Category Five (10 page)

“Everything looks fine,” Donovan called out as he neared the police car.

“I'm glad.” The deputy had his handkerchief out and was wiping his neck against the oppressive heat. “Do you want to press trespassing charges?”

“I don't think that'll be necessary.” Donovan looked at Erin again for any clue to who she might really be. She seemed to be trying to manufacture a look of embarrassment, but now Donovan didn't buy it. They briefly made eye contact. He felt himself being studied the way a predator might eye its quarry. For that instant, she seemed older and maybe even a little dangerous. Donovan was mildly intrigued by the perception. Not only did he have the upper hand, but whoever Erin Walker was—she was way out of her league.

“Okay then.” The deputy shifted his belt and leaned forward to shake Donovan's hand. “I'll take her to town and she can arrange to have her car towed.”

Donovan returned the handshake. “Thanks for all your help.” He took one more glance at Erin, who had yet to utter a word.

As soon as the squad car drove out of view, Donovan went to the garage and unlocked the door. He found the tool he was looking for and went back out to the Range Rover. He drove down the road to Erin's car. The white Honda Accord was parked on the shoulder. He eased the Range Rover behind her car, then looked up and down the road—it was deserted. As casually as if he were taking a walk, he crossed to the Honda. There were no stickers or identifying marks on the windshield. It had been a while, but
Donovan expertly worked the thin metal tool down into the door. Seconds later, the lock was open. Oblivious to the heat, he made a quick but methodical search of her car. As he suspected, it was virtually devoid of personal effects. He leaned down and popped both the hood and the trunk. He went to the front of the car first and lifted the hood. It didn't take him long to spot the problem. All four leads to the spark plugs had been pulled back far enough to severe the connection. Donovan smiled. It was an old trick. Until Erin pushed them back in, the car wouldn't have a prayer of starting. Her ruse had easily fooled the deputy.

He closed the hood and went around to the trunk, where his exploration became slightly more fruitful.

The camera bag was partially hidden under a blanket. He pulled it out and discovered an assortment of filters and telephoto lenses. He knew it was expensive equipment. Whoever Erin was, surveillance seemed to be her immediate mission. Donovan also found another camera body, a Nikon identical to the one he'd found at his house. He helped himself to a roll of film from the dozen or so stashed in the bag, then put everything back where he found it. Before backing away, he memorized her Virginia plate number.

Back at the house, Donovan pulled the Range Rover into the spacious garage. He closed the door and stepped out onto the polished floor. He lovingly placed his hand on the canvas cover draped over his Porsche. The wonderfully overpowered Carrera GT convertible was almost as much fun as the Gulfstream. He left the garage and went straight for Erin's camera. He loaded the new roll of film, then fired off twenty shots into the palm of his hand. Once he was finished, he positioned the camera exactly where he'd found it. He smiled as he tried to picture Erin's expression when she developed the film.

Donovan went into the house and pulled a cold beer from the refrigerator. He put the cold glass to his forehead; the heat inside
the house was oppressive. He took a long drink from the bottle and the icy fluid roared down his parched throat. He let out an audible sigh as he headed upstairs. It wouldn't take him long to prepare for Erin's return.

Donovan sipped the last of his beer. He decided against another and sat back in his chair. The house and garage were all closed up. Donovan sat in the third-story window with his own camera resting on his lap. He'd not only be able to observe her, but also to photograph her. With his connections, he'd be able to find out exactly who she was. But right now, the last thing he wanted was to confront her and tip her off. It was in his best interest to let her feel as if she had the upper hand. Donovan knew she was a professional of some sort, though not a very good one—she'd been caught. But she was up to something. Donovan felt the roll of film in his pocket. As soon as Erin came and went, he'd use the small darkroom to develop the photographs.

