Chapter 39

Bryant pulled back into the spot he had vacated only half an hour before. He knew the officers weren't dressed to wear a vest beneath their uniform tops so he picked up windbreakers for them to wear on top of their armor.

He took Grant's spot while she slipped a vest over her uniform and then did the same for Harv. He did the same over the next few minutes until everyone was outfitted properly.

Then he drove around the corner and pulled to a stop in front of Jan's house. He saw Holly's Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder in the driveway. He would have to mention to her that it might be best to keep it in the garage. Parsons might have experience with explosives, too. He glanced down the street and saw a police car sitting at the end of each block. They were situated where they could see Jan's house but also see the blind spots of the other vehicle. It was a good setup.

He walked up on the porch and stopped. He had a key to Jan's house but he doubted that she would be happy with him. He hadn't spoken to her for more than four days. She might just shoot him and then claim he was breaking in. He rang the bell and waited.

It took only a moment for her to open the door.

"Where have you been?" she asked irritably. He saw Holly shoot up the stairs as soon as she realized who was at the door.

"Can I come in?" Bryant asked. He had shifted his body to put it between Jan and any weapon that might be trained on her from across the street.

"Of course you can," Jan said. "Why didn't you just use your key?"

"I was worried that you might not want to see me," Bryant admitted with chagrin as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Jan wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his chest.

"I want to see you," Jan said. "I've been worried about you. You just disappeared without a word. You went up there to confront Eileen Mayfield, didn't you?"

"Sort of," Bryant admitted.

"Sort of?" Jan repeated his words in the form of a question.

"I went there but she was gone," Bryant confided. "So I went to the prison to get the information directly from the source. I got it and came back down."

"Stan told me that you got some information from the Ohio State Police," Jan told him. "You managed to do what you set out to do. Why did you think I'd be pissed?"

"It wasn't what I did," Bryant confided almost in a whisper, "it's what I was willing to do to make sure it got done."

Jan pulled back to look up at his face.

"What you were willing to do?" she repeated again. "What exactly was that?"

"Whatever it took, Jan," Bryant whispered. "I left a letter of resignation but it seems that Holly and Regina took it upon themselves to shred it. My actions up there put this department on some tenuous ground."

"How far over the line did you go?" Jan wondered, reverting to her administrator role.

"I haven't crossed it yet, I don't think," Bryant said. "I'm not proud of how I handled things up there but outside of a possible claim of excessive force I haven't done anything I can't make right."

"You slapped him around?" Jan asked with a frown. She had rarely seen Bryant lose his cool.

"A little," Bryant admitted. "I didn't give him a beating or break his legs or anything. I backhanded him twice and gave him a little love tap in the kidneys. I wanted him to understand that I was in charge."

"Hell, Bryant, I've done that before!" Jan replied. "You remember that bitch we caught beating the crap out of her kid? I went into her cell while she was in holding and beat the ever-loving fuck out of her. It just seemed like the thing to do."

"Did you threaten to bring her kids to the cell and cut their throats while she watched?" Bryant asked. There was no inflection in his voice. It was neutral.

"Of course not!" Jan said.

It took her a moment to understand that Bryant had threatened just that act.

"Jan, it wasn't a threat," Bryant said. "If something happens to you, I'll probably go through with what I told him I would. I'll track down his Mom and Dad and put them in the ground. I'll find a dozen black guys in Columbus and turn his wife over to them to do whatever they want with her. And I'll drag his kids to that prison, put him in the room without a camera and kill them in front of him."

"Bryant!" Jan said sharply.

"He had a chance to step up," Bryant said. "Mitchell visited him twice. All he had to do was give up the name and I would have stayed down here. But he wanted to play the tough guy. Well, he's not as tough as he thought he was."

"Did it make you feel like a man to threaten his children?" Jan asked incredulously.

"It made me feel lower than snail shit," Bryant told her. "But I got what I went there for and we have a face to put with the threat. If things work out, I'll fly back up there one weekend and take his kids down to the prison."

"The hell you will!" Jan said. "Bryant, I will not have you hurting children to protect me. That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard you say – and you can bet your ass I've heard you say a lot of stupid shit."

"For a visit," Bryant interrupted. "I'll take them down for two or three hours with some books and some games and let them have an afternoon with him. He hasn't seen them in close to five years. His wife committed some white-collar crime when she was in her teens and she can't get on the visitor's list. There is no one else to take them so I will. I'll talk to the warden and get his wife listed as confidential informant so she can be permitted to visit, too. I promised him I would help him out if he helped me out. I plan to follow through on that one too."

"Oh," Jan said. "Uh, yeah, that sounds a lot more like you than the other stuff."

"He said he's going to put the word out to his contacts that the FBI is actively hunting for Eileen Mayfield," Bryant continued. "He hopes word will filter down to Parsons before he makes it here. If he knows the other half of the payment isn't likely to be coming, he might just high-tail it back to Idaho or wherever the hell he's living now. He can be someone else's problem.

"The biggest problem is with how tenuous the information is. I think Lucas gave me all he knows; he just doesn't know much for certain. Parsons is the guy usually sent. He knows that. But he doesn't know if Parsons is the only guy on the Posse's payroll. Lucas has been out of contact for s while. Still, he said for high-profile jobs, Parsons is the guy to look for."

