boss. “Okay…agreed,” Millicent finally answered. “Dr. Conrad lives on campus, in housing that’s reserved for visiting fellows and tenured professors,” she divulged. “He’s at 265 Lomita Lane. It’s a pretty green house with lots of roses in the front yard. You can’t miss it. It’s about a mile from here on the other end of the campus. The professor likes to ride his bike to work…so chances are, if he’s home, the bike will be on the front porch. He also has a black BMW that’s usually in the garage. That’s all I can tell you, Mr. Mason.”
“Thanks, Millicent, you’ve been invaluable. And don’t worry about our little secret. Jarrod will never know I spoke to you,” he said, moving toward the door. “Have a good day, and good luck finding the people who broke in.”
“Oh, I’m sure the police will get the information back. Besides… Dr. Conrad always backed up his research on a private computer. We’ll be up and running again in no time. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Mason,” Millicent said, closing the door behind Ryan as he moved into the hallway.
Ryan was amazed by his own resourcefulness. He had no idea that finding his cousin’s house would be so easy. Sure, he could have asked Sarah or Jeremiah for the address, but this would have divulged his strategy, and possibly alerted Jarrod to his plan. One thing was certain: When they came face-to-face, there was going to be a fight. The trick would be to subdue him without causing too much harm.
What if Jarrod has a weapon? he mused. This thought was cause for alarm and further consideration. He couldn’t take anything for granted.
The house at 265 Lomita Lane was easily identified by a beautiful rose garden that adorned the forest-green house. A professional gardener was obviously responsible for maintaining the roses, as everything was perfectly manicured along the entire block. Each home had a different character, with the theme of each residence enhanced by a unique landscape feature; some had fountains, others statuary, but each had an abundance of vibrant flowers that were resplendent with color.
Ryan drove by the house at a normal pace, careful not to draw any attention to his presence. He noted with interest that the ten-speed bike that Millicent Ormsby described was on the porch, and, according to her information, if there was a black BMW in the garage, there was a good chance that Jarrod was home. The garage was closed, so he couldn’t confirm the presence of the BMW.
The anticipation of facing Jarrod after so many years of pent-up hatred toward him released a rush of adrenaline. The thought of seeing him for the first time since his divorce sent a chill up his spine and made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. Even though he was incensed by the thought of facing Jarrod, he was impatient to learn why his cousin had vandalized the erection crane, and, further, why he thought Ryan broke into his lab.
Ryan figured it was too early to make contact with Jarrod. To do so in broad daylight chanced neighbors or bystanders witnessing an undoubtedly hostile exchange between the two men; prudence dictated that he await nightfall to complete his objective. He needed to find a quiet place to rest. At the moment, he didn’t feel safe even staying on the same street. He remembered a movie theater near the shop where he purchased his coffee earlier in the morning, and decided to wait out the time in the security of the darkened interior. Late in the evening, he would return to confront Jarrod.
Ryan hoped with every fiber of his being that the coming confrontation would bring an end to the years of hatred between the two men. He would face Jarrod unarmed; to do otherwise would be incredibly foolish. God willing, Ryan felt that the hatred between the two men would end before a new sunrise. This ends tonight…one way or the other.
TWENTY-FIVE
Nassau, Bahamas
Captain Eduardo Suarez was true to his word. He sailed Jurassic through the night, nearing the cape of Florida south of Key West well in advance of Hurricane Hannah’s predicted arrival in Galveston Bay. Holloway had instructed the captain late in the evening to proceed toward Key West, and to report which direction the hurricane was heading. From Key West, they would steer either to his enclave south of Bannerman Town, one of the out islands of the Bahamas, or proceed on to his estate in Hilton Head, South Carolina. It was indeed auspicious that Holloway ordered they depart the area prior to Hannah’s arrival, as meteorologists predicted that 100-mile-per- hour winds would lash Galveston Harbor when she finally made landfall. Law enforcement agencies ordered evacuations because significant damage was expected throughout the Gulf Coast.
Jurassic could have easily sustained the fifteen-foot swells in open water, but it would have been unpleasant for those aboard to endure such an onslaught when the practical solution was to relocate out of harm’s way. Fortunately, it was not difficult to convince Holloway to move his $100-million yacht out of the gulf; rarely did he disregard advice that protected his investments. The decision was clearly prudent because Hannah was expected to create considerable damage, even though it would be nothing compared to “the storm of the century” dating back to September 8, 1900, still considered the deadliest hurricane in United States history.
Local Galvestonians still refer to “the storm” with a reverence that only survivors can truly appreciate. When a resident Galvestonian claimed their home survived “the storm,” they meant that it pre-dated 1900; a claim that a family member had died in “the storm” was proof they had roots in the city over 100 years old. Upwards of 6,000 people lost their lives in the aftermath of the tropical cyclone that left the city in ruins, an epic tragedy forever burned into the record of Galveston Bay.
Captain Suarez stood on the bridge of the ship, alternating his gaze between the horizon ahead and the radar weather pattern displayed from the iridescent instrument console. He checked his watch and decided it was time to check in with Holloway, hoping his temperament was more congenial than last night. They were fast approaching a course correction toward the destination where they would berth Jurassic, so risking an early morning squabble was necessary. Captain Suarez preferred to berth in Nassau. From a nautical perspective, staying in open water would be best in case the hurricane took an unexpected turn back out to sea. He had the feeling, however, that Holloway would likely choose his alternate port in Hilton Head. Either way, they were at a point where he needed to change direction for the appropriate port of call.
The captain made his way from the bridge down one flight through a smaller corridor until he arrived at Holloway’s stateroom. He paused at the door, poised to knock, cautiously listening for any interior noise that might suggest his interruption would not be welcome. He decided to take a chance, preparing for an early morning dose of Holloway’s rude behavior.
He rapped lightly on the door. “Mr. Holloway, it’s Captain Suarez. Do you have a moment, sir?”
“Please, come in,” he heard Angelina’s voice call from behind the door.
Captain Suarez entered the luxurious stateroom, his face reddening from embarrassment when he realized that he was alone in the room with Angelina Navarro. She was scantily clad in a tight-fitting chartreuse exercise bra and matching bikini bottom with the word Bitch written in hot pink letters across her shapely derriere. She rode an elliptical machine that was unobtrusively placed to one side of the spacious sitting room. A light sweat made her body glisten from the workout. Angelina was reading Heart of a Woman, the latest Oprah bestseller, which was carefully secured atop the machine. She appeared to have an iPod ready, as the device was strapped to her left bicep, but the ear buds dangling around her neck were not in use. Suarez almost wished Angelina had been listening to her music, making it impossible to hear his knock. But his male libido completely appreciated viewing such a lovely woman almost naked before his eyes.
He scrutinized the room, which appeared in disarray. The ship stewards had not yet cleaned; they dared not interrupt Mr. Holloway except when specifically asked to perform their housekeeping duties. Dirty dishes had not been collected from last night’s dinner, miscellaneous papers were strewn about, and several pieces of Angelina’s clothing lay around the room. There was a red lace bra, which was partially hidden between a seat cushion of a brown leather recliner facing the large plasma TV screen. A rhinestone-decorated stiletto was lying sideways under the glass coffee table in front of the semi-circular couch. Her red negligee was dropped carelessly on the floor in front of a full-length mirror that reflected the ocean beyond. One article of clothing absent in the stateroom was her underwear. Probably because she wasn’t wearing any, the captain thought.
Although enjoying the view of Angelina’s bountiful breasts bouncing to the cadence of the machine, Captain Suarez grew exceedingly uncomfortable in her presence, deciding he had best leave before Holloway caught him
