When Bob emerged from the session, Amy greeted him with the same fierce support he had offered the previous night. The counselor thanked Bob for coming, his smile robbing the words of significance. “Your son’s formal assessment is in five days. We’ll see about setting a release date at that time. Should we contact you then?”
When Bob did not respond, Amy said, “That would be great.” She gave the number for Denton Chevrolet. “Come on, Bob.”
She kept her arm around him until they reached the car. She waited until he was seated, then shut his door and slipped behind the wheel. She started the car, adjusted the AC, and pulled from the lot. She did not see Granville’s car but was not concerned. She assumed he had opted to wait for them beyond the front gates.
When they had passed the security point, she said, “I’ve been asked to stop by the Brentonville police station. If it’s too much for you, I could—”
“I don’t want to go back to the office.”
“That’s fine, Bob.” She turned onto the main road and looked around but still could not find Granville.
“Amy.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” Bob released his tension with the words. “I needed to do this. I couldn’t . . .”
“I understand, Bob.”
He continued, “I couldn’t do it on my own. I knew what I was going to find in there.” He turned his gaze to her. The hollow void was gone, replaced by a sad wisdom. “I needed to say good-bye. I’ve tried my best to do right by my boy. Now we’re done. And I needed a friend’s strength to help me close that door.”
She slowed enough to study the man. Bob was a remarkable mixture of flexibility and fortitude. He bent, but only so far. His features were strong, yet his gaze held a gentle light even now, when he was so burdened. “You’re welcome, Bob. I’m glad I could help.”
They passed through an orange grove, and the AC blew the perfume of a million blossoms. Beyond the grove stretched pastureland where cows grazed. Other than a farm truck behind them, the road was empty and glistening in the afternoon heat. The silence was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She handed Bob her purse. “Will you answer that, please?”
He looked at her. “You’ll let me paw through your things?”
She liked having a reason to smile. “I think we’ve moved beyond sharing a few secrets, don’t you?”
He looked at her with an intensity that suggested he wanted to tell her something. She redirected her smile at him. “What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Bob kept glancing at her as he pulled out her phone and answered. He listened, then said, “Granville is behind us. He says we’re being followed.”
“Give me the phone, please.” She pushed the speaker button, then set it next to the gearshift. “Granville, can you hear me?”
“Black Escalade, tinted windows, hugging the truck’s rear bumper. See it?”
It was hard to catch sight, but Amy finally spotted a shadow trailing the farm vehicle. “Yes. Are you sure it’s following us?”
“They picked you up as you left the dealership. Waited by the rehab gates until you left. I’ve asked Consuela to run the plates. Hold on, she’s calling.”
When the phone went silent, Bob asked, “Who is Consuela?”
“Our contact on the Brentonville police force.” She surprised herself with how easily the word emerged. Our contact.
The Escalade slipped into the other lane. It looked like a polished tank. Through her closed window, Amy heard the motor roar. The Escalade powered past the truck and launched itself at her. From farther back, Amy heard a horn blow and assumed it was Granville trying to warn her. She didn’t need a warning. Amy was as alert as she had ever been.
She mashed the gas pedal to the floor. The Malibu’s six cylinders produced a higher pitch than the Escalade, but the car showed a remarkable amount of zip. “Hold on, Bob!”
The Escalade responded with a ferocious bellow and raced to catch up. Bob glanced back and said, “They’re gaining!”
Amy’s foot was flat against the carpet. She was flying a lot faster than she was comfortable with on a narrow country road. But the Escalade grew ever closer. She heard the pounding beat of the other car’s music, like shots that had not yet been fired. As the car pulled up alongside her, Amy risked a glance. She spied a window powering down and a barrel coming into view. “Gun! Gun!”
She did the only thing she could think of, which was to veer hard over, straight into the Escalade. The two cars came together with a mighty crash. Behind her, Granville’s horn was blaring full on, and his lights flashed as he raced up. A split second later, Granville slammed into the Escalade’s rear.
The attackers might have been expecting Amy to swerve, but Granville’s maneuver caught them completely off guard. The shooter’s head snapped hard against the chrome window frame. The gun fired, but his aim was off. The shot scarred a noisy groove along Amy’s roof.
She shifted her foot off the gas and jammed down hard on the brake. The side of her car shrieked as the two vehicles parted. The Escalade kept moving, shoved forward by Granville. The Chevy’s engine roared with rage as it forced the Escalade on, like a silver caboose moving a reluctant engine.