It took two more days for Derek Parsons to make his way from Nashville through Atlanta and Savannah on his way to Emerald Cove, South Carolina. He had been paid half of his fee in advance when he met Eileen Mayfield in St. Louis. The other half would be passed to his offshore account once he presented confirmation that the chief of police of Emerald Cove was dead.

He had never heard of Emerald Cove before his contact at the America First Posse had put him in touch with Eileen Mayfield. His contact would get ten percent of the fee for arranging the job. Parsons had done a lot of work for America First in the past seven years. He had taken his first job for them shortly after he'd been unceremoniously dumped by the U.S. Army for taking a few liberties with an Iraqi war widow.

Parsons knew he couldn't possibly be the first soldier to grab a woman off the street and drag her into an alleyway but the Army wanted to portray that he was. Hell, he wasn't the only one who had done it that day in Tikrit. He was busted in rank to private, lost his benefits and was threatened with a long stint in Leavenworth if he didn't leave quietly. He was broke when he was discharged and almost unemployable. No reputable business would hire a veteran who had been discharged under dishonorable circumstances.

He was working at an auto parts store in Billings, Montana, when an America First operative approached him. He joined the Posse and found kindred spirits in the other members. His background in the Rangers led to rapid advancement in the organization and soon he was training the militia and leading maneuvers. It also brought him the opportunity for his highly paid new job. One of the members was involved in a nasty custody battle with his ex-wife and Parsons was sent to make it go away.

One job led to another and then to a third. Two years after he joined America First, Derek Parsons was firmly entrenched as his group's enforcer. He had killed an overzealous federal prosecutor who insisted on trying to bring down the group. He had made a DEA agent disappear when he tried to infiltrate the group. America First hadn't balked at the fee he charged for those jobs. It was one thing to kill a schoolteacher in Alameda, California. It was another to kill a sitting federal prosecutor or an undercover federal agent.

Eventually Parsons decided to go freelance. There was money to be made in the assassination game. He had stayed under the radar by using a cutout for all transactions. He had several fake IDs but none of them would stand up to any sort of scrutiny. The age of computers had made it almost impossible for someone to get legitimate paper without a solid source at the state or federal government levels. America First was anti-government and had no one in position to help him. He was still trying to make the contacts he needed but for now he was just as happy being Derek Parsons.

After all, no one knew who he was. His name was common enough that there were probably thousands of men in America with the same name. It would be almost impossible for anyone to figure out who he was. His contact made sure the potential customer was vetted thoroughly before even calling Parsons.

He had pulled a picture of his next victim from the city's web site. It was a shame, really, that he'd joined the Army. His tenure with the Rangers meant his DNA was on file in some government database. That meant he couldn't have a little bit of fun with the woman before he killed her. He decided she was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. But there was too much risk from a face-to-face kill.

He had done that only once – the first time. He wound up burning down the house to make sure he hadn't left fingerprints or a hair sample behind. He couldn't very well do that in South Carolina. The client had warned him that the police department down here was close-knit. There would be a manhunt as soon as the woman was found and Parsons wanted to be as far away from Emerald Cove as possible when that came to pass.

He decided a weekend kill would be best. That left him the week to track the woman and learn her routine. The Mayfield woman had no information on the woman besides her name. She didn't know if Jan Elliot was married or single. She didn't know if she was a member of a gym or part of sewing circle.

He did an Internet search on the name and came up with thousands of hits. He limited it down by adding "Emerald Cove" to her name and found a blog called "Green Scene" where the woman's name popped up frequently. There was no way he could find her address short of pulling every property record in the county. No one would tell a stranger where the chief of police lived. As he had expected, there was no telephone listing in her name. A call to directory assistance provided no help.

He drove past the building where the police department was housed. It was a large building but the police department was at the side of the building and had a separate parking lot that wasn't visible from street level. He couldn't park in the lot and watch. He would stand out like a sore thumb. He pulled into a parking spot and waited, watching for cars to exit the lot and turn his way. He tried his best to take in the features of all the females who pulled in or out but the Elliot woman wasn't among them.

He was about to leave when a police cruiser drove past him. He hadn't been checking the official cars. If he hadn't been looking to pull into traffic, he would have missed her completely. His mark was riding in the backseat of an unmarked cruiser. There was a short redhead in the passenger seat and a man so tall that the top of his head was almost to the roof drove.

Parsons found an opening in traffic and pulled away from the curb. It was late summer and traffic was heavy which made it difficult to make up the space. It also hurt that the driver appeared to be making evasive movements by taking a series of random turns and retracing his path.

"What the fuck?" Parsons muttered to himself. It appeared that the man was expecting a tail. Parsons frowned as he trailed the car as closely as he could. If the driver had made him there would be patrol cars showing up any minute. Parsons realized that no other cars had made the same turns. The rest of the traffic cruised along the beach. Parsons saw the vehicle pull into an alley and he stopped as soon as he could find a space – which wasn't easy. Ocean Drive had no street-side parking so Parsons pulled onto a side street and doubled back. He had no trouble finding the unmarked again. It was parked beside a bar.

