by Paula Graves
He read through the list of companies that hired the staffing company to provide security personnel for their firms. There were a couple of shopping strip centers, a movie theater, a couple of mining companies and even a church or two that had showed up on the list of clients.
It was only on his second read through that Trask came across a familiar but unexpected name.
He stared at the email for a moment, then dialed a phone number, unease wriggling in his stomach as he waited for an answer.
“Security Solutions,” answered the female receptionist.
“This is Deputy Archer Trask. Is this Diane?”
“Yes, Deputy,” she said, her tone warming as if she were pleased that he’d remembered her name. “How can I help you?”
“Diane, does your company still use Cumberland Security Staffing?”
There was a brief pause before she replied, “I’m not really supposed to answer that question.”
“Could you put me through to someone who can?”
There was another pause. “I’ve been asked not to disturb any of the officers this afternoon.” She lowered her voice. “Is it urgent for you to know this information right now?”
“Yes,” he answered. It was urgent to him, at least.
“We do employ them. They provide our four night guards.”
“Can you tell me the names of the guards?”
“I don’t know if I can do that—”
“Okay, maybe you can tell me this. Is one of them named Ty Miller?”
After a long pause, Diane whispered, “Yes.”
“Thank you, Diane. You’ve been very helpful.”
He hung up the phone and stared at the narrow road stretching into the mountains ahead of him. So Ty Miller was a security guard at Security Solutions, the company where Tara Bentley worked. And according to Maddox Heller, Tara Bentley was kidnapped by two men outside the church where she was supposed to marry Robert Mallory, who had mysteriously turned up murdered in the groom’s room.
Tara Bentley, who had told her lawyer that his brother Virgil was one of the men who’d kidnapped her.
His brother, Virgil, whose alibi for the day of Robert Mallory’s murder and Tara Bentley’s alleged kidnapping was Ty Miller. Who worked for the same company as Tara Bentley, albeit indirectly.
Trask rubbed his temples, his head aching with the sudden twists and turns his murder case had started to take. Worse than the complications was the fact that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do next. Bring his brother, the deputy investigator, in for questioning? Interrogate Ty Miller about his whereabouts on Friday, even though he had less probable cause to question him than he had where Virgil was concerned?
He needed to find Tara Bentley and Owen Stiles. They were the only people who really knew, firsthand, what had happened to them the day of Robert Mallory’s murder.
* * *
“WHY ARE YOU back in Kentucky?” Quinn’s voice was tight with annoyance over the cell phone speaker.
Owen glanced toward Tara. She gave a nod. “Tell him.”
“How secure is this line?” Owen asked Quinn.
“About as secure as any cell phone can get. Someone would have to be listening for your transmissions specifically to find you. Or get very lucky.”
“I’m not sure that’s secure enough.”
“Then perhaps we should meet,” Quinn said.
“Where?”
“Where Maddox picked you up Saturday,” Quinn answered. It was oblique enough a response that only Owen, Tara, Maddox Heller and Quinn would know where he meant.
“I can do that,” Owen said. “In about an hour?”
“I’ll see you there.” Quinn hung up.
Tara glanced at Owen. “Do you think he’ll try to talk us out of it?”
Owen thought about the question for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I think he’ll devise some ingenious way for us to get away with it.”
For the first time in many miles, Tara shook off her troubled expression and managed a smile. “I think maybe I’m starting to like Alexander Quinn.”
“Don’t go crazy, now,” Owen joked, to cover his own anxieties starting to rise to the surface the closer they got to Bagley County. He wasn’t as sure as Tara that breaking into her company office was a smart thing to do. The risks were high and the possibility of rewards was scanty in comparison.
Maybe he’d been right that Quinn would support their crazy scheme, but he wasn’t sure he’d consider that good news.
Chapter Fourteen
So far, Ty Miller hadn’t answered any of Trask’s calls, and attempts to catch him at home had so far proved futile. However, a check with the receptionist at Cumberland Security Staffing had revealed that Miller would be working the night shift at Security Solutions tonight, starting at eleven.
In the meantime, Trask had been studying his file on Robert Mallory, trying to examine the case from a different angle. Mallory’s death had seemed to be the main event, with Tara Bentley’s disappearance a side story. But what if that assumption was wrong? What if Tara’s disappearance were the focus of the crime, with Mallory’s murder a peripheral event?
Had Mallory stumbled onto something that had led to his murder? Could he even have been complicit in whatever had led to his fiancée’s kidnapping?
“Assuming she was kidnapped,” he muttered as he checked the clock on his office wall. Only a little after five. Almost five more hours to go before he could head to the Security Solutions compound and wait to catch Ty Miller before he started work.
With a sigh, he returned his attention to the files. He preferred legwork to paperwork, but at least this particular bit of paperwork involved trying to pull together the scattered threads of a mystery.
Starting with Tara Bentley.
Who was Tara Jane Bentley? He knew the basics—the only daughter of former Gunnery Sergeant Dale Bentley and Susan Bentley, both now deceased. She was born in Campbell Cove, grew up there and only left town to attend the University of Virginia.
