Kris sat in a well-lit room at the Fort Walton Beach Police Department, the only sounds the soft strokes of a charcoal pencil against sketch paper.
The woman sitting across from her had introduced herself as Monica. She had a soothing voice, gentle smile and relaxed manner that put people at ease. Once assured that Kris was comfortable, she asked basic questions first—shape of the face, hair texture and length, absence or presence of facial hair and other broad characteristics.
Now, after rounding out the face slightly, making the eyes deeper set and squaring up the jaw, she was completing the finishing touches.
Finally, she laid the pencil down and turned the sketch pad around. “How is that?”
“Perfect.” A shudder shook her shoulders. Maybe a little too perfect.
She could have come up with a decent composite just with what she’d seen in the glow of Shannon’s flashlight. But the image of him standing over her friend’s body, and the coldness in his eyes when they met hers, would remain with her the rest of her life. Last night, that image had haunted her dreams. With time, it would fade. It would have to, or she’d die from sheer exhaustion.
Monica thanked her, and Kris rose. “Thank you. It’s pretty amazing how you can take something from someone’s mind and transfer it to paper.”
Monica rose, too, and shook her hand. “You made it easy.”
Kris walked from the building and made her way toward her car. It had been a long day, one that had started with a trip on the water. She’d led the detectives to the location, or what she believed was the location, the best she could. She was confident she’d gotten close. Her sense of direction was good, but she knew the waters around Pensacola much better than those around Fort Walton Beach.
She pressed the key fob, and the locks clicked. At least she had nowhere else to go but home, once she picked up Gavin from the babysitter. Tomorrow, she needed to get back to the charter office. This morning, she’d managed to return some phone calls from yesterday that had been forwarded to her cell phone and had gotten a couple of charters scheduled. But after spending Tuesday on the search and rescue mission and being tied up in Fort Walton Beach all day today, her work was probably piling up. They’d hired a part-time accounting person, and Kris and Kassie traded off with helping Buck, their captain, with charters, but Kris tried to make it into the office three or four half days each week.
She settled into the driver’s seat and pulled her phone from her purse. She’d promised to text Kassie when she was on her way back to Pensacola.
Kris had called her after getting home last night, even though it had been late. The sleepiness in her sister’s voice had fled instantly when Kris told her what had happened. She’d even offered to cancel the appointments she had at her salon today and accompany her to Fort Walton Beach. Kris had told her it wasn’t necessary, but the offer had meant a lot.
There had been so much competition between them as children, which had continued as friction well into adulthood. In recent weeks, the friction had lessened, and the arguments had grown less frequent.
She wasn’t holding her breath, though, thinking everything would be perfect from this point forward. She was too pragmatic. Unrealistic expectations only led to disappointment.
Before putting her phone away, she shot off a second text, this one to Tony. She’d rather not have any more contact with him. But last night, he’d insisted that she save his name and number and call him if she needed anything. He’d then amended those instructions to include keeping him posted on everything related to Shannon’s death and any threats to herself. He’d made it clear that he expected a text before she left Fort Walton Beach. She’d reluctantly agreed.
He hadn’t even wanted her to return to her home. She’d argued that she lived an hour away, and the killer had no idea where to find her, that it had taken him almost two days to find Shannon. He’d argued that her car had been sitting in Shannon’s driveway the night she was killed. She’d responded that people couldn’t look up owner information with a tag number, that it wasn’t public information, and he’d insisted that didn’t rule out the possibility. She’d reminded him that the killer had rung the bell, and Shannon had let him in, and she wouldn’t do anything that careless.
The argument hadn’t ended until she’d agreed to look at her options, which would take time. Until then, she’d be as safe locked inside her house with the alarm and her dog as she’d be anywhere else.
Maybe she was putting more confidence in Bella’s abilities than she should. After all, she was trained in search and rescue rather than taking down bad guys, like her future brother-in-law’s dog, Justice. But she was super protective of both her people and would likely tear up anyone who tried to harm them.
After pressing the send icon, she dropped her phone into her purse and pulled out from the parking lot. Soon she was on Beal Parkway headed toward US 98, which would take her all the way to Pensacola. Ahead of her, a car sat on one of the side streets, waiting to pull onto Beal.
