The Survivor (13 page)

7:00 P.M. SUNDAY

W
hen Tigo attended the Yeats’ funeral, Jonathan’s church had been a sea of different faces, ages, and races. Everyone had been dressed in somber, muted colors, and the soft murmurs reflected two tragic deaths. But tonight men, women, and children were dressed in bright colors as though they were a part of a celebration. These were the members of Taylor Yeat’s African-American congregation. Ladies with wide-brimmed hats and fashionable dresses, men in exquisite suits and silk ties, and children who looked as if they’d stepped out of a magazine cover.

Not what Tigo expected, but then he hadn’t known what to expect. He glanced at his jeans and sports jacket, as well as Ryan’s, and realized they were out of place for more reasons than just the color of their skin.

The large crowd hummed with excitement.

“Welcome, brother.”

“Good to see you, sister.”

Hugs and laughter rose. Tigo had no time to evaluate the mood, because his job came first.

“Ever visit an African-American church?” Ryan said.

“No. Just your church, which has a mix of every race out there and some in between.”

“You’re in for a spiritual treat. Our church could take notes and double our attendance.”

Tigo nodded as though he understood Ryan’s comment.
But as far as he was concerned, the service tonight was only a way to round up everyone he wanted to talk to in one place.

Tigo and Ryan slid into a pew at the rear of the sanctuary. Linc, who had full knowledge of the agents’ purpose, sat with his wife and son in the middle of the sanctuary. Tigo spotted Angela and Darena standing near the front of the sanctuary, behind Taylor Yeat’s wife, a short, round woman who had a solid alibi for the day of the bombing. What was her name? He searched his mind’s data bank … Wanda. Sympathy for what she probably didn’t know swept through him, especially when Darena took Wanda’s hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek. What a Judas moment.

Joanna’s sisters were good-looking women, similar in appearance, with large eyes and high cheekbones. Joanna had been the most beautiful, but was that a motive for murder? After the conversation Tigo had overheard yesterday between the sisters, seeing the two women in church pretend to be devoted family made him question why he was attempting to find God at all. Too bad he didn’t have a key to unlock Darena’s mind—or Taylor’s. Bedroom conversation could be helpful in solving this case.

Vanessa Whitcom belonged to this church as well, but she wasn’t here. Maybe ill … or guilt-ridden. His critical views of suspects would raise the brows of a few innocent-until-proven-guilty die-hards, but Tigo had seen the result of depraved minds. He didn’t trust anyone linked to this case until evidence proved otherwise.

From the moment Taylor Yeat, whom Tigo could no longer refer to as a pastor, stepped up to the pulpit until the final amen an hour later, the charismatic man delivered a resounding message smelling of sulfur. The lively music was entertaining, and Taylor used it to his advantage to highlight strategic points. Oddly enough, the sermon topic was about securing the family unit, a topic Yeat obviously hadn’t researched or experienced.

At the close of the service, Tigo and Ryan stepped to one
side of the center aisle to wait for Angela and Darena. Linc joined them, but his wife and son exited the church. When the sisters approached, Tigo blocked their path with his ID in full view.

“Excuse me. I’m FBI Special Agent Santiago Harris, and this is Special Agent Ryan Steadman. We’re investigating the death of Joanna and Alexia Yeat. We need to talk to Darena Willis and Angela Bronston.”

Angela startled. Darena stiffened.

“Excuse me, Special Agent Santiago Harris. I’m Francis Willis. Darena’s husband.” The man spat each word. “You have no right conducting this business in the house of our Lord.”

“Sir, we apologize for the inconvenience,” Tigo said, holding back a string of sarcasm. “We can talk here once the church clears, or we can go outside. We can also drive to the FBI office if that suits you. Won’t take long.”

“Not on Sunday.” Francis puffed up his gym-sculpted frame.

“You can bring your Bible.” Tigo steadied his gaze.

Linc cleared his throat. “As Agent Harris stated, we don’t have to conduct the interviews here.”

“I can’t believe you approve of this interrogation on a Sunday.” Darena tilted her head and glared at Linc. “Of course you do. This is all in the line of duty. Our sister isn’t cold in the grave, and you’re groping for information we don’t have. Is this part of our tax dollars at work?”

