No Escape (10 page)

Between Heath’s vantage point under a copse of palm trees and the mansion three hundred yards away, people lounged on the beach. Most of them were tourists, pale skin showing pink from the sun. But there were a few fishermen on a short wooden pier who seemed more interested in telling stories and drinking beer than in catching anything. In the middle, a spirited volleyball game took place between what looked like college-age guys and girls. They called out encouragement and derision to each other, and that was punctuated by sharp barks of laughter. Out on the water, a few small sailboats with brightly colored sails glided toward the horizon.

Heath pulled at his shirt to allow a breeze in, then cleaned his sunglasses to get the sweat streaks off the lenses. He pushed the sunglasses up again and picked up the binoculars lying on the passenger seat. He trained the binocs on the mansion.

C’mon, do something. You can’t just want to sit in that house all day and all night.
Heath raked the house from side to side and top to bottom, searching in vain for Gibson. For the past two days and both nights, there had been no activity at the villa. Nobody went in and nobody went out. Heath still didn’t know Gibson’s schedule. Inside the house, the man was invisible and unknowable.

Frustrated, Heath started to put the binocs away, but a familiar figure caught his eye. He adjusted the magnification and brought in the woman lounging on a chaise on the outer edge of the volleyball game. He wasn’t sure what had caught his attention, maybe the set of her jaw, maybe her hair or maybe the fact that she was watching Gibson’s villa with the same intensity he was.

But he knew her in a heartbeat. Lauren Cooper sat in the chair wearing a white bikini that set off a figure that had more curves than Heath would have guessed. Her skin looked smooth and satiny, with just enough of a tan to blunt the sun’s harsh rays. She wore her hair pulled back under a floppy hat. Large sunglasses obscured the top part of her face, but he knew it was her. Her tablet lay on her taut stomach.

Unable to stop himself, Heath drank in every inch of her, for a moment forgetting the White Rabbit murders, Janet and his frustration at being unable to break the case. Lauren Cooper was beautiful, and lying there she looked even more vulnerable than he’d thought she was.

During the past two days, her whereabouts in Kingston had remained a mystery. Jackson Portman’s conversation with the mother hadn’t gone well. The woman hadn’t known where Lauren was, and she’d been surprised that her daughter wasn’t at home or at work, so Jackson had only succeeded in agitating her.

Since his return to Kingston, Heath had set up surveillance on Gibson. He’d expected to spot her somewhere along the way because he knew she wouldn’t be able to stay away from the magician. But he hadn’t seen her, and he had begun to worry that something had already happened to her. Even though seeing her there irritated him, he felt relieved at the same time.

Lauren reached down for a bottle of water she kept by the chaise and sipped the contents through a straw. Heath relished the smooth play of toned muscle under her skin as she shifted in the chair.

At least she wasn’t trying to bum rush the front gates. On the first day of surveillance, Heath had halfway expected her to do that. When he’d thought of that, he hadn’t known what to fear more—her alerting Gibson or getting accepted inside.

Lauren got up without warning and dropped her tablet into the big beach bag beside the chaise. She folded the chair, grabbed her bag, and headed toward a small parking lot a short distance away.

Caught up in the undulation of her hips, Heath took a moment to realize what had gotten Lauren up and moving. He switched the binocs back to the villa just in time to see the wrought-iron gates part and a sleek black Jaguar sedan patiently waiting like a predator. Once the gates were open, the luxury car slid through like a bullet.

Heath scanned the car as he reached for his keys and started his rental. The engine turned over smoothly and caught. The vents blew hot air into the side of his face.

The Jaguar’s windows were tinted so dark they looked like sheets of oil. Heath caught only a glimpse of the driver, a powerful-looking man named Deke Roylston. Roylston was a hard case who was no stranger to breaking the law, but his record was spotty over the years. The man had worked as a mercenary in his younger days before settling in as Gibson’s bodyguard six years ago.

