by Rebecca York
Patrick answered immediately.
“Carrie?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?” He sounded on edge.
“I’m in D.C.”
“At your apartment in Columbia Heights?”
“No.”
“You should come home.”
“You know I can’t. It’s not safe for me to go there. The terrorists could be watching the place, but you can meet me.”
“Where?”
“I’m at the Macomb Street playground.”
“A playground?”
“It seemed like a place nobody would look for me.”
“Is Hawk with you?”
She glanced at Wyatt. “I’m alone.”
“Why?”
She kept her voice even. “We decided that it would be better to separate for a while.”
“I thought he was sticking to you like glue.”
“I’ll tell you about it when we meet.”
“When?”
“I can’t stay around the park—or anywhere else—too long. I’ll leave and come back in about an hour. Can you get here then?”
“Where is it?”
She gave him the directions, then stumbled a bit before she asked, “Uh...who will be in charge at home, in case the kidnappers call?” As she said the last part, she felt her chest tighten. She’d been keeping her mind off of what might be happening to her father, but she’d just brought it front and center.
“Inez will be here,” Patrick answered.
Carrie glanced at Wyatt and knew he’d heard.
“There’s been no word about Dad?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice even.
“No. I’m sorry. Carrie...”
Wyatt squeezed her arm. When she turned to him with a questioning gaze, he pointed to his watch.
“Get here in an hour,” she said to Patrick.
She hung up before he could say anything else, then glanced at Wyatt. “Was that okay?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want him to get a fix on this phone.”
She nodded.
He started the engine. “The sooner we get to your house, the better. When he realizes you’re not at the park, he’ll come tearing home. We don’t want to be there when he does.”
* * *
PATRICK HARRISON PUT down the receiver, fighting to control the trembling of his body.
Carrie had vanished from the face of the earth, and he’d been terrified that she wouldn’t get in touch with him. He’d told himself he knew her very well. He’d come to realize that she wasn’t as reliable as he’d like.
But she had finally called, and his spirits lifted. Things were definitely looking up.
He paced back and forth, debating what to do. It looked as though his best bet was to simply meet—and take it from there. He’d have liked to get her away from the park before Wyatt Hawk came back, but he realized that the chances of keeping her out of the clutches of her bodyguard were slim.
He turned around to find the housekeeper, Inez, watching him.
“Is there any news?” she asked.
“No. I’m going out.”
“Where?”
“It’s better if I don’t tell you,” he said carefully.
“All right,” she answered in the same tone, her gaze fixed on him.
He’d never been entirely comfortable with the woman, because he’d never been sure of her loyalties or her motives. Now he wanted to tell her to clear out, but somebody had to be at the house. He could feel her gaze on him as he exited the room and headed for the garage, where he’d parked the Lexus sedan Douglas Mitchell had bought him. It wasn’t the car he would have chosen for himself. But that was the way the old man operated. He thought he knew best, and he didn’t care what anyone else thought. Which might have been the reason he’d gotten himself kidnapped.
* * *
CARRIE TRIED TO calm the beating of her heart as Wyatt headed up Connecticut Avenue toward Chevy Chase Circle.
When he pulled into a gas station she looked at him questioningly.
“What are we doing?”
“Do you want to go out there in a maid’s uniform?”
She’d forgotten what she was wearing and glanced down at herself. “Right.”
“You can change in the ladies’ room.”
He popped the trunk, and she opened her suitcase, taking out jeans and a T-shirt. When she came back out, she stuffed the uniform into the suitcase and climbed into the car again.
As they headed for Potomac, Maryland, she felt her nerves jangling. She hadn’t been home since she’d made a quick trip to the family estate after the terrorist incident. Wyatt hadn’t wanted her to go back to her condo, so she’d gathered up some clothing from her old room and stuffed it into a suitcase, under Wyatt’s watchful eyes. Back then he’d made her uncomfortable. Now she thought she understood him better. He was opening up in ways she never expected. More than opening up. That unguarded comment about making love to her had floored her. She was going to have to make sure he didn’t forget about it. Actually, thinking about how to get him into bed was a lot more pleasant than thinking about the coming meeting with Inez. Carrie had always thought she and the housekeeper got along, but had she been wrong about the relationship all along? She didn’t know whom to trust anymore.
“What do you know about Inez?” he asked as they drove.
“She’s from Nicaragua. She came here on a work visa fifteen years ago, and my father got it extended so that she’s a permanent resident.”
“She’s been with you fifteen years?”
“Yes.”
“Is she married?”
“I never heard that she was.”
“She left a husband and a son back in Nicaragua.”
Carrie’s head whipped toward him. “You know that how?”
“I had her checked out.”
“Then why were you asking me what I knew about her?”
