Pensacola Beach, Florida
Maggie checked into the Margaritaville Hotel on the beach. She’d stayed here before. By now, she was bone-tired and needed something familiar, even if she afforded it on her own dime. But more importantly, gut instinct told her Gregory was here.
On the beach.
What better place to hide out than an empty vacation rental where no one would expect him to be? However, it might be impossible to figure out which one.
Okay, not impossible, but difficult.
Especially since he had obviously switched the Mercedes for another vehicle. Did he suspect they were following him? She didn’t think so. It would be too easy for him to simply toss the GPS tracking device or attached it to an eighteen-wheeler headed across the country. And he hadn’t done that.
No, he was here. And if Alonzo was correct about him having family in the area, it made perfect sense.
As soon as she got to her room, she headed to the balcony and took in the stunning sight: the emerald waters, sugar-white sands. The waves were alive, and the rhythm of them lapping against the shore, had an instant soothing effect.
Before she ordered food and took a shower, she made a phone call. She wanted to hear his voice. Being this close, she needed to hear his voice.
“Hey,” Ryder answered. One word filled with that smile that hitched up at the corner of his lips.
“You’ll never guess where I am.”
“You decided to come down early?”
“Not exactly. Remember, you told me to go get the killer.”
“He’s in Pensacola?”
“Long story, but—yes. We spooked him. He ran. I followed him to Jacksonville. But he didn’t stop until he got here. One of the few things we know is that he’s an investor and executive at a management firm in Miami.”
“Miami? But he’s here in Pensacola?”
“Alonzo thinks he has family here. But his company owns and manages luxury vacation rentals.”
“You think he’s hiding out in one? On Pensacola Beach?”
It surprised her sometimes how much they thought alike. But both of them had been chasing killers in one way or another for too many years.
“Yes. Well, maybe.” Now she sounded like Alonzo. It was just such a long shot.
“You might call Hannah. She knows a couple of people who manage some rentals on the beach. You know their listings overlap. You get credit just for advertising the house on your site.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“They’d at least be able to go in and tell you which properties are currently being rented. He’d have to be staying in an empty one. In December, I can’t imagine it’s a busy time.”
“You are so smart.”
“I get it from the dogs.”
She laughed. Wanted to add that he was also very humble and not very good at taking a compliment.
“You sound tired,” he told her. “Were you driving all night?”
“Most of it. Had a little detour. You sound tired, too.”
“We spent the night waiting for a flight with some of the dogs from Afghanistan.” He paused, then said, “There were only three on board.”
“When are they sending the others?”
“That’s just it. They’re not. Dr. Avelyn’s still trying to find out what happened. My guess is the Taliban realized the dogs were valuable to us. Maybe they’ll ask for some kind or ransom...or...”
“Or?” Maggie prompted.
“Or they’ve already killed all the others.”
She heard his sigh of frustration. The thought made her sick to even consider, but she knew he could be right.
“Let me see if I can find out anything,” she offered.
“How?”
“My old assistant director sent me on wild goose chases all the time for his D.C. friends. I’ve unwillingly done enough favors I should be able to ask some questions.”
“Military brass?”
“No. Politicians. Although these days there isn’t much difference. Everyone in D.C. seems to be a politician. Do you have time for dinner tonight?” she asked.
“I wish.” He dragged out the word, and she knew he really did wish it. “But I can’t. We’re packing up. We just found out a little boy is missing.”
“I thought you said he was a teenager?”
“No, that was last week. Jason got a call. Actually, you met Taylor Donahue. Her seven-year-old son didn’t come home from school. She shares custody with Will’s grandparents. Sounds like he didn’t show up for school this morning.”
Maggie did remember Taylor. She’d ended up in the middle of a murder investigation last June. Maggie had met her mother-in-law, too, though she couldn’t remember the woman’s name offhand.
“Let me know if I can help.”
“Likewise. You don’t happen to have an item from this guy that would have his scent?”
She hadn’t thought of that. Her mind immediately went to the canvas bag underneath the bridge and the pair of shoes back at Quantico.
“I never thought of that. Would it actually work?
“If he’s out walking around the beach, yes. If he’s only driving, no.”
An incoming phone call interrupted. She glanced at the I.D.
“I’ve got to go. It’s Alonzo.”
“Be careful.”
“You too.”
She tapped over to Alonzo, her impatience blurting out, “What do you have?”
“You said you wanted to know more about the homeless woman.”
It wasn’t at all what Maggie expected. For the moment, she’d allowed herself to forget about Nessie. She wanted to ask how she was, but that wasn’t the information she had told Alonzo to get for her.
“Metro took her fingerprints.”
“Wait. That’s sort of unusual.”
“One of their own was almost killed. Kuszak thinks they’re treating this as a target hit.”
“What are you talking about? They think he meant to kill Racine, and Nessie just got in the way?”
“No. They think he meant to kill Racine, and Nessie lured Racine to where he wanted her.”
“That’s not what happened! Nessie was helping me.”
“Eventually, you’ll probably need to tell them that. In the meantime, Kuszak ran her prints.”
“Are you saying you already know her real name?”
“It actually was very easy.”
“Her prints are in the criminal database?”
“No. But they are filed with the federal government since she had classified clearance.”
“Classified clearance?”
“Her name is Vanessa Sambrook. Up until five years ago, she was employed by the State Department. More specifically, the Bureau of European and Eurasian Affairs. She speaks Russian, German, French and Italian. Never married. No listed close relatives.”
Nessie had joked about it, and Maggie waved it off as the imagination of a mentally challenged homeless woman.
“So what happened? How did she end up on the street?”
“Looks like she handed in her resignation. No indication whether it was forced. I haven’t dug that deep. Do you want me to?”
“No. Not right now. It’s more important we make sure she’s okay. And that she’s definitely not treated like a co-suspect. Please tell them she was working with us. With me. As an informant. Tell Detective Sheldon. Can you do that for me?”
“Absolutely. I’m on it.”
Maggie clicked off the call, then walked back out onto the balcony. She rubbed at the knot of tension between her shoulder blades. Unsuccessful at dismantling it, she sighed and stared out at the water.
What a mess. And the fact that she had caused it was eating away at her. Maybe she could counter her mistake with a good deed.
She scrolled through the contacts on her phone. The number was here, though she had never used it. When the senator gave Maggie her private cell phone number, the woman was genuinely humbled and beyond grateful for what Maggie had done for her and her family. At the time, Maggie knew she meant it when she told her, “If there’s ever anything I can do to repay the favor, please call me.”
Maggie tapped the number. It was worth a shot.