Suddenly, the Escalade burned rubber and peeled off, pulling Granville’s bumper partially free as it raced away.
They gathered in the station’s bullpen. There wasn’t room for all of them to be seated around Consuela’s desk, but Amy preferred to stand. She paced a tight circuit, releasing her tension with each step. Paul showed up soon after they did with the wounded MP in tow. Dan Eldridge was a craggy warrior who wielded his crutches with the same impatient disregard that he did his years. Paul and Dan had been returning from the hospital when Granville phoned with the news.
A few minutes later, Consuela ushered them into the office of the police chief, Sandra Burke, a small woman who carried herself with oversize potency. Her features were carved with mannish edges, and her short hair was dyed a metallic copper. She accented her hard blue eyes with matching frames. The woman examined them with arctic intelligence. She ordered Consuela to bring in extra chairs but made no objection when Amy remained standing.
When the introductions were completed, Chief Burke asked the former MP, “Why are you here?”
“Because Paul Travers saved my life.” Dan Eldridge looked haggard and in no mood to be pushed around. “I’m looking for a chance to repay the favor.”
“As long as that doesn’t include taking unnecessary risks,” Burke responded.
“I didn’t make it this far acting like a green recruit. But whatever comes next, I’m going to be there.” He jutted out his jaw, ready for a quarrel.
Burke merely smiled, a thin slice of approval. Then, “Somebody tell me what just went down.”
Amy resumed her tight pacing as Granville recounted the events with a pro’s terseness. When he was done, the chief demanded, “What do we know about the Escalade?”
“I just got a call from Orlando police,” Sanchez replied. “It’s been left in airport parking. Stolen plates.”
“Did you get a look at your assailants, Ms. Dowell?”
“Just the shooter. He was black. I think there were scars on his cheeks below the sunglasses.” Amy shuddered at the flash of the recollected image. “Big. He had to lean down to aim through the window.”
The chief did not so much speak as bark, staccato bursts from a blue-eyed pug. “We’ve got to assume there’s a hit out on Ms. Dowell. Which leaves us with three immediate aims. First, protect the lady and her child.”
“The church apartment complex has too many access points,” Paul said.
Bob spoke for the first time since entering the station. “She can stay with me. I’m in a gated community.”
“Which one?”
“Wildwood.”
“Top-flight security.” The chief nodded. “A number of sports stars live there. That work for you, Ms. Dowell?”
“Is this really necessary? My daughter is just getting settled.” The others simply waited, granting her time to see the obvious. “I suppose we have to.”
“It would be good to help out,” Bob said. “Plus, I’ve got a whole guest wing just sitting there.”
“All right, Bob. Thank you.”
The chief nodded and moved on. “Second, we need to determine who the assailants are and why they’ve targeted Ms. Dowell.”
Consuela said, “It all comes back to the house.”
“Forget the house,” Paul said. He related the morning’s conversation with Ken Grant. “They’ve moved on. We have to do the same.”
“Which leads us to the third point,” the chief said. “Who is leading the opposition, and how do we take them down? We need better coordination with the feds. I’ll make some calls.”
Granville said, “The only connection we’ve got is the dealership.”
“Which means we need to keep Mr. Denton in place and beef up security. Consuela?”
“On it.”
Amy said, “Bob had the idea of having me go through old records, seeing if I can find a pattern that might hide money-laundering. Maybe point the finger at certain salespeople.”
Bob protested, “I don’t want you going back there—”
“I am not sitting this out,” Amy declared.
“Mr. Denton has a point,” the chief said. “We have to assume there’s no longer any subterfuge. They attacked, we defended. They could try again.”
The thought chilled Amy, but not enough to hold her back. “This is my church and my friends and my job. No one is taking this away from me.”
The chief liked that enough to offer another tight smile. “Then we’ll just have to keep you safe, won’t we?”
Granville said, “Sooner or later, the DEA is going to come down hard, blaming our frontline people for getting in the way, alerting the opposition to their presence.”
“Not on my watch, they won’t.” The chief unlocked a lower drawer and pulled out a pair of shields. “Mr. Denton, Ms. Dowell, do you have any objections to being deputized?”
Amy stared at the shield, amazed at how far she had come, and let Bob answer for them both. “Not if it will help move this forward.”
The chief was noting the badge numbers on an official sheet when Granville suggested, “Add another for Paul.”
Dan Eldridge cleared his throat. “If you’re passing them out, I wouldn’t mind having one of my own.”
Sandra Burke hesitated only a moment, then slapped another two shields on the desk. “Everybody raise your right hands.”