“To see if she’d told you the whole story. Do you think your father knows about the husband and child?”
“I...don’t know. He never talked to me about it,” she added, wondering if he’d kept the information to himself. Or if maybe he’d used it to keep Inez in line.
She knew he was ruthless, and using private information wouldn’t bother him.
“Maybe she didn’t abandon them,” she said, defending Inez. “Maybe she sent money home to them.”
“I found no record of that.”
Carrie glared at him. “You were thorough.”
“That’s my job. Would she take drastic measures if she thought your father had dug into her past and was going to send her home?”
“You mean like cook up a terrorist plot? Then have him kidnapped? That sounds far-fetched. Where would she get the contacts?”
“It sounded far-fetched that a Federal prosecutor would take money to tell someone when you had a secret meeting downtown. But it looks like that’s what happened. What if someone forced Inez to work with them?”
“Let’s not assume the worst.”
“You know I always assume the worst.”
“What else do you know about Inez that’s bad?” she challenged.
“Nothing,” he said curtly, looking annoyed as he kept driving, but she wasn’t going to apologize for asking her questions. He was the one who had started the conversation.
They rode in silence the rest of the way to her father’s house.
Long ago, Potomac had been the home of big estates, horse riding and fox hunting. Gradually, most of the exclusive acreage had been subdivided into developments, but there were still some big properties left, including the Mitchell estate.
Her anticipation mounted as they turned onto
Trotter Hill Road.
“Why are you driving past?” she asked, as Wyatt failed to turn in at the entrance.
“I don’t want anyone to know we’re going to your house, and I don’t want to get trapped.”
“You think someone is watching the property?”
“Again, we need to make the assumption.”
He went an eighth of a mile down the road and turned in at their nearest neighbor’s house, where there was a big for-sale sign at the end of the driveway.
“It belongs to the Butlers,” she said.
“I know. I checked it out. The husband died, and the wife moved to Florida.”
“What, did you check the whole neighborhood?”
“Just the properties on either side of your dad’s. Mrs. Butler is holding out for her asking price. But she was too cheap to hire a security company to keep an eye on the place.”
They parked around the back of the house.
“And I suppose you also figured out the best route to get there from here?” Carrie asked.
“Yeah. Around the bramble patch, not through it.”
They walked past the swimming pool, across the manicured lawn and onto the rougher, unkempt fields beyond, skirting the bramble patch Wyatt had mentioned.
“I used to pick raspberries and blackberries here,” Carrie murmured.
“Enough for a pie?”
“Sometimes. And they were good on my cereal in the morning.”
“Patrick doesn’t exactly seem like nature boy. Did he go berry picking with you?”
“Sometimes.”
“So he’s been out here?”
She nodded, wishing that everything didn’t have a sinister implication.
They walked through a stand of white pines that had been planted long ago to shield the Mitchell property from the neighbors’ view, then paused at the edge while Wyatt pulled a pair of binoculars from a knapsack he’d brought along.
“Where did you get those?”
“The same place we bought the clothes. They’re not the best model around, but they’ll do.”
He scanned the house. “It looks quiet. I haven’t been inside, except that time you stopped to get your clothes on the way to the safe house. The bedrooms are in the wing on the left, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And the breakfast room is in the middle.”
“Overlooking the pool.”
“I don’t suppose the back door is going to be unlocked.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
He scanned the property again. “The garage door is open, and it shouldn’t be, either.”
“I guess Patrick was in a hurry to get to the meeting.”
“We’ll go in that way, but I want you to keep low as we approach. And run as fast as you can to the back wall of the house.”
He went first, bending over so that running looked awkward, but she followed his example, darting around the pool area to the side of the house and then the garage.
There was no sign that anyone had spotted them. Was Inez even here?
Inside the garage, Wyatt asked, “Where is the housekeeper likely to be?”
“Anywhere. She’s either working or resting.”
Wyatt walked quietly to the door that led to the house. It was locked, but he took a credit card from his wallet and inserted it between the door and the jamb. After a few moments, the door opened.
“Not very secure,” Wyatt muttered.
“There’s a dead bolt. Patrick must have left it open.”
As they stepped into the mudroom, Carrie fought a strange sensation of detachment. She’d lived here most of her life, yet now she felt totally divorced from the house. When she got out of this mess, would she even want to come back here?
And why not? she asked herself, knowing that it had something to do with Wyatt. He hadn’t said so, but she sensed that he didn’t approve of her father’s lifestyle.
They were moving quietly down the hall when a door opened and they came face-to-face with Inez, a small, plump woman with graying hair pulled back in a bun. She was wearing a black uniform not unlike the one that Carrie had put on at the Madison house. The housekeeper screamed when she saw intruders in the house and tried to slam the door, but Wyatt caught it with his hand and held it open.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
“Madre de Dios,” she said when she realized that Carrie was one of the intruders. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to look around here.”
