Killing Chase (13 page)

I called Jenna after lunch
and told her I was free for the rest of the afternoon. I suggested we go to the beach and she told me to pick her up around two. I wondered what she did all day. I had no doubt that a Jenna Brighton was enrolled in class at UNC-Wilmington; I just didn’t know if she actually went. She was alone when I arrived and dressed in khaki shorts and a St. Patrick’s Day t-shirt.

“Bathing suit’s on underneath. We’ll need to wait for Jessica; she’s covering the apartment while I’m gone.”

“Is someone always here?”

“Always.”

“Wouldn’t that make your neighbors suspicious, seeing different people coming and going from the same apartment?”

“We’re college kids, Chase. Didn’t you have people in and out of your—” she began then stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. I was speaking without thinking. Of course, you didn’t have an apartment in college, because—”

I cut her off midsentence. “It’s okay. I could tell you weren’t being mean, Jenna. No harm, no foul. I do have news. I start working with my dad tomorrow, after a morning of orientation.”

“Great. Where will you be working?”

“They are adding a desk for me in his office. It’s quite large, his office; it has to be to fit his ego, though I’m not sure how long he’ll be able to continue to work. His voice is gravelly, and the pain from the cancer is getting worse.”

“I’m sorry, Chase. I know you two aren’t particularly close, but maybe you being here is a comfort.”

***

Jenna knew all too well how much it hurt to see family members in pain. She’d lost her father to a heart attack when she was nine and watched lung cancer slowly kill her mom over the course of eighteen months.

Twenty-seven-year-old Elizabeth Gibbons had been on her own since her freshman year at the University of Virginia. She had no brothers or sisters to speak of. Aunts, uncles and cousins were scattered on the West Coast, but she had little interaction with them, save for the occasional birthday or Christmas card. After law school at the University of Virginia, the FBI became her family. Her dream job. She had friends from college, but as time marched on, they faded into their own lives and careers.

The past two years working out of the Roanoke field office had been a tedious grind of all-night stakeouts, investigations, and arrests. She loved every minute of it, but when Special Agent Rollin Schmidt showed up two months ago, she jumped at the opportunity he presented.

She rarely dated, even before her undercover job started, though not for the lack of offers. She was doing what she wanted; settling down with a family was not a career advancer. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t lonely. She had her team here—Ash, Jessica, Christian, and Micayla—but they were always working when they weren’t sleeping, and one of the five in their little group was always sleeping.

She moved to Foggy Harbor in mid-January and began to insert herself into the community slowly. She signed up for classes at UNC-Wilmington, made friends, played intramural sports, and even attended church, all the while waiting for the person standing in front of her to be released.

“Jenna, where’d you go?”

“What?”

“You kind of blanked out for a minute. You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Was I?
she wondered.

***

“You grew up . . . here,” she said, awestruck, as we drove down the estate’s blacktop drive.

“I did. Welcome to the most dysfunctional home on the Eastern Seaboard. Would you like to see my silver spoon?”

We made a pit stop in the kitchen to load a small cooler with bottled water and fruit. I wanted to introduce Jenna to Pops, but he was nowhere to be found (probably napping . . . he’s ninety-three, remember). Instead, we took our cooler and made the trek to the cabana. The temperature had climbed into the middle seventies, and the sky was a deep, southern blue. Thin tendrils of clouds slid lazily by. Our stretch of beach was empty, and even looking north and south there were only a few people visible.

“Feel free to take a nap in the cabana or lay out here on the deck. I’m going for a run. Be back in about forty.”

“Why did you bring me here, Chase?”

I considered her question. “Because I thought you might want some fresh air, and . . . well, for better or worse, you are the only
friend
I have in this town. I know we aren’t really friends, but at least we have to pretend to be. Gotta count for something, I guess.”

“And what makes you think I want to just lay out instead of going for a run with you?” she said in her syrupy-sweet voice.

“I saw you running on Monday and you almost killed yourself.”

“That was an act, you moron,” she said, playfully punching my arm.

“Well, it was convincing. Ms. Brighton, would you like to accompany me on a nice little beach run?”

