The Night Stalker_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [84]
“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 glass. 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 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 grass 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