Chapter 34
He would not depend on underlings to
make this very important telephone call, as he had originally
planned. No, he had decided that he wanted the pleasure of issuing
this specific order himself. As he placed the call, he thought
about Griffin Powell, a man he hated with every fiber of his
being.
“I assume that Shiloh Whitman is dead,
isn’t she?” he asked the moment his puppet inside Griffin’s Rest
answered. “If you lie to me, I will know.”
“Yes. I did what you told me to do and
I expect you to keep your part of our bargain. Don’t hurt her.
Please. Let her go.”
“No one has hurt her. She is alive and
well. And as long as you continue to follow my instructions, no
harm will come to her.”
“I was told that if I
killed—”
“Be very careful what you say. You do
not want to be overheard, do you? It would be a shame if anyone
found out what you had done, at least not before you are able to
give me everything I want in exchange for what you
want.”
“I am not going to kill anyone else for
you!”
“Yes, you are, if you ever want to see
her alive again.”
“Damn you!”
He laughed, gaining great pleasure from
having caused so much anger and pain to someone Griffin Powell
trusted. “I’ve chosen your next target. This time I want you to
strike a lethal blow a little closer to Griffin and Nicole. I want
this kill to be more personal than all the others. It’s time to up
the ante before the Grand Finale of Act I.”
“Why do you hate Griffin Powell so
much?”
“My motives are of no concern to you.
Your only purpose is to obey my orders.”
“I swear to God if you hurt her,
if—”
“You are in no position to make
threats. But I have no reason to kill her. She is nothing more than
a means to an end. As long as you do what you’re told, she stays
alive. Tell me that you understand.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good,” he said. “Now, while Griffin’s
Rest is in a state of turmoil today, when no one is expecting
another strike so soon, I want you to kill Maleah Perdue as soon as
possible. Take her by surprise.”
“Maleah? You want me to kill Maleah? I
can’t. I won’t.”
“Are you sure you are willing to trade
one life for another? Does Maleah Perdue mean more to you
than—?”
“How do you expect me to kill her in
broad daylight with Powell agents and guards and the sheriff’s
department covering every inch of Griffin’s Rest? It will be
impossible to isolate her.”
“Find a way. If Maleah Perdue isn’t
dead by morning, someone else who is very important to you will
be.”
“No! God, no . . . I—I’ll do it. I’ll
find a way.”
“Now, that’s what I want to hear. By
following my orders, I will get what I want and you will get what
you want.”
“What I want is for you to rot in hell,
you son of a bitch.”
Luke had begun to think Meredith would
sleep all night. She had certainly slept the day away. But she
roused a little before seven and after freshening up, she met him
downstairs for a bite of supper. She ordered tiger prawns for a
starter, and then honey roasted ham, served with fried eggs, house
fries, and baked beans. She ate like a ravenous wolf, as if she
hadn’t eaten in days. Luke had settled for the homemade lasagna,
and when Meredith had suggested dessert, they had both ordered the
sticky toffee pudding.
Just as the waitress set their puddings
in front of them, Luke’s phone rang. “Excuse me.” He removed the
phone from his jacket’s inner pocket.
Meredith nodded. “Yes, of course.” She
picked up the dessert spoon.
“Sentell here,” Luke said.
“We have a couple of possibilities,”
Mitchum told him, skipping any preliminary pleasantries. “All
parties who arrived by private plane in the specific
twenty-four-hour period have been accounted for except two. A guy
named Horacio Vasquez Luna. He has a Venezuelan passport and he was
traveling with a female, supposedly his wife. No one by that name
has checked into any hotels in or around London. He hasn’t rented a
condo, a house or an apartment. And there is no record of a car
service picking him up at the airport.”
“Any physical
description?”
“Late fifties, heavyset, beard and
mustache.”
“Our guy isn’t that old, but then we
have reason to believe he’s a master of disguise. Keep looking for
Luna,” Luke said. “Who’s the other possible?”
“A man named Zachary Fairweather. He
had a British passport. Our report said early forties, average
size. No one at Heathrow remembered much about him, but they all
remembered his daughter.”
“His daughter?”
“What?” Meredith dropped her spoon in
her halfempty pudding dish, the metal clinking against the
china.
