Eureka, California
At ten o’clock, Dennison checked out of his motel unit. Taylor, who had spent the night in the parking lot staking out his car, waited for a couple of cars to pass, then moved in smoothly behind him. Within a matter of seconds, he turned into a shopping mall complex. Minutes later, he exited with a bunch of yellow roses.
The next stop was a cemetery, and Taylor understood why Dennison had risked surfacing in a place where he could be, and had been, recognized. She had come back to Eureka looking for clues. Dennison was here for purely personal reasons.
His wife had passed away exactly two years ago. Within days of Anne Dennison dying, Dennison had turned informant.
When Dennison drove out of the cemetery parking lot, he headed south. Later that afternoon, after two stops, one for gasoline and food, the second so he could use a restroom, Taylor followed Dennison as he turned off Interstate 880. She was both hungry and thirsty, and she needed to visit the restroom herself, but she couldn’t risk leaving the vehicle. If Dennison slipped away from her now, the chance that she would ever find him again was remote.
Minutes later his destination became obvious. Oakland International Airport. After parking the rental, Taylor swapped the blond wig for the ball cap, unpacked her luggage and followed him into the airport. By now both Bayard and Burdett would know her general location and they would be monitoring flights. She could be detained if she tried to board a domestic flight, but it was a risk she had to take.
Dennison queued to check his luggage and her heart sped up when she realized he had bought a ticket to El Paso.
The excitement that had gripped her when she had first seen him and which had worn away over long hours of surveillance flooded back. She hadn’t been a part of the operation in El Paso because she had been recovering from the hostage crisis, but she had read the reports a number of times. The operation had been critical but, like the two previous ones in Winton and Eureka, it had failed to net Lopez.
Her jaw clenched at the discomfort of having to lug bags with a full bladder, she stepped up to the counter, and asked if there were any seats left on the flight. Dennison had had his ticket with him, which meant he had prebooked. If the flight was full, she would lose him.
The woman checked her computer. There were two seats left, both in economy. Taylor paid for the ticket with cash and checked her luggage. Dennison had cut it close. The flight left in less than twenty minutes.
She followed him at a discreet distance to make sure he didn’t buy a second ticket to an alternative destination. Dennison stopped to buy a newspaper and a candy bar, then perused the books. Despite the increasing pressure on her bladder, Taylor waited him out. No matter how badly she needed to make a trip to the bathroom, she couldn’t risk leaving Dennison. It was possible that he had purchased the ticket as a ruse and would walk out at the last minute.
When the flight was called, he put the book he’d been studying back on the shelf, left the shop and ambled in the direction of the gate.
Sighing with relief, Taylor walked to the nearest restroom, chose the closest available stall and locked the door. Seconds later, she washed her hands and face, and took the time to check her appearance. With her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and the sunglasses and bill of the cap obscuring half of her face, she would be hard to identify. Add to that the generic, sexless look of the oversize shirt, denims and sneakers she was wearing, and she could have been any one of a hundred travelers she’d seen in the airport.
As she boarded the plane, she skimmed the rows of passengers. Dennison had a seat close to the front. She was near the rear. After stowing her hand luggage, she sidled into her seat, which was wedged between two harassed mothers with babies.
The sudden entry into a world of diapers and baby bottles was disorienting. For days she had been living on the edge. Two people had been murdered, and her life was threatened. She had found Dennison, an unlikely key to the puzzle of both Lopez and the cabal. Now, for the next two hours she was camped in a world she had briefly contemplated being a part of.
Taylor fastened her seat belt. As destinations went, for Dennison El Paso was a huge risk. After the unsuccessful operation and the manhunt that had followed, his face would be known. He risked being picked up by the local cops, and maybe even being detained at the airport. El Paso was the last place Dennison should go, which meant he had a strong reason for going there.
The first opportunity she got when she disembarked, she was going to have to buy a handgun.
The second the airplane taxied to a halt in El Paso and the seat belt lights went off, Taylor sidled out to the aisle and began working her way forward. A woman glared, and a man refused to move aside, forcing her to push past, but she didn’t have time for politeness. Dennison was close to the exit, tucked in just behind business class. He would be one of the first passengers off. If she was slow disembarking she could lose him.
Minutes later, she joined the stream of passengers gathered around the luggage carousel. Luggage was already circling. She studied the milling crowd, boosted by people waiting for the arriving flight and tour operators picking up clients. She couldn’t find Dennison.
He had been wearing a gray suit. He could have taken the jacket off, but she couldn’t see anyone in either a gray suit jacket or the light-colored shirt he had been wearing.
A man bent to collect a case. He was wearing a blue ball cap, matching polo shirt, dark glasses, and he had a mustache. She registered the gray jacket draped over one arm.
It was Dennison.
Her pulse accelerated. There was no sign of the shirt, which meant he must have taken it off during the flight and dumped it on the plane. She hadn’t seen him carry anything on the flight, which meant he must have been wearing the polo shirt beneath the light-colored shirt. He had probably had the ball cap folded up in his jacket pocket along with the fake mustache.
With his face on the El Paso PD’s most-wanted list, she should have expected that he would change his appearance. Six months and a whole different life ago, she wouldn’t have missed a detail like that. As a lesson in how dangerous Dennison was, it was salutary. She couldn’t afford to forget that he was ex-Bureau turned criminal, and that he had been ruthless enough that Lopez had retained him to run the Colombian branch of the Chavez operation.
Dennison started toward the exit. Taylor checked the conveyor. Her case was filled with things that were important to her, but if she had to, she would leave it. She checked the entrance then glanced back at the conveyor. Her suitcase came into view. Threading her way through passengers, she intercepted the case, at the same time keeping an eye on Dennison, who had bypassed the exit and was walking toward one of the rental-car agencies.
She grabbed the handle of her case and started after him.