Trask paused, reaching for a second stack of papers. Hmm. Owen Stiles had also attended the University of Virginia. Coincidence? Unlikely.
He set aside questions of their unusually close friendship, since it would only lead him back to mundane motives for Robert Mallory’s murder, and that road hadn’t been leading him anywhere definitive.
For the past five years, Tara had worked at Security Solutions, a nonprofit think tank dedicated entirely to analyzing security threats both global and domestic and searching out strategies for prevention and even prediction of future events, helping security experts to stay ahead of the terrorist threat rather than reacting after an event took place.
Since joining as an analyst, she’d moved quickly up the company ladder to director of global relations, whatever that meant. Because the company was a nonprofit entity, she wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, though his tiptoe through the company’s public profile suggested she made a decent salary.
But he’d already examined the idea of a profit motive in Robert Mallory’s murder, at least where Tara Bentley was concerned. Mallory’s income had been generous, and would’ve grown considerably as he took over more and more of his father’s law practice. He’d recently become a partner, and if Tara Bentley had gone through with marrying Mallory, she could have led a financially comfortable life indeed. But she wasn’t going to see a penny of his money now, since he’d died before the wedding.
So what had really happened the day of the wedding that had left Mallory dead and Tara Bentley running for her life?
Could it have anything to do with his brother Virgil and his elusive alibi for the day in question?
Trask leaned back in his chair and rubbed his burning eyes, feeling further from the truth than ever.
&n
bsp; * * *
“WE ALMOST WENT to this school,” Tara commented as Alexander Quinn walked with her and Owen down the long corridors of Campbell Cove Security. “It closed about two years before our freshman year. Do you remember?”
“Vaguely,” Owen said, looking around. “I guess I never really gave any thought to what this place was before it became Campbell Cove Security.”
“It was scheduled to be demolished before I came in and bought up the property and the building.” Quinn’s tone was brisk, as if he was annoyed by the trip down memory lane.
Tara kept her mouth shut for the rest of the walk. When they reached the end of the corridor, instead of turning right or left, Quinn led them forward through a dark red door marked Exit.
Outside, twilight had fallen while they were in Quinn’s office, updating him on everything they’d done since their last contact. Tara had been expecting a little more pushback from Quinn about their breaking-and-entering plan, but he’d been remarkably positive about the idea, with a couple of caveats.
“First, if something goes wrong, there can be no direct links back to my company,” he said firmly. “So that means I can’t send you any of my agents to help you out with your plan. Just Owen, and he’s not going to be there in any company-related capacity.”
“Understood,” Tara said quickly.
“And second, if you do end up in trouble because of this, I’m not going to be able to help you the way I have so far. You’ll be on your own completely. Can you deal with that?”
Despite the tightening sensation in the pit of her gut, Tara had nodded.
“We have to figure out what’s really going on before we risk going to the police again,” Owen added with more resolve than Tara felt. “There could be a terror plot already in motion, and this could be our chance to stop it cold.”
“Which is exactly why I’m going along with this crazy plan,” Quinn said with a smile. “And why I’m going to help you figure out all the angles so we can avoid any of the obvious pitfalls.”
Among the obvious pitfalls, Tara had learned, were the exact security protocols followed by Security Solutions’ night security team. Quinn refused to reveal just how he’d come by the information, but he was able to tell them when the security patrols would be in what part of the building. “It’s not smart to stick to a set plan,” he’d commented with disapproval, “but I guess that’s the price of outsourcing your site security instead of building your own in-house staff.”
Tara’s guess about the company’s security focus had been correct. Except for a single walk-through of the company’s nonsecure office wing early in the shift, just after eleven o’clock, the security patrols would spend the rest of their eight-hour shift patrolling the secure areas. None of the guards had keys to the securest rooms, where the classified material was, Quinn told them. “You won’t be able to get in there, either,” he warned.
“We don’t think we’ll need to,” Tara assured him.
Over the next couple of hours, they’d worked out a plan that even Quinn agreed might get them in and out of the building without detection. He admitted he’d already checked with Tara’s bosses to see if they’d done anything about revoking her credentials. They hadn’t, they’d admitted. They weren’t ready to give up on her innocence, and blocking her credentials seemed too much like admitting she could have done something wrong.
“Foolish sentimentality” had been Quinn’s succinct assessment, but at last it made it more likely she could get through inside her office building without triggering any alarms.
“They’ll have evidence of an ingress,” Quinn warned, “and they’ll have the code number used to enter, if they decided to check the security system logs.”
“If I don’t trigger an alarm, they won’t have any reason to check,” Tara told him. “And even if they do, all they’ll see is that someone entered the office building using the security code for my department. But everyone in the department uses the same code number to disarm the alarm.”
Quinn’s stony expression was as good as an eye roll. “Our nation’s security is in good hands.”
“Well, it’ll work in our favor this time,” Owen murmured.
