Paradox (FBI Thriller 22)

He looked down at his Mickey Mouse watch. Not yet midnight.

He went to their bedroom, turned the bedside lamp on low, leaned down, and kissed Sherlock awake. When she smiled up at him and touched her palm to his face, he kissed her hand, slipped in beside her. He said quietly, “Octavia Ryan’s murderer is Victor Nesser. And it’s Victor who’s been stalking Sean.”

She was instantly awake, blinked up at him. “Victor Nesser? You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be without the call verifying his fingerprints are on that toilet paper rod. I sent MAX into Octavia’s files at her former law firm. She took over his case from the lawyer in L.A. She must have been happy she’d gotten him committed, saw it as a great victory, despite the fact he’d been the driver for the bank robberies and was as guilty of murder and robbery as any of them.”

She stared up at him. “The Gang of Four, of course I remember. Jennifer Smiley and her sixteen-year-old daughter, Lissy, her nephew Victor the driver, and two guys from out west. And you brought their bank-robbing rampage to a close at our Georgetown bank. All of them now dead except Victor. The man who tried to take Sean Wednesday night—he limped. I shot Victor in the ankle two years ago.

“Dillon, that means Victor has a hit list, everyone who helped take down the gang, everyone who helped lock him up. He tried to take Sean first, but when that failed, he went after someone else on his list, Octavia Ryan.”

“And after he killed Octavia, he must have driven back to Washington and followed us back again to Willicott. Victor must have thought our returning to the same town where he’d murdered Octavia a piece of irony. Maybe he saw it as karma.” He frowned. “But why was Octavia on his hit list? He must be as crazy as they say to want to kill her. She did a brilliant job, getting him into treatment in a medical facility rather than life in prison. I remember he was a mental and emotional wreck after we brought him in. I suppose Victor couldn’t have liked how she did it, pointing out he was mentally unstable to begin with and that was why he’d been easily manipulated. She made Lissy out to be a teenage Lolita. I suppose he couldn’t bear to hear the truth, and so by killing Octavia, he gained—what?”

“I guess he had only one plan going for him, Dillon, and for whatever reason, he wanted her dead. If he wasn’t crazy before, he is now. I saw him in McGurk’s tent, a man wearing sunglasses and a ball cap, and I should have recognized him, maybe even his voice. But I didn’t, Dillon. What he did wasn’t very smart, but unexpected enough he got away with it.”

Savich rubbed his hands up and down Sherlock’s tiger stripes. “So who else could be on Victor’s radar? Probably Buzz Riley, remember, he was the one who shot Lissy’s mother in the bank robbery.”

Savich would remember that day at his Georgetown bank for as long as he lived, lying on his stomach, face to the floor with everyone else in the bank when Lissy Smiley recognized him. He could still hear her high, excited voice, crowing how she was going to kill her an FBI agent. Then very suddenly, crunch time, and he and the security guard, Buzz Riley, had managed to survive. He said now, “It was Buzz who killed Jennifer Smiley. If Victor wants to go after anyone else, it’ll be Buzz.”

Savich grabbed his cell off its charger and scrolled through

the numbers until he found Buzz. “Buzz? It’s Agent Dillon Savich. I’m sorry to wake you. But Victor Nesser has escaped from the psychiatric facility where he was being kept, and we believe he murdered his lawyer, Octavia Ryan, Friday morning. You saw this on the news, right?”

Savich listened, nodded, and explained exactly what was happening. Then he said, “What do you say to another vacation in the Caribbean? Can you get on a plane tomorrow? Good, I’ll clear it with Mr. Maitland.” When he hung up, he was breathing more easily. “Buzz said he’d sleep with his Beretta on his pillow. He said he really liked the sound of Saint Thomas, heard they were coming back from the hurricane damage.”

It was only a little past midnight when they settled down to sleep. It was very quiet without Sean. He hated to say it, but he was used to telling her everything. “That girl’s laugh, Sherlock, in my nightmare. She sounded like Lissy.”

She wanted to tell him it was impossible, Lissy was long dead, but instead, she leaned up, kissed him, and said only, “You’re not going to puzzle everything out tonight, Dillon. Try to get some sleep.”

Both of them hoped there would be no more nightmares.

18

* * *

CAMPGROUND NEAR GREENBRIER LAKE

GREENBRIER STATE PARK, MARYLAND

SATURDAY NIGHT

Victor sang “We Are the Champions,” nearly screaming the words as he thumped his fist on the steering wheel in rhythm. That’s what he was, a winner, a champion of the world. He pulled his Kia smoothly to a stop at the Greenbrier State Park entry kiosk and was told by the snotty girl park ranger the campground was full, and why didn’t he go to the Lorelei Motel back up the road, not more than ten minutes away? He felt a leap of rage, thought about sticking her with his new Ka-Bar knife right between her ribs, but he managed to quash it, even managed to smile and thank her nicely. She was nothing, a pebble in his path.

How dare the cow turn us away? Go back, Victor, shoot her in her stupid face with that agent’s Glock.

Victor shook his head at her. Lissy would shoot everyone in the world if he let her.

He drove back to the exit and parked out of sight around a corner. He slipped through the trees until he could see the ranger in the entry kiosk. He waited nearly thirty minutes until she left for a break. Fast as a lick of spit, as Lissy always liked to say, Victor drove past the empty kiosk to the very end of the visitor parking lot and parked the Kia next to a big SUV.

I didn’t think the bitch would ever leave. That was well done, Victor.

“Yeah, that’s always been your problem, you have no patience.”

Victor unloaded the camping equipment he’d bought, locked the car, and trudged well beyond the designated campsites. As he walked, Victor smelled hamburgers and barbecue being cooked over fire pits, heard children laughing, whining, several parents’ exhausted voices scolding, two guys yelling at each other about the Yankees. He walked until all the people and their noise were far behind, deeper into the thick maple and oak forest until the trees were so close together their branches and leaves formed a canopy over his head. His arms were tired, but it didn’t matter, he knew he had to walk until no one could hear him. Finally, it was silent, no one close. He found a small opening in the trees, set up his tent, dug a small fire pit, and sprinkled in dried leaves, a couple pages of wadded-up newspaper, and some small twigs. He laid a match to the pile, watched a small flame leap up. He said, “You rest, Lissy. I know that was a long walk for you. I’m sorry I don’t have any more pain pills. I’ll make some nice strong tea for you, warm you up.”

She was silent. It didn’t take him long to get a fire going strong, the twigs snapping and popping. It wasn’t quite dark yet and still warm, but the fire felt good. He felt the soft air against his face, and he breathed in deeply, stared up at the darkening sky. Soon there would be a white half-moon and brilliant stars shining down on him. He smiled. Everything was perfect.

It’s beautiful here, Victor, nice and warm. And the best thing is none of those brain-dead yahoo cops have a clue who we are, not a single fricking clue.