Simple Genius (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 3)

“A scanner,” Champ said. “It automatically records who leaves and when.”

“That’s right. Len Rivest told me about the computer log. They were able to track Monk Turing’s movements that way. So we can just ask the computer when you came here last night and when you left.”

Champ was about to respond when both men’s attention turned to the door as it banged open. Sheriff Hayes hustled in with a harried-looking security guard in his wake.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” an out-of-breath Hayes said to Sean. “We’re wanted at a meeting,” he added. “Right now. With Ian Whitfield. Well, he asked me to come, but I want you with me.”

“Who the hell is Ian Whitfield?” a surprised Sean asked.

“He runs Camp Peary,” Hayes answered. “We better get going.” He glanced sharply at Sean. “You’re coming, right?”

“I’m coming.”

CHAPTER

37

AFTER SUFFERING THROUGH an early dinner and attending the eating disorder session with Cheryl, Michelle checked herself out of the facility. Before leaving she visited with Sandy.

“I checked with my buddy at the U.S. Marshals. He said they’re sick of Barry pulling this crap. They’re kicking him out of Witness Protection and told the prosecutors to go for the max.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Michelle. I don’t know what would’ve happened if that gun had been loaded.”

“Hey, that’s what psycho friends are for.”

“Now stop worrying about me and go get that man of yours.”

“Sandy, we’re just friends.”

“But you are going to see him?”

“Hell yes. I miss him.”

“Good, then you can see if you still want to be just friends.”

As Michelle was heading out, Sandy called after her, “Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding. And if I were you I’d invest in a metal detector. With your line of work you never know who might show up to your nuptials.”

On the way out Michelle left a message for Horatio Barnes with the head nurse. “Tell Mr. Harley-Davidson he can check me off his to-do list. I’m cured.”

“I’m glad our treatment plan was so effective for you.”

“Oh, it had nothing to do with your treatment plan. It was all about nailing that weasel Barry. I’d take that over happy pills any day.” Michelle slammed the door on her way out.

She breathed in the fresh evening air and took a cab to the new apartment. Using the set of keys Sean had left her, she went inside and proceeded to mess up her part of the digs. She even tossed a few of Sean’s things around. He’d pick them up when he got back of course, sick neatnik that the man was, but she’d at least force him to make the effort.

Then she nearly sprinted to her truck and drove around for a half-hour with the windows down, Aerosmith blasting in the CD chute and the comforting feel of her junk underfoot. All she had needed was a little R&R, she told herself. Sure the sessions with Barnes had been a real bitch, but she’d survived them too. In a war of wills, she had had little doubt who was going to prevail.

And then all thoughts of Horatio Barnes left her mind as she focused on her next plan of action: joining Sean. She should probably call him and let him know she was coming. Yet Michelle hardly ever opted for the proper thing. And though she didn’t want to admit it, a little piece of her was afraid that if she did call Sean, he would tell her not to come.

When she got back to her apartment Michelle found what she needed after a quick search of Sean’s things: a file copy on Babbage Town complete with directions. Sean had said he was taking a small plane there, no doubt courtesy of Little Miss Joan the Pain-in-the-Ass. Michelle opted to drive. She gauged the trip would take about four hours for normal drivers but with her illegal radar detector and her foot mashed to the floorboard she was confident she could drive it in under three. The fact that she was not employed by Joan’s company did not deter her in the slightest. The case was the thing. And if she knew one thing, Michelle understood quite clearly that together on the hunt she and Sean were nearly unstoppable. That’s what it was really all about. Not her. Them.

She packed a bag and hit the road, stopping only for a twenty-four-ounce high-octane coffee and three PowerBars. Her adrenaline was sky-high. God, it felt so good to be alive. And free.

Horatio went straight from the airport to the psychiatric facility to find his star patient had flown the coop.

“Did she say where she was going?” he asked the head nurse.

“No, but she asked me to tell you that she’s cured.”