Donovan didn't have to wait long. He leaned forward and found his target through the viewfinder as a car pulled up and stopped next to Erin's Honda. He saw her jump out of the passenger's seat and run to her car. Through the 300mm lens he fired off a rapid succession of shots. As expected, she hurriedly fixed the spark plus wires, then waved at the other car. Donovan never saw the driver, but did get the license plate. Erin slid behind the wheel and started the motor. Moments later, the Honda disappeared. Donovan moved quickly to the other side of the house. Within seconds, he could see Erin running from her car to where she'd left her camera. Donovan zoomed in on her face; he wanted a good shot. He watched as she crouched down and grabbed her Nikon. Without pausing to inspect it, she dashed back toward the Honda.

Once she was gone, Donovan walked downstairs, grabbed another beer, then made his way down to the darkroom. Thankfully, it was somewhat cooler in the basement, though
Donovan quickly forgot about the heat as he went to work. It took him a while, but finally he ran Erin's developed film under the cool water in the sink. From there, he carefully hung the negatives to dry. Tilting his head to the side, he began inspecting the images. His fear grew as he went from one shot to the next and studied each exposure. Donovan easily recognized what Erin Walker had photographed. Out behind the house, down a gentle hill, was the family cemetery. The names on the stones had been captured perfectly. Erin Walker may not have her pictures, but she'd seen the markers—which now made her the most dangerous person in Donovan's life.

Donovan left the darkroom and went outside, feeling numb as he tried to understand how Erin had not only discovered the house, but knew enough to find the graves and shoot pictures. He looked to the west. The sun was just settling over the Blue Ridge mountains, the sky turning from blue to orange. Crickets and locusts had already begun their nightly chorus. Donovan could hear the deep voice of the bullfrogs from the lake.

He strolled down the brick walkway that led to an open area bordered on one side by an ancient sycamore tree. A fruit bat swooped low overhead, then turned and was gone. He knew he couldn't stay, so he stood outside the low wood railing that surrounded the family cemetery. He looked at the two markers that stood closest to the gate. In the gathering darkness he looked upon the finely chiseled marble: Robert D. Huntington, 1931-1968. Next to it was his mother's stone: Elizabeth K. Huntington, 1936-1968. Despite the years, the memory of his dead parents was still a dull ache. His father's tomb was empty; they'd never found his body after the boat sank. After years of debating, Donovan had finally made the decision to bring his mother's remains back home to Virginia. He'd resisted for the longest time, thinking somehow that she belonged on the small island in the Pacific, near his father, close to the sea and the man she'd loved.

Donovan lowered his head, forever haunted by the sound of his mother's cries for help, the sound of the wind and waves before she went under for the last time, her hand reaching for help before it slipped beneath the water. Frozen by fear, Donovan had clung desperately to a section of wood, paralyzed, unable to help. He knew he'd only been a boy at the time, but he never forgave himself. Now, whoever Erin Walker was, she'd connected him with the house and the graves of his parents and grandparents. It wouldn't take her long to figure out the links between his parents' graves and the vast fortune of Huntington Oil. From there it would be a quick jump to tie him to his past—as the sole heir to billions of dollars.

Behind his parents' markers was another collection of headstones. One in particular would send Erin down a road that could destroy everything he'd worked so hard to build. It was the grave of his great-grandfather, whose name he'd taken, Donovan Nash.

Donovan turned away as thoughts of Lauren came crashing down on him. He lowered his head at the sudden weight. Deep down, he knew seeing her today had only served to reopen the old wounds. Yesterday, his world seemed safe and protected, but right now he knew it was unraveling at both ends. He knew he still loved her…and despite his considerable resources and abilities, there wasn't a single thing he could do to change the way things were.

L
auren abruptly opened her eyes and her dream vanished into the quiet darkness of the bedroom. Momentarily confused, she struggled to understand what had awakened her from a deep sleep. She finally saw her mother peaking through the door.

“Lauren, honey. Are you awake? There's a phone call for you. They said it's urgent.”

“I'll be right there, Mom.” Lauren threw back the sheet and pulled on her thin cotton dressing gown. A quick glance at the clock told her it was five-thirty in the morning. The sleep she'd hoped to get had just been cut drastically. She cinched the belt around her waist and quickly went downstairs. She saw the worried look on her mother's face as she put the phone to her ear.

“This is Dr. McKenna.”

“Lauren. It's Calvin. Sorry to wake you. But there have been some developments.”

