There was a flash of something—anger?—in his eyes, but his smile came as smoothly as his response, “Yes, forgive me. I want you to know that you are welcome to stay for as long as you may need, though I know you’ll probably want to find whatever it is those people were looking for. I know I would if my wife’s life were in danger.”
Cassi seized the opportunity to change the subject. “How did your wife die? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Seems a night for sharing secrets. She had a tumor and the operation wasn’t successful. I still miss her a good deal.”
“I guess you’re lucky to have your son.”
“I am at that. And he’s a good boy.”
The conversation turned to other things, and Cassi found that she enjoyed Quentin’s company. They shared many interests, especially art. After they finished their meal, he showed her a painting by Pierre Bonnard in his den. “He was a genius.” Quentin stood with his hands behind his back, gazing up at the painting of a scantily-dressed woman. “Look at his use of light and color.”
“I like it.” Cassi generally preferred Bonnard’s interior paintings or his seascapes rather than his nudes, but this one was modest enough for even her conservative tastes. “You have many beautiful things.”
He didn’t reply at first, and Cassi was afraid she’d offended him, but when he spoke, his voice was soft. “It’s nice to talk to someone who understands their worth.”
She smiled in return, knowing exactly how he felt. In Jared she had found just such a kindred spirit.
“But I am keeping you up much too late,” Quentin said, “and you have great decisions to make in the morning. Let me walk you to your room.”
“You’d better. Or I might never find it.”
He joined her laughter. “It is a rather large house.” At her door, he left her with a smile and a promise of an early breakfast.
Cassi quickly dressed for bed in the walk-in closet, remembering the hidden cameras. She put the card from the FBI on a shelf with her still slightly damp bra, her earrings, and the engagement ring Jared had given her. She never wore the ring at night in order to protect the gold prongs holding the diamond from wear against the sheets.
Turning off the lights, Cassi made her way to the bed and slipped between the covers. She was nearly asleep when a vivid image of the manila envelope entered her mind. She sat up abruptly.
What if it rained? What if it blew away? What if the people who had killed Linden found it? She left the bed and went to the window, throwing it open. As at Linden’s, bars criss-crossed the openings. They could be released from the inside, but she didn’t dare open them for fear of setting off an alarm. She peered out at the moon lounging benevolently in the cloudless sky.
It wouldn’t rain, not tonight, and the envelope was thin but still too heavy to be blown away by a simple gust of wind. She would simply have to hope it remained where she’d left it—or tell Quentin the whole truth. And she still didn’t trust him enough for that.
Tomorrow I’ll make a copy and give the envelope to the FBI, she thought. With that, she forced herself to return to the bed. After a few more minutes, she crept to the closet and fumbled around until she found her engagement ring and put it on, feeling somehow safer. Then, as she had learned to do during her many buying trips for the gallery, she blanked her mind and forced herself to fall asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
“MR. JOHANSEN IS IN A coma. They don’t expect he’ll live much longer,” Justin Rotua said as he walked in the room, tucking a notepad into the pocket of his shirt.
Supervisory Special Agent Fred Schulte slammed his fist on his desk at the news. “I need him awake! I need to know what happened to Cassi Mason.”
Justin looked at him with concern. “I know he’s a friend of yours. I’m sorry.”
Fred ignored the sympathy. “Any news from that next-door neighbor?”
“No. I sent a man out there last night, but Mr. Holbrooke claims he hasn’t seen her since she ran onto his property after the shooting. He kept a card to give her in case she returned.” Justin sat in the chair in front of the desk, stretching his tall frame slightly before running his hands over his scalp. The extremely short brown hair on Justin’s head reminded Fred of young schoolboys sporting butch haircuts during summer break.
“I just don’t see how she got out of the house in the first place.” Fred had been up all night reviewing the case, searching for leads, but had found nothing.
“Maybe she and Linden weren’t together when the men broke in.”
“Maybe,” Fred grunted. “That would explain why he was in the room alone with those goons outside the door. Are any of them talking yet?”
“You mean either of the two you left alive?”
“Hey, they were shooting at us.” Fred’s voice turned grim. “And they did all but kill Linden.”
“I know. But they’re not talking.”
Fred smoothed his trim moustache with his forefinger. “I think I’ll go out and have a chat with Mr. Quentin Thomas Holbrooke myself.”
Justin checked the time. “It’s early yet. He might not be up.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to wake him.”
“Want me to come along?”
“No. Hold down the fort and let me know the minute anything comes in.”
“I will. But watch your back.” Justin took out his notepad and began to write—probably a list of possible leads.
Assured that things were well under control, Fred left the room and drove out to the Holbrooke estate. Mr. Holbrooke didn’t invite him in but talked to him at the door.
