He flicked on his flashlight so that two of them would see him coming. Yes, he could fit in anywhere. That was just part of his genius, though, just a small part of his act.
When he got within voice range, Casanova called out to the agents. “Yo, it’s only me.”
He tilted the flashlight upward to expose his face. He let them see him, see who he was.
Tick-cock.
CHAPTER 122
IT WAS my morning to take care of our breakfast, and I democratically decided on Kate’s favorite sticky buns to top off my infamous Monterey Jack cheese and sautéed onion omelet.
I figured I would jog to and from the tiny, overpriced bakery in Nags Head. Jogging helps me think in straight lines, sometimes.
I ran on a zigzag path through softly waving, waist-high dune grass that eventually met with the paved road over the marshes and into town. It was a beautiful late-summer day.
I began to relax as I jogged. My guard was down so I almost didn’t see him.
A blond man in a navy blue windbreaker and stained khaki pants lay spread-eagled in the tall grass, just off the dirt path. He looked as if his neck had been broken. He hadn’t been dead very long. His body was still warm when I felt for a pulse.
The dead man was FBI. He was a pro who wouldn’t have been easy to take out. He had been stationed out here to watch over Kate and me, to help trap Casanova. The plan was Kyle Craig’s, but Kate and I had agreed to it.
“Oh goddammit, no,” I groaned. I took out my gun and began to sprint back to the house and Kate. She was in terrible danger. We both were.
I tried to concentrate on thinking like Casanova, on what he might do next, what he was capable of doing. Clearly, the perimeter defense around the house had been broken.
How did he keep doing that? Who the hell was he? Who did I have to fight?
I wasn’t expecting the second body and almost tripped over it. It was hidden in the dune grass. The agent also wore a navy blue windbreaker. He was lying on his back and his red hair was neatly combed. There was no sign of a struggle, his lifeless brown eyes were staring up at circling gulls and a buttery-yellow sun. Another FBI bodyguard dead.
I was in a panic now as I raced through the stiff wind and flowing grass to the beach house. It was quiet and still, just as I had left it.
I was almost certain that Casanova was already there. He had come hunting for us. It was payback time. He had to get this just right, didn’t he? He had to make it “perfect.” Or maybe he just needed revenge for Rudolph.
I raised my Glock pistol and went cautiously inside the front screen door. Nothing moved in the living room. The only sound was the ancient refrigerator humming in the kitchen, singing like a nest of insects.
“Kate!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “He’s here! Kate! Kate! He’s here! Casanova is here!”
I rushed through the living room to the first-floor bedroom and flung open the door.
She wasn’t in there.
Kate wasn’t where I had left her minutes ago.
I ducked into the hallway again. A closet door opened suddenly. A hand reached out and grabbed me.
I swung around hard to my right.
It was Kate. The look on her face was one of determination and sheer hatred. I saw no fear in her eyes. She put her finger to her lips. “Shhh. Shhh,” she whispered. “I’m okay, Alex.”
“Me too. So far.”
We proceeded in lock-step toward the kitchen, where the house phone was located. I had to get the Cape Hatteras police here now. They would contact Kyle and the FBI.
It was dark in the narrow hallway, and I didn’t see the flash of metal until it was too late. A sharp pain shot through me as a longish dart stuck into the left side of my chest.
It was a heart shot. Perfectly delivered. He’d hit me with a state-of-the-art Tensor stun gun.
A powerful shock of electrical current streaked through my body. My heart fluttered. I could smell my own flesh burning.