“What's happened?” Lauren ran her hand through her hair. Her fatigue evaporated at the tone of Calvin's voice.

“It's Helena. The barometric pressure is going through the floor. The latest information from
Jonah
is telling us that we've
gone from category three to a category five in near record time. There is a NOAA hurricane hunter aircraft on its way to verify our readings.”

“What's the pressure now?” Lauren closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “We've seen explosive deepening before. How sharp was the drop?”

“All of the readouts have been e-mailed to you. But the latest barometric pressure is 27.10 inches.”

Lauren felt her empty stomach churn. The drop was staggering.

“How fast is she moving?” Lauren caught her mother's eye, then pointed at the coffee pot. She mouthed a thank you as her mom understood.

“About the same. Between eleven and twelve knots, on the same track as before. She's not making any definitive moves yet.”

“She might not.” Lauren pictured the location of the high-pressure ridge that was behind the long heat wave beating down on the Southeast and Mid-Atlantic states. As long as that dome stayed where it was, Helena wouldn't have any choice but to run directly at the Baltimore-New York City corridor.

“Why don't you look at the data the lab sent you, then come on in. I know it's Sunday and you must still be exhausted. But I've already gotten a call from the Pentagon. Everyone is starting to get a little edgy.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.” Lauren began to inhale the aroma from the coffee maker. She knew she'd need more than a few cups to get her through the morning.

“See you then.”

Lauren hung up the phone and began to organize her thoughts.

“Trouble?” her mother said, softly.

“The hurricane.” Lauren tried to smile. Her mother had been
a saint since Abigail had been born and most recently with the deployment of
Jonah
. More than anything, Lauren wished the three of them could spend the entire day together. She imagined her mother could use a break and Lauren needed a respite from Helena and the DIA.

“I need to go get on the computer. Can I talk you into bringing me a cup of coffee when it's ready?”

“Of course.”

Lauren quickly padded up the carpeted stairs and tip-toed into Abigail's room. Her daughter was sound asleep. Lauren breathed in the scent of Abigail's things: the baby powder, the fresh sheets. She leaned down and adjusted Abigail's blanket, then stood and marveled as her baby slowly breathed in and out. Lauren was filled with love as she reached down and lightly touched Abigail's tiny face.

“Is she still asleep?” her mother whispered from the hall.

Lauren nodded and quietly backed away. Hopefully, Abigail would sleep another two hours or so.

“Here's your coffee.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Lauren took the warm mug and saw a questioning look on her mother's face. They'd talked last night after she'd gotten home. Lauren had left out the part about nearly being killed, but she did confess she'd seen Donovan.

“I'm sorry, but I have to go to the office today,” Lauren apologized.

“We'll be fine. Don't worry about a thing.” Her mother hesitated. “How are you doing this morning?”

“I'm okay. Just a little tired.” Lauren knew it wasn't the answer her mother was looking for.

“Are things a little clearer?”

“Mom,” Lauren exhaled. “Nothing's changed. I know you and I disagree about Donovan. But it's just the way it has to be.”

“I understand. I just thought—”

“I don't want to argue this morning,” Lauren cut her off. “I have a ton of things to do and I need to be out the door in a little over an hour. This hurricane is going to be the death of me before it's all over. Can we just not talk about Donovan?”

Lauren saw the hurt in her mother's eyes and a twinge of guilt jabbed her heart. For the most part Lauren and her mother were best friends, especially since her father had passed away, but at times she could be so stubborn. Coffee in hand, Lauren swept into the study and switched on her new laptop. Lauren sipped her coffee, more interested in the caffeine than the taste. Moments later, she was looking at the first page of readouts. Her brow furrowed as she studied the latest Atlantic Sea State Analysis. The infrared satellite clearly showed Helena's position and width. Lauren was both horrified and fascinated as she processed the information. Helena was now positioned 110 miles northwest of Bermuda. Lauren made a mental note to tell Calvin that it would be another ten hours, minimum, before he could send a plane to Bermuda. She thought of the men aboard the USS
Thorn
. She could only imagine what their journey out of the eye must have been like.