Escape with Me

“Maybe he’s truly dead,” Ten ventured. He didn’t really believe it, but was being the devil’s advocate just for the sake of argument.

“He’s too slippery to be dead,” Kagen quickly stated. Scowling, he faced Ten. “There’s got to be a way to smoke that rat out of his hidey-hole.”

Ten had been giving that particular challenge some thought. Before he could reason with himself or talk himself out of speaking up at the risk of his idea sounding far-fetched and subsequently being shot down by Kagen, he cleared his throat and said, “I really don’t think Corday is going to show his face in San Francisco. There’s too much of a chance of his being spotted. But, if we could get the widow in a more remote location, say maybe, the Outer Banks, where Lana’s father lives, your rat might nibble on the bait.”

“But how do you propose we accomplish that, short of going to her and asking her to help us entrap her husband? I doubt she’d go for that even if she had no clue as to his business dealings and it’s beginning to dawn on her what kind of man she married.”

“No, but maybe her father isn’t such a big fan of Corday’s,” Ten suggested.

Interested, as the spark in his gray eyes proved, Kagen said, “Go on.”

“I can go to Mr. Braithwaite and explain our predicament, emphasizing the fact that his daughter could very well be in danger. What if she’s in possession of something Corday needs in order to access the rest of the money? I believe her when she says he never gave her a safe-deposit key or any other important item for safe keeping. That doesn’t mean he didn’t hide something in her personal possessions that she’s unaware of. She needs our protection. A father might respond to that.”

Kagen smiled. “You have my permission to give it a shot.”

* * *

“Lana, Lana! A word, please?”

It was dusk, and Lana had just returned home after a long day of putting the finishing touches on the Burrows house in the Russian Hill area. Reporter Gary Randall from the local ABC affiliate was very familiar to her. He was lean, had the polished good looks of an All-American athlete and was relentless when chasing down a story.

Although she wanted nothing more than to get inside her apartment, take off her shoes and relax, she turned to him with a resigned sigh, thinking that it was best to just get it over with. She already knew why he was here.

Luckily, the three-story Victorian home on Lombard Street where she had a one-room apartment was deserted this time of day. Her landlady didn’t get home from her nursing job until after nine. The news van had drawn several curious neighbors to their windows for a look-see, though. A few were coming outside to get a better view.

Randall stood close to her as he began his questioning. “Lana, are you aware that one of your husband’s victims tried to commit suicide?”

He didn’t wait for her to comment before continuing with his line of questioning. “How do you feel about that? Do you feel guilty or sorry that the family suffered a near-tragedy? Or do you feel removed from it all? As if you bear no blame because, as you maintain, you knew nothing of your husband’s fraudulent behavior?”

Lana looked straight into the camera. “I was very relieved to hear that Mrs. Carter got home in time to save her husband’s life. I wish him a speedy recovery. And I hope the authorities will soon track down the funds that were taken from so many honest, hard-working people.” She smiled warmly, after which she turned and went inside.

Gary Randall continued calling questions to her retreating back. When she firmly closed the door in his face he turned back around and said into the camera, “As you can see, Lana Corday remains one cool customer, showing no emotions whatsoever in the face of this horrible, horrible development in her husband’s ongoing case.”

* * *

“What a prick!” Gia said upon seeing the report the next day at noon while she and Lana were in the beautifully decorated kitchen of her home. It was her new favorite room in the house. Lana had turned what was once a cold, austere place into a warm, inviting room that was now deservedly the center of the home. She loved the rich earth tones of the tile on the floor and the cabinets and the deep red of the backsplash. There were two islands, one for food preparation, the other for family and guests to gather around to eat the meals Gia and her husband would cook. They were both budding chefs who loved feeding friends and family.

