Off Kilter Read Free Page B

Again, no mention of him or of his case. A sigh of relief and a twist of disappointment ran through him.
    He could now relax for a short while. He needed rest. He needed time to sort through the myriad thoughts tumbling around his brain. Tonight he would order room service and read a book—a perfect way to unwind and escape his situation until he could bring his memories under control and push them back into the far recesses of his mind. Sleep would help. It usually did, yet it was increasingly difficult to come by. The memories chased him and frightened him, much the same as the two men in the shades.
    But first, a shower.
    Dry, warm, and relaxed after his shower, Collin put on his old sweat pants and favorite T-shirt, ready to spend some time with a book. He looked forward to letting his mind go somewhere else. It was only 8:00 p.m., but he was physically and mentally drained.
    Just as he stretched out on the bed, book in hand, his phone rumbled on the wooden nightstand. A text from Lukas. “Get out. Now. The two guys from Heathrow just landed in Hamburg.”

Chapter Two
     
    Huntington Beach, CA
    April 30
     
    She sat still in the high-backed, Queen Ann wing chair. Her back was ramrod straight, and her aqua blue eyes were fixed on her hands, which were clasped together and perched atop her knee. They caught her attention. Maybe because she needed a distraction. The conversation had grown so tense and so heated she needed an outlet, something else to concentrate on. For the moment, the age spots appearing on the backs of her hands filled the need. But, at age sixty-three, Sarah Cook determined she was allowed to start showing her years of experience.
    Despite the recent appearance of the age spots, Sarah’s blond hair had yet to turn gray. Most people guessed her age ten years younger. Her square jaw and deep-set eyes gave her a no-nonsense, determined look to match her personality.
    “Agent Crabtree, with all due respect, you are wrong, plain and simple,” she said with conviction, her eyes still fixed on her hands.
    Across from Sarah Cook, two FBI agents sat on an elegant sofa trimmed with dark cherry wood legs and arm rests. The cushions were covered in silky fabric the color of desert sand. Between them a cherry wood coffee table with ornate bronze foil inlays held up an oversized historical picture book of Huntington Beach. The hardwood floor was partially covered by a plush, Persian rug. A row of rectangular transom windows along the tops of the sixteen foot walls let in natural light that bathed the room.
    “I wish I was, Mrs. Cook. I really do. For your sake and his, I wish I was wrong.” At fifty-eight, Reggie Crabtree was only three years from retirement. The white hairs adorning his temples showed his maturity. His mustache, however, was still jet black. The skin of his face was a few shades lighter but still taut and lean. He was in fine shape for a veteran agent of twenty-seven years, though more paunchy than he liked.
    Reggie’s partner, a thirty-four-year-old hot shot recently brought into his unit, was being groomed to replace him upon his retirement. Agent Spinner McCoy spoke for the first time this visit. His Texan accent was tempered by his desire to sound as professional as possible, but it was, nonetheless, unmistakable. “Ma’am, we’re not making this up. You saw the photographs. They’re real. You identified your son yourself.”
    “Yes, I did, but  . . .”
    “But, Mrs. Cook, the problem is these photos were taken in the Bahamas ten days ago. Collin flew there the day before under a false ID, ma’am. We believe this meeting was not coincidental. Why else would he travel under an assumed name with a counterfeit passport?” McCoy said.
    “That does not prove that he is in league with this alleged terrorist as you say,” protested Sarah. “I believe with all my heart that he is the victim of an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
    “Mrs. Cook, if that is true, we need some evidence to