by Rebecca York
He’d been at the playground for twenty minutes, and he didn’t like the way this was shaping up. Carrie had said she’d be here, but so far, she was nowhere in sight. Neither was her damn bodyguard.
He made his hand into a fist and punched the chain-link fence that surrounded the play area. It looked as though he’d driven all the way into town for nothing.
There couldn’t be any mistake about where they were supposed to meet, could there?
He walked outside the fence and looked up and down the street. Still no Carrie. He pulled his phone out of its holster and held it in his hand. He’d tried to call back and found that Carrie had contacted him from a phone that could only make outgoing calls, so there was no use trying to find out where she was. He wanted to tell her how worried he was about her. He wanted to beg her to show up, but he simply couldn’t do it—not even in this age of instant communications.
How long should he wait before giving up and going home? Or maybe she’d gotten in touch with Inez? Maybe he should call her and find out if she’d heard anything.
* * *
THE PHONE RANG and all three people in the Mitchell house went stock-still.
Hope and pain laced through Carrie as she looked at Wyatt. “It could be the kidnappers.”
“I’ll get it,” Inez said.
Wyatt didn’t have time to give her instructions before she picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
Wyatt and Carrie both moved close to her so they could hear who was on the other end of the line.
“Have you heard from Carrie?” a voice asked. It was Patrick, and he sounded upset.
Inez clenched the receiver more tightly and glanced from Carrie to Wyatt. “No. Should I have?”
“She was supposed to meet me,” Patrick said. “But she hasn’t shown up, and I’m worried about her.”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“You sound strange.”
“I’m just, you know, on edge. I’m worried about Señorita Carrie, too. And her father.”
“There’s no use waiting here. I’m coming home.”
“Maybe she’ll show up where you are. What if she comes and you’re not there?”
“I’m coming home.”
The line clicked off, leaving the three of them staring at each other.
“We don’t have much time,” Wyatt said. “He could be right around the corner.”
“It sounded as if he’s still down there,” Carrie said.
“Unless he was calling to test Inez.” Wyatt turned to the housekeeper. “You keep watch. If you see him coming up the drive, let me know. I’m going to search his room.” He turned to Carrie. “You get your cameras. Well, maybe not all of them. Anything we take might have to be abandoned.”
She winced. “Okay.”
“While I search Patrick’s room, you see if you can get into your father’s computer.”
“It’s password protected.”
“Do your best.” Wyatt charged off down the hall to Patrick’s room, then stopped at the door. Would the guy have some warning system or a camera in there?
He examined the closed door and the floor around it to make sure Patrick hadn’t used any device to indicate an unwanted visitor.
Wyatt opened the door and stepped into the room. The shades were drawn, and he flicked the light switch so that he could look around. His first thought was that Patrick was a neat freak. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was sitting around. It could almost have been a room in a luxury hotel where people came and went without leaving their personal belongings. Scanning the bookshelves, he saw some volumes of popular fiction, separated from books on business. He ran his hands along the volumes, intent on finding out if one of them was really a hidden camera.
There were no cameras in the bookshelves, and he couldn’t identify anything on the walls that was taking his picture, either. He went into the bathroom and checked the medicine cabinet, finding only the usual toiletries. Patrick didn’t seem to be on any kind of medication, or nothing that he kept where a visitor could find it.
Visitor? That stopped him short. Patrick probably wasn’t expecting anyone to come in here. Which might have made him careless.
Wyatt returned to the bedroom and opened the closet, riffling through the neatly hung shirts, jackets and pants, all arranged by color. He didn’t know a lot of men who enjoyed shopping for clothes, but Patrick had a lot of them, and the labels were good ones. Apparently, he liked his sartorial comforts.
He should have asked Carrie what the guy did for fun. There was no indication here of what that might be.
He opened drawers, finding carefully folded underwear and T-shirts. All of them looked as though he’d gotten Inez to iron them.
In the sock drawer, Wyatt hit pay dirt. There was a slight irregularity in the shelf-lining paper, and when Wyatt lifted it up, he found a manila folder.
When he pulled it out, he found something interesting. It was a carefully compiled and annotated employment history on a security man—named Wyatt Hawk.
* * *
INEZ STOOD IN the hallway feeling sick inside. She didn’t like what she was about to do, but what choice did she have?
First she peeked into Patrick’s room, where she saw Señor Wyatt searching through dresser drawers. Satisfied that he was busy, she walked down the hall to the office and saw Señorita Carrie sitting at the desk trying to get into the computer.
She could have told her the password, but then she’d have to admit how much snooping she’d done around here.
She’d watched Señor Mitchell type in the letters and numbers, and when he’d been out of the office, she’d done it herself to make sure they worked.