Lana looked across one of the islands into the face of the woman she had come to consider a friend. During the three months it had taken her to redecorate Gia’s home, they had shared confidences. Lana had told her she suspected Jeremy was still alive and was guilty of the charges leveled against him. Gia had told Lana that at first Derek had married her to spite his overprotective rich parents, but they had fallen in love and now they were devoted to each other. So much so that Derek had given his blessings when she’d told him she wanted to hire Lana to decorate their home. Gia had to promise Derek not to gloat about it to her mother-in-law. That admittedly took some fun out of it for Gia, but she agreed to her husband’s terms. Now she and Lana were sitting on high stools enjoying cups of Colombian coffee. Lana’s eyes were on the TV. Gary Randall had just made that comment about her being a cool customer. Yet, Lana Corday was anything but the emotionless character that Gary Randall was trying to convince everyone she was. Lana fought back tears.

Gia got up and turned the TV off. “Enough of that,” she said with a grin. She spun around on her designer heels. “It’s time to pay up for the fantastic job you did. And I haven’t forgotten I promised you anything you asked for. So...” She whipped out her checkbook and stood with a pen poised over it.

Lana laughed. “Please, Gia, there is already one too many con artists in my family. Just pay me what we agreed on and not one penny over the going rate for my expertise, thank you very much!”

“I didn’t mean anything by that, Lana, I promise you. I was joking.”

“I know that,” Lana assured her. “You were just having fun, something that has been missing from my life for a while now. But I do still recognize it when I see it.”

Lana wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t wasting any more tears on men like Gary Randall or Jeremy. “So, no apology needed.”

Gia brightened. As she wrote the check, she said, “Have you ever thought of getting out of town for a while? Just for a change of scenery? I mean, why subject yourself to the likes of Gary Randall when you could be elsewhere?”

“Just stubborn, I guess,” Lana told her as she accepted the check. “I haven’t done anything wrong and I’m not going to let them chase me out of town.”

Gia smiled at her. “I can understand that. I come from a lot of stubborn Greeks who never ever give up. But everybody needs a break sometime. Isn’t there any place you go that instantly puts you in a peaceful state of mind?”

Home, was the first thought in Lana’s head, the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She had grown up on the northernmost tip of Cape Hatteras Island where the people were tough and resilient like the land. Her dad used to say living in the Outer Banks was equivalent to going through the trials of Hercules. Hurricane season in the Outer Banks was oftentimes treacherous. The Atlantic Ocean was a cauldron and battered the area, wiped it clean and afforded Mother Nature another opportunity to start fresh. The storms were like life’s tribulations, if you survived them you grew stronger.

“That would be the Outer Banks of North Carolina where I was born and raised,” Lana told Gia.

“Then go home!” said Gia triumphantly.

“And look like a failure?” Lana said. “No, I’m not going home until I’m firmly back on my feet. That means not until my business is going well again. Or that bastard Jeremy gets caught and pays for what he did.”

“Girlfriend, I think you have too much pride,” Gia said frankly. “If I were in your situation, I’d be home in the bosom of my family getting as much support as I could. My family was poor but we loved each other! Is that it? You don’t think your dad wants you there?”

Lana had to laugh. “Just the opposite,” she told Gia. “If my dad had his way I would never have left Pea Island.”

* * *

“Damn it!” Aaron Braithwaite spat out as he struggled to pull the kayak onto the beach. What had he been thinking taking Bowser fishing with him? He laughed at his ill-conceived decision. The two-year-old yellow Lab had gotten so excited when Aaron had landed a five-pound redfish that he tried to grab the fish in his jaws as Aaron pulled the hook out of the fish’s mouth. Aaron had jerked around, trying to prevent the fish from winding up as dog food and had lost his balance. It was a good thing they weren’t too far from shore that fine July morning. Man, dog and fish wound up in the ocean. Used to being dunked, Aaron had managed to get the kayak righted, and he and Bowser back on board. The fish unfortunately ended up back in its element, the sea.

“Next time, you stay home,” he said to Bowser who looked up at him and wagged his tail. The dog whined plaintively as if he knew his master was berating him and he had something to say in his defense.

Aaron laughed. “So, you think I’m being unjust, do you? Well, you weren’t the one who had to save both our asses.”

Bowser whined again. He went up to Aaron and licked his hand.

“Okay, I know you’re sorry,” Aaron said. “And I admit I should have known a kayak was no place for a dog. Let’s get home and get dry.” The temperature was in the lower sixties and the wind was blowing pretty fiercely. Before long he would be chilled to the bone.

