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“The guy’s maybe five foot eight. Slender. Hair probably cut pretty short, though he wore a ball cap so there could have been a ponytail hidden underneath. She thought he was in his late thirties.”
Bingo. “Tattoos? Scars?”
“Not that she noticed. The lighting isn’t good in that office, though.” Papers rustled. “She did say it looked like he’d once had a major case of acne.”
“What about his voice? His clothes?”
“Most of the guys hanging around that joint were bare-chested, with unbuttoned jeans hanging at half-mast. I saw lots of leather vests and a lot of tattoos. Our guy wore a new, package-wrinkled Oxford shirt, new jeans, and loafers. She said it was almost like he’d bought clothes for the occasion.”
“Or maybe was decking himself out after a long time in prison orange.”
“She also remembered his voice. Real high for a guy, sort of soft. She wondered at the time if he was looking for a little action.” Jerry cleared his throat. “I did ask around, but none of the guys staying there remembered anything significant. Or so they said.”
“Not even for a ten or twenty?”
“Strange, isn’t it? Most of those motel room doors were open, and the guys were aimlessly wandering in and out of the rooms as if they were stoned. You’d think they’d sell their granny for another hit.”
“Maybe our guy has more connections than we think.” As soon as Jerry hung up, Zach glanced at the clock. Four o’clock here, five o’clock in Dallas. With luck, Paul was still at his desk, or maybe Sara Hanrahan was in. He’d worked with Paul on a number of cases over the years. Sara was newer, but both were efficient, effective agents.
After ten minutes of transfers and far too much canned music while on hold, he finally reached Sara.
“Hey, boss. How’s the vacation?” Sara’s feminine lilt and pretty blonde features belied a bulldog tenacity that matched that of any male agent, something that had stunned more than one suspect into confusion and an easier arrest.
“It’s hardly that.” He quickly filled her in on the details of the e-mails and Jerry’s report. “I need you to take another look at some of the older cases I was on in the Dallas area. The department has been checking, but I’d like you to zero in on anyone who has served time and was released since this past March. I think the actual arrest may go back much farther than we thought. And look for cases where there might have been brothers involved or other close relatives. I have a feeling this involves revenge.”
“Revenge for what?”
“Maybe this is someone I caught and sent to jail, who’s been angry about it ever since. Or someone avenging family honor or restoring a gang’s reputation after we raided the headquarters. Why else would anyone spend so much time sending threatening notes and e-mails? This guy is hoping to scare me before he finally strikes. He wants someone else to suffer like he has, I think.”
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Sara asked quietly. “We haven’t heard from you since the end of May.”
“Back in Dallas, this guy tracked me every time I moved. I figured it was safer to just stay out of sight.”
She fell silent. “You can trust me, Zach.”
“I know. But I’ve got a three-year-old girl who’s a target. If there was a tap or someone on the inside who overheard...I just needed to cover every possibility.”
“You think this guy is close by?”
“I believe he is.”
“Have you talked to the sheriff out there?”
Zach moved to the left and watched Katie playing sock tug-of-war with Buffy. She released her grip on the sock, then giggled as the pup rolled over and pedaled at its prey with all four feet in the air.
“Zach?”
“No...not yet. Just get me that information as soon as you can, okay? If you come across any suspects matching the description of this guy, send some photos via e-mail attachment.”
“You be careful. Say the word, and I’ll be up there on the first flight. Better yet, maybe you should come back to Dallas.”
“In Dallas he’d be one of a million faces. Out here, it’s much harder for a stranger to hide. I need to figure out who this guy is, and what he looks like, before I risk being in large crowds of strangers with Katie.”
Zach ended the call and stepped out onto the front porch. The Glock 27 at his ankle was a reassuring presence; the boisterous peacock and territorial geese a measure of insurance against unseen trespassers. His injuries were less painful now, though his rotator cuff would need repair. Still, he’d regained most of his accuracy and a good share of his strength.
But with every passing hour, he felt as though the walls of this house and the surrounding hills were closing in on him.
As if he could nearly explode with the stress of being here, away from the action, the adrenaline and split-second decisions that had made his life exciting for the past ten years.
