The Hunted

57

When Harper Payne awoke in the small, cheap Fredericksburg motel room, he rubbed his eyes, wondering if the dreams he’d had last night were authentic memories of times with Lauren or fabrications of what he imagined their lives to have been like. They were so real… they had to be real. He sat on the edge of the mattress, grinding his teeth, angry at himself for having lost his memory, at having lost his connection to a life that he was beginning to think must have been enormously satisfying and fulfilling.

He thought of Lauren, of what he remembered — or imagined — her to be like. More memories began to crackle in his mind like the flash of lightning against a clouded night sky…

The time they got lost in Tahoe while hiking in the mountains, spending the evening wrapped in each other’s arms.

The white splash of stars across the night sky, the sound of coyotes howling in the distance. What had begun as an intensely frightening experience became a fiercely romantic one…

Feelings, emotions, isolated images. They had to be real.

Sitting there on the bed, he thought of what it would be like seeing her face again, smelling her hair, holding her.

He could feel her now. Her soft skin, the shape of her toned arms, the sloping curve of her back as it swooped down into her waist. How wonderful it felt to be able to see her again, to be able to remember. It was like being liberated from solitary confinement. In some ways, it was worse… unlike a jailed felon, he had done nothing wrong — he was a victim of a mind trapped within itself, unable to find a way out.

With his memories coming back to him, he felt energized. Stronger, more determined. He stood up and walked into the bathroom to shower. Five hours until he would see her again.

Only this time, it would not be a dream.

It was four-thirty in the afternoon and the sun had begun its orange burn as it headed for cover behind the backs of buildings and, ultimately, the horizon.

Payne had chosen to reunite with Lauren in historic Fredericksburg, a small colonial Virginia town. There were museums, such as the one devoted to former president James Monroe, as well as the Mary Washington House and the old-time Hugh Mercer Apothecary, where the sick were treated with bloodletting, anesthetic-less limb amputations, and crude, homemade pharmaceutical remedies.

The rest of the town had an Old World charm to it, with shops still occupying buildings dating to the 1700s and 1800s. There were also several banks and a handful of ornate churches.

At the moment, Payne was sitting in the bell tower of St. George’s Episcopal, a recently renovated structure originally constructed in 1849 of nondescript masonry. With its forward-set, four-story steeple, it had the look of what could be considered “classic” church architecture for its time.

Inside, however, its two-story sanctuary was adorned with tall, intricately leaded stained-glass windows, polished wood benches, and large brass chandeliers. Payne was surprised to find such beauty inside a building whose exterior was so prosaic and uninspiring.

After having fully explored the church’s interior, he climbed into the cramped fourth story of the tower, peering through the fixed, downward-angled wood slats of the window casing. The air was so stale and dusty on his tongue that he felt as if he had just chewed a piece of chalk. Between the large brass bell that hung behind him and the thick decorative window slats in front of him, there was little circulation of fresh air.

From his perch, he had a view of nearly a third of the block across the street and to his right. Ahead of him, he could see clear up George Street, while to his left the next half-block continuation of Princess Anne was visible. It was not an ideal location, but it was the only one he had seen in which he could sit at such a height off the ground without being out in the open, and without being subject to anyone questioning him about his intentions. The church, while still operational, was for the most part abandoned during the week, except for child-care classes in the basement.

At 5:10 p.m., with all the details taken care of, his thoughts once again turned to Lauren. He leaned back against the cold metal of the bell and resumed his watch. She would be here soon.

Lauren was sitting in the front passenger seat of the rental car, but she knew that from Nick Bradley’s perspective, it felt like he was alone in the vehicle. She was deep in thought, thinking of Michael, envisioning the moment when he would wrap his arms around her and kiss her gently up and down the neck, as he always did… when she would hear the slight raspiness of his voice, a sexy hoarseness that only she seemed able to detect.

“Hey, you alive over there?”

She blinked and was suddenly aware Bradley had said something. “What?”

“Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t slipped into a coma.”

“How much longer?”

“I’d guess about five minutes.”

The mere mention of the words five minutes sent her heart into a frenzy. It immediately quickened its pace, as if it had a mind of its own. Despite her attempts to slow it, to calm herself, the muscle galloped on.

They drove up Amelia Street and pulled over to the curb a few feet from its intersection with Princess Anne.

“It’s five-fifteen, we’re a little early,” Bradley said. “According to the map, we’re only about a block and a half away from your meeting place.”

She did not answer him. Instead, she pulled up on the handle and popped open her door.

“Lauren,” he said, placing a hand on her wrist, “I know you’re anxious to see him, but let’s show some caution. Michael said he’s a fugitive. Remember, I was hounding the FBI, trying to get information out of them. That landed us smack in the middle of their radar screen. I’m not entirely sure what their motives are, so I have no idea what to expect from them, how aggressive they’ll be. On the other hand, they don’t quite know what to expect from us, either. I took special care to make sure we weren’t followed. I did my best, but no guarantees.”

“Are you saying we could’ve led them here?”

“I’m not saying we did, but they could’ve been watching us or tracking our movements with an electronic bug they planted somewhere on the car. Back home, I’ve got things that can scan for that kind of techy stuff, but out here, we’re kind of winging it.”

She fell silent, withdrawing into herself. Was she possibly harming Michael by coming here to meet him? Should they just leave now and find some other way of connecting with him?

“He’ll be here in a few minutes, if he’s not here already,” Bradley continued. “Go on. But if you see anything strange, walk away, go down the street, and I’ll get the message. I’ll swing by and pick you up, then we’ll regroup, okay?” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Please, don’t take any chances.”

She nodded, and then stepped out of the car.

Jonathan Waller accelerated as they turned off I-95 and curved around the ramp for exit 130A, headed toward Fredericksburg.

“Take it easy, Jon,” Scott Haviland said over the loud squeal of the tires. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

“And we don’t want to lose Harper again either.”

“We’ve got backup set up all over the damn town. He’s not gonna slip away this time.”

Waller shook his head. “And if he knows we’re gonna be here?”

“No way. There’s no way he knows we intercepted his e-mail.”

“Unless he knew that we fucked up the laptop so he couldn’t get online. If we figured that out, he might’ve also figured that we’ve got her e-mail address and could tap into the mail server.”

“That’s a lot to assume. Besides, his brain’s scrambled and he’s confused. I don’t think he has a clue.”

“And if he did figure it out, this could all be a waste of time,” Waller said, braking hard to stop at a red light. As he waited for a car to pass, his eyes darted around the intersection. It was clear, and he accelerated through.

Haviland shook his head. “If he did send that e-mail as a ruse, then he wouldn’t have had us searching Union Station all day. He planted that info with the motel clerk so we’d do exactly what we ended up doing: wasting our time.”

“Yeah, and like I said, it was bullshit.”

“Then again, as far as he’s concerned,” Haviland said, “we’re an hour away from here looking for someone who isn’t going to show.”

Waller turned hard onto Route 3, the momentum again pressing his partner against the passenger door. “I wouldn’t be so sure. He may’ve lost his memory and he may be confused about things, but his instincts are razor sharp. The biggest mistake a perp could make was underestimating him.”

“But we’re not a stupid perp and we’re not underestimating him. We’re almost there and we’ve got ample backup.”

“Backup’s a double-edged sword. If he sees one of our vehicles—”

“If he’s in a position to see one of us, Jon, one of us will be in a position to see him.” Haviland looked away. “Besides, Knox seemed pretty upbeat about the whole operation.”

“Oh, he was plenty nervous, trust me. He didn’t stop pacing the whole time we were in his office.”

“This will all come to a head in fifteen minutes. We’ll have Payne and we’ll be back on track again toward nabbing Scarponi. You’ll see.”

Waller depressed the accelerator again and the engine roared. “For our sake, I hope you’re right.”