The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

“What’s the other reason?

“At the coffee shop, I noticed a guy in a Lexus in the parking lot just sitting there. His windows were tinted, so I didn’t get a good look at him. At first, I thought he was just waiting to meet someone. But he was still sitting there when we left. It was almost like he was trying to look casual, even had a newspaper with him. Just struck me as odd, given the bullets flying around and all.”

“So you think he saw the plates?”

“I think he had already looked at them. I keep a spare set of fake tags here in the shop, registered to a very old friend. They’re on the Nissan, so I’m hoping that will buy us some time. The police will come here and find my car, search my house, etc.”

“Just a typical day for Sean Wyatt, huh?” Her sarcasm was cute.

“The cops mean well, or at least I think they do. Nothing will be taken from my house. I just hope things are left as they found them.”

“You get searched often?”

He ignored the question. “Don’t worry. We’re going to figure this out, and trust me, you’ll be back in the office in no time.  But I just killed two guys back there, and if that guy in the car has anything to do with it, I don’t think we are on the right side of the law at the moment.  Call it a hunch.”

His words didn’t ease her mind much.

He walked quickly over to the running car. “We should probably be going. I’ll be glad to give you a tour of the whole place some other time.”

She was amazed that he could still flirt at a time like this. She followed him and opened the front passenger door simultaneously with him.

“Promise?” Her voice was playful as she slid into the front of the car. Apparently, she had put the double homicide behind her for the moment.

He smiled at her, careful not to show the concern in his mind.  He wasn’t sure he trusted her.  She shows up, and then all of the sudden he’s getting shot at.  And was her fear legitimate or an act?  He couldn’t tell at the moment, but it was a little odd how one moment she had been terrified and the next she was ready to hop in the car and go.  A normal person might have tried to escape.

Suddenly, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

In the reflection of the tinted black windows, he saw a quick movement.

Sean’s reaction was immediate and fluid. He dropped to his knee to avoid the swinging elbow that was intended for the back of his neck. His fist launched at the attacker’s groin, and a confirming groan of pain assured him he’d found the vulnerable area.

Hunched over, the attacker, dressed in a black sweater, staggered toward his prey, who had sidestepped quickly over to a row of garden tools.

The man’s recovery was too slow. Sean’s hands moved quickly, scooping up a shovel and bringing the head of it crashing against the face of the intruder. The stunned assailant crumpled into an unconscious heap on the floor of the garage.

Sean dropped the shovel and jumped in the car. Allyson’s mouth was agape as she stared at the scene.

“We have to go.” His voice had become very direct.

“Are you just going to leave him there?”

“Yeah.”

The black Maxima sped down a different, much shorter driveway on the backside of the property. It led into a dark, tiny forest of pines and oaks. Another gate within the tree cover was already open for them, and Sean guided the car out and onto a quiet suburban street.

7

Atlanta

Trent Morris was less than happy. The warrant had come through quickly since Will had phoned in for it before Trent had even arrived at the coffee shop. Units got to the scene at the suspect’s house soon after. It had taken only minutes to get access to the property, and yet all they found was an empty house and a garage full of motorcycles. Of course, the car they were looking for was there, also empty, the hood still faintly warm. They must have just missed them.

Investigators were busy checking out the car, removing panels and checking the undercarriage while inside the house, another group was performing a similar search of the residence. He already knew they wouldn’t find anything there. He believed the suspects hadn’t even gone inside the house. They had come here, got out of the car, probably to get into another, and left just as quickly as they had arrived.

Will stepped into the garage from the door that led into the house. He looked equally annoyed at the situation. “Find anything?”

A frustrated glance was the only answer he needed. “They must have left a few minutes before we got here. Came in, changed cars, and left.”

Will filled in the other details. “Everything in the house is in order. I don’t think they even went inside.”

“I was thinking that too.” He looked around at the scene. “What kind of car are we looking for now?”

“No idea.”

A latex-gloved officer was busily examining the trunk while another was facedown in the front seat, checking under the dash of the Camaro.

“What do you mean, no idea? If they switched cars, the other car has to be registered to Wyatt. This is his house, isn’t it?” Something didn’t seem right. What Morris had thought would be a simple operation was starting to look like anything but.

“Yeah,” Will answered. “That would make sense. But the only car Wyatt has on record is this Camaro. All of the bikes checked out,” he said with a slight hand gesture toward the collection of motorcycles. “All of them are here and accounted for?”

“As