“As I told your man yesterday,” Holbrooke said, “I saw the young lady for only a few minutes when she ran onto my property. She seemed in a big hurry, so I let her go. She didn’t say where she was headed. I’m sorry, but that’s it.”
As Quentin Holbrooke talked, the young maid in the hallway behind him paused, her dust rag poised over a wall table with cherry wood finish. She said nothing but glanced nervously up the stairs. Fred knew then that Holbrooke lied. What were they hiding? Was Cassi in the house?
“Do you mind if I take a look around?” Fred asked.
The man’s features darkened. “I am telling you the truth, Mr. Schulte. And, no, you may not have permission to upset my help with your search. It’s a waste of time. There are no clues here. So unless you have a warrant, I must get back to my work. I feel I’ve been more than patient.” The words hid an underlying threat.
“Well, thank you for your cooperation,” Fred said dryly. “Please let us know if you hear anything from Miss Mason. She’s in a lot of danger. I’d hope you wouldn’t try to protect her from us. We’re the good guys.”
“Of course, and as I told your man last night, if I see her, I will relay your message.”
Fred strode out to his car, feeling frustrated. Linden’s life was draining slowly away in the hospital, and neither Cassi Mason nor Jared Landine could be found. Landine’s trail was cold, but he still had hopes of finding Cassi—if it wasn’t already too late. Of course Mr. Holbrooke could be telling the truth, and in that case Cassi might still be wandering the streets. Where would she go? Home? The hospital? Landine’s? All those places were being watched, but it was possible she could get by without being seen. She and Jared had done it before in New York.
She could also have been found by the men who’d shot Linden. If so, he’d never be able to figure out what they had been searching for.
Fred picked up his cell phone and dialed Landine’s number. “This is Fred Schulte. I’m Linden’s friend with the FBI. If either Cassi or Jared hears this message, please contact me.” He left his number and hung up. He’d already left the same message on Cassi’s phone.
Staring at Holbrooke’s mansion, Fred wondered briefly what the man did for a living. Perhaps it was time to look into Mr. Holbrooke’s business affairs, starting with his property holdings. He punched a set of numbers on the phone. “Justin,” he said, “do a background
check on Holbrooke.”
“Already done,” Justin said.
“Anything odd?”
“Well, there is and there isn’t. The guy is very wealthy, but I’m not a bit sure where the money is coming from. He seems to have a lot of European investments, stuff I can’t really pinpoint. And I think a lot of his wealth was inherited. None of his local properties are held directly by him, but by an affiliated company which he owns either directly or indirectly. I know that’s how they do business nowadays, but it’s a little too sneaky for me.”
“I agree. Send a few teams to check out his properties here in San Diego. I have a hunch this guy isn’t what he seems.”
“So you didn’t learn anything at Holbrooke’s?”
“Only that he’s a liar. But it was just a feeling.”
Justin chuckled. “That’s good enough for me.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Fred paused before asking, “Uh, any word from the hospital?”
“No.”
At least Linden was still alive.
* * *
CASSI AWOKE WITH THE SUN the next morning, grateful to see that there were still no clouds in the sky. She bathed quickly, using more cold water than hot to wake her up. When she emerged from the bathroom in her underclothes and her borrowed robe, she found Beth in the room laying out her skirt and blouse on the bed.
“I washed and pressed these for you last night,” she said. “I thought you might feel more comfortable in your own clothes. All the blood came out, and they look as good as new. That’s a change from the fabrics most of our visitors use. Their clothes are very pretty, but good for about once. Then again, I guess anything’s better than these maid uniforms.” She gave a laugh. “So, how is your knee this morning? Is there anything you need?”
“No, I’ll be leaving this morning.”
“That’s sad. But Mr. Holbrooke expected as much. He asked me to come and help you pack your things.”
“I don’t have much,” Cassi said. “And what I have, I’ll wear.” She walked into the closet and retrieved her few personal belongings. The bra and earrings were on the shelf where she had left them the night before, but something about their position struck her as wrong. Then she remembered her engagement ring and the fumbled search for it in the night. She must have rearranged things in her quest for the ring.
“This is all I have besides my clothes. I left my purse at—” The horrors of the night before knotted in her throat, stopping her from saying anything further.
“When you’re done dressing, press the intercom by the door,” Beth said, not noticing her despondency. “Then I’ll show you where the breakfast room is. It’s not as easy to find as the drawing room.”
A room just for breakfast? thought Cassi, but she was beyond any real surprise. She dressed quickly in the closet and then signaled for Beth. Again she had the feeling something was out of place, but she couldn’t decide what it was. Could it be someone had found the envelope?