“But Mr. Patrick was going to meet you.”
“How do you know?”
Inez’s face flushed. When she spoke, her Spanish accent thickened. “I was listening to the conversation. I was worried about you, and I wanted to talk to you, but I knew I couldn’t do it.”
Carrie answered with a tight nod.
“Do you often listen in on private conversations?” Wyatt asked.
“When I’m concerned about Señor Mitchell and Señorita Carrie.”
He kept his gaze fixed on her. “So you know what’s been going on?”
“You mean that Señorita Carrie was attacked when she went downtown. And, of course, I know about Señor Mitchell being kidnapped.”
“Were you here when it happened?”
She shook her head. “No. I was out getting groceries.”
“Convenient,” he answered.
Inez raised her chin. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you might have wanted to be out of the house during the abduction.”
“How would I know there was going to be an abduction?”
“You tell me.”
“I didn’t.” Her voice quavered, and she sounded on the verge of tears.
“It’s okay,” Carrie murmured. “He’s just being cautious.”
“Sí.”
“Did Mr. Mitchell know that you left your husband and child to come here?” Wyatt suddenly asked.
Inez rounded on him. “I did not leave my husband and child. In my country, women have few choices. Mi esposo was a man who always got what he wanted. He wanted to marry another woman. He kicked me out of the house, and when I tried to get my son, he told me I’d better stay away from the house or he’d kill me.”
Carrie sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t know any of that.”
“Your father knew my history. I...went through some trouble to get a U.S. work visa.”
Her voice had turned low, and Carrie could only imagine what the woman had done to get out of her country.
“My sister had worked for your father before she got married, and I wrote to him. He helped me make my residency permanent. I owe him a lot. I would never do anything to harm him.”
The way Inez spoke carried conviction.
She gave Wyatt a defiant look. “I have saved my money. My son is grown, and I heard from my sister—the one who is still back home—that my husband died. My son contacted her. He wants to see me, and I was getting ready to go home, but I stayed here because you were in trouble, and I wanted to help, if there was anything I could do.”
“Oh, Inez, I’m so sorry,” Carrie said, reaching out and folding the older woman close. They hugged tightly. “I’m sorry for what happened with your husband and your son. And I’m sorry Mr. Wyatt was...so harsh with you.”
“I understand. It is his job,” the housekeeper said as she stepped away and looked at him.
“Yes,” Wyatt said.
“Why did you take such a chance coming here?” Inez asked again.
“I wanted to pick up my cameras,” Carrie answered, the plausible reason leaping into her head.
“And we were hoping to get some information,” Wyatt added.
Carrie glanced from Ine
z to him and back again. From the way he’d started off the interrogation, she wondered if Inez would be willing to talk to him.
He must have picked up on the look she gave him, because he said, “I’m sorry I was rough on you, but I have to be suspicious of everyone. Carrie is in extreme danger. Every time we turn around, there’s a new threat.”
“Sí.”
“She asked Patrick to meet her in D.C. so he wouldn’t be home when we got here.”
“You don’t trust him?” Inez asked.
Wyatt shrugged.
The housekeeper turned to Carrie. “There’s something you don’t know, and I don’t like to tell it to you now.”
“But you will,” Carrie said.
Inez nodded. “It’s about your father.”
“Is something wrong with him?” she asked, picking up on the woman’s tone of voice.
“Not something physical. He...” She stopped and spread her hands. “He’s been forgetting things. He doesn’t seem like his old self.”
“I didn’t know.”
Wyatt jumped back into the conversation. “You’re saying you see some...mental deterioration in him?”
The housekeeper answered with a little nod. “Sí. He’s not as able as he used to be, and Señor Patrick has been taking over more and more of his business dealings for him.”
“Handling his finances?” Wyatt asked.
“I think so.” She reddened again. “You don’t like it that I listen to things, but I think I have to.”
Carrie tried to take all that in as she thought back over her recent dealings with her father. He’d been more brusque recently. Quicker to get angry, but she’d put that down to the physical frustrations of old age. Maybe there was more going on than she’d thought. She felt sad and worried. How would being kidnapped affect him now?
Wyatt put a hand on her arm. “We’ll get him back.”
“You knew what I was thinking?”
“Yes.”
She looked up to find Inez watching them and knew from the look on the housekeeper’s face that she noted the relationship that had developed between Carrie and her bodyguard. Apparently, Inez was right. She didn’t miss much.
* * *
PATRICK HARRISON GOT up from the wooden picnic table where he’d been sitting and paced back to the street.