“Naomi, to GPS someone’s car, you need a warrant, as in court order, as in probable cause. You didn’t even ask him if he saw Cal.”
“First, he’s a liar. Said he walked his dog on the beach, but there wasn’t a grain of sand in his backseat. Second, the fancy wallet and the manicured hands? He’s treating himself far too well. Third, his eyebrows are the devil’s. Fourth, back to his wallet—all his dollar bills were right side up and facing out. Again . . . devil’s. And finally, who says I GPSed his car?”
Scotty stopped. “You didn’t GPS his car?”
“Couldn’t get close enough—but then that durn dog of his was sniffing my hand so hard—and whoof—ate that GPS device right outta my poor defenseless fingertips. Bad dog. Very bad.”
“You fed the dog the device.”
“No . . . I fed the dog one of my son’s old gummy worms, that just happened to be in my pocket, and just happened to have a miniature GPS device shoved inside it. What luck, eh? Couldn’t believe it myself.”
“If you hurt that dog—”
“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself as she slammed the gas and raced toward the airport. “Dog lover. Big dog lover. Believe me, Benoni’s fine—it’s the same technology they put in pets in case they get lost or—”
“Uh-oh.”
“What’s uh-oh?” Naomi put her hand to her earpiece. “They find Timothy?”
“I put in your Michigan cop with the GPS dog. And from what it says here . . . well . . . looks like liar isn’t the only thing on Ellis’s résumé.”
34
Whattya mean, the feds are on their way?” my dad asks, sitting straight up on the floral sofa.
“She. Naomi. She knows we’re in an airport,” I tell him.
“But all those fake reservations—”
“Will hold her off for ten minutes. She’s smart. She knows Lauderdale is closest. We need to go,” I insist. “And you need to leave,” I bark at Serena.
“Th-That’s not possible. I know I’m meant to help him,” she says, standing from her seat.
“And I know I’m meant to escort you outside and save your loopy life,” I shoot back, gripping her by the elbow.
“Please . . . your father needs to settle his spirit,” Serena begs, trying to pull away.
“Cal, let go of her!” my dad growls.
Once again, a nearby TSA employee turns toward us. But it’s not half as bad as the flat black box that I spot over his shoulder, hanging in the corner. Another camera I missed. Staring directly at us.
Following my eyeline, my father freezes when he sees it. He knows what it means. He knows Naomi’s on her way. And he knows what Ellis will do to Serena when he finds out she’s been seen with us.
“Calvin, how much cash do we have left?” my father asks.
“That’s smart—no, good thought,” I tell him. “If we hide her in a motel, she’ll be safe until—”
“I’m not getting her a motel. I’m getting her a plane ticket.” He turns to Serena. “You’re coming with us.”
“Wait . . . what?” I ask.
“Don’t argue with me, Calvin. Not about this. I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, that’s right—I forgot how good you were at saving the women you love.”
My father stops right there, burning me with the kind of glare that should come with medical attention. Serena starts to scratch his back. It doesn’t help at all.
“Enough with the subtext, Calvin. Where’s all the anger really coming from: that I’m looking out for Serena, or that I didn’t look out for your mother?”
“Didn’t look out for? Lloyd, you killed her. You pushed her and killed her.”
“That’s not what happened!”
“You kidding? I saw it!”
My father falls silent, like he’s surprised I remember.
We’re both breathing hard, but he’s the one to break the quiet. “Why’d you follow me after the hospital, Calvin? Was it to help me, or just to remind me of my life’s greatest regret?”
I shake my head. “You have no idea how much you don’t know me.”
He studies me carefully, unsure of whether to fight. But he also knows that if we don’t move quick, we’re not going anywhere.
“Lloyd, if this is the journey—between you and Cal . . .” Serena begins behind him, “maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m not meant to be on this trip.”
“She’s right,” I shoot back.
“She’s not,” my father insists. “We can’t just leave her here.”
“We’re not leaving her. If we get her someplace safe . . .”
“Where? In what time?” my dad challenges. “You said they’re already on their way. And then when they pull the video from those cameras—you saw what happened to Timothy. Once Ellis shows his badge and sees that Serena was with us, he’s gonna track her down, leap for her throat, and . . .” He looks over at Serena, refusing to say the words. “Tell me you think I’m wrong, Calvin. She knows what flight we’re on. Tell me if we leave her here you really believe Ellis will walk away peacefully and leave her untouched?”
I stare at Serena, knowing the answer. The last thing I need is another death on my conscience. Besides, I heard her ask about the package last night. At least this way, I’ve got my eyes right on her.
“The moment we get to Cleveland, we’re checking her into the first hotel we see,” I say.
“That’s fine,” my dad says, rushing back to the airline counter.
Behind him, Serena makes a quick pit stop in the restroom.
And I’m left alone by the floral sofas, staring through the tall plateglass windows, studying the arriving cars and taxis, and praying Naomi and Ellis aren’t as close as I think they are.
35
First of all, his name’s not Ellis.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that from his ID saying Edward,” Naomi replied as her blue lights swirled and her car whipped across the bridge on Sunrise Boulevard. Glancing down at her GPS device, she eyed the small crimson triangle, which was almost at Griffin Road. Ellis was definitely going for the airport. Now it was making sense. That explained him spying at the building. He was working with Cal. “How’s he check out otherwise? He really a cop?”
“Was a cop. Stepped down about a year ago.”
“Like Cal.”
“No. Very much not like Cal. First of all—”
“You already did first of all.”
“Excuse me?” Scotty asked.
“You can’t say first of all more than once. You already said it.”
Scotty paused, stewing in silence. “Second of all . . . this guy Edward Belasco,” he said through her earpiece. “He’s bad news—and worst of all, he knows the system. Never been arrested, never been caught.”
“Just tell me what he did,” Naomi said with yet another glance at the GPS’s glowing crimson triangle. Still on target.
“See, that’s the problem, no one can prove he did anything,” Scotty explained. “It goes back to when he was seven years old and he and his mom got into this mess of a car wreck in some schmancy neighborhood in Michigan.”
“You’re joking, right? Another broken bird with parent issues? I thought you said he wasn’t like Cal.”
“Trust me, this is far from Cal. Anyway, Mom gets slammed in the car wreck, young Edward is untouched, and as a result, he gets sent to live with his recently divorced dad for two weeks while the mom recovers. Two weeks. Instead, a few days into the visit, his father tells him that his mom has suddenly died. Young Edward never went back home again.”