Page 47 of Facing the Enemy
Carson snorted. “He even tried to change my curfew. I’m nineteen and a half years old. No reason for me to have a curfew of midnight, but he wouldn’t budge. I asked why, and he claimed Houston had become too ‘crime infested.’ Things at home got worse. I mean, he’d fly off the handle for no reason. Surprised Mom and me. She made excuses for him, said work pressures must be stressing him out.I saw him leave the house a few times, late, like two in the morning. Made me wonder if he was cheating on my mom. Once he left in his SUV, and twice some guy picked him up in a car.”
“What kind of vehicle?” I said.
“A black Lexus.”
“You’re sure it was a man?”
“Yes, ma’am. The guy got out of the car once, and I saw his broad shoulders and bald head. Kinda tall, taller than Dad. And he could have met with this guy during the day or while we slept. I decided not to tell Mom unless he took off again, then I’d follow him. No reason to upset her. The guy could have something to do with the alarm business.”
“I have a question,” Gage said. “Have you ever seen the man up close?”
“No, sir. Just what I told you.”
“License plate number?”
“No, sir. Didn’t think of it. Sorry.”
“Thanks, go on with your story,” Gage said.
“One night, in July, Dad said he had a work meeting and a customer wanted to have dinner with him. The same guy in the black Lexus picked Dad up. I’d had enough and followed him in my Jeep, staying far enough behind not to be seen. They drove to a shopping area at Town and Country, left the Lexus, and got into an SUV. They drove to a high-rise apartment building and parked in front of it. I waited far enough behind and parked.”
“My apartment building?” I said.
Carson leveled his gaze at me. “Yes, ma’am. You came out the front and walked down the street. Dad and the guy tailed you in the SUV, and I walked far enough behind not to let Dad suspect anything. That’s what I thought anyway. In one block you crossed the intersection to the restaurant on the opposite side. The guy in the SUV pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. I watched you from a bus bench across the street. I wore an Astros cap pulled down over my eyes and pretended to read on my phone. The short story shows what I saw. The fictitious part is the crazy driver and the pizza. Like in thestory, I later saw the SUV with my dad in the passenger side pull to the street from the parking lot and go through the intersection while you and your brother crossed. Because they followed you from your apartment building, I assumed you were the target.”
I drew in a sharp breath, unable to disguise my emotional tremors.
“Professor Jacobs?” he whispered.
“I’m okay. Your stepfather sat on the passenger side?”
“Yes, ma’am. I witnessed the whole thing, and the hit wasn’t an accident. But I don’t know why. The SUV headed for you first, but the guy, your brother, shoved you out of the way.” Carson bit his lip. “I made up things in the story because I don’t know what my dad and the other guy said or where the SUV went afterward. I saw in the media that the cops found it.”
I struggled not to relive the horror again. I excused myself for a moment and stepped outside for fresh air. I forgot the stench, and my break didn’t last long. I’d craved truth, and now I had many of the answers to what plagued me—if Carson told the truth. Theiflingered like the churning in my stomach. Unanswered questions needled me, and I rejoined Carson and Gage. “Then you walked back to your Jeep and drove home?”
“Yes. I couldn’t sleep, like who could’ve? About an hour later, Dad came into my room. He sat by my bed in the dark and said, and these are his words, ‘If you want your mom and unborn baby brother to stay alive, you’d better keep your mouth shut about what you saw tonight.’
“I was mad and scared. I remember whispering, ‘Why did the guy try to hit the woman?’ He told me to mind my own business. I started to ask more questions, but he stopped me. Said, ‘Enough, just forget about it.’ I obeyed, not telling anyone until now.” Carson drew in a sharp breath. “Dad could have jerked the steering wheel or done something. I don’t want to believe he’s a killer or knew the guy wanted to run you down. What am I supposed to think?” He buried his face in his hands, while his knee bounced.
I stayed silent for him to think.
Carson slowly faced me. “Has my dad always been like this? ’Course you don’t have answers. This all is making me crazy. Mygirlfriend accused me of using drugs and broke up with me. Couldn’t tell her anything either.”
“Why didn’t you call HPD or the FBI with an anonymous tip?” I said.
Carson covered his mouth, then dropped his hand to his lap. “I saw the reports online, and no one came forward as a witness. Yeah, a couple of people got the license plates, but it happened fast. Anyway I’d be the first to blame, and I couldn’t risk Mom and the baby.”
I glanced at Gage, and he gave me a thin-lipped smile, encouraging me in his special way.
“Why did you take my class?”
“Sounds so lame now. I searched the Internet and found your name and your brother’s name. I’m a Christian, Professor Jacobs, and I’d seen real evil. I couldn’t ignore any of it, but why had my dad taken part in a murder? I prayed for a way to help and keep my mom and brother safe. When I saw you were FBI, I went through page after page on their website.
“At first, I assumed the cops or you would find my dad and the other guy and arrest them. I checked online, sorta OCD with it. While doing a Google search, I read you’d left the FBI. I dug deeper on social media and found your mom’s page. She used your full name and told her followers that you’d resigned from the FBI. The next thing that happened is weird, and I have to think God pointed me to you. Mom and Dad were after me to register for fall college classes. No way would I move away and leave Mom and Caleb alone. There’s a Houston Community College campus near me, and I recognized your name as faculty for teaching creative writing. I really like English and took the class to find a way for me to tell you the truth. But every time I thought about staying after class, I couldn’t put the words together.”
Tears streamed down his face. “No matter what I did, my mom and baby brother were in danger. The junk in my head wouldn’t leave me alone.”
My head pounded as though it swelled with information—or a pack of lies. “Then you wrote the short story?”