She glanced in her rearview mirror. Right now, Fort Walton Beach was the most dangerous place she could be, and she wouldn’t risk picking up a tail and leading someone to her home.
In the second she’d checked her mirror, the car she’d noticed earlier had started to shoot out in front of her. With a gasp, she jammed the brake. Her purse flew forward, making a somersault before landing on its side on the floorboard, contents strewn around it. She pressed the horn long and hard instead of calling the rude driver names.
After turning onto 98, she left Fort Walton Beach and drove through Mary Esther. On the long stretch that followed, traffic was moderate. Vehicles traveled in small clumps with large gaps between.
When she came upon a pickup pulling a landscape trailer, she moved into the left-hand lane. The burgundy SUV some distance behind her did, too. So did an older white pickup truck behind it.
As soon as she swung back into the right lane, the SUV sped past her, a middle-aged woman at the wheel. The pickup remained in the left lane, not traveling much faster than the landscaper. Maybe that was his normal traveling speed, considering the age of his truck. Or maybe he was staying at a distance so she couldn’t identify him.
As the gap between them increased, some of the tension leached from her shoulders. She increased her speed some more. The truck didn’t.
She released a sigh, the last of the tension fleeing. In less than thirty minutes, she’d be loading Gavin into his car seat and heading for home. At just after four, it wouldn’t be time for dinner, but she’d start preparing it. They’d eat at five, watch a movie of Gavin’s choice, likely involving a princess or superhero, and then go to bed early.
When she looked at the rearview mirror again, her heart leaped into her throat. The truck had sped up and was rapidly bearing down on her.
She glanced around her, her mistake immediately obvious. No other vehicles traveled with her. She was in one of those gaps she’d thought about earlier, alone with her pursuer. Trees lined both sides of the road, a grass median in the center.
She floored the accelerator and watched the speedometer climb. Seventy...seventy-five...eighty. Still the truck advanced. The speed limit here was fifty-five. At twenty-five miles an hour over, she should attract the attention of a cop. If there were any cops around. There weren’t.
The pickup truck roared up next to her, engine wide open. She glanced at the driver. Although he’d hidden his long hair under a bandana, she had no doubt. She was looking at the boater.
She slammed on her brakes the same moment he swerved to the right. His rear bumper almost clipped the front of her car. He slid off the right shoulder, taking out a section of guardrail, and bounced back on, brakes depressed.
She mashed the accelerator and whipped around him in the left lane, making frequent glances in her rearview mirror. For several seconds, he weaved, trying to regain control of his truck. Soon he was speeding toward her again.
She squeezed the wheel until her hands ached. Other vehicles traveled some distance ahead, a semitruck in their midst. She just had to reach them before the pickup caught up with her.
As he closed the gap between them, she moved over to straddle the broken line separating the two lanes. For the next minute or two, she held that position, moving right when he tried to squeeze around her on the shoulder and left when he tried to squeeze around her on that side, all the while hoping he didn’t have a gun. She needed to call for help, but her phone was somewhere on the floorboard, along with the rest of the contents of her purse.
Ahead of her, two vehicles moved into the left lane to pass the tractor trailer. She backed off the accelerator slightly. If she timed it correctly, as soon as she reached the other vehicles, she could pull up next to the semi and match its speed until she figured out what to do.
As she got closer, a blue Pontiac approached the semitruck in the right lane. It was the only vehicle that hadn’t yet passed. She backed off the accelerator some more, eyes on the Pontiac. Stay where you are. A few more seconds and she’d swing all the way into the left lane, ready to travel next to the trailer.
The car’s left signal came on. “No!” She hit the brakes, and the pickup truck moved to the right. The driver started to change lanes, then jerked back fully into his own.
Kris breathed a sigh of relief and was traveling next to the trailer seconds later. The pickup was right behind her, about three car lengths back. There was nothing he could do to her now, with her somewhat protected by the truck. If he had a gun, he’d have already shot her.
The speed limit reduced as she passed into Wynnehaven Beach. If the traffic cooperated, she’d keep her position next to the semi. Retrieving her phone from the floorboard while stopped at a red light wasn’t going to happen—there weren’t any traffic signals along this stretch of highway.