“I hope you understand this jeopardizes your position as deacon,” Francis said. “Approaching a grieving family as though they’re criminals is morally and spiritually wrong.”

“Oh, really?” Linc said. “Church is about truth, don’t you agree?”

“Pastor Yeat should join us,” Francis said. He walked away and soon returned with Taylor, who’d been greeting exiting parishioners. How appropriate to include the righteous pastor. The group followed Tigo, Ryan, and Linc to the front pew.

“Will the interview be conducted separately or together?” Angela’s voice quivered.

“Your choice,” Linc said. “Agent Harris will lead the interview, and Agent Steadman will take notes. I’m here in support of my agents.”

“Let’s do it together.” Darena swung her attention to Angela. “You can handle this, honey. We’re right here beside you. Did you take a Valium before church?”

Angela nodded. “Just half because I was driving.”

Darena handed her a tissue. “We have to stick together.”

Not exactly the way she’d spoken to her sister the previous day.

“If you feel at any time that you’d prefer responding privately, let us know.” Linc spoke softly but with authority, one of his admirable traits.

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for Linc to initiate this questioning on the day of our Lord.” Taylor’s face was devoid of emotion. “And there’s probably safety in numbers.”

Tigo would remember the comment. “Do any of you have information about Jonathan’s family that you have not yet revealed to the authorities?”

Tigo observed body language—Angela’s eyes narrowed for a second before she lifted her chin. Darena gave a wave of denial. Taylor remained stoic.

“Where were you ladies the morning of Wednesday, January sixteenth?” Tigo said.

“I was at my job,” Angela said. “I’m a buyer at Macy’s, and we were in a staff meeting.” She reached into her purse and handed him a card. “I’ll call you with those who were in the meeting with me.”

Tigo nodded his approval. “Mrs. Willis?” The woman reminded him of a banty rooster, complete with feathers.

“I was at my job, and that can be verified. You, Agent Harris, will hear from my lawyer.”

Tigo slid her a smile. “Go for it.”

“And I was praying at the park across from my church. Wednesday, you know, and a sermon to give.”

“Thanks, Pastor Yeat, for volunteering your whereabouts.” Criminals often offered unasked-for information to cover their rears.

Tigo formed his next question. “How were your relationships with Joanna? Were you close?”

Angela’s body language displayed grief. “I wish we’d been closer. I could have been a better sister. She never refused me anything.”

“We were so close we could tell what the other was thinking,” Darena said, and pulled a tissue from her purse.

Francis stepped in front of her. “Can’t you tell this is upsetting my wife?”

Tigo ignored him, feeling sorry for what the man didn’t know. “Was Joanna the type of woman in whom others confided?”

“Always.” Angela cleared her throat. “She had a gift for listening and not condemning. Pastor Taylor said the same at the funeral.”

Darena wrapped her arm around Angela’s waist and glared at Tigo. “If you’d have listened at the service, you’d have heard how Joanna ministered to others.”

Angela’s eyes glistened. “After my failed marriage, she counseled me on many occasions.”

“Do either of you feel you could be in danger as well?”

Both denied feeling unsafe.

“Do you know anyone who may have wanted a member of the Yeat family dead? Were you aware Joanna had filed for divorce?”

“I heard she was having an affair …” Darena adjusted her shoulder purse. “With one of the ex-cons who worked for Jonathan.” Tigo could practically see her fangs shining.

“No, you didn’t.” Angela glared at her. “You’re making that up.”

“Are you calling me a liar in God’s house?”

“I am,” Angela said. “He would too.”

“Why you—”

“Enough,” Linc said. “Answer the agent’s question, then take your arguments outside. Or we can escort both of you to the FBI office.”

“I have my rights,” Darena said. “I don’t appreciate being questioned as though I’m a lowlife suspect.”

“Ma’am,” Tigo began, “I overheard everything you, the good pastor, and Angela said on Jonathan’s patio yesterday after the funeral. I could repeat it word for word to refresh your memory.” He showed her his phone. “I have it all right here, and I’m all about airing dirty laundry.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Darena clenched her jaw.

“Nothing, unless you have something to hide.”

She paled for a second. Then her face reddened. “How dare you eavesdrop on personal conversations and then accuse us of murder?”

