“Daddy, is Jon a bad man?” his daughter asked.
“If those detectives are to believed, he’s mentally ill,” Pearl said.
“You don’t sound convinced,” his wife said.
Pearl bolted the door before heading toward the rear of the house with his wife and daughter on his heels. “I’m not. They seem more intent on hurting Jon than helping us.”
“They came here to warn us. Jon’s not right in the head. He fired a gun while you were racing your boat and could have killed an innocent person. It was reckless.”
Pearl was tired, and he was confused. He dropped onto the couch in the den and rubbed his face. “He saved Nicki’s life. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Of course it does. But that doesn’t change the fact that this man is not mentally stable. I sensed it the moment I met him. Surely you thought the same thing.”
Pearl didn’t know what to think. Jon had seemed like a loser until Nicki was abducted. Then he’d sprung into action and made things right. It had been inspiring to watch. But Melanie didn’t know that; she hadn’t been there to experience it.
His wife stood in front of him. “I want you to fire him.”
“Right now?” he asked tiredly.
“Yes, right now. We need to hire someone else.”
“Jon’s in Melbourne working a job. I’ll do it tomorrow morning, first thing.”
They never fought in front of their daughter. Melanie’s eyes narrowed.
“You’ve got to get rid of him,” she said.
“Yes, dear,” he said.
“Hey — don’t I get a say in this?” Nicki said.
His daughter stood by the fireplace with the shepherd protectively by her side. Her hands were balled into fists, and her cheeks had turned bright red. It had been years since she’d thrown a tantrum, and Pearl had almost forgotten what they looked like.
“Go ahead,” Pearl said.
“I don’t want you to fire him,” his daughter said.
“But he’s dangerous,” her mother said. “He could harm you.”
“Don’t believe those detectives. There’s nothing wrong with him,” Nicki said.
The CSI class had made his daughter adept at reading situations, and Pearl sat straight up. “Do you think the detectives were lying?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, Daddy. I do.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I did some sleuthing and googled him. He was mentioned in an article about a rescue of a little girl in Jacksonville. The article said Jon worked for Team Adam. My CSI teacher said Team Adam was the best retired law enforcement agents around. They wouldn’t take someone who was mentally ill, would they?”
Her reasoning was sound, and her father nodded in agreement.
“Those detectives made up that story. Jon’s the real deal. Please don’t fire him.”
“Your mother and I need to discuss this some more. We won’t make any decisions without consulting with you. Does that sound fair?”
Nicki chewed her lower lip in thought. “Okay.”
“Good. Now let’s watch that movie.”
Nicki went into the kitchen to get the popcorn. Melanie dropped onto the couch beside her husband, and laid her hand atop his.
“Are you okay?” Pearl asked.
“I don’t know what I am. Angry, frustrated, mostly confused.”
He took the remote off the coffee table and powered up the TV.
“Welcome to the club,” he said.
Chapter 7
Domino’s Delivers
“Not all superheroes wear capes.” That had been the tagline for a Domino’s Pizza advertising campaign that Lancaster had always liked. He’d liked it so much that he’d purchased a Domino’s deliveryman’s uniform, cap, and thermal insulated pizza bag from a seller on eBay and kept them in the trunk of his car for jobs where he needed a disguise. The uniform was a bad fit, and made his belly look more pronounced than it actually was.
Melbourne was a town of quiet streets and modest houses. Nimbs’s place was small and unassuming, and Lancaster parked in front and left the engine running and the headlights on, just like a regular Domino’s driver would do. Before getting out, he texted the FDLE agents helping him, and got an immediate reply. The cavalry was ready. He texted back:
Give me two minutes
Getting out of the car, he straightened the cap that didn’t want to stay put on his head, then took the pizza bag off the back seat and balanced it on his upturned palm as he headed up the front path. A quick glance told him everything he needed to know about their suspect’s state of mind. Weeds instead of grass, litter in the bushes, a mailbox stuffed with yellowing flyers. Nimbs was a loser.
But that didn’t mean Nimbs didn’t have street smarts. Underestimating a suspect’s cunning had cost more than one law enforcement officer his life. Reaching the front stoop, he removed a slip of paper from his pocket and held it up to his face, as if checking the address. Just in case there was a hidden surveillance camera under an eave.
The front porch light came on before he could knock. The door opened a foot, and Nimbs stuck his ugly puss out. He’d lost his upper front teeth since his mug shot and looked like a gargoyle. His breath reeked of beer and reefer.
“Hi. Thanks for ordering Domino’s Pizza,” he said with a smile.
“I didn’t order a fucking pizza,” Nimbs said.
He squinted at the piece of paper in his hand. “Is this 1249 Rachel?”
“Yeah. Like I said, I didn’t order no fucking pizza.”
“I’m sorry, sir. We got an order for a large meat lover’s and an order of garlic knots for this address. I guess one of your neighbors was playing a prank.”
“My neighbors are assholes. Aren’t you a little old to be delivering pizzas?”
“It pays the bills. Look, if you don’t take it, I’ll have to throw it out. It just came out of the oven ten minutes ago. You want it?”
“Free?”
“I’ll charge you half.”
“Up yours.”
“All right, you can have it for free. I’m not going to eat it.”
“Why — is there something wrong with it?”
“If you smelled pizza all day long, you’d get sick of it too.” He unzipped the pouch and pulled out an empty box. Nimbs dropped his guard and swung open the door. A clear view of the inside presented itself, and Lancaster spied a tactical shotgun leaning against the wall plus several pistols lying on different tables around the room.
The sound of the back door being hit with a battering ram shattered the silence. Not being a cop had its advantages. He didn’t have to identify himself, nor did he have to give any warning. Reaching behind his back, he drew the Sig Sauer from where it was tucked in his pants, and aimed it at Nimbs’s chest.
“Hands behind your head.”
Nimbs did as told. “Aren’t you going to read me my rights?”
No one was paying him to follow the law or obey its rules, and he drove his foot into his suspect’s groin. Nimbs yelped and sank to his knees.
“Good boy.”
Nimbs wore a wife-beater T-shirt, and his arms were covered with tattoos. The one proclaiming him to be a member of the American Foundation caught Lancaster’s eye. American Foundation was a notorious sovereign-citizen group, which didn’t believe in the government or the rule of law. He pressed the Sig’s barrel against Nimbs’s nose.
“Is the back of your house booby-trapped?”
Nimbs’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing.
“Tell me, or I’ll decorate the walls with your brains.”
“There’s a trip wire in the kitchen,” Nimbs said.
“What’s it attached to?”
“A hand grenade.”
He pistol-whipped Nimbs and sent him sprawling on his back. Then he ran down a hallway to the kitchen to see FDLE Special Agent Tim Byrne and his SWAT team taking down the fortified back door and coming toward him.