Soon she left the small town behind. The speed limit increased to fifty-five, and trees again lined both sides of the road. Each mile was taking her closer to Pensacola, leading a killer straight to her home. She needed a plan.
Another small town lay just ahead—Navarre. As she drew closer, her pulse picked up speed. Her idea just might work.
She drew up even with the cab of the semi. In the distance, 87 veered off to the right, with a long, gentle exit lane. If she timed it right, she could whip off 98 and onto 87. By the time the driver of the truck knew what she’d done, he’d be well past the exit.
She eased past the semi, staying in the left lane. The pickup crept forward, too. Ahead, a double white sign showed 98 West continuing straight ahead, 87 North to the right.
She waited to make her move, gripping the wheel, jaw tight, back straight. The exit lane began, but she couldn’t act yet. She had to wait until the road started to split.
Now! She floored the accelerator and turned the wheel to the right, crossing in front of the semi and onto 87, missing the truck’s front bumper by less than twenty feet.
A horn sounded behind her, long and loud and angry. She cringed and waved. “Sorry.” The driver would understand if he knew her situation.
There was no way the pickup could have followed, but she checked her rearview mirror anyway. Another vehicle was making its way off 98, a little silver car.
She continued around the long, gentle curve. The ordeal wasn’t over yet. The Chevy pickup driver would take the next road and double back to look for her. She had to find somewhere to hide. Then she could retrieve her phone and call 911.
She needed to get away from 87. It was the first place the killer would look for her. But she had no idea where to go. As many times as she’d been through Navarre going to and from Shannon’s, she’d never strayed off 98.
She slowed to take the next right, Harrington Drive. A block ahead, a sign announced Santa Rosa County Library. She turned into the parking lot and slid into a space next to a cargo van.
Once she’d shifted into Park and killed the engine, she ran around to the passenger’s side to move her purse and retrieve her phone from the pens, receipts and other items littering her floor. Then she stood at the front of her car and made the call she’d been dying to make for the past thirty minutes. Her red CR-V wasn’t visible from Harrington. But she wasn’t taking any chances. She’d remain poised and ready to run into the library at the first sign of a white pickup truck.
There would be no relaxing evening at home tonight. She needed to come up with a plan. Even without the ability to get into DMV records, it would just be a matter of time until the killer found her. He’d probably start with Navarre and the surrounding communities and expand outward from there. Eventually his search would lead him to Pensacola.
Right to her and Bella and Gavin’s doorstep.
Tony had been right. She needed to find another place to live.
And she needed to do it fast.
Tony stepped from the police station into the heat and humidity of an August afternoon. Judging from the few puffy white clouds in the sky, they weren’t going to get a repeat of last night’s storms.
He’d started the day attending a briefing. One of the discussion items had been Shannon’s murder. Though it had happened in Okaloosa County and was in the jurisdiction of the Fort Walton Beach PD, the details of the case were being disseminated to all the surrounding agencies.
Last night’s search had produced nothing—no prints, no evidence, no witnesses. Today, authorities had requested location information from Shannon’s cell phone provider. Kris had also tried to point out the location where she and Shannon had come upon the boater and then helped the artist create a composite of the killer. If her memory for faces was as good as it was for boats, she’d make the ideal witness.
Tony climbed into the driver’s seat of the black Chevy Tahoe, his department-assigned SUV. Since Kris had just texted him to say she was leaving Fort Walton Beach, he now had her number, too, had even saved it in his contacts.
He hoped she wouldn’t mind him using it, because that was exactly what he intended to do. Granted, it wasn’t his case, but he had a personal stake in it. He knew the victim, his parents lived a few doors down and now someone he cared about was in the killer’s crosshairs.
He cranked the vehicle, and before he could back out, the ringtone on his phone sounded. He wouldn’t have to call Kris. She’d beaten him to it.
He swiped to accept the call. “Hey, you.”
“Hey.”
It was just a single word, but it held a lot of tightness. Between their time together in the woods and their interaction last night, he’d thought they’d come to a truce.
Or maybe that was fear he heard. “Is everything all right?”
“Shannon’s killer came after me.”
“Where are you?” Wherever she was, he’d go to her. She could explain everything then.