He began walking toward the three-story beach house only 150 feet away. The house had weathered many lashings from Outer Banks storms. Gray with white trim, it had multiple decks and, due to the big porthole-like windows, from a distance looked like a ship that had run aground.

Aaron smiled. When he was a fisherman he never would have been able to afford such a house. But now that he was a mystery writer, and a very successful one, he lived very well. Once again, every time he thought of how happy he was his mind took him to his daughter whose life, by contrast, was not a happy one.

The father in him wanted to demand that she come home. The realist knew that demanding anything of Lana, who was as stubborn as he was, was a sure way of getting her to dig her feet in and refuse to budge.

It was his fault. After his wife, Mariette, had died in an accident when Lana was eight he had raised her to be independent. Afraid that if he should die Lana would be left helpless, he stressed strength and determination within her. He taught her everything he knew about fishing and, a runner himself, he introduced her to the sport and was surprised when she took to it and ran circles around him.

Aside from fishing and running, Lana knew as much about the flora and fauna of Pea Island, parts of which were a nature reserve, as he did. If need be, she could live off the land for the rest of her life. Admittedly he had gone overboard with the survivalist agenda, but he was secure in the notion that his daughter could take care of herself in a pinch. This thing with Jeremy Corday, though, was not a physical challenge. It was something that ate away at her heart and soul. He feared more for her now than ever before in her thirty-two years.

“Mr. Braithwaite?”

Aaron had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the foot of the house’s front stairs.

He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt and tie. Aaron glanced down at his shoes, which were highly polished black wingtips. A government man, Aaron deduced. His mind first traveled to his taxes. Nah, he’d never cheated on his taxes. He didn’t have a problem giving the government its fair share of his earnings.

The guy removed his shades and smiled at him. “You are Aaron Braithwaite, aren’t you?”

Aaron chuckled. “Last time I checked, I was.”

Bowser approached the stranger and growled softly. Not an aggressive show of dislike, but more of an inquisitive act. The guy held his hand out to Bowser who sniffed it and, deciding he was okay, licked it. The man gave him a fond ruffle of the fur on the top of his head for his efforts.

“Nice Lab,” said the stranger.

“There’s an old blues song that says ‘Don’t pat my dog and don’t hug my woman,’” Aaron told the guy. “I don’t have a woman around for you to get familiar with, so would you mind introducing yourself?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the man with an easy smile. “My name is Tennison Isles, and I’m with the FBI.”

“FBI, IRS,” mumbled Aaron. “Had to be one or the other.”

“Excuse me?” Ten said, having not heard Aaron clearly.

“Nothing,” said Aaron. “May I see some ID?”

Ten showed him his badge and picture ID.

After making a careful perusal of the items, Aaron met Ten’s eyes. “What does the FBI want with me?”

“Hopefully, your cooperation,” said Ten.

“Come on up,” Aaron told him.

Fifteen minutes later, Aaron was in dry clothes, Bowser was fairly dry having been rubbed down with a warm towel and the two men were sitting across from each other in the spacious living room drinking strong coffee.

“I’m listening,” Aaron said.

Ten told him what the Bureau wanted to do, with his help. Aaron listened intently. After he’d finished, Ten waited for Aaron’s reaction to his proposal.

To his surprise Aaron said, “My doctor has been trying to get me to go into the hospital for a series of stress tests on my heart. Now is as good a time as any, I guess.”

* * *

The next day, Lana received a phone call from Gladys Easterbrook, her father’s closest neighbor. Gladys and Henry Easterbrook ran a bed-and-breakfast out of their huge beach house. “Aaron’s in the hospital. It’s his heart. That old reprobate told me not to call you, but I think a daughter has the right to know when her daddy’s sick.”

It had been a genius move on Aaron’s part to have Gladys do the phoning. Everyone in Dare County knew Gladys had a talent for melodrama. She was the first person to start crying at every wedding and she hadn’t missed a funeral, whether she knew the person or not, in the last thirty years. Just the sound of her angst-ridden Southern drawl got Lana moving in the direction of her hometown.

