Virgil lay staring at the ceiling fan, Jill Beth sleeping peacefully in his arms. What was he missing? Billy Gene was too sharp to have misjudged the movements of Javed Saman—or whatever the guy’s real name was. He was sure enough that Saman was making a move on Hawk Cummings to have risked blowing his own cover, which would ultimately have pointed to Virgil—not something he would do lightly.
“Hey, Sheriff, I hear your wheels turning,” Jill Beth said, barely above a whisper.
“Go back to sleep, darlin’,” Virgil said, stroking her hair. “My mind’s working overtime. I’ll nod off here in a minute.”
“Okay.” She nuzzled closer.
Virgil wished he could tell Jill Beth exactly what was going on, but they had both learned years ago when to draw the line. She never asked questions when he stopped talking about a case. But because they were best friends, it was often difficult to keep a professional distance. In this case, he would not have wanted her worrying about Hawk. And he couldn’t tell her—or anyone—that he had contacted Mitch and gotten classified information. He would take that secret to the grave.
He had disposed of the burner phone and made sure it was on the way to the landfill. But he had done his best to memorize the information Mitch had attached, including the image of the bounty hunter, Herbod Abbas Jalili. Hard to say what the guy looked like now or what disguise he wore. One thing Virgil was sure of, the man using the name Javed Saman was not the bounty hunter. But who was he? What interest did he have in Hawk Cummings?
Virgil moved his arm and gently set Jill Beth’s head on her pillow, then ever so quietly slipped out of bed and walked down the hall to the kitchen. He took a decaf K-Cup, put it in the Keurig, and turned it on. He waited a minute for his coffee to brew, then picked up his cup and sat at the table.
He turned on the TV and started watching cable news, then turned it off. He couldn’t concentrate. What he wanted was answers, not world problems to clog his mind. Was Jalili the would-be intruder at Kate’s? Hawk had been easily accessible numerous times at Angel View Lodge where Jalili could have said hello and started up a conversation like any other tourist passing through. Why hadn’t he? Unless he suspected the FBI was there.
Virgil bounced his pencil eraser on the table. He didn’t see how Jalili could have known the FBI was there. Romo had done a good job of keeping his people out of sight and his actors in place. They seemed authentic enough. If Jalili had suspected an FBI presence, would he have attempted to break into Kate’s house in broad daylight? Surely he knew—or at least suspected—that Hawk would be working during the day. And he was a professional assassin. How hard could it be for him to have found out that Hawk was heading up the landscaping project?
Virgil took a sip of coffee and heard his phone beep with Kevin’s tone. He picked it up and read the text: I attached the background check on Javed Saman. Also, there’s no record of him living in New York City or anywhere in the state of New York. Currently living in Paris. He’s not wanted by the FBI and not on record at NCIC. Not on Interpol’s radar. His financial record is squeaky clean. Going to bed. Will talk with you in the morning. KM.
Virgil opened the attachment.
Javed Saman, born March 14, 1970, in Ahvaz, Iran. Parents were schoolteachers. 1980 – family moved to Paris where his father took a job as professor of Persian Cultural Studies at Université Paris Diderot.
1988–1992 – Javed attended École Polytechnique (Paris Tech) in Paris, France. Graduated with a bachelor’s degree in computer science. 1993–1997 – Served in the French Foreign Legion. February 1, 1998 – married Marie Adrienne DuBois in a civil ceremony in Paris. 1998–2005 – Lived in Paris working as IT specialist for the Gendarmerie Nationale (French national army). January 28, 2006 – Divorced from Marie Adrienne Saman, no children. 2006–2017 – Lived in Tehran, Iran, working as IT administrator for Law Enforcement Force of the Islamic Republic of Iran (police force). Current address: Paris, France. Employment: Baker at La Boulangerie Délicieux. Passport current, two trips to New York City in 2017 (tourist), and one in 2018 (tourist).
Virgil reread the attachment. This guy was no stranger to the military and law enforcement. He didn’t appear to be on anyone’s radar. Everything looked clean and in order. Could Billy Gene have been wrong? It was possible this man was nothing more than a tourist. Virgil’s gut told him differently. And he trusted Billy Gene’s instincts almost as much as he trusted his own.
The mantel clock struck two. Virgil got up and headed for the bedroom, thinking maybe he could sleep now. At least he wasn’t operating in the dark. Javed Saman was no longer a stranger. Whether he was friend or foe had yet to be determined.
Hawk’s eyes flew open, his heart pounding. He suddenly remembered a selfie Kennedy had taken with a background of fall foliage. He saw it on her dresser mirror and admired it, and she insisted he keep it. That was weeks ago. Where was it? He remembered putting it in a place where it wouldn’t be discovered by anyone in the family.
As Hawk sat up on the side of the bed, he looked at the clock: 5:20 a.m. Jesse was sleeping peacefully on the other side of the large upstairs room they shared and wouldn’t be up for another forty minutes. Halo lay curled up on the dirty clothes Jesse should have put in the hamper, the orange-and-white tabby kitten nestled next to her. Hawk heard water running and figured Abby was taking a shower. She had to be at Flutter’s just before six.