“We haven’t accused anyone. We’re asking questions. Be glad you have an alibi, or I’d have you arrested.” Tigo didn’t trust her. Taylor’s hard swallow clearly indicated fear, but Tigo would analyze it later. “Pastor Yeat, do you have anything to add? You were present during a portion of the patio conversation.”

Not a muscle moved on Taylor’s face. “I do not. I believe anything you heard from me yesterday was a means of comforting a family member.”

Tigo stared into his dark brown eyes. “Of course. What was the line from the hymn tonight? ‘Savior, like a Shepherd lead us’?”

“I’m leaving,” Darena said. “If you have any further questions, you can contact my attorney.” She made a grand demonstration of leaving the group. Her stilettos tapped an angry message on the wood floor. Her husband followed.

Did she have a leash for him? Tigo smiled at Angela. “Do you have anything to add to the interview?”

Angela moistened her lips. “I’ll do anything to help. Since you heard our conversation yesterday, you understand Darena has her difficult moments. I’ll be praying you find my sister’s and niece’s killer soon.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Tigo handed his business card to Angela and gave another to Taylor. “Please contact us with any concerns or information.”

Tigo stared at the back of the church, where Darena was shoving past a few lingering people.

Definitely a woman who had something to hide. What else lay beneath her narcissism and her affair with the church’s pastor?

JANUARY 21

12:15 A.M. MONDAY

K
ariss lay in bed and wished she could sleep. Her body ached from an exhausting weekend, but her mind refused to stop spinning. How could so much occur in three days?

Tigo had called after nine thirty.

“Can I get back with you in the morning?” he’d said. “Not sure about my schedule until I get to work.”

“It’s not important.”

“Kariss, anything that connects you and me is important.

I owe you an explanation.”

“Yes. I need closure.”

The ensuing silence had caused her to wonder if she’d made him angry. If he thought one conversation would make things right between them, he could forget it.

“As in ‘resolve the problem’ closure or ‘no chance of us starting over’ closure?” he said.

“Tigo, you demand truth in all your investigative work. When you don’t get it, you explode in sarcasm and daredevil exploits until you find it. Truth is important to you. And to me. I need you to explain why you kept your past from me.”

“I didn’t want to deal with it. The situation was over.”

“So are we, if that’s all you have to say.”

He had sighed. “All right. I’ll dive into the whole mess.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.” She had ended
the call, wanting to scream at him for hurting her. Perhaps exhaustion had more to do with it than anger, though.

Now, as Kariss attempted to drift into sleep’s twilight, that place where her mind would completely shut down, her thoughts stayed fixed on Tigo instead.

Seeing him at the hospital had shaken her to the core.

Being near him caused her to question why she’d ended their relationship.

The scent of him and the sound of his voice created a longing so intense, Kariss couldn’t think. She wanted to be in charge of her feelings, not overcome by them.

In the past, when he’d been upset with her, his tone had always demonstrated his caring. She missed what they’d had together. If only he’d told her everything about his life instead of omitting the most important thing she should have been told. A failed marriage.

Honesty was so painful.

She swung her feet over the side of the bed and walked to the kitchen for a drink of water, her last-ditch effort to coax her body to sleep. Shadows played across her furniture, conjuring memories of times she and Tigo had spent together. After filling a glass, she stepped into the living room and made her way to the window.

Kariss startled and ducked to the side. Who was standing at the end of her driveway? A man, who had his hands shoved into his pockets, appeared to be staring at her house. Odd. Her community was gated, and she didn’t recognize the man’s build. He didn’t have a dog with him, which eliminated the most obvious reason he would be out at this hour …

He nodded, as though addressing her, then walked away.

6:00 A.M. MONDAY

K
ariss read the morning news from her iPhone while walking the third mile on her treadmill. It was a great way to surf through the headlines and read the articles that seized her attention while also getting her exercise. She’d love to read good news for a change. Instead, reality ticked on about an African country that was committing genocide among its own people, about a country that threatened the free world with plans to test a nuclear bomb, and about Christians being blamed for the world’s economic woes. She hesitated to weed through the articles about the United States.

Her body ached from lack of sleep. In the wee hours of the morning, she’d called the security gate with her concern about the man who’d been in her driveway, but the guard hadn’t observed anyone unusual. Those entering the gated community had all been accounted for.

“We have some visitors,” he’d said. “Maybe one of them was out walking.”