“Think you can keep up with me?” she challenged, as she produced a hair band and deftly put her hair into a ponytail.

“That shouldn’t be a—” I started, when suddenly she came at me, grabbed my right hand with her left, and pushed me off balance with her right arm. The next thing I knew she had swept my legs out from under me, and I was on my back. She took off as I lay there in the sand.

“Catch me if you can!” she yelled, already with a thirty-yard head start.

“Women,” I said, as I made my way to my feet, ripped off my shirt, and took off after the ponytailed gazelle.

On and on we ran, right at the water’s edge where the sand was compacted and sloped slightly. I thought I’d overtake her easily, but fifteen minutes in, I was still ten yards behind her. She glanced back every once and a while and grinned as if to say,
sucker
.

At the twenty-minute mark, I told her to turn around and head back when she got to a single piece of driftwood that had found its way to shore. I thought about payback for her little act, but I didn’t. Her lead increased to fifteen yards at the thirty-minute mark. It was time. I switched gears, passed her three minutes later, and mimicked her “catch me if you can” phrase from earlier. I had a five-yard lead with the cabana getting larger and larger in my view when I heard her cry out in pain. I stopped and ran back to her. She was on all fours, and her face was looking at the sand.

“Jenna, are you okay?” I said, alarmed.

“Damn. Heard something pop, and then I went down,” she said, breathing heavy. I leaned down to her.

“What do you think it was?”

“The champagne cork I’m popping after I beat you,” she said, as she pushed me over and took off. She was in a runner’s stance and faking injury all along, and I had underestimated her, again. I watched her get farther away as I just stood there. She was a competitive little vixen, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Congratulations on your hollow victory,” I said when I got back to the cabana. She was pouring a plastic bottle of cold water over her head and had already taken off her shorts and t-shirt. The water ran in rivulets down her neck and between her breasts. She had a toned, tan body, and the green and blue bikini she wore made me weak in the knees.

“Thanks. Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“You must be hot.”

“Yeah, the water feels good.”

“Right,” I said and turned the tables on her. With her guard down, I rushed her, picked her up, and ran into the water with her over my shoulder. She screamed, “Put me down”, and I gave in to her wishes and dumped her head first in waist-deep water.

“Turnabout is fair play, Ms. Brighton.” I said as she resurfaced and knelt with just her head above the water.

“Okay, I deserved that,” she said, holding out her hand for me to help her up, her hair soaked and sticking to her forehead.

“Not a chance; I’m done with your little tricks.”

“Whatever happened to chivalrous Southern gentlemen?”

“We’re a dying breed,” I said, as I trudged back up to the cabana. Jenna followed and we both grabbed a lounge chair and silently peeled oranges by hand and ate them segment by segment.

“How did you spend your time in prison?” she said, breaking the silence between us.

“Gained and lost a lot of weight and read just about anything I could get my hands on. I thought you would’ve read my file.”

“I did; I just wanted to hear it from you. You don’t act like most inmates I’ve run into.”

I smiled at her. “Well, it helps that I’m not an inmate anymore.”

“Right.” She smiled back. “It’s just . . . you seem like you came out a better person.”

“Before that night on the beach, I’d never been in trouble my entire life, and you may not agree, but I should’ve never been sent to prison to begin with. He started the fight; I just ended it.”

She nodded, noncommittal in her answer, which I considered a moral victory. “Aside from a dysfunctional parental unit, my life was going great. Full scholarship to play football at Clemson, decent grades. I did stupid things, sure, but I was a good kid.”

“Can I be honest with you, Chase?”

“I don’t know; can you?”

She ignored the remark. “I didn’t think I would like you as a person after reading your file. I thought you’d be an arrogant prick with a chip on your shoulder, mad at the world. And all my preconceived notions were wrong. I’m sorry I prejudged you.”

I didn’t expect her to say this. “Thanks, that means a lot to me. Now, could you please put your clothes back on, before I start thinking impure thoughts?”

“We should probably get back to work anyways. Thanks for bringing me out here. Pick up some Chinese on the way back to the apartment?”