“Hold on a minute,” Luke told Mitchum.
He asked Meredith, “Are you okay?”
“Whose daughter are you talking about?”
she asked.
Glancing around the noisy pub, Luke
realized that no one was paying any attention to them and figured
that, over the loud din, it was highly unlikely anyone could hear
more than a word or two of their conversation.
“A man who may be our guy got off a
private plane at Heathrow last night, along with his daughter,”
Luke told her. Before he could say more, her eyes widened and she
suddenly turned as white as a sheet. “Damn, Meredith, don’t you
pass out on me.”
“Luke . . . Luke . . .” She gasped for
air. “His female companion. Not sex. Oh, God, oh God . .
.”
“Pull yourself together.” He reached
across the table and grabbed her hand. Then he said into the mobile
phone, “Call me back in five—”
“There’s something else you need to
know about Fairweather’s daughter,” Mitchum said. “She’s a child of
six or seven.”
“Then Fairweather wouldn’t be our guy,
would he?” Luke squeezed Meredith’s hand and then released it. “He
would hardly be traveling with a kid.”
“I don’t know,” Mitchum said. “Can you
think of a better cover?”
“His female companion is a little
girl,” Meredith said in a strong voice. And when Luke nodded, she
told him, “Don’t hang up. Find out everything about this man right
now.” She offered Luke a weak smile. “I’ll be all
right.”
“Anything else?” Luke asked Mitchum,
all the while looking directly at Meredith.
“Zachary Fairweather hired a car,”
Mitchum said. “We’ve been able to trace the route the car traveled
out of London.”
“And?” Luke prompted.
“Fairweather rented a black Mercedes
C220 Europcar.” Mitchum recited the tag number. “He took M10 north
out of London.”
Well, I’ll be damned.
North of London, just as Meredith had said.
“Run a detailed check on
Fairweather.”
“I have people working on that as we
speak.”
“Contact me again when you have more
information on both Luna and Fairweather.”
“Fairweather,” Meredith whispered the
name. “Fairweather.”
“What about him?” Luke
asked.
“Forget about the man named Luna.
Concentrate on Fairweather.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Luke relayed the message to Mitchum,
ended the conversation, and stared at Meredith. “You’re picking up
on something, aren’t you? What happened? What got your woo-woo mojo
working again?”
“Tell me everything Mitchum told you
and don’t leave out even the most insignificant detail.” She shoved
back her chair and stood. “We need to leave now. We have to go
farther north as soon as possible.”
By late afternoon, the invasion of
Griffin’s Rest by what seemed to be half the law enforcement
personnel in the state of Tennessee had begun to wane. Sheriff
Fulmer was still with Griff, the two overseeing every aspect of the
investigation, but only a CSI team and a few deputies remained on
the property. Shiloh’s body had already been taken to the lab in
Knoxville for an autopsy. The detectives had questioned everyone
there at the compound, beginning with the guard who had found
Shiloh’s body. And Sanders had followed up with interviews of his
own.
Maleah had spent most of the day glued
to Nic’s side, the two women supporting each other. And Derek had
been going over the personal files of everyone living and working
there at Griffin’s Rest, searching for anything that might alert
him to a problem. Every guard employed by the Powell Agency who had
undergone a thorough background check before being hired and, to a
person, each man and woman now working at Griffin’s Rest had been
with the agency for years. There was not one single new employee
working there at present.
As for the Powell agents on duty at
Griffin’s Rest . . .
Derek didn’t want to consider the
possibility that one of them could have killed Shiloh Whitman. He
knew these men and women and was on a first name basis with most.
In his opinion, both personally and as a professional profiler,
they were all good people. Not one of them would kill without just
cause.
Or unless they were under duress,
forced to act against their will.
“Hey you.” Instantly recognizing
Maleah’s voice, Derek turned to glance at the open office door
where she stood staring at him. “It’s about time for a late
afternoon break, isn’t it?”
“Hi yourself.” He closed the file
folder in front of him, shoved back his chair and stood. “What do
you have in mind?”
She came over to him, lifted her arms
up and around his neck and kissed him. As she ended the kiss, she
murmured against his lips, “I still love you.”