But she’d still been too keyed up to sleep. She’d gotten up to check her security system at least four times and then chided herself for being obsessive-compulsive like Amy.

Kariss turned her attention again to the news on her iPhone. While reading a Houston headline, fear gripped her—“Noted Psychologist’s Car Bombed.” Blinking, Kariss attributed her rising anxiety about Amy to the weekend’s series of one trauma
after another. She swept her finger across her iPhone screen to read the full article.

Oh no. Would Baxter resort to hurting his sister? How could Kariss find out if an arrest had been made?

Tigo.

He’d have information about this.

She should tell him about Baxter. She doubted Amy would mention her brother unless she had substantial proof of his guilt, and maybe not even then. Kariss shook her head to dispel the dilemma of letting the authorities work through the matter themselves or contacting the one man whose skills, in her opinion, rivaled any mastermind.

Without another moment of hesitation, she pressed in Tigo’s personal cell phone number and powered off the treadmill.

“You’re calling pretty early. This must be important.” His deep voice caused her heart to work faster than it had during exercise.

“It is. The car bombing early this morning, the one concerning Dr. Amy Garrett? I think I may have some helpful information.”

“What do you know?”

She imagined Tigo scrabbling for a pen and any slip of paper that would hold ink. “Dr. Amy Garrett is a new friend
of mine. We’re collaborating on a book project, and I have a little insight into her situation.”

“Kariss, have you gotten yourself into trouble again?”

Had she? “I don’t think so. I was with her Saturday afternoon, and there was an incident with her brother that creeped me out.”

“His name?”

“Baxter Garrett.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I was at Amy’s office, talking with her about her story, when he let himself in. He is strongly opposed to the writing project, though it’s a pretty amazing account. Anyway, he blew up, and they had a horrible argument. He didn’t sound rational.”

“Most angry people don’t.”

She heard a click and envisioned Tigo tapping his pen on a hard surface, probably the kitchen counter. She’d seen him take notes on a paper towel before.

“Tell me all of it,” he said.

“Baxter was near violent. Threatened me. I’d received an email Friday night warning me about writing the book, and he basically admitted sending it. I don’t know if Amy would ever implicate her brother. But she did tell me she had to call the police on her brother twice later Saturday.”

“Could this Baxter be the guy who ran you off the road?”

“Not sure. Amy told me Baxter has a black truck, but he doesn’t have custom rims.”

“What are you not telling me?”

What mattered was keeping Amy safe. “I gave Amy my word not to pass on everything she’s told me about Baxter. But you might want to talk to him.”

“Are you afraid?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Okay.” He blew out a sigh. “I’m working on another case, but I’ll see what I can do with this one.”

“Amy has history,” Kariss added. “It’s the root of the problem with her brother.”

“What kind of history?”

Kariss hesitated, but he could read it all on Amy’s website. “A cold case. As a child, she was abducted and viciously assaulted. Left for dead. Never found the man who did it. That’s our book.”

Tigo moaned. “How do you manage to meet these people? Did you place an ad in the
Gullible Times
?”

“I may have. Makes for great reading. But this one found me.”

“Congrats. Brew a pot of coffee. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

“It’s not—”

“Be looking for me so I don’t have to ring the doorbell and wake Vicki and the baby.”

The phone disconnected. Kariss hurried to her bedroom for a quick shower, wondering if she was looking forward to seeing Tigo or dreading it.

7:15 A.M. MONDAY

The moment Kariss appeared in the doorway of her condo, Tigo’s resolve to handle the Garrett car bombing like a routine case vanished. Last summer he’d thought Kariss was hot. He still did. Dark hair and lips that begged to be kissed. He gazed into the pecan-colored eyes that had held him captive since he and Kariss had first met.

The longer he was around her, the more time he craved with her. At the hospital he’d done a good job of masking the feelings that had nearly driven him crazy. But this morning was different. She could have asked him to climb on her roof and knock down a dozen wasp nests, and he’d have done it.

Slow your hormones. You’re not eighteen. This is business. Or so he told himself.

“Coffee’s ready.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Black and strong.”

“Thanks.” He could handle this—just get the facts.

“I need to thank you for coming over.”

“No problem. Strictly business, of course.”

She nodded.

They were both liars.