Hawk sat thinking, his elbows planted on his thighs, his hands locked between his knees. Where did he put that photo of Kennedy? Why did it even matter? Whatever it was they had was over. It was wrong. It hurt people. He had confessed the sin and put it behind him. So why couldn’t he just let her go? It confused him that he still had feelings for her. Then again, she was not the sin. She was sweet and intelligent, beautiful and expressive. It was the relationship they fell into and willfully continued that was sinful. That he had rejected. That he deeply regretted. But he didn’t regret knowing Kennedy, even though he ached deep inside as he struggled in silence to make sense of her disappearance and death. There was so much he wished he had said to her. Things he wished he had asked.
The cigar box in the closet! That’s where he had put the photo. He sprang from the bed and went over to the closet, took the box from the top shelf, and brought it down. He flipped the switch to turn on the closet light, sat on the bed, and opened the box. There on the top, right where he had put it, was the photo of Kennedy. Looking at it now, the emptiness he’d been feeling ached all the more. He picked up the photo and let the light reveal her beautiful face. He traced her facial features with his finger, remembering the times he had done that when they were together. Her soft brown eyes spoke volumes, as if she were longing for something she could never have. He saw her pain. Why hadn’t he asked her what she was thinking and feeling? He knew why. Because he was content to enjoy her pleasures without an ounce of commitment.
Hawk blinked to clear his eyes and wiped a runaway tear from his cheek. How could he have been so shallow? Not only had he betrayed Laura Lynn, he had also robbed Kennedy, not just by ignoring her pain but also by withholding from her his feelings, his thoughts, anything truly authentic about himself. He had become the guy he had always criticized, the one who uses a woman only for pleasure, letting her think she was building a relationship.
It hurt to acknowledge this about himself. If anyone besides the Holy Spirit had revealed it to him, he felt sure he would have died of shame. As it was, he knew he’d been forgiven, and his sins removed as far as the east is from the west. Still, he wished he’d had the chance to ask Kennedy’s forgiveness as he had Laura Lynn’s. He had wronged them both. But Kennedy died without ever knowing how sorry he was. Another consequence he would have to live with.
He stared at her picture for a minute longer. He would never forget her. He pressed his lips to the photograph and put it back in the cigar box, then set the box back on the closet shelf.
He had meant for his relationship with Kennedy to remain strictly physical and uncomplicated. But he had learned the hard way that sins of the flesh are never uncomplicated.
Kate lay in Elliot’s arms, enjoying the peace she knew would be hard to hold on to once they were immersed in another high-tension and seemingly endless day of waiting while Hawk was used to bait the bounty hunter.
Lord, I am so ready for this to be over with. Please put a circle of Your light around Hawk and keep him safe. Help the FBI to get this monster into custody so we can get on with our lives.
“You’re awake,” Elliot whispered.
“How’d you know?”
“I always know.” Elliot kissed her forehead. “Good morning, Mrs. Stafford.”
Kate smiled. “I love being Mrs. Stafford.”
Kate didn’t feel the need to say anything else. She enjoyed these quiet moments of comfortable silence with Elliot. A long time passed. Finally she said, “This is Saturday. The bounty hunter has to be caught today or we won’t get to see Riley tomorrow.”
“That’s true,” he said. “But we can’t force him out, so we’ll just have to wait him out.”
“I think the word wait should be declared an unacceptable four-letter word and treated with the same disdain as the others.”
Elliot laughed. “Did you really just say that?”
“I did. When I think of all the waiting I’ve done in the past eight years, it borders on unbelievable.”
Elliot stroked her hair. “I admit you’ve done more than your share. But you wouldn’t have seen God work if His answers had come right away.”
Kate sighed. “I know. I just wish He’d step it up a bit. Waiting has never been my strong suit.”
“Which is probably why He keeps letting you experience it. Practice makes perfect.”
Kate sat up and leaned her back against the headboard. “At least this time I have tried to stay cool and trust that God has Hawk’s back.”
“You have been amazing,” Elliot said.
“The scare last fall with Jesse and Liam Berne and that whole saga finally broke me.” Kate slipped her hand into his. “I am tired of waiting, but I’ve learned not to tell God how to keep His promises. I know He will. And whatever the outcome, I know it will be right. That doesn’t mean I’m not afraid, but that’s just the flesh trying to rattle my faith.”
Elliot looked up at her. “Spoken like a true believer.”
“Which I definitely am.”
“How do blueberry pancakes sound for breakfast?”
“With bacon?”
“Sure.”
“Are you cooking or am I?” Kate said, the corners of her mouth twitching.
“Please … I am the breakfast chef. Besides, this is Saturday, and you know what that means.”
“Spaghetti night,” Kate said. “I wonder how long I’ve been making spaghetti on Saturdays.”
“As long as I’ve known you. And you still make the best.”
Kate nudged him in the ribs. “Let’s go have those pancakes. Maybe the aroma of my spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove will make things feel normal around here.”