bugs.
“Just because he visited this area as a teenager…” Moore let her words trail off.
“It was more than a single visit. As far as we can ascertain, this was the only area in Florida to which they returned on a repeated basis. Four years in a row.”
“Small towns, though. All of them. Hardly more than rest stops on the way to Key West. Even given the number of unoccupied cottages available, it would be tough to lose yourself here for long.”
“Jack can manage it.”
“How?”
“I told you before. He’s the devil. He can do whatever the hell he wants.”
Moore glanced reflexively at a white hardtop passing them on the left. A Sunbird? No, it was a Chevy Cavalier, the driver a blond woman tanned nut brown like everyone in the Keys.
A billboard advertising an alligator farm in the Everglades blurred past. The gator’s toothy smirk struck Moore as arrogant, cocksure.
She thought of Jack Dance. Was he smiling like that? Was he safely ensconced in a bungalow on Plantation Key-or a hotel room in Dallas, or a cabin in British Columbia-following the news on TV and leering at the hopeless, bumbling efforts of his pursuers?
When we catch him, she told herself gamely, we’ll rub that grin off his face.
The phone chirped again. Moore identified herself and heard the graveyard voice of Deputy Associate Director Drury in reply.
“What are you two doing in Islamorada?”
Drury did not shout. He never shouted, never cursed. His chilly self-control was somehow more unnerving than any angry tirade.
To Lovejoy she mouthed: Drury. “Sir, we have reason to believe the suspect may be here-”
“You’re supposed to be in Miami, Agent Moore, supervising the field investigation, not chasing down hunches. Anyway, it looks like your hot lead just turned cold.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means the Dodge swiped from Miami International turned up an hour ago in Fort Myers.”
“Have you confirmed that Jack stole it?”
“We haven’t scrambled a search team yet, can’t say if there are prints or not. May not matter; your boy always wears gloves, anyway. Important thing is, Fort Myers P.D. informs us that two locals saw him in a convenience store near the spot where the car was dumped. They’re concentrating the search in that vicinity.”
Moore tersely relayed the news to Lovejoy.
“Give me the phone.” He drove with one hand, cradling the handset against his ear with the other. “Mr. Director, this is Agent Lovejoy. What was he buying at the convenience store?”
Moore could not hear Drury’s answer, only a faint, tinny buzz.
“I would have to say, sir, that I don’t think it was Jack,” Lovejoy replied. “The man is concerned about his health. His kitchen was stocked with low-fat foods. He had a gym membership and used it. Kept himself in shape. In a convenience store he might buy tuna fish or canned fruit or nonfat milk, but not potato chips and a quart of ice cream. Those purchases, in my judgment, are out of character. Sir.”
Moore listened, astonished. Was this really Peter, her partner, weak and defensive, mealy-mouthed and officious? And was he actually holding his own with the deputy associate director? Disputing his superior, standing up for himself?
Incredible. She remembered wondering if she’d underestimated him.
Drury buzzed again, briefly. Moore had the impression that he might be on the verge of losing his notorious cool.
Lovejoy remained calm enough. “My understanding, sir, is that there were two cars stolen from long-term parking in the appropriate time frame. Why are we assuming that the Dodge is the one he took? From what I gather, Latent Prints hasn’t even dusted it yet, and of course we both know that an eyewitness identification is always problematic. It’s possible Fort Myers is a blind alley. Islamorada, on the other hand, is where he and his father used to vacation every August… Yes, August. It’s my belief that he’s come back to a place he’s familiar with, a place he associates with safety… I understand, sir… I’m willing to take that chance… Yes, sir… Yes, sir.”
A click as Drury broke the connection. Lovejoy handed the phone back. Despite the air-conditioned chill, his forehead was suddenly measled with sweat.
“What?” Moore prompted when he remained silent for too long.
“He wants us in Fort Myers. Insists it’s the investigation’s best lead.”
“And?”
“I made no commitment.”
“No commitment?” Moore was torn between newfound admiration for her partner and trepidation at where his recklessness might lead. “Peter, for God’s sake, we can’t refuse an order.”
“He didn’t issue an order. Said he’d let us pursue the Islamorada angle if we choose to. But if it doesn’t pan out-well, let’s just say he’s not in the mood to cut us any slack.”
“He’s out to get you, isn’t he?”
“It would appear so.” Lovejoy swallowed, his composure faltering slightly. “Look, forget about me. I blew the arrest. Violated the unwritten first rule of the FBI: Never embarrass the Bureau. If I’m lucky, they’ll transfer me out of Denver, post me at a resident agency in the Ozarks or someplace equally out of the way. If I’m not lucky, they’ll simply put me on unpaid administrative leave. Management’s subtle way of suggesting that possibly I should consider another line of work.”
“Maybe you’re overreacting.”
“Uh-uh. I understand bureaucracy, remember? I know how these people think. The higher-ups will hang me out to dry in order to save themselves.” He showed her a half smile. “The simple fact is-in my estimation-I’m finished.”
“Peter, I’m sorry…”
He brushed off her sympathy. “Given my own penchant for rearguard action of the CYA variety, I can hardly criticize Drury for doing the same thing. But here’s my real point, Tamara.” He rarely used her first name; the sound of it was mildly startling to her. “As far as I can determine, you’re pretty much okay so far. Not being the team leader, you can’t be blamed for the screw-up in L.A. In all probability, you can maintain your Denver post and keep your career on track. Unless…”
“Unless”-Moore completed his thought-“we stay here in Islamorada and Dance surfaces in Fort Myers.”
“Correct.”
“Then I’m up shit creek. Without a paddle.”
“Without even a canoe. Drury is certain to punish you for your bad judgment. Field duty in Alaska and a black mark next to your name in your personnel folder-something like that.” He turned to her, his face blushing in the red glow of sunset. “So I’m not the one who should be deciding this. How do you want to play it? I’ll leave it as your call.”
Moore sat back in her seat, thinking first of her long climb from the Oakland slums to graduation day at Quantico, then of Jack Dance.
“Potato chips,” she said finally.
Lovejoy nodded. “Lay’s.”
“And ice cream.”
“Store brand. One quart.”
“What flavor?”
“Vanilla.”
“You’re right. Doesn’t sound like Jack. Jack’s not a vanilla man.”
Lovejoy studied her, caught the beginning of a smile at the corner of her mouth, and answered it with a grin of his own. “Not vanilla. Of course.”
“More like rocky road.”
“Extremely rocky.” His smile faded. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to do this. You’re risking a great deal more than I am.”
“We’re partners. We share the risks.”