Gladys told her that her father was in the hospital in Kitty Hawk, the nearest hospital with full diagnostic services.

Lana had known Gladys Easterbrook nearly all her life and there was no reason to distrust her. However, she tried her father’s cell phone anyway. There was no answer.

This heightened her fear and she immediately called the airport to book a flight home.

Chapter 3

Lana arrived at Norfolk International Airport at noon the following day. Once she departed the plane she looked everywhere for Gladys Easterbrook. She had tried to talk the older woman out of driving all the way to the airport when she could just rent a car and drive directly to the hospital. But Gladys had insisted.

“Mrs. Lana Braithwaite-Corday?” said a masculine voice behind her.

Lana spun around and peered up into the face of a gorgeous giant. He had burnt-caramel skin and eyes that were so dark brown they looked black. High cheekbones, a strong, masculine chin and a clean-shaven jaw added to his appeal. The neatly shorn hair on his well-shaped head was dark brown and its texture was wavy. She had this inane thought that when he was a boy, and his mother had let him grow it out, it must have fallen to his shoulders in thick spirals. He was wearing jeans, athletic shoes and a T-shirt with the University of Virginia emblem on the front. Her first thought after being confronted by all that hotness was, Oh, God, not a reporter way down here! True, he wasn’t wearing a suit or shoving a microphone at her, but he was definitely TV-ready.

She brushed past him, clutching her shoulder bag and a small carry-on bag close to her side, as she headed for the exit. “Bug off. I’ve said all I’m going to say to the media.”

“Your dad sent me to pick you up,” the stranger called. “Miss Gladys’s back is acting up today.”

Lana stopped in her tracks and turned to regard him with a surprised expression on her face. She knew Miss Gladys often had back problems. “Who are you?” she asked tightly.

“Tennison West,” Ten said, holding out a big hand for her to shake. “I’m a filmmaker working on a documentary about your father.”

Lana briefly shook his hand, her eyes still locked with his as if she were trying to discern whether or not she could trust him by the intensity of her gaze.

“You got a driver’s license?” she asked cautiously.

Ten showed her his driver’s license which stated he was Tennison West and he lived in Washington, D.C. The bureau had established a whole new identity for him. They had even set up a website for him replete with samples of the past documentaries he’d produced.

They hadn’t prepared him for Lana, though. Ten felt a bit vulnerable under her scrutiny. He had seen her only in photographs and in videos. He had read about her life in reports given to him by agents he’d assigned to observe her. To be this near, smelling her perfume, a light, enticing floral scent, was entirely different. He could feel the warmth emanating from her denim-clad body and it ignited his senses.

He attempted to turn them off, though. He was here only because he had a hunch that as soon as Lana arrived in the Outer Banks, she would be followed. The only way to find the person potentially trailing her was to be with her as much as possible. He had to be extremely observant, which meant he couldn’t allow emotions to cloud his mind or judgment.

“That’s odd,” Lana commented as she handed him back his driver’s license. “Dad didn’t mention you the last time we talked. How long have you been working with him on this documentary?”

Ten smiled warmly. “Actually, he hasn’t signed on the dotted line yet. I went to see your father, explained what I wanted to do, he then passed out and I took him directly to the emergency room.”

Lana stared up at him, startled. “We’re wasting time. There’s still a two-hour drive to Kitty Hawk!”

She sprinted from the terminal with Ten close behind, shouting, “He told me to tell you not to worry. Wait, don’t you have any luggage?”

Lana didn’t slow down in her headlong rush. “No, no luggage. I was in a hurry. Where’s your car?” She didn’t have time to explain to this stranger that she had a closet full of clothes in her old bedroom at her dad’s house. It saved her from having to pack for her frequent trips home.

Ten got in front, and then reached back for her hand. “If you’ll allow me?”

They jogged hand in hand to the black SUV that was waiting in visitor parking. Ten helped her inside, then went around to the driver’s side and got in.

He turned to her as he started the engine. “There’s no need to panic. I overheard the doctor telling him he has a little arrhythmia. Nothing he can’t live with for a very long time.”