Nothing in the paper trail connected Roylston, but he worked for a professional security service based in Seattle, Washington, and had been on permanent assignment in Kingston for the past six years. Poking into the security company’s background hadn’t been easy, and Heath hadn’t learned much. They were a high-end executive protective service used to providing bodyguards to corporate personnel and celebrities.

Heath put the transmission in drive and wheeled his vehicle around, taking up the pursuit back to Kingston. As he drove, he adjusted the .357 Magnum partially concealed under his right thigh. Thankfully, there was some tourist traffic on the road. He was able to tuck in a couple of cars behind the Jaguar. When he glanced in the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of Lauren behind the wheel of a nondescript white compact rental as she slid behind a car behind him.

Then she was gone from sight, but Heath could still feel her back there. He snarled a curse.
Get your head back in the game. One thing at a time. Focus on your guy. Take him out and everybody’s safe.

That was what he had been doing when Janet had been killed, though.

* * *

Trance music played over the Jaguar’s sound system, filling the rear seat with techno sounds and synth. The female singer’s voice sent chills rippling down Gibson’s back.

Gibson steepled his hands in front of him and stared through the windshield at the sun-blasted road ahead of them. “Is he back there?”

Even though Gibson was sure Roylston already knew the police officer was tailing them, the big man checked the rearview mirror anyway. “Yes.”

Gibson smiled and felt satisfied. “Good.” The acknowledgment was double-edged, intended more to irritate Roylston than to respond in polite fashion.

“Out here, you’re vulnerable.” Roylston looked back in the rearview mirror, locking eyes briefly with Gibson. “There’s just me. You’d be safer back at the villa.”

“Others will be waiting at the restaurant.”

“There’s miles to go between here and there.”

“Lighten up, Deke. You should be enjoying this. A game of cat and mouse like this? You should be eating it up. When you stopped killing people for pay to protect me, some part of you must surely miss the excitement.”

“No.”

“Not even a smidgen?”

“You haven’t been in that position, being out in the jungle, not knowing when the next step is gonna be on a mine, or if a sniper has you in his sights from a thousand yards away. That’s not fun. That’s hell.”

“You could have chosen another career.”

“The pay was good.”

“Not that good. You enjoyed what you did. And you enjoy what you’re doing now. You enjoy being around me.”

“You cause too much trouble.”

“For which you’re paid quite handsomely. Never forget that. And never forget that I’ve looked into your files. You were no saint. You took your pound of flesh and your pleasure where and when you wanted to while you were over there. Maybe you’ve even done that here.”

Roylston didn’t reply.

Gibson put his arm on the rests and drummed his fingers in time to the music. He stretched his legs out, enjoying the little pulse of adrenaline singing through his blood.

Roylston drove on in silence for a time, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. Gibson knew the man was going to break his silence by the way he held his shoulders. That was another game just the two of them played.

“You’re pushing this cop too far.”

Gibson folded his arms behind his head and radiated the perfect picture of indolence. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah, I do. You shouldn’t have killed his partner.”

Gibson smiled. “Maybe you shouldn’t have let me. As I recall, that happened on your watch.”

Roylston grimaced and his voice thickened. “Maybe you’re pushing
me
too far, too.”

“Really?” Gibson feigned surprise.

Roylston started to say something, then closed his mouth and focused on the road.

“Do you ever wonder why you got saddled with me?”

Roylston made no reply.

“I think it’s because you had some indiscretions of your own. I think you were assigned to me to do penance for philandering with my father’s ex-fiancée. A good security man should know better, shouldn’t he?”

Roylston glared at him in the mirror.

“You pretend you have a moral compass, but you don’t. Not really. Everybody is out to get what they think they want. Whatever captures their attention, whatever new thing they think their heart desires. Most of them end up unhappy and they don’t even know why.”

“Killing those women makes you happy?”

This time Gibson’s smile was real. Excitement flared through him because he knew he’d penetrated the bodyguard more than he ever had before. “Yes, actually it does. I love knowing their lives are mine to do with as I please. That I have that much control over someone else. And I know that you know what I’m talking about. You’ve been there, too. But that’s not the best part.”