“Navarre. I’m at the Santa Rosa County library. The police will be here any minute.”
Good. She’d dialed 911 before calling him. “I’m on my way. Stay put until I get there.”
Whatever had happened, he wouldn’t let her drive home and walk into her house alone. Once they arrived, he’d thoroughly check everything. Then he’d make another attempt at trying to talk her into staying somewhere else.
He ended the call and headed in that direction. Navarre was only thirty-five minutes away. Slightly less if he hurried.
As soon as he turned off of Harrington, he scanned the library’s parking lot. A Santa Rosa County sheriff cruiser sat in one of the parking spaces, but Kris’s red CR-V wasn’t there. Had she decided not to wait for him?
He continued his approach, drawing closer to a white cargo van that was almost too long for its space. Beyond it, a red bumper came into view. The van had enabled her to effectively hide from anyone who ventured past.
After pulling into a parking space, he got out and approached her car. She stood next to it, talking to a sheriff deputy. Another was inside the cruiser on his radio.
The first deputy nodded at him and turned his attention back to Kris. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“That’s pretty much it. I figured this would be a good place to hide out while I called you guys.”
Tony watched the deputy walk toward his vehicle. When he approached Kris, she gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry to run you all the way out here, but I’m glad you came.”
“What happened? I know you just relayed the whole thing to the deputy, but maybe you can give me the CliffsNotes version.”
“When I was on one of those deserted, wooded stretches of 98, a pickup truck pulled up next to me and tried to run me off the road. It was the same guy who killed Shannon. I jammed on my brakes, and while he was trying to regain control of his truck, I sped past him then drove like a maniac until I was able to get next to a semi.”
“How were you able to lose him?” In broad daylight, with good weather and rural surroundings, that had to have been quite a feat.
“Let’s just say there’s a pretty ticked-off truck driver on 98 right now. At least, there was as of about thirty minutes ago. I cut across in front of him to make an emergency exit onto 87. The killer couldn’t get around the truck in time to follow me.”
And then she’d hidden out at the library, concealed by a cargo van. She obviously thought quickly under pressure. Of course, she’d always been smart. If it hadn’t been for their joint study sessions, he’d have probably failed high school chemistry.
“What kind of pickup was the guy driving?” The deputy would have asked that question, too. But he wanted to know for himself.
“A Chevy. I noticed the bow tie on the grill when he was behind me.”
“Do you know what kind of Chevy?”
“A white one.” She gave him a half smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know trucks like I know boats. I do know it was older, though, maybe not an antique, but probably pretty close.”
“During the brief time he was in front of you, you didn’t happen to notice any part of the tag number, did you?”
“Uh-uh. I was too focused on trying to stay alive.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “You did good.” He dropped his hand. “Are you going home now?”
“Yes, after I pick up Gavin from the babysitter.”
So she had a kid. Likely an ex-husband, too. Though they were the same age, his life was a lot less complicated. He’d fallen in love a couple of times but had come out of the experience without any attachments. They’d both been fine Christian women. One of the relationships, he’d ended. The other, the woman had. Both times, the decision had been somewhat mutual. Those women were now happily married, and there were no hard feelings on either side.
She opened the Honda’s door and slid into the driver’s seat.
He stepped closer. “I know I said this last night, but you need to get somewhere safe. You’ve been in danger since the moment you and Shannon heard this guy dumping whatever it was that he dumped. He has no idea what you might have seen. He already killed Shannon, and now he’s coming after you. Except he’ll be more determined. Not only is he afraid you witnessed whatever went down on the water, you can also identify him as Shannon’s killer.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Do you have a friend you can stay with, or maybe Kassie?”
“Someone I’d feel comfortable piling in on with a kid and a fairly large dog? That friend is dead.”
Her tone held hardness. Bitterness seemed to have replaced the brokenness he’d seen last night. He hoped over time she’d see her way past it.
She heaved a sigh. “I don’t want to put anyone else in danger—my friends or my sister.”
“What about the space above Ashbaugh Charters? Is it still vacant?” It wasn’t an ideal solution, especially if the killer discovered her maiden name, but it might be a safer option than home, depending on how secure her house was.
