Chapter 40
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Miami, Florida
Flint packed his go-bag. Weapons secured. Cash counted. Fake identification hidden well enough to withstand a cursory search.
Outside the window of his room at the Kendrick Hotel, Miami’s skyline caught the morning light.
Glass towers reflected gold against a clear sky and traffic moved steadily along the streets below now that the city was fully awake.
The distant hum of air-conditioning units and the muffled sounds of breakfast service filtered through the walls.
They needed to be gone within the hour. After Lizzy’s revelations about the fire, staying in one location too long was dangerous. The smart play was to keep moving until they figured out how to use her information without getting them killed.
His satellite phone rang. Texas area code. Mount Warren. The device felt cold against his palm as he answered.
“Sheriff Milliken,” Flint answered, continuing to pack.
“Flint, I’ve got news about your mother’s case.” Milliken sounded excited, which was unusual for a Texas lawman. “The state crime lab fast-tracked our request after I told them we would pay the expedited fees. DNA results came back this morning.”
Flint set down the cash he’d been counting and stopped packing. The bills scattered slightly in the air-conditioned breeze across the hotel room’s generic mahogany dresser. “What did they find?”
“Male DNA on Marilyn’s skirt. Not the victim.” Milliken paused. “Which means we’ve got foreign DNA that could belong to her killer.”
“Matches in the databases?” Flint’s words were raspy because his mouth had dried up.
“That’s the thing. The lab ran the DNA through CODIS. No hits. But the sample’s clean enough for comparison testing if we get a suspect,” Milliken said, still obviously pleased with the results of his efforts.
Flint walked to the window and scanned the street below. Palm trees swayed gently in the morning breeze, and joggers moved along the sidewalks. His mother’s case was finally moving forward, but he couldn’t do much about that at the moment. “What do you need from me right now?”
“When can you get back to Mount Warren? We need to discuss next steps. Maybe look at that Kellerman angle we talked about.”
“Yeah. I’m in the middle of something urgent. Take me a few days.”
“This case has been cold for years. Now we’ve got real evidence. We should move on it,” Milliken replied, obviously disappointed that Flint hadn’t committed immediately.
Before Flint could answer, his phone rang on the other line. Gaspar. The buzzing vibration against his ribs felt sharp and insistent.
“Send me the report, Sheriff. I’ll call you back,” Flint said, switching to the incoming call.
“What’s up?” he said to Gaspar.
“We’ve got a problem,” Gaspar said urgently. “People are asking questions about what happened in Cuba. Knows what they’re doing, too.”
Flint swiped a palm across his face. The stubble felt rough against his skin. “What kind of inquiries?”
“Tracked down the helo. Pressuring my contacts for intel such as who hired the helicopter. Where the passengers went. What the operation was about.” Gaspar paused. “These aren’t cops, Flint. These are people with serious resources.”
“How much do they know?”
“Everything. Flight path. Timeline. Landing location. They’ve reverse-engineered the entire operation.” Gaspar paused. “I figure they’ll be looking for you in Miami shortly. Time to get out of there. We can track this another way.”
Flint walked to the window and scanned the street below. He saw nothing obviously wrong, but that meant nothing. “How long do we have?”
“If they can pressure my network, they can find you. I’d say assume you’re already blown.”
“Copy that. We’re moving now.”
“Be careful, Flint. Whoever this is, they’ve got reach,” Gaspar warned before he hung up.
Almost immediately, Flint’s phone rang again. The electronic chirping echoed in the quiet hotel room.
“I’m a popular guy all of a sudden,” he murmured, looking at the caller ID.
Jason Fisher.
Flint grabbed his go-bag and moved toward the door. The carpet felt thick under his feet. “Morning, Fisher.”
“I know you found a woman.” Fisher’s tone was flat. Cold. No preamble. “I know she’s alive and with you in Miami.”
Flint stopped at his door and listened. Footsteps in the hallway. Hotel staff, possibly. The sound of wheels rolling across carpet was probably a housekeeping cart. “What are you talking about?”
“Project Janus has been monitoring you since Kentucky.” Fisher’s tone carried absolute authority, as if he were the boss. Which, most of the time, he was. “Facial recognition flagged a possible match at the Kendrick Hotel. Age progression algorithms. Bone structure analysis.”
The footsteps stopped outside his door. Flint drew his pistol and moved away from the entrance. The weapon felt familiar and reassuring in his grip. “You’ve been watching me.”
“I’ve been protecting my investment. Making sure you were actually working the case instead of taking my money and disappearing.
” The sound of jet engines filtered through the connection and Flint realized Fisher was airborne.
“Age progression isn’t perfect, but combined with you disappearing to Cuba and coming back with a woman the right age? The math works.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s an 87 percent probability that the woman you brought back from Cuba is Lizzy Pace,” Fisher said. “Have you actually found Lizzy Pace? Is she there with you now?”
An exceptionally loud alarm pierced the air with several long blasts. The shrill sound reverberated off the hotel walls and made Flint’s ears ring. Then the building’s PA system crackled to life with static before more loud blasts.
“Attention, please. We have detected a gas leak in the building. Please evacuate immediately using the nearest stairwell. Do not use elevators. Hotel staff will direct you to safety.”
A hard knock on the door came next. The sound echoed in the small room. “Please leave the building now.”
Flint moved to the connecting door between rooms and knocked three times. The signal he’d arranged with Lizzy. The door felt solid under his knuckles.
Lizzy knocked back twice. All clear.
“We need to meet,” Flint said to Fisher, keeping his voice low as the alarm continued its piercing wail.
“I’m thirty minutes from you.” Fisher’s tone carried an edge now. The jet engines were louder in the background. “If my brother is alive like I think he is, and you’ve got Lizzy Pace, then maybe they are all alive.”
Another knock. Harder this time. The door frame rattled slightly. A man spoke loudly through the closed door. “Sir, it’s no longer safe for you to remain in your room.”
“We need to meet,” Flint said to Fisher, keeping his tone low as the alarm continued to blare.
“Like I said, I’m thirty minutes out from Miami Executive Airport.” Fisher’s tone carried an edge now. “I need to know if this woman killed my siblings or saved them.”
Heavy knocking on his door. The pounding reverberated through the room. “Sir, you need to evacuate immediately. Gas leak emergency.”
“Yeah, coming,” he said as he moved to the window and looked down.
Fire trucks were already arriving, red lights flashing against the skyscrapers. Hotel guests were streaming out of the building like ants from a disturbed hill. Staff directed people toward specific areas of the parking lot while wearing orange safety vests and holding clipboards.
“The woman has information about what happened that night,” Flint said without confirming Lizzy’s identity.
“Bring her with you. One o’clock. My home on Windsor Island. I’ll send a private boat to pick you up.” Fisher paused. “Twenty years, Flint. I’ve long wondered if my family’s murderer was walking free.”
“We’ll be there,” Flint said as he ended the call, though he wasn’t sure how.