He grinned as he cupped her butt. “I’m
glad to hear it since it just so happens that I still love you,
too.”
Maleah eased her arms downward and
spread her hands out across his chest. “I wish we could pretend
that everything is all right, that none of these horrible things
have happened. I wish we could concentrate on each other and forget
everything and everyone else.”
He reached up, took her hands in his
hand, and held them between their bodies. “Want to get out of the
house and leave all this behind for a while?”
“Is that possible? The grounds are
crawling with law enforcement and—”
“I think we’re down to a few essential
crime scene investigators for the most part.”
“I guess I’m behind on the latest. Nic
and I have been holed up in Griff’s study for the past few
hours.”
“How’s Nic doing?”
“She’s tough. She’ll be okay. She’s
worried about Griff more than anything else,” Maleah said. “He just
came back up to the house and found us in the study. So, I thought
I’d make myself scarce and give Nic time alone with her man while I
went to look for my man.”
“Your man, huh? I like the sound of
that.”
She pressed her cheek against his.
“Don’t remind me later on that I ever said this, but . . . I need
you, Derek. I need for you to hold me and tell me that everything
is going to be all right.”
“In case you didn’t already know it,
Blondie, I need you just as much as you need me.” He tugged on her
hands. “Come on, let’s go outside and sit on the patio. We can
breathe in a little fresh air and soak up some sunshine while we’re
holding on to each other.”
As they made their way through the
house like two kids rushing away from school to play hooky for the
day, they crossed paths with Sanders and Barbara Jean, who were
walking toward the kitchen. Brendan Richter and Shaughnessy Hood
were following them.
“We’re all in need of a caffeine
pick-me-up. I’m going to put on a couple of pots of coffee,”
Barbara Jean said. “There will be plenty in the kitchen if y’all
want some.”
“Thanks,” Derek replied.
A few minutes later, Derek and Maleah
found the patio deserted. There wasn’t another person, not even a
Powell Agency employee or a sheriff’s deputy, anywhere in sight.
Derek guided Maleah to the canopied swing at the edge of the huge
brick and stone floored patio that overlooked the lake. He sat down
and pulled her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck
and laid her head on his shoulder.
“We should be talking about you and me
and being in love and what we’re going to do about how we feel,”
Derek said. “But instead of being able to focus on the two of us,
we’re embroiled in what would appear to be a never-ending
nightmare.”
“God, Derek, who could have killed
Shiloh Whitman?”
He hugged her to him and nuzzled her
cheek, his actions comforting. “I don’t believe it’s possible that
anyone from the outside could have somehow gotten through security
and into Griffin’s Rest.”
“I think you’re right, so that means .
. .” She paused, obviously reluctant to say aloud what they both
knew to be true. “That means whoever killed Shiloh is either
working here or lives here.”
“I’ve spent most of the afternoon going
over the personal files on every guard and every agent who is here
at Griffin’s Rest right now.”
“I can’t believe that it’s one of the
agents. It couldn’t be.” Maleah lifted her head and looked at
Derek, her eyes wide and round. “What about one of Yvette Meng’s
protégés?”
“I seriously doubt that one of them
killed Shiloh.”
“No, I didn’t mean I thought one of
Shiloh’s fellow students killed her. What I was thinking, wondering
really, is why didn’t Yvette or any of her other students sense
that Shiloh was in danger? They’re a group of psychics, aren’t
they? You’d think one of them would have seen it
coming.”
“I’m not sure I can explain it,” Derek
told her. “But as far as I know, neither Yvette nor any of her
protégés claim to be able to see into the future and predict events
that haven’t happened.”
“I don’t understand all that psychic
stuff.”
“Psychic talents are like any other
talents, no one person can do everything. Just as other people are
sculptors or painters or writers or musicians, these people have
specific gifts, too, and it all falls under one
heading.”
“I guess that makes
sense.”
“And it is my understanding that Yvette
strictly forbids her students to intrude on the private thoughts of
others. She’s trained them to control any mind reading or empathic
abilities.”
Maleah laid her head back on Derek’s
shoulder. “Do you think the killer could be one of the
guards?”
“Possibly.”
“I refuse to believe that the killer
could be one of the agents,” she said adamantly.