Before Señorita Carrie could turn around and find her standing there, she went down the hall to the front of the house, where she looked out the window as she’d been instructed. She saw no cars coming up the driveway, but she didn’t expect to see anyone. Not yet.
Her heart was pounding as she moved to the kitchen and checked to make sure that neither of the other people in the house was watching. When she was satisfied she was alone, she took the receiver off the hook and dialed a number.
“Hello?” a voice said.
“Is this Home Depot?” she asked.
“You have the wrong number.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
She hung up quickly, knowing that she had delivered the required message. It had to do with the place she’d asked for. Home Depot meant Carrie was in the house.
She pressed her fist against her lips, then pulled herself together and went back to the window.
Chapter Twelve
Wyatt riffled through the folder he’d found in Patrick’s drawer, noting that the information wasn’t totally about him. There were also several other guys who specialized in security work, but it seemed he was the star attraction.
He thumbed through the pages and found he knew some of the men. Cal Winston was a good choice for a protection detail. So was Drake Inmann. They would both have been excellent for the assignment, but from the amount of material on each, it looked as if they’d been taken out of the running early on.
He went on to his own work history, reading about his early army training at Fort Bragg. His CIA experience in a number of countries around the world. The spy operation that had gone bad in Greece was highlighted in yellow.
So they knew about his biggest failure, but Patrick had made a notation next to it, saying that Douglas had accepted Patrick’s recommendation of Hawk.
Wyatt stared at the page with narrowed eyes. If this was to be believed, Patrick had been the one who’d recommended him. Because he thought Wyatt was the most qualified, or what?
A sound behind Wyatt alerted him that he was not alone. He whirled a
round to find Carrie standing in the doorway.
“Sorry I startled you.”
“I guess I’m jumpy.”
“We both are. What did you find?”
“Work experience of several security men—me included. Did you know Patrick recommended me for your bodyguard?”
“No.”
“Did you have any input into the selection or talk to him about it?”
“No.”
Wyatt held up the folder. “There are several other candidates in here. Good men. Why do you think he picked me?”
“I have no idea.”
He wanted to ask if she thought it was because he’d made a bad mistake in Greece, but he didn’t want to open the subject to discussion.
“Where did you find the file?” she asked.
“In his sock drawer.”
“He was hiding it?”
“Looks like it.” He switched subjects abruptly. “Were you able to get into your father’s computer?”
“Yes. The password is my birthday.”
“Not too original. What did you find?”
“The usual things. His list of contacts. A list of his medications. Angry letters he’s written to various companies complaining about their products and services. There’s also a file of family pictures. He must have had them scanned and put into the computer.”
“Anything useful?”
“The bills he paid and his bank records. It looks like some money has been moved around.”
“Let me see.” Wyatt put the folder back where he’d found it and glanced around the room, trying to ensure he left no trace of his search.
“Was he always such a neat freak?” he asked Carrie.
“Not at first.” She stopped and thought. “My dad used to criticize him for the way he kept his room. That made him much neater.”
“Kids respond to their parents in one of two ways. Either they do what’s asked of them, or they do just the opposite.”
She laughed. “I guess.”
“Were you as neat?”
“No. One of my acts of rebellion.”
They headed down the hall again. In the office Wyatt got a listing of the files and started scanning the contents. He rummaged in a drawer for a thumb drive and stuck it in the machine. He had just started copying files when Inez came running down the hall, her face a mask of panic.
“Mr. Patrick is coming up the driveway. He’ll fire me if he finds out you’ve been here. What should I do?”
“Just act naturally, as if you’ve been ironing his T-shirts,” Wyatt said. He hadn’t copied all the files he wanted from Douglas’s computer, and it looked as though he wasn’t going to get to do it.
“Come on.”
He shoved the thumb drive into his jacket pocket and headed for the back of the house, but it was already too late. The front door slammed open and Patrick charged into the house.
Wyatt looked at Carrie. Where can we hide? he mouthed.
She looked wildly around, then pointed to the back door.
“He’ll see us.”
“I have an idea.”
Out in the front hall, they could hear Patrick interrogating Inez.
“Were they here?” he demanded.
“Who?”
“Carrie and Hawk.”
“Why would they have come here?”
“You tell me.”
“I...I...don’t know.”
“You were alone here the whole time?”
“Of course.”
The voices faded as Carrie led Wyatt to a shed a few yards from the edge of the pool deck. It filled a gap in the wall of tall shrubbery that enclosed three sides of the pool. When she opened the door and stepped inside, he followed her into a small enclosure that housed the pool’s pump and large plastic cans of chemicals. They closed the door behind them, shutting out most of the light.
“Doesn’t he know about this place?” Wyatt whispered.
“I don’t know, but you can bar the door, and he won’t be able to get in.”
It seemed crazy for Carrie to be hiding in her own house—from her father’s chief of staff, a man she had known almost all her life. But Wyatt couldn’t shake the conviction that it would be dangerous for Patrick to find them here.