They’d shared a pizza with Quinn while going over a quick checklist of things they wanted to accomplish and how they planned to go about it. There was a brief discussion about using night vision equipment to aid in their getting safely inside the security perimeter, but they all agreed that since both Tara and Owen lacked experience with night vision equipment, the goggles would be more of a detriment than an asset.
Finally, Quinn had handed over a couple of heavy backpacks and led them down the corridor to this exit into the encroaching woods behind Campbell Cove Security.
“We’re being banished to the woods?” Tara murmured as she struggled to keep up with Owen’s long strides behind Quinn.
“I have no idea,” Owen admitted.
Ahead of them, Quinn strode confidently through the dark woods, avoiding obstacles in the underbrush as if he knew exactly where they were, even though the path beneath their feet was little more than a tangle of weeds and vines, anything but well traveled.
About a hundred yards into the thickening woods, they reached a small clearing of sorts. There were no trees in the small area, but kudzu vines took up the slack, nearly covering what looked like a small shack in the middle of the woods.
“It used to be one of the school’s outbuildings,” Quinn told them as they approached the kudzu-swallowed building. Only the door remained vine free, and even it would have been difficult to pick out at a cursory glance, painted with a mottled green camouflage pattern that nearly perfectly matched the surrounding kudzu. “We left the kudzu when we cleaned it up and put it to use. Cheaper than camo netting.”
Inside, the place was remarkably clean. It was little more than a room with a couple of camp beds, a tiny kitchen area with a sink, a one-burner electric cooktop and a mini refrigerator. The door in the back of the building led to a small but usable half bath with a tiny shower and an even tinier sink.
“Please tell me this works,” Tara said as she eyed the shower with near desperation.
“It all works. Electricity and plumbing should get you by until you have to leave for your rendezvous with Security Solutions,” Quinn said. “I had someone park the SUV in the woods due north of here, just off the road into Mercerville. They’ve topped off your fuel tank and changed out the license plates again, just in case.” He slanted them a wry look. “Got rid of the bumper stickers, too.”
“Thought of everything,” Tara murmured.
“You’ll stay here until then. I thought you might both enjoy a hot shower and a hot meal. From this point forward, I expect no contact from either of you unless you achieve your ends. Agreed?”
Tara glanced at Owen. He gave a brief nod.
“Agreed,” Tara said. Owen echoed her response.
“Clean up after yourselves and try not to knock off any of the kudzu.” Quinn opened the door, quickly slipped out and closed it behind him.
The silence that fell afterward made Tara feel as if she were about to smother. The small outbuilding itself wasn’t cold, nor was it overly warm, but it felt closed in, suddenly, after days of living outside or in an SUV.
“I’ll be magnanimous and give you first dibs on the shower,” Owen said. He had taken a seat on one of the camp beds and was digging through the backpack Quinn had supplied. He pulled out each piece and laid it on the bed, revealing a couple of changes of clothes, a pair of hiking boots and a handful of protein bars. Owen waved one of the protein bars at Tara as she sat on the bed opposite. “He meant what he said about cutting us loose, but at least he gave us a change of clothes and a couple of meals to get us through to the next hidey-hole.”
“Yay?” Tara pulled out the clothes Quinn had provided for he
r. They looked as if they’d fit well enough, though she longed for her own closet and her own wardrobe.
What she wouldn’t give to be in her cute little house in Mercerville, cuddled up in front of the fireplace.
With Owen, an unrepentant little voice whispered in her ear.
She grabbed the change of clothes and headed for the small bathroom. “I’ll try not to use up all the hot water.”
Easy enough, she thought as she turned the cold tap all the way on.
* * *
ARCHER TRASK EYED the clock as he closed up the file folders. Three hours to go, and he wasn’t any closer to a theory about Robert Mallory’s murder than he’d been when he started.
Unless he wanted to believe his brother and Ty Miller really had kidnapped Tara Bentley and killed her fiancé.
But what was the motive? Trask’s brother was a pretty ordinary guy. Divorced, no kids, worked a tough job and spent his off time hunting, fishing and four-wheeling. About the average for a guy from Bagley County, Kentucky. He wasn’t particularly religious or political, as far as Trask knew, which would seem to rule out those particular motives.
As far as Trask knew. Which was the problem, wasn’t it? Even when they were younger, he and Virgil had never been close. Virgil was a decade older than Trask, and he’d never had much time for his younger half brother, too busy raising hell with his friends to do any brotherly things with his tagalong sibling.
After a while, Trask had stopped trying to be close to Virgil, which had seemed to be fine with him.
There was quite a lot about Virgil that he didn’t know, wasn’t there?
Really, if anyone knew Virgil at all, it was their father, Asa. He had always had a soft spot for Virgil, even during the worst of his delinquency. We used to call it sowin’ wild oats, Asa would say when Trask’s mother complained about Virgil’s latest misdemeanor.
Trask had long suspected that Asa had never really gotten over his first wife. Marrying Trask’s mother, Lena, had been a matter of expediency—he had a young boy who needed a mama, and he was a man who needed a warm body in his bed. Lena Lawrence had been a beauty in her youth, and she’d fallen hard for the older widower with a child.