Failsafe

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  “Jake does have the option to sell the family estate; however, there is one stipulation.”

  “What’s that?” Kennedy asked before Jake could.

  “The estate cannot be sold until the first anniversary of your parents’ deaths.” Mr. Laskin shifted his attention from Kennedy to Jake. “After the year is up, you are free to do with the property as you wish.”

  As Kennedy continued to protest, Jake felt the truth sink in. The family estate was his.

  If he’d thought about it, he would have assumed he would be named in his father’s will in some way or another. Never had he considered that Jackson Hills would be left to him and him alone.

  Kennedy’s next question broke through his thoughts. “What if I want to contest the will?”

  “Kennedy, I’m just as surprised by this as you,” Jake said wearily.

  His grandmother reached out and put her hand on Kennedy’s. Her voice was low yet firm, and the clarity contrasted the vacant look that had been on her face when they had first arrived. “This is what your father wanted. It’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  Before the conversation could continue, Mr. Laskin answered Kennedy’s question. “One of the provisions in the will is very clear. If either of you chooses to contest the will, you will lose your inheritance.”

  “What?” Kennedy’s voice rose to an uncomfortably high pitch.

  “It’s simple. You can take what your parents left you, or you lose everything.”

  Kennedy rubbed her hands over her eyes and huffed out a breath. Jake suspected she was fighting back tears when she stood and asked, “Are we done here?”

  “Not quite. I will need some signatures to transfer the assets. We can do that now, or you can make an appointment to come back before you leave town.”

  “I was planning on going home this afternoon.”

  “Then I suggest we take care of your paperwork now.” Mr. Laskin motioned to the chair Kennedy had just vacated. “Shall we?”

  Clearly struggling to control her emotions, Kennedy clenched her teeth together and dropped back into her chair.

  Chapter 9

  Charlotte sat at the table in her hotel room, the dishes from her breakfast pushed aside as she looked through the complimentary newspaper.

  Determined to stay out of sight, she had deliberately remained in her room since she woke up, waiting for the morning rush hour to subside while she ate and searched through the articles, hoping they would provide some clue for what to do next. Coding messages in public places was an old-school method of communication, but it was also one of the most efficient.

  Across the room, the television was tuned to the news. Her ears strained for any tidbit about what had happened at the farm. She didn’t know if the lack of reports was because she was out of her local area or because the NSA had managed to keep it quiet.

  Frequently through the night, she had flipped on the television to keep her company. She had thought that once the adrenaline had worn off she would collapse into an exhausted sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she heard the gunshots again and saw the face of her father’s killer invading her mind.

  She rubbed at her eyes, now swollen from her frequent sobs. Only a few months ago, she would have started her morning with her mom’s freshly baked muffins or her dad’s scrambled eggs. Some deep philosophical debate would usually ensue, the topics ranging from the state of world politics to the latest football scores. A sharp stab of sorrow pierced through her at the knowledge that she no longer had any family to call her own.

  The thought of what Kurt’s family must be feeling only added to her grief. The youngest of his three children was only two, even younger than she had been when she’d lost her biological parents.

  She reached for a tissue, drying her eyes when tears threatened yet again. With some effort, she struggled to settle her emotions so she could focus again on her search through the newspaper. The coded message from Ace wouldn’t be visible to anyone not knowing what to look for, and only she would understand how to read it. Unless it too had been compromised.

  So much information had already leaked. The location of the farm. Her dad and Kurt’s identities. And one more fact that continued to haunt her: Phil had known her name.

  How could he have possibly known about her? Unless, somehow, the men at the farm had managed to get it from her dad or Kurt. Could the emergency protocols also have been revealed to the men who had chased after her?

  She was on the sixth page of the world news section when she found it. The article in the first column contained the key phrase she needed. It took her a couple minutes to decipher the code, finally uncovering the hidden meaning: Third city, six weeks. Mentally, she flipped through the locations her dad had drilled into her head to determine the location of where Ace would meet her. Raleigh, North Carolina.

  A sense of relief swept over her at the thought that she would no longer be running away but that she now had a specific destination to run to. She flipped the paper to the want ads. The listings for used cars quickly indicated that prices were much higher in Washington, D.C., than in rural Pennsylvania, and the reliability of those cars in her price range appeared questionable. Also, how could she buy a vehicle without identification? Not having ID also eliminated the possibility of taking the bus or the train beyond the local transit system.

  The man at the train station in Baltimore would know this. If he had access to government resources, it wouldn’t take him long to track down the cab company and figure out where she was dropped off. She needed to get out of town in a way that wouldn’t be easy to trace.

  She flipped the page of the newspaper and noticed a section she hadn’t previously considered. A few phone calls later, an unusual solution presented itself.

  Five minutes before the hotel’s posted check-out time, Charlotte walked outside onto the sidewalk. She glanced back at the stately building behind her, her stomach tightening as she considered that she wouldn’t enjoy such comfortable accommodations again anytime soon.