“I think at this point, the only people
we can rule out completely are you and me, Griff and Nic, and
Yvette, Sanders, and BJ.”
“It doesn’t make sense. What possible
reason would anyone have to kill Shiloh? Why her?”
Maleah burrowed closer into Derek, as
if she could draw strength from his body. He stroked her silky hair
and pressed his cheek against the top of her head.
“I’ve given it a great deal of
thought,” Derek told her. “And the only thing that makes sense is
that Linden or York or whoever is running this horror show forced
one of the guards or one of the agents to kill.”
“How could he force them to kill
against their will?”
“I’m not sure. He would need some type
of leverage.”
“A threat, maybe.” She lifted her head.
Her gaze locked with Derek’s. “If he has threatened to harm someone
they love, a member of their family, then that type of threat would
be some mighty powerful leverage, wouldn’t it?”
Luke had gone through three traffic
circles and headed due north from St. Albans, straight toward the
next village—Harpenden. And that’s where they had been for the past
few hours, driving up one street and down another.
Hunting.
Up High Street until it turned into
Luton Road. Then they had back-tracked toward town, taking side
streets to investigate every psychic twitch Meredith had. Vaughn
Road. Leyton Road. Bower’s Parade. And all the while, they had both
been on the lookout for a black Mercedes.
Searching.
“It’s nearly midnight,” Luke told her.
“I say we call it a night, check into a hotel and get a fresh start
in the morning.”
“No, Luke, please. I know I’m not wrong
about this. I know they’re here somewhere. We can’t give
up.”
“We’re going around in circles now,” he
said. “I’m surprised the local police haven’t stopped us to ask
what the hell we’re doing. I saw what looked like a really nice
hotel right off High Street, someplace called Eagle Glenn
Manor.”
“Another thirty minutes,” she pleaded.
“Take one of the roads leading out of town. I think if they were in
town anywhere, I’d have sensed it by now.”
“Thirty more minutes isn’t going to
matter. I’m tired. You’re exhausted. I don’t think you’ll last
another thirty minutes.”
Disregarding her pleas for them to
continue tonight, Luke headed for the hotel. Just as he turned off
High Street onto Townsend Lane, his phone rang. He pulled into the
hotel car park and stopped.
Meredith stared at him, her eyes
suddenly bright with speculation, as if she knew the call was
important. Or maybe she just hoped it was.
“Yeah, Sentell here.”
“We’ve got an address,” Mitchum said,
then gave Luke the information. “It’s about a mile outside
Harpenden. From the real estate photo, it’s a small cottage
situated in a wooded area that is fairly secluded.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“The house was rented by a Zachary
Fairweather for an entire month.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Meredith tugged on Luke’s arm. “He’s
here, isn’t he? He’s in Harpenden or somewhere
close-by.”
“Go ahead and put everything into play
on your end. I’ll take it from here,” Luke told Mitchum. “And
thanks.” He turned to Meredith. “I’ll check us into the hotel and
get you settled before I leave.”
“Damn it, Luke Sentell, you’re crazy if
you think you’re leaving me behind. I’m going with
you.”
“Like hell you are.”
“Like hell I’m not.”
“I have a job to do, and your coming
along for the ride will only complicate matters. Do you
understand?”
“There is a child involved. When you
rescue her, she’s going to be very, very scared. It will make
things easier for her if I’m there, because I’m a woman and she’s
more likely to trust me than you.”
As much as he hated to admit it, her
lopsided logic made a weird kind of sense. “No way. You can do your
nurturing female thing when I bring the child back here with
me.”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean that I’m going with you and
that’s that.”
“Meredith, I can’t do my job and worry
about something happening to you.”
“I swear that I will stay in the car,
with the doors locked. I’ll even lie down in the floorboard and
hide if you want me to.”
“We’re wasting time arguing.” He held
up his index finger and wagged it in her face. “You will stay in
the car and out of my way, no matter what you hear or
see.”
“I swear I will.”
“And when I bring the child out to the
car, you will not ask me any questions about what
happened.”
“I won’t. I swear.” She looked him
square in the eye. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t
you?”
Luke didn’t answer. He put their
vehicle in reverse, drove out of the car park and back onto
Townsend.