff attention in the pa.s.senger seat.

I navigated my way down the flooded streets to the convenience store. When I was a block away, I pulled off, and put my blinkers on. Then Heather called me back.

"We're on," she said.

"Good," I said.

"I'm going to need about ten minutes."

"I'll be there."

Ten minutes later I arrived at the store. The parking lot was a lake, and contained no cars. Parking so I faced the front door, I grabbed the Marlins' baseball cap off the backseat and stuck it on my head. I hadn't followed the Marlins until they'd won the World Series. Now they were my favorite team.

Out of habit I touched the Colt resting in my pants pocket. It gave me a sense of security that only a gun can. Then I glanced at Buster. His ears were pinned straight back.

"I'll be right back, partner."

I dodged raindrops going inside. The store was empty, save for the Cuban manager eating breakfast behind the counter. I coughed and he looked up.

"I'm looking for a girl," I said. "She's supposed to be meeting me here."

He nodded toward the bathroom. "She's in there. You want something?"

"No, thanks."

He pointed at the sign on the counter. It said "No Loitering." I pretended to fill out a Lotto ticket while waiting for Heather to emerge. The bathroom door opened, and a barefoot woman who looked like a street person sauntered out.

"Hey, big boy," the woman said.

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else," I said.

"Sure you did."

She cackled like a witch and left the store. I went to the front window, and pressed my face to the gla.s.s. I didn't see Heather.

"You want something?" the manager asked.

"Give me a cup of coffee," I said.

"Cuban coffee?"

"Why not?"

The coffee was strong enough to wake the dead. Sipping it, I went to the door. Two black SUVs had pulled into the lot, and I watched eight shotgun-wielding FBI agents climb out. I knew they were FBI because it was printed in bold letters across their baseball caps. Nothing like free advertising, I thought. They surrounded the pickup and aimed their weapons at Buster, who was sitting behind the wheel. At the same time, a black helicopter swooped out of the sky, and I saw a door open, and a man clutching a high-powered rifle aim at the roof of the pickup.

I burst out of the store. "Don't shoot!"

It was the wrong move. Two of the agents spun around, and aimed their weapons at my chest. I froze, and they threw me to the ground. I dropped my coffee and banged my head. A shotgun found my rib cage.

"Don't move," one of them said.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said.

The other agent knelt down, and ripped off my Marlins' cap. "It's Carpenter."

"Jesus Christ," the first agent said.

I got to my feet. My clothes were covered in dirt and spilled coffee, and I was seeing double. I waited for my vision to return, and stared into their faces. It was Burrell and Whitley. Burrell wore a baseball cap that said Broward Police, and looked ready to kill me.

"What are you you doing here?" she demanded. doing here?" she demanded.

"Getting breakfast," I said.

"Don't push me, Jack."

"You should try their coffee. It's really good."

"Is Jed here? Or Heather?"

"They never showed."

"Get in your car and follow us," she said.

Whitley shouted a command, and the agents lowered their weapons, and got back into the SUVs, while the chopper lifted into the clouds. I got into the pickup and hugged Buster. I didn't know who I was angrier at: Heather for setting me up, or myself for letting it happen. I turned the key in the ignition so hard it made the engine scream.

One of the SUVs got in front of me, the other behind, and we drove to LeAnn Grimes's neighborhood. At the entrance to RichJo Lane, we came to a roadblock manned by six heavily armed FBI agents, and were waved through.

We drove to a house directly across the street from LeAnn's. The gra.s.s was knee-high, and partially obscured the "For Sale" sign on the lawn. I followed Burrell inside.

The house was old and musty, and had creaky hardwood floors. There was no furniture except for the sophisticated monitoring equipment the FBI had installed in the living room. Two FBI techs were staring at a bank of flickering video monitors showing LeAnn's house as we came inside.

Burrell led me to a back bedroom, and shut the door with her foot. Yanking off her cap, she shook out her hair. She was still livid with me.

"You two make a nice couple," I said.

"I should arrest you," she said.

"On what charge?"

"I'll think of something."

"Do you want me to tell you what happened back there?" I asked.

"Be my guest."

"Heather gave you the slip. Check your surveillance tapes if you don't believe me."

"Stay here."

Burrell hurried to the front of the house. She came back to the bedroom with an angry look on her face.

"How did you know Heather ran out on us?" she demanded.

"Can I see the tape?" I asked.

"Explain yourself first."

"I offered to bring Jed in, and turn him over to the police. Heather agreed, and told me to meet her at the convenience store, where she'd take me to see Jed. Then she conned the FBI into believing Jed was coming to the store. The FBI took the bait, and Heather used the opportunity to run."

"Why did she do that?"

"I guess because she loves him. Now can I see the video?"

Burrell led me to the living room. Whitley had come inside and was staring at the monitors with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. A surveillance tape was playing showing a person wearing a faded jean jacket and workman's cap walking down a dirt path behind LeAnn's house. The person turned, and one of the techs froze the image. It was Heather, dressed in her husband's work clothes.

"Do we know where she went?" Whitley asked the tech.

The tech unfroze the image, and we watched Heather disappear from the screen.

"No," the tech said.

"s.h.i.+t," Whitley cursed.

"I know where Heather is," I said.

Everyone in the living room stared at me.

"She went to be with Jed," I said. "And I know who can tell us where Jed is."

"Who?" Whitley asked.

I went to the window and cranked it open. Through the gla.s.s shutters I stared at LeAnn Grimes's house with its "No Trespa.s.sing" signs scattered across the lawn. LeAnn and Jed had impressed me as having a special bond born out of years of shared adversity. If anyone knew where Jed was hiding, it was her.

"If you think LeAnn Grimes is going to help us, forget it," Whitley said. "I tried to speak with her, and she slammed the door in my face."

"That's because you're a cop," I said. "She'll talk with me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"She trusts me."

An uneasy silence filled the room. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw Burrell and Whitley exchange looks. They were going to have to work on their signals, because I knew what Burrell was going to say before the words came out of her mouth.

"Please, Jack," she said.