“Come in. I think I heard Vicki and Rose moving about.”

“Good. Would love to see them again. Vicki doing all right?”

“She says so, but I’m keeping an eye on her. Still having headaches, but what else would a person with a mild concussion expect?”

“And stitches.”

“Oh, she covers them with her hair—as if I could forget.”

He followed Kariss to the kitchen. “Is she still whipping up five-star restaurant food?”

“When Rose isn’t keeping her busy.” Kariss reached into the cabinet and pulled out his favorite supersize black mug that had a picture of a chromed-out Harley on the side.

The gesture gave him hope. If not for today, perhaps tomorrow. She poured two mugs of coffee, leaving room in hers for half-and-half. Her slender fingers wrapped around his mug to hand it to him.

“I made cinnamon rolls.”

Her specialty. “Homemade with frosting?”

“Yes. Lots of butter too.” She blushed, and he enjoyed every inch of added color.

He wanted to think this was a homecoming, but he knew better.

“Do I hear Tigo?” Vicki rounded the corner wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Rose was nestled in her arms, wrapped in a pink blanket.

“You do.” He held out his arms. “May I hold her? We got along fine at the hospital.”

Vicki placed the baby in his arms. Rose was so little, but
she already possessed the Walker women’s charm. He planted a kiss on Rose’s forehead.

“Tigo, are you a baby whisperer?” Vicki’s voice rang with laughter.

“Yeah. Gives me a protective feeling, and I know she can’t break my heart.” He ignored Kariss. Vicki chuckled, but he wasn’t going to glance her way either. “She is a beauty.”

“Thanks. I doubt you’re here to see me or Rose, so I’ll grab a glass of OJ and make my escape.”

In less than two minutes, Tigo was alone with Kariss, feeling as awkward as a schoolboy. “I need to hear the whole story about what happened at Amy Garrett’s office. Word for word. To give insight into the car bombing. I’ve moved an interview, so we can talk until eight thirty.”

“What do you know about the case at this point?” she said.

“Triggered by a cell phone. No forensic report yet. No one hurt. The blast destroyed the car and caused some property damage. Dr. Garrett has no idea who planted the bomb. All that you can get online.”

Her gaze flew to his. “You don’t believe Amy?”

He shrugged. “With her profession, she has files full of suspects.”

She sat on a stool at the counter, reminding him of a few months before when his world’s axis tipped in her direction. She sipped her coffee. “I had an appointment with Amy at two thirty on Saturday afternoon. The first thing that struck me as odd was the number of times she checked the locks on her door and her office’s elaborate security system. I assumed the extra precautions came from her childhood experience, but now I wonder who else she’s afraid of.”

“I googled her earlier.”

Kariss took a generous sip of coffee before continuing. Tigo listened, storing the testimony about the volatile brother where he could recall it later.

“I can’t give you confidential information, only my observations and what happened to me,” she said.

“I’ll have her brother brought in for questioning, and I’ll talk to Amy myself.”

“Thanks. I don’t want to betray her confidence.”

Tigo’s Buzz Lightyear watch beeped, bringing his time with Kariss to an end. If only she’d express what he saw in her eyes. But she wouldn’t, and his idiocy was to blame.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, “but I’ll check back with you later.” He saw her hesitation. “About the Garrett bombing and our discussion.”

She stared into her coffee. “I … I admire who she is and what she does. With the bomber behind bars, Amy and I will be able to continue our work on the novel without any more interruptions.”

“I understand. If Baxter Garrett contacts you again, let me know.” He finished his coffee. “One more question.”

“Sure.”

“Writing Amy’s story seems dangerous. Can I ask you to put it on hold, at least until we nab the bomber?”

“I can’t.”

“You must have a short memory. It’s a cold case, which means the assailant is still out there. Apprehending the bomber won’t eliminate the danger.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Heard that before.” He walked toward the door. “You—”

“Tigo.”

The tone in her voice stopped him cold. Did she have to be so stubborn?

“It’s my job to make sure the innocent are safe,” Tigo said.

She took a breath. “I understand, and I appreciate it.”

Real men didn’t wimp out over a woman.

Yes, they did.

Tigo still owed Kariss an explanation about his past. He could almost hear his mother’s warning.
“Santiago, until your standards are the same as God’s, your pride will win.”