“Then what is?”

Gibson rolled the coin across his knuckles. “What makes me happy is making my father unhappy. I kill those women because I know he fears me getting caught and embarrassing him. So I kill the women and you people have to clean up the mess. When you can find the victims, which you haven’t always been able to do. That’s the game I play with my father. He chose you to watch over me because he doesn’t care for you after the philandering incident. Working with me is your penance, but you’ll never be able to pay that off. My father doesn’t let people out from under his thumb. You have to make your own way out from under.”

Roylston drove on for a short time in silence. The outskirts of Kingston were just ahead, buildings suddenly filling the empty expanse of jungle and beach. Hotels and business centers in the New Kingston area looked white and stark against the blue sky.

“Your old man’s gonna get tired of playing games with you one of these days.”

“Do you think so?” Gibson relished toying with the man.

“I would.”

“You’re not my father. To him, I’m irreplaceable.”

“Seems to me he replaced your mother pretty quick when the time came.”

Anger burned bright and ember hot, and Gibson felt the heat rising to his face. The coin disappeared from his hands, and the .45 ACP Derringer pistol he carried appeared as he leaned forward. He pushed the barrel against the base of Roylston’s skull.

“Don’t talk about my mother.
Ever.
” His voice was a cold growl, breath that blew over a wood rasp.

“Pull that trigger and we both die.”

“No. If I pull this trigger, you die.
Maybe
I’ll die.” Then Gibson laughed, palmed the pistol again, made a fist, then slowly opened it to show that it was empty as Roylston watched him in the rearview mirror. “I could take my chances with the car’s safety features.” He leaned back in the plush seat. “Or I can just wait till you’re asleep some night in your room, step in and blow your brains out.” Smiling, he laced his fingers behind his head. “Your successor can clean up the mess.”

Roylston shifted uncomfortably in the seat. He cleared his throat, but he didn’t say anything.

“Let me worry about Detective Heath Sawyer.” Lackadaisically, Gibson gazed through the side window out at the approaching line of the metro area. “You just sit back and enjoy the show.”

Chapter 8

O
yster Rose Restaurant catered to the affluent tourist class. It occupied an old, converted warehouse three blocks back of the ocean, but the second-floor veranda offered a good view of the coastline and the sunsets over the city. The original architecture had been kept for the most part, but a lot of work had gone into the interior.

Heath had heard of the restaurant since he’d been in Kingston, but he couldn’t remember where he’d first learned about it. The business was one of the high-traffic destinations for tourists, and it was expensive and hard to get reservations for. A couple dozen people sat in the waiting area to one side of the building. Servers brought out drinks, ensuring that guests would run up a profitable tab before they ever got a table.

After Gibson had arrived at the restaurant, Heath had parked in a lot across the street from the lot where the driver had left Gibson’s car. Then he’d followed at a safe distance. Neither the driver nor Gibson paid him any attention, and he thought they were unaware of him. There were enough people in the restaurant even in the afternoon that Heath felt certain he could blend in while escaping notice.

Gibson was either a regular at the restaurant, or the owners were fans or he had a reservation. As soon as he arrived, one of the hostesses wearing a shimmery flowered dress that clung just enough to hint at the curves lying beneath went to him and guided him to a table with a good view of the harbor.

Laughing and joking with the hostess, Gibson took the offered seat. Roylston sat opposite him. The table was positioned just far enough away to discourage conversation with other guests. A few of them recognized the magician or at least thought they did. Heath could tell that from the body language of the guests as they leaned in to talk quietly among themselves.

Gibson ignored them and contented himself with the iPad he’d brought with him. He made no attempt to talk to Roylston. The bodyguard sat languidly in his chair, but his eyes roved over the other diners, and his jacket, tailored to disguise the pistol Heath was certain was holstered under his right arm, was left loose.

A stool opened up at the end of the bar. Heath stepped up and took the seat, still able to watch Gibson’s table.

“Hi. What can I get you?” The female bartender on the other side of the bar was petite and had her hair up in dreadlocks.