That was news to Lana. Her father didn’t have any health problems that she knew of. He was sixty-two and he still ran practically every day. He’d never smoked and he drank in moderation. The only vice he had was too much shellfish, which could be high in cholesterol. The man loved shrimp and lobster; he could devour steamed soft-shell crabs by the bucketful.

* * *

As he drove out of the parking lot, Ten noticed a short dark-skinned man with thick dreadlocks surreptitiously snap a photo of them with his cell phone. He smiled with satisfaction. Earlier, while he was waiting for Lana to arrive, he had seen the same man rubbernecking when the passengers from Lana’s flight were disembarking. The guy had obviously been waiting for someone and, when his gaze had fallen on Lana, he’d taken a couple of photos of her. Ten had then immediately taken photos of him.

“Did you see that?” Lana asked.

“See what?” Ten casually said.

“That guy just took our picture. Why would he do that?” The picture-snapper was dressed shabbily in dirty jeans, stained white athletic shoes and a faded long-sleeved shirt. Not the basic attire of a reporter. And Lana didn’t believe she was gossip-worthy enough for grungy paparazzi to have any interest in her. Besides, wouldn’t they use professional-quality cameras instead of a cell-phone camera?

“Have you ever seen him before?” Ten wanted to know. He watched as the guy got into a late-model Toyota Corolla. He made a mental note of the car’s tag number.

“No,” Lana responded tiredly.

* * *

“Are you a celebrity or something?” she asked, looking sideways at him.

Ten laughed. “In no way, shape or form,” he said. “I work behind the camera. Are you?”

Lana gave him a suspicious look. If he’d done his homework on her father before approaching him about doing a documentary on him, wouldn’t he have found out that Aaron Braithwaite’s only child was married to one of the most notorious frauds of the century? Or maybe she was giving Jeremy too much credit. Yes, he was public enemy number one in San Francisco but how many people had ever heard of him on a global scale?

“I would have to say no to that,” she said dryly.

“Maybe he just likes taking photos of beautiful women,” Ten said, smiling at her.

Lana laughed. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Beautiful and modest, too,” Ten said admiringly.

“Just keep your eyes on the road, buster,” Lana jokingly told him. But his compliment had relaxed her and made her laugh. God knew she could use a good laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ten good-naturedly, focusing on his driving.

The traffic from the airport was congested but once they got on the interstate, driving was a cinch. They made small talk all the way to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where Aaron had been admitted into the hospital.

“Nice little town,” Ten said. “There’s no traffic to speak of.”

“Your first time here?” asked Lana, peering at him with a small smile on her lips.

“Your dad and I have had many conversations over the phone but this is my first visit to the Outer Banks,” Ten told her.

“Oh, then I should at least give you a little background on Kitty Hawk,” Lana offered pleasantly. “The town’s best known for being the site of the Wright brothers’ test ground for their first controlled airplane flights. Although that was misinformation because the actual site’s about four miles from Kitty Hawk in sand dunes the locals refer to as Kill Devil Hills. Kitty Hawk today is a pleasant town with a population of about 3300 residents. It gets its fair share of visitors, though, especially in the warmer months. The beaches here are very pristine.”

“You could probably say that about all of the beaches in the Outer Banks,” Ten ventured. “This area looks like it’s washed clean by Mother Nature on a regular basis.”

Lana laughed softly. “That’s a nice way to put it. A lot of people out here have very strong feelings about keeping the Outer Banks as close to the way nature made it as possible. So when developers start making noise about building huge resorts to attract more tourists, and so forth, you can bet you’re going to get some opposition. Then, too, nature has a way of keeping the Outer Banks pure. We build roads, nature floods them. We build bridges and the ocean erodes them. Sometimes it can be a hard life, but like Dad says, you’ve got to be tough to be an Outer Banker.”

Ten noted the fond tone in her voice. How her smile never wavered as she talked of her beloved home. If she loved it so much, what had kept her away for so long?

Why had it taken scheming from the FBI and her father to get her back here?

“Your father said you live in San Francisco,” he said, instead of asking her what he really wanted to ask her.

“Yeah, my hus... I mean, I’ve lived there for about a decade now.” She suddenly focused on something outside of the window.