  * * *

  “This is ridiculous.” Kennedy stood at the edge of the living room, still sulking from the loss of a house she clearly thought should be hers.

  “What’s bothering you more? That I got the house or that you didn’t?” Jake asked. Kennedy’s husband had taken their grandmother out for a drive, and he knew this was the one time he would have to air out their differences without an audience.

  “I just thought . . .” Her voice trailed off weakly.

  “What? That you would get everything?” Jake saw the truth of his statement on her face and was surprised at how much her assumption hurt. Sure, he hadn’t been on the best of terms with his father when he’d chosen to move to New York, but time had healed those wounds. Or at least it had helped them scab over.

  “Grow up, Kennedy. This isn’t about you. We just lost our parents. Don’t you think it’s time we start appreciating that we still have each other?”

  She grew quiet, and Jake stood braced, not sure if she was finally calming down and working through her feelings or if this was just the calm before the storm. Her voice was tight when she offered an apology in the simplest form. “I’m sorry.”

  Surprised by her sudden change, Jake cleared his throat. “It’s been a rough few days.” He stepped toward her, relieved when she reached out to hug him in return. “We’re both going to be okay, you know.”

  “I just can’t stand the thought of this place being sold,” Kennedy admitted with surprising sincerity. She pulled back, and her cheeks were moist with tears. “I might not want to live here, but I want to know I can come back when I want to. You know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” Jake said. “We’ll figure something out. Like Mr. Laskin said, I couldn’t sell it for at least a year, even if I wanted to. That’s a long time for us to let things fall into place.”

  “What are you going to do about Grandma?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”

 
; “I don’t know how much Mom and Dad told you, but her confusion has been getting worse. There’s no way she can stay here by herself.”

  A new wave of panic rushed through Jake. Not only had his parents left him the family estate, but they had also entrusted him with something much more valuable: the care of the matriarch of their family.

  “What were they thinking?” Jake muttered.

  “I’ve been wondering that since the reading of the will.” She looked around the room as though absorbing memories. “I know you may not want to hear this, but you could put her in a nursing home. It would be within your power as trustee to do that since she can’t live by herself.”

  “Kennedy, she’s lived in this house for more than sixty years.”

  “I know. I don’t like the idea either, but at the rate she’s going, before long, she might not even know the difference.”

  “She would know.” Jake gripped the back of a wing-backed chair. “And there’s no way I’m going to make a decision like that without asking her what she wants first.”

  “That’s fine, but the fact remains, you can’t leave her here by herself.”

  “I can probably work here for the next month or two until I figure something out.”

  A car engine sounded outside. “That must be Scott.” Kennedy glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. I should probably go.”

  “Aren’t you going to stay for dinner?” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he realized that heating up one of the many casseroles the neighbors had dropped by would likely be his responsibility tonight.

  “No. I’m not really hungry.”

  Jake followed her onto the front porch and watched as Scott helped their grandmother out of the car. As though seeing her for the first time, Jake took a critical look at the woman who had been such a constant presence in his life.

  Her shoulders slumped forward a bit now, and her body seemed somehow more frail than he remembered. More than her physical appearance was the distant and detached look of confusion he had seen darken her eyes so many times since he had returned home.

  Just that morning Jake had gone into the kitchen to find his grandmother trying to make a pot of coffee without putting water in the coffee pot first. Thankfully, the smell of the empty container heating had caught his attention, and he had quickly remedied the problem. What would have happened had he not been there?

  The idea of forcing her to move just so he could go back to his life in New York was something he wasn’t prepared to do. He couldn’t imagine personally tending to his grandmother’s every need, but clearly he would have to find some solution. Until he could, it appeared he would have to find a way to work from his childhood home.

  Chapter 10

  Jake followed the scent of bacon frying into the kitchen and found his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table, her knitting needles in her hand and a skein of yarn on the floor at her feet. He looked around the room, surprised for a split second when he didn’t see his mother. The hole in his heart ached. He moved to his grandma, determined to appreciate her for as long as he had her. He kissed her cheek. “Good morning.”

  Her face brightened immediately. “Good morning, dear.”

  Jake continued farther into the kitchen until he reached the stove. Seeing that the bacon was already crispier than he liked, he turned off the burner and used a hand towel as a hot pad to move the skillet from the heat.

  The smell of something just beginning to burn caused him to lift the lid of the pot on the back burner, which he discovered contained oatmeal that had clearly finished cooking awhile ago. He switched off that burner as well. “Grandma, have you already eaten your breakfast?”

  “No, of course not.” Her voice was the same as it had been when he was a boy—steadfast and certain. Then confusion seeped into her voice. “It’s still on the stove, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Grandma.” He saw her start to rise, and he motioned for her to stay seated. “I’ll bring it to the table.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She went back to her knitting, her fingers manipulating the yarn with ease. As soon as Jake set the food on the table, his grandma put her knitting aside.