Parsons sat in his car and watched the front door of O'Bannon's Pub. He waited for almost an hour but none of the people he saw in the car exited and the car remained exactly where it was. He finally got out of the rental car and walked across the street, dodging cars that cruised the street at minimal speed. Several beachcombers acted in the same manner so he didn't stick out. He reached the front door of O'Bannon's and entered. It took him a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the difference between the bright August sun and the darkness of the bar. He looked around but he didn't see a soul he recognized from the car. He frowned again and made his way through the bar to the deck on the back. There wasn't a single person there older than twenty-five. He certainly didn't see a huge man talking with two women.

"This is bullshit!" he cursed. He couldn't imagine any police officer he knew heading to the beach after work but he'd never stalked an officer in a tropical paradise before. Parsons lived in Idaho. He didn't own a pair of shorts or a pair of flip-flops. He was dressed in blue jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap from the Idaho Falls Chukars minor-league baseball team. He looked like a hick surrounded by a group of tanned people in tiny bikinis and brightly colored swim trunks.

He hadn't booked a hotel in Emerald Cove. Oh, he had tried but that had proven impossible. None of them took cash and he wasn't willing to leave a paper trail by using a credit card. He had found a place 30 miles inland and paid $800 for a week. The place looked as though most of its customers preferred to pay by the hour but it would do for his needs.

He walked back to his car and found a police officer writing a ticket. A part of Parsons wanted to put a bullet in the man's brain. He hadn't been gone for more than fifteen minutes.

"Seriously?" Parsons asked. "I mean, Christ, I just walked across the fucking street."

The young officer looked up from his ticket book.

"Yes, Sir," the man replied. "And I'm sorry about this. We were content to let you sit beside an expired meter so long as you were in your vehicle. We understand that sometimes the person you're waiting for is running late and it doesn't make sense to pay for half an hour. But it's our policy to ticket any unattended vehicle parked at an expired meter."

Parsons nodded at the explanation. It actually made sense to him.

"If I hadn't already started to write I would have let it go," the officer continued. "But I have to account for all the tickets in the book. I wish I had seen you coming back across the street. I would have let it slide."

"No, no, I understand," Parsons replied. "I'm sorry I was a jerk about it. I walked away and never thought about dropping a quarter in the meter. It's my fault."

"Thank you, Sir," the officer said. "I tell you what ... we'll split the ticket. It's only $2 if you pay it in 24 hours. We're not out to gouge our tourists. I see you're from Kansas. We don't get many Midwesterners."

Parsons blinked at the offer to split the ticket – and at the news it was only $2. A parking ticket in Boise set a driver back $10.

"I can handle the total ticket," Parson replied with a smile. "I figured the fact that this was a tourist town would mean I'd be on the hook for a hundred or something. I'm not really from Kansas. It's just where the rental car is from."

"You look familiar for some reason," the officer said. "Have we met before?"

"It's my first day in town," Parsons said. "I'm staying inland a good ways but I heard Emerald Cove is a nice place to visit."

"Well, Sir," the officer said, "I hope a parking ticket doesn't keep you from enjoying our city."

"You can bet that it hasn't," Parsons answered. "Thank you for your courtesy. You're a credit to your department."

Officer Kevin Stuebens walked back to his bicycle and watched as the man put four quarters into the meter before dropping two singles in the ticket envelope and dropping into the pay box attached to the meter post.

"Dispatch, this is Bravo-Charlie 17," he radioed in. "Public service me ASAP."

Two seconds later Stan Williams called Stuebens' cell phone.

"I have a confirmed sighting of Derek Parsons," Stuebens said. "I confirmed it with the license number you provided and I just had a face to face conversation with the man. He's wearing blue jeans, a red T-shirt and a dark blue baseball cap with a logo I don't recognize."

"Is he still sitting outside of O'Bannon's?" Williams inquired.

"How in the world do you know that?" Stuebens asked incredulously.

"Chuck O'Bannon called Bryant when the guy walked in the bar," Williams told him. "Chief Hawkins and Detective Garvin are making their way on foot to your location and the state police SERT team deployed two minutes ago. They are five minutes out."

"Should I keep my position?" Stuebens asked.

Williams pondered for a moment.

"No, Kev," he decided. "I want you to pedal down the block and continue to check meters and license plates. Don't let the man know you suspect him but try to keep an eye on him."

"Got it, Sarge," Stuebens replied. He got on his bike and pedaled past Parsons, slowing down to wave at the man he knew was in town for the sole reason of killing his chief. He stopped half a block down the street and dismounted to check meters. He kept Parsons' rental car in view out of the corner of his eye – but Parsons was too busy dialing his contact in Montana to pay any attention to a meter maid.

"What in the fuck is going on down here, Carlos?" Parsons asked angrily.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Carlos stated. "What do you mean?"

"Something isn't right," Parsons said. "The chief is taking evasive movements and she is flanked by two plainclothes detectives. The driver is pretty good at spotting a tail because he ditched the car beside a bar and all three of them disappeared. I'm about ready to call this off."