“Yeah, sure. By the way, I think I should stay at Bailey’s tonight. Get a good night’s sleep for my first day tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said, though her tone betrayed her.

On Jenna’s recommendation, we stopped at the Lucky Panda for takeout and were soon headed back north on the Wilmington Highway with the top down on the Mustang. Jenna’s cell rang, and she put it to her ear as she put her right pointer finger in her other ear to drown out the wind. She listened, and I could see alarm on her face. She ended the call with a tense, “Got it”.

“Ash is behind us. There’s an old Ford pickup, two cars back, that’s been following us since we pulled out of your driveway. It’s got a temporary tag so we can’t run the number. Two people inside.”

“What do you want me to do?” I heard Detective Reigart in my head reminding me that people weren’t fond of my release.

She reached down to the floorboard and opened her dark-blue backpack. Her hands dug inside and she came out with a handgun.

“Maintain your speed and keep your eyes straight ahead. Can you put the top back up?”

“Not unless the car is stopped.”

“Well, we aren’t stopping. Just stay calm.”

The wind made it tough to communicate so we had to yell to hear each other. Jenna turned to me with her back to the passenger door, caressed my face with her left hand, and smiled at me.

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m just trying to sneak a peek without making it obvious,” she yelled.

“And here I thought you were coming on to me.” Her hair was whipping all around and she had the gun in her right hand, below the seat and out of sight. It wasn’t lost on me that I would be between Jenna’s gun and whoever she fired at, and vice versa.

“Here they come!” she said. “When I tell you to, hit the brakes; hopefully that’ll throw them off, and they’ll get ahead of us. Ash will be right behind them.” I stole a glance in my side mirror and saw a brown and tan Ford barreling toward us in the left-hand lane. The passenger-side window was down, and I could make out two figures inside, but I couldn’t see their faces.

“Gun! Hit ’em,” Jenna shouted, as she raised her weapon. I stomped on the brakes at the same time a thunderous boom of warm air washed over me. The windshield disintegrated, and bits of banded glass rained down in my lap as Jenna fired at the truck. I may or may not have wet my pants as I slowed the car to about thirty miles an hour. My hands were shaking.

“Chase, you okay?” she said, as I watched the truck speed off.

“I think so; although the shiny happy feeling of being free is gone. What the fuck just happened, Jenna?”

“Not sure. I got off five shots, and I’m pretty sure I hit the shooter. Let’s get to the apartment, and we’ll figure out what’s next.”

“Shouldn’t we call the cops?”

“No. I’ll call Schmidt, and he’ll handle everything through backchannels. We need to get you to safety first.” Her phone rang, and she listened as drivers with quizzical looks drove past.

Back in the apartment, Jenna filled Ash in on what happened and then retired to her room to call Schmidt. She came out ten minutes later with a bottle of Jack and poured me a shot.

“For your nerves,” she said as she sat the glass next to my plate of uneaten lo mein and vegetables.

“What makes you think I need that?”

“Your hands are still shaking,” said Jessica.

Okay, that was true.

“You two joining me?” I asked.

Jessica shook her head no.

Jenna said, “That wouldn’t be a good idea: me having alcohol in my system just after dumping rounds into a pickup. No, I’ll stick with a Diet Coke.”

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked. Jenna stole a quick glimpse at Jessica.

“Schmidt is calling the county police since this happened outside the Foggy Harbor city limits. They’ll be discreet, keep an eye out for the truck, and check all local hospitals for anyone coming in with gunshot wounds. You need to stay here, or I need to stay with you at your place. Schmidt’s orders.”

***

What Jenna didn’t tell Chase was that they weren’t entirely sure it was someone local. The alternative possibility would make their jobs infinitely more difficult and put them under the gun, so to speak.

***

“They knew we were coming,” the panicked man whispered into his disposable cell phone. “Clint’s dead, and I gotta truck fulla blood. You said this would be a piece of cake.”

“Calm down. What have you done with the body?”

“Don’t worry, it’s taken care of.”

“Did Clint get off a shot?”

“Yes, the message was sent. The girl in the car just started blasting away.”