The Truant Officer (42 page)

They leaped into the darkness, praying that they wouldn’t go splat on the rocky shoreline. And for better or worse, they hit nothing but freezing water. After locating the scuba gear, Darren swam with Lilly riding piggyback, due to her leg injury. His scuba and water-rescue training from his Air Force days came in real handy. Somehow they made it a mile down the coast. They laid low for a few days, hiding in the cliffs, before making their way to Tel Aviv. Their escape was helped by the belief that they were dead, by both the authorities and Nick.

After receiving new identities in Tel Aviv, they made their way to the coastal city of Haifa, where they began their new lives. The McLaughlins were now dead.

Darren and Becks ordered burgers and spoke over two drunken college girls who were butchering Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” on the karaoke stage.

“It’s nice to meet you, Brick Zuckley. But my parents taught me not to eat Murphy’s Pub burgers with strangers. Tell me about yourself and then you won’t be a stranger anymore.”

“I moved to the area recently, and live in an apartment out in Bedford. I fly tours for a helicopter company.”

“A pilot…I’m impressed. I love a man in uniform. Where did you learn to fly a helicopter?”

“I got experience flying Cobra helicopters when I was in the Air Force.”

“A military man…the more uniforms the merrier. You have a very interesting background, Brick. I’d like to learn more about you. Tell me about these tours you give.”

“We fly out of the Hanscom/Bedford Airport. Usually day-trip sightseeing tours, about two to three hours. Cape Cod and the North Shore, the Newport Mansions, Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket, and even down to Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut.”

“Maybe I’ll take a tour sometime. You seem like you’d make a good pilot. Like one who might be able to ditch a commercial airliner into the sea and live to tell about it.”

“And who exactly would I be taking on this tour? I checked with the US Federal Marshals, and there seems to be no record of any Chelsea Fitzpatrick who ever worked there.”

“It’s nice to know you care, Brick,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know who this Chelsea chick is, but my name is CJ LaPoint.”

He chuckled. “If my name is spy novelish, then yours sounds like a middle reliever for the Sox.”

“It’s actually my real name…well, kinda sorta. I got CJ from Chelsea Jane. And Fitzpatrick is my mother’s name—the one she has used since she got divorced. My birth name was LaPoint, but I’ve gone by Fitzpatrick for as long as I can remember.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Why should I use my father’s name when my mother did all the work, while he was out globetrotting? It also made it easier when I started at the Marshals. Federal law enforcement is a small fraternity, so I didn’t want it held for or against me that my father was…”

Darren cut her off with a grin. “Agent LaPoint is your father?”

Becks looked irritated. “Technically, yes. From putting any time into raising me, no. But after Alexei Sarvydas got in the way of my bullet, the powers-that-be worried about my safety, so I quasi-changed my name back to my birth name. I guess Chelsea Fitzpatrick is as dead as Darren McLaughlin.”

“LaPoint is your dad,” Darren said again with an amused look.

“He was an absentee landlord my whole life and now he’s Mr. Overprotective. He sends a couple of feds by my apartment each night to check on me. Total overreaction—I did the Ruskies a favor by shooting Alexei. From what I’ve heard, the guy was universally hated, and the only reason they’d want to find me is to buy me a vodka shot for doing the deed. I’m not in any danger…well, until today, anyway.”

“What did you do in that hotel room?”

“I would tell you, Brick, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“You almost did—on a couple of occasions. How did you figure out that Nick was the one behind Karl’s murder?”

“There had to be a reason why Viktor had Trina killed—otherwise it made no sense, and Viktor only did calculated. Then it hit me—what if he had gotten Paula pregnant? Once Trina found out about the pregnancy, and threatened retaliation, the only logical move was for Viktor to launch a preemptive strike. I then did the long division until I got to Nick. Karl wasn’t his father, Viktor was.”

Darren nodded, impressed by her thought process. “A house built on lies. Sort of like the story of Darren and Becks. Once Lilly disappeared, it wasn’t an accident that you popped into my life. You tracked me, thinking I’d lead you to her. Was everything a lie?”

“You’re the one who came to the Buckley house—sorry about the punch, by the way
—
and you were the one who showed up at the school. Nobody held a gun to your head and forced you to follow me around like a puppy dog. And for the record, it wasn’t a lie when I pushed you out of the way of Alexei’s gun.”

“Would you have really shot me?”

“Based on the way you acted after your wife ripped your guts out, you probably would have fallen in love with me if I did.”

“So you weren’t really offering me drunken revenge sex that night at my house?”

“Totally sober, and not a chance.” She smiled. “Maybe I have a future in acting.”

“If you’re not babysitting criminals anymore, and you haven’t started the acting career yet, what are you doing with yourself these days, CJ?”

“Doing what I always wanted to do. I think I became a fed to prove a point to my father. I’m teaching at BC—assistant professor of criminal justice—and also working on my doctorate. I’m an alum—got my undergrad and masters there.” She smirked, a look he knew too well. “You should come in and be a guest lecturer—I’m sure the students would love to meet a real life hijacker.”

“So if you left the crime fighting to others, what was today about?”

“Unfinished business. I told you that when someone screws me over, I won’t stop until justice is served.” Her face turned deathly serious. “And I thought he killed you.”

Darren didn’t want to go there. He changed the subject as their burgers arrived. “So you did go to BC in the fall. You actually told me something that was true.”

“Honesty is the best policy. Look at Darren and Becks, they just didn’t work out because it wasn’t based on the truth. But I see some hope for Brick and CJ.”

Chapter 101

“Since we’re on this whole honesty kick, how old are you?” Darren asked.

“You should never ask a woman her age. You are doing some bad will hunting, my friend.”

Darren gave her a disappointed look.

