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“Sure,” he said, noting the address.
“See you then.” She made a kissing noise and hung up.
Holly was sitting out behind the house in the late afternoon sun, with her bikini top off and the bottom pulled down, filling in her tan and watching Daisy play in the dunes when her cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Lance said. “Are you near your secure room?”
“Yes.”
“Call me when you’re locked in and logged on.” He hung up.
Holly got to her feet, pulled up her bikini bottom, grabbed the bra top and called Daisy, who loped toward her. Inside the house, she put on a robe, just in case Lance wanted to talk face-to-face, and let herself into her little office. She logged on, then called Lance. “It’s Holly.”
“The geek has visited me again. Our intruder logged on twice today, most recently less than ten minutes ago. Because of a glitch, the geek could only track his last log-on, which was the FAA computer, and wasn’t able to figure out where in the FAA databases, so he doesn’t know what the intruder was doing there.”
“If he’s who you think he might be, he could be making a new pilot’s license for himself or creating an aircraft registration.”
“That’s right; our man flies himself.”
“Any news on his location?”
“He’s narrowed the possibilities to about a three-mile stretch of Vero Beach, less than a mile wide. I’m sending a map.”
Holly watched the screen as the image popped onto her computer screen. “It’s the southern half of Vero’s island,” she said.
“Yes, and somewhere between the western shore of the Intracoastal Waterway and the Atlantic.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a street address, is it?” Holly asked.
“No, but we’re getting closer.”
“Are we really?” Holly asked. “We’re talking about three square miles of densely populated Florida, with God knows how many houses and apartment buildings.”
“I just thought you’d like to know,” Lance said. “Goodbye.” He hung up.
You just thought you’d like me to know, Holly thought. She had pretty much shaken off the desire to nail Teddy Fay, but Lance apparently hadn’t. She had her suspicions about Jack Smithson, but she had already decided not to pursue them.
She logged off the computer and locked the door behind her. Maybe it was time, she thought, to have another look at Jack’s house. She put on some jogging clothes and went outside. “Come on, Daisy,” she called, “we’re going for a run.”
Teddy sat with Lauren at the barbecue shack, eating Brunswick stew, a conglomeration of chicken, corn, tomato and, if you were in the right part of Georgia, maybe some squirrel or possum. Delicious. “How’s work,” he asked. “Are you making ready to pull out?”
“I’ve got one more job to do,” Lauren said. “Just a detail to wrap up.”
“How long?”
“A week; two, tops.”
“Have you told the boss?”
“No, I think I’m going to leave without giving notice.”
Teddy thought about that. Such an action might excite too much interest in Lauren’s departure. “Give him notice,” he said. “Hurd’s been good to you, and you owe him that.”
Lauren sighed. “You’re right. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”
Holly ran down the wet sand at a clip, a good three miles to where Jack’s guesthouse sat, just above the beach, with Daisy happily running alongside her. She reached the house a little after six, and, after ascertaining that neither Jack’s nor Lauren’s car was parked outside, she picked the front door lock and stepped out of her running shoes. “Daisy, stay here,” she said to the dog. Daisy sat down on the porch an
d watched as she went inside in her stocking feet.