“No one is staying there, if that’s what you mean. I wouldn’t classify it as vacant. It’s been used as extra storage space for years, so it’s filled with dusty old boxes. Some critters have probably taken up residence there, too.”
“How about if we go by on our way to your house? We can check it out together.”
“Sounds good. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’ll be prepared for the worst.”
He walked to his vehicle and followed her from the parking lot. Twenty minutes later, they pulled into two of the parallel parking spaces lining Government Street. Located at the edge of the Seville Quarter, the New Orleans–style building housed the charter office and another space, each with a second story. Back when their fathers had been partners, her family had owned the entire building.
He stepped from his vehicle and met her on the sidewalk in front of a fifteen-paned French door. Above it, gold script on a one-by-three-foot sign spelled out Ashbaugh Charters. The other half of the building was vacant, as evidenced by the for-rent sign in the front window.
Tony nodded in that direction. “If the space above the charter office is uninhabitable, what about up there?”
“Kassie and I have it listed for rent. We’d have to change our ad. ‘Space comes with a squatter already installed upstairs.’”
He gave her a playful poke in the side. “You can’t be a squatter on your own property.”
“I guess not. But I think I’d be much safer with an alarm. That space has been empty so long, it’s not protected by a security system. The charter office has one.”
“Monitored?”
“Yep. It’s even got a motion sensor, which we’ll have to disable if I’m going to stay there.”
She unlocked the front door and swung it open. The squeal of the alarm began instantly. After punching in the code and locking them in, she walked to a wooden door in the back right corner of the lobby area.
“Follow me.”
She swung open the door, revealing a narrow wooden staircase, and flipped the light switch next to it. “I haven’t been up here in ages, so I have no idea what we’ll find.”
“We’ll make the discovery together.”
He followed her up the stairs. Dozens of dusty boxes filled the space, along with some old chairs, folding tables, a broken-down vacuum and what looked like boat parts. The most recent additions had been thrown in haphazardly, boxes not stacked, items left in the middle of the floor.
He surveyed the mess. “It’s actually not as bad as I thought. Most of this stuff could be stacked against the wall.”
“There’s not even a bed up here.”
“We can clean everything up and move one in.”
She crossed her arms and leaned against a stack of boxes. “I keep hoping I’ll wake up and realize this is all a bad dream, that Shannon will be calling any minute to make plans for our next get-together or tell me about her latest crush.” Her gaze dipped to the floor. “I called her parents last night. I wanted them to hear it from me instead of the police. Her mom fell apart. She put Shannon’s dad on. He handled it a little better than she did, but neither of them will ever get over this.”
She looked up at him, her eyebrows drawn together. “You have to catch this guy.”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
She looked around the room and heaved a sigh. “There’s no way I can face this tonight, or even next week. Even with help.”
“Don’t worry about it now. We’ll pick up your son. Then I’ll follow you home. Once there, we’ll figure out the safest place for you to be, and I’ll make that happen.”
She looked at him with raised brows. “When did you get so bossy?”
Without further argument, she bounded down the stairs in front of him. She was the same size she’d been in high school—slender, petite, obviously active. She’d been a runner then. If she still ran, recent events were going to curtail that activity for a while.
He reached the lobby and followed her to the door, where she pressed a button on the alarm panel to arm the system. A sense of protectiveness surged through him. Based on what he’d seen in his headlight beams last night, the man chasing her was at least a head taller than she was and probably double her weight. Left to face him alone, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
He’d see to it that didn’t happen. If he couldn’t be with her himself, he’d make sure someone else was.
For the past ten years, he’d felt bad about how they’d parted at the end of high school. Throughout junior and senior high, he’d considered her one of his closest friends. Somehow, he’d hurt her without intending to. He’d always tried to follow the advice in Romans to live at peace with everyone, as much as he was able, but with their fathers parting ways, summer break rapidly approaching and his family moving to Fort Walton Beach, whatever had gone wrong between them had seemed to put a permanent wedge in their relationship. It was a loss he’d felt for a long time, one that was still there, ten years later.
Then yesterday, God had put her in his path, not once, but twice. Maybe this time he wouldn’t blow it.
God, please give me a chance to make right what I messed up in the past.