Carrie rummaged through the equipment and found a metal bar, which she slipped through two slots in the door.
“This door locks from the inside?” he asked, his voice low.
“I had one of my father’s workmen put it on for me years ago,” she answered.
“Why?”
“You see how the pool’s enclosed. When I was a kid, a friend of my dad used to visit with a big dog that scared me. I’d be in the water or on a chaise, and he’d come charging outside. If I thought I couldn’t make it to the house, I’d come in here.”
The sound of footsteps made Carrie stop speaking abruptly.
Wyatt listened as the steps crossed the pool deck. He reached for Carrie, thrusting her behind him and turning to face the door.
He tensed, preparing for a confrontation as the door rattled, but it didn’t open.
Outside, he could hear Patrick drag in a breath and let it out. “Carrie, you’re in the pool shed, aren’t you? I remember you used to hide in there.”
She made a muffled choking sound but didn’t answer.
“Listen to me,” he continued. “I made a big mistake. I helped your father pick a bodyguard, and I recommended Wyatt Hawk.”
At the sound of his name, Wyatt tensed.
“I thought he was the right man, but now I think I was wrong. I’m so worried about you. Let me protect you. Or I can call one of the other guys your father was considering.”
In the dark, Wyatt could feel Carrie stiffen behind him. What if she believed Patrick? What if she took him up on the offer? Was he going to have to kidnap her to keep her safe?
He waited with tension bubbling inside him.
Patrick was also waiting for an answer. To Wyatt’s relief, Carrie said nothing, and Wyatt certainly wasn’t going to give away their hiding place. After long, tense moments, they heard the man kick the door.
“Get the hell out of there,” he bellowed.
When they didn’t answer he said, “Have it your way.”
He gave the door one more kick and hurried away.
“What’s he going to do?” Carrie whispered.
“I think he’s going to get something he can use to break in.”
“He’s angry.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt grabbed the bar from the door, turned and shoved it through the slats in back of the shed. With a mighty heave, he pulled one free and then another.
“Go out that way,” he said.
She moved around him and wiggled through.
Wyatt replaced the bar in the door, then turned back to the escape hatch. He was bigger than Carrie, and he had to twist to get his body through the narrow opening, gritting his teeth as the boards scraped the arm where he’d been shot. Behind him, he heard rapid footsteps coming back, then Patrick was rattling the door, but it held.
“Come out!” he shouted.
When they didn’t respond, he started bashing the door with something heavy.
Wyatt pressed the boards he’d removed back into place. They wouldn’t hold if Patrick shoved on them, but for the moment they looked okay.
“Come on,” Wyatt whispered. Taking Carrie’s hand, he started running across the field, hearing Patrick whacking at the shed door and cursing.
They were almost across the field when the sound of a vehicle in the Mitchell driveway made him turn. He saw a green van speeding toward the house.
“Who’s that?” he whispered.
She turned and followed his
gaze.
“The gardeners.”
“This is their regular day?”
“I don’t know.”
Pointing toward the woods, Wyatt motioned for Carrie to duck low and run for the shelter of the trees. He followed, staying between her and the truck.
They had just made it to the little woods when the sound of gunfire echoed behind them.
* * *
DOUGLAS MITCHELL’S EYES blinked open. He was still in the darkened room, still lying with his left hand fastened to the bed. But something was different this time.
He stayed very still, thinking about everything that had happened. Carrie had overheard terrorists plotting when she’d been taking nature photographs in the woods. She’d talked to the police, and then everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.
She’d been hiding out with Wyatt Hawk and some other men he’d hired to protect her. She’d been safe, until she’d gone down to D.C. to talk to the Federal prosecutor.
Those details had been insubstantial in his memory. He hadn’t known if they were real or if he’d made them up. Now he knew.
His mind had been very dim, as if all his thoughts were filtering through a glass of motor oil. Now the oil had been washed away, and his mind was functioning again.
Again?
He stopped to think about that. How long had he been feeling as though everything was all balled up in his mind?
Six months. That sounded right. For the past six months he hadn’t felt like himself. Then men had captured him and locked him away from the world, and he was somehow thinking straight again.
He ground his teeth together, unable to believe that his mental state was just a coincidence.
In his mind he went back over the past few months—and the past few days, and a terrible conclusion began to dawn on him.
He wanted to howl with rage, but that wouldn’t do him any good. Instead, he looked around, and made a startling discovery. He knew where he was. He’d been out of this room to go to the bathroom, and the place had looked vaguely familiar. Now he knew.
This was a guest bedroom in the vacation house he owned down on the Severn River.
Good God. He was being held captive on his own property—a location that he knew well. Was there some way he could escape? Or some way he could get a message to Carrie?