She sighed. “If you don’t ask me things, then I won’t have to lie to you. Twenty-eight, I’ll be twenty-nine in February. I guess the whole ‘perpetually looking sixteen’ thing finally paid off.”

“Wow—you could have qualified for the cougar hunt. Too bad they didn’t know.”

“Those boys couldn’t handle this eleven pointer,” she replied with a laugh.

“Eleven, wow! I married a ten pointer. I didn’t think it was possible to top that.”

“Maybe you just didn’t look hard enough.” She glanced at the finger where his wedding band once resided. “But looks like your single now, Brick. So I guess there’s hope for you.”

“My wife died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How did it happen?”

“A hijacking gone wrong.”

“You think you know someone and then they turn out to be a hijacker. But I bet you were loyal to the end, Brick. You seem like the type of guy who would stick it out even if your wife cheated on you with the future head of the Russian Mafiya.”

It was still too surreal to believe. He and Lilly parted ways in Israel and eventually found their way back to the United States, separately. She found safety in the border town of Columbus, New Mexico, a farming town along Highway-9, with one road running through the endless desert. She was now in her own version of the Witness Protection Program, doing her penance under the name of Maria Banuelos, and living with the fear of her true identity being discovered. Although, it probably also feeds her danger addiction. She teaches English to the numerous Mexican immigrants who flee past the border to Columbus. At least that’s what he gathered from her last, and final, correspondence. He couldn’t be sure that she was still there.

There was no need for a divorce, since they were both listed as dead. Their house and assets went to their only remaining family—Lilly’s mother. Darren read online that crime enthusiasts made pilgrimages to see where the hijackers once resided.

Upon returning to the States, Darren did what most people do when a spouse dies. He mourned, he questioned why, but eventually made peace with it and moved on the best he could, hoping to find love again.

“How about you, Professor LaPoint?”

“How ’bout me, what?”

“Married? Boyfriend?”

“I was dating a guy this past summer,” she said and then stopped, and an ironic look filled her face. “He was actually one of my grad students.”

“I’ve heard about those teacher/student relationships. They don’t always end well. You said ‘was’?”

“He dumped me—said I was too intense for him.”

Darren couldn’t help a playful smile. “I don’t know where he got that from. You seem like the laid back type to me.”

She looked at her watch and frowned.

“Hot date?” he asked.

“No, I’ve got class.”

“Class? It’s Saturday night.”

“It’s an individual study session for my criminal justice nerds. They’re freaking out because finals are next week. I tell them that real life experience is more important than book learning, so they should go rob a bank. But they never listen to me.”

Darren took the last chomp of his Murphy Burger, which was tasty, but no Cholla Burger. He swigged the remainder of his soda and said, “Well, it was nice to see you again, CJ LaPoint, even if it was the first time we ever met.”

“You too, Brick Zuckley. Perhaps we’ll run into each other sometime around the Old Towne. Or maybe I’ll take one of your helicopter tours.”

She put her Sox hat back on and headed toward the door.

Then like a scene out of an old-time movie, she energetically turned and ran back to him. “C’mon, it’s killing me. You gotta tell me what happened on that plane. And at Sarvydas’ house!”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to drag you on stage for some karaoke, Run DMC, and you’ll wish you were dead.”

“Is that a threat?’

“It’s a promise
,”
she said with a get-her-way grin, and headed for the karaoke stage.

Darren grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Oh no you don’t.”

“Says who?”

“Says the clock. You’re late for class and I’m going to make sure you get there on time.”

“Who do you think you are?”

He smiled a hopeful smile. “I’m the truant officer.”

Thank you so much for reading The Truant Officer!

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Acknowledgments

In many ways publishing a book is a lot like The Truant Officer (although, much less dramatic) – a race against time with many moving parts, and the only way to survive is to have trust in those around you. And I was very lucky to be surrounded by a great team.

Thanks again to Charlotte Brown, The Pedant of Oz, for her magnificent editorial work. It’s a much better book because of her efforts. Thanks to
Carl Graves
for another great cover. I was getting compliments on the Truant Officer cover before it even came out – those compliments should really go to Carl. Making Truant Officer into an ebook – formatting, uploading, etc – is the work of technology guru Curt Ciccone. Another great job by “Dirt”.

A special thanks to American Airlines captain Peter Jeffrey, whose expertise helped shape the flying/pilot scenes and make them as real as fiction will allow.

Like all my stories, Christina Wickson turned my handwritten words into a typed page. That normally makes her the first to read and comment on the story. The second person to read it had always been my grandfather, AJ Mays. Unfortunately,
Grandpa Jay
has passed away since the last book and was unable to read The Truant Officer. But I promised him that one day I’d work his hometown of Devol, Oklahoma into a book, and because of that I think his spirit lives on in The Truant Officer.

And of course, every book I’ll ever write is dedicated to my parents – who only find fault in me when I don’t pursue my dreams.

Excerpt from The Trials of Max Q (Chapter One)

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Chapter One

Perfection is like the mechanical rabbit used to lure greyhounds at the dog races—tantalizing, but unobtainable. It seduces you into believing you can catch it, only to ruthlessly dart away at the last moment. As I peer into the perfect blue sky of a late July day in Saratoga, New York, it’s a reminder of how I know this all too well.

The crowd is bubbling with anticipation for the next mad-dash of thoroughbreds at Saratoga Racecourse. I strain my neck to look for my friends, Mac and Ashley Cirillo. They left to place wagers on the upcoming race, what seems like twenty minutes ago, even if my watch tells me it has only been five. But having known Mac since college, I know the only sure bet is that he stopped off to purchase a beer and a plate of nachos.

No sign of Mac and Ashley, just another postcard-esque view of the Victorian grandstand. It’s another packed house at America’s oldest racetrack.