  “Do you have anything planned for today?” Jake sat and waited for her to serve herself before he slid a couple pieces of bacon onto his plate.

  She pondered the question long enough that Jake thought he was going to have to repeat it. “I thought I would go for a walk in the gardens and then drive into town to the market.”

  “Grandma, you don’t have a driver’s license anymore,” he reminded her gently.

  Her expression clouded.

  Jake was pretty sure she didn’t have access to any of the car keys but decided to double check just in case. “It’s supposed to be a nice day out today. Why don’t you take your walk in the gardens, and then tomorrow I can take you into town to run your errands.”

  “I suppose that would be okay.” She took a bite of her oatmeal and wrinkled her nose a bit, presumably from the burned taste that had likely seeped through it.

  Not a big fan of oatmeal anyway, Jake nibbled at the overly crisp bacon. He decided he needed something a bit more substantial, so he got up and looked in the pantry, hoping to find cereal or something else he could fix quickly. He should have known he wouldn’t find any prepared foods in his mother’s pantry. Instead, ingredients were lined up neatly so she could find what she needed when she was making “real food.”

  He stood in front of the pantry longer than necessary, waiting for the pang of longing to pass. What he wouldn’t give right now to have his mother standing in this very spot, lecturing him on the perils of processed food. He doubted she would be happy to know he was going to have to buy a significant amount of the processed foods she despised if he was going to stay here for any length of time. Burned oatmeal and crumbly bacon weren’t going to do it for him.

  Deciding beggars couldn’t be choosers, he picked up a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and decided it might be best if he worked at the kitchen table for the time being since he wasn’t completely sure if his grandma would be okay in the house alone.

  “I’m going to get my computer. Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, dear,” his grandma replied. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go into town.”

  “We’re going to town tomorrow, remember?” Jake said, wondering if she hadn’t understood the plans he had laid out.

  “You don’t want to go today?”

  “No, I need to get some work done today. We can go right after breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow will be fine, if that’s what you want.”

  Again, Jake struggled for patience. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Okay,” she said placidly. “Just don’t go into town without me.”

  “I won’t, Grandma.”

  * * *

  “I don’t know what to make of it, Sheriff.” Andy Carter rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “The missing horse showed up last night around feeding time. He still had his saddle on him, but the bridle had been stowed in one of the saddle bags.”

  “Sounds like it really was Charlie Martin’s doing,” Nelson said.

  “Could be, but why?”

  “Good question.” Nelson looked out at the expanse of fields and trees. “Any idea what direction the horse came from?”

  “One of my boys spotted him in my south pasture. He followed the trail back a half mile and said it looked like he came from the southeast.”

  “Thanks, Andy.” Nelson headed back to his car, rolling this new information over in his head. He still didn’t have any idea who had killed Dwight and the other man at the Martin farm—a man named Kurt Dorsey, from Baltimore—and his only potential witness was missing.

  As much as he didn’t want to consider the possibility, the lack of fingerprints in the barn from when the horse was stolen kept circling back to a fact he didn’t want to face: maybe Charlie Martin wasn’t a witness after all. Maybe he needed t
o reclassify her as a suspect instead.

  * * *

  Charlotte stood on the edge of the pasture and considered the bay mare cropping at the grass a few yards away. The owner, Mr. Carsdale, had spent the past several minutes telling her about the horse’s bloodlines and health history. From what she saw so far, this horse appeared to be a perfect fit for her needs. She hoped and prayed she wouldn’t have to look any farther than this farm on the edge of town.

  She had spent the past twenty-four hours zigzagging across the state of Virginia. Three subway transfers, two local trains, six transit buses, and more cab rides than she cared to count, always paying cash and keeping her visibility at the various stops to a minimum.

  If someone had managed to track her movements over the past two days, Charlotte figured they deserved to find her. At the moment, even she was having trouble remembering where she was.

  She had only slept in patches as she’d ridden in her various modes of transportation, afraid to risk booking another hotel room. Instead, she had split her early-morning hours between a late-night movie theater and an all-night diner in Fredericksburg. She didn’t remember anything about the two movies she had slept through, and she wasn’t quite certain what she had eaten, but she had made it through those awkward hours when she had wanted to make sure she didn’t seem out of place.

  The mare raised her head when Mr. Carsdale approached with a lead rope in hand. The horse waited patiently while the older man took hold of her halter and clipped the rope to it. “We put new shoes on her just last week.”

  “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

  “Sahara.”

  Charlotte waited by the gate as Mr. Carsdale led her through. She put a hand on the animal’s neck before going through the motions of checking her for any sign of injury.

  “If you’d like, I’ll get her saddled up, and you can take her for a ride.”