Quentin and his son waited for her in the breakfast room with more food than Cassi had ever seen for three people. Did they always eat like this, or was it a show for her benefit?
She slid into her seat. “If I’m not careful, I’ll get used to this.”
Quentin laughed. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish.”
“Oh, no,” Cassi replied a little too quickly to be polite. “I have to be going. I’ll need to make arrangements for Linden. He doesn’t have any family.” There were other concerns at the gallery she would have to look into, but the most pressing could be taken care of by the manager. “Do you know where they took him?”
“Probably to the hospital,” Quentin said. “But do you think you should go there? That might be the first place the men after him would look.”
Cassi took a deep breath. Quentin was right! She couldn’t go anywhere they would expect her to go. Not to Renae’s, not home, not to the gallery. The FBI was her only choice.
Quentin studied her. “What are you going to do? No, perhaps it’s best you don’t tell me. But let me take care of arrangements for your friend until you clear things up. He was my neighbor, after all. I won’t do a funeral or anything, just make sure things are put on hold until you’re ready. And I’ll loan you a car and a few hundred to get you by.”
“No . . . I couldn’t,” Cassi said.
“Yes you can. I won’t even miss it. In return, keep in touch. If you need help, I’ll do what I can.”
Cassi felt tears coming to her eyes. “Why would you do this for me?”
His smile was warm. “Because you’re a beautiful and brave woman. I admire you.”
That made Cassi laugh. “You were about to shoot me last night.”
“That was before I knew you.” His overtones in his voice were more than friendly. A few short months ago, she would never have noticed his interest, but her relationship with Jared had taught her a few things about men.
“Thank you,” she said. He was a very considerate person, and she found herself liking him. The hardness she had seen at their first meeting must have been a protective shell hiding the kind person underneath.
She paid little attention to the delicious food but ate quickly, consumed with desire to retrieve the envelope and find her fiancé. She clung to the hope that he was still alive.
As promised, Quentin lent her a new-looking four-door sedan. The sleek black color appealed to her. “I’ll be careful with it,” she promised.
“I know you will.” As she left, he pressed a thin envelope into her hand, holding her fingers between his longer than necessary. “There’s a phone card with my number in there,” he said. “As well as some money. Please let me know how you’re doing.”
“I will,” Cassi said. “Thanks again.”
He opened the car door as Beth came into the garage with the small tapestry case Cassi had seen in her room. “Your things,” she said, slipping it into the back seat.
Cassi looked at her gratefully. Since she couldn’t go home, the borrowed clothing would come in handy. Once she turned herself and the envelope over to the FBI, there was no telling when they would let her return.
She drove around the large block once to be sure she wasn’t being followed, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. The men who had come to Quentin’s last night must have either given up or been chased away by the police. Finally, she pulled over to the curb on the side of Quentin’s estate where she calculated she had left the manila envelope. She jumped and tried to see on top of the wall, but it was of no use. How could she find the envelope?
There was nothing for it but to stand on top of the car. She felt conspicuous, and waited until there was a long break in the few passing cars to follow her plan.
Once on the car above the front wheel, she could see on top of the wall, but there was no envelope. A sinking despair began in her stomach. “Come on now,” she told herself. “Just because you have a good sense of direction doesn’t mean you have the exact place.”
Farther down the road, she spotted more large oaks like the one she had climbed the night before. Several had branches sticking out over the wall. Back inside the car, she put it in gear, moved slowly forward, and stopped. She scrambled on top of the car once again, and once again found nothing. Her leg was beginning to throb. She had to stop twice more before she finally spotted the manila envelope.
Figuring out how to get it was even more difficult. She finally had to use the case Beth put in the car and a toolbox she found in the trunk. She stacked them against the wall, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible—not an easy thing to do. There was no logical explanation for her behavior, except, of course, the envelope.
“Stop squishing me,” she made the toolbox complain. The case laughed nervously. “I can’t squish you. You’re hard. It’s that heavy human who’s going to squish me!”
Cassi sighed, and after a quick check for cars, stepped on top of the case, feeling it buckle slightly. She stretched and patted the stone
with her fingers until it hit the envelope. Carefully she wedged it between her longest fingers and pulled it over to the edge. Then she jumped down and quickly carried everything to the car at once, plopping the case and toolbox into the back seat, stopping only briefly to make sure the envelope was intact.
The engine roared to life and Cassi sped away. She drove for fifteen minutes before she finally realized that she didn’t know where she was going. She slowed and pulled over to the curb. With the engine idling and the doors locked, she hefted the tapestry case over the seat to the front and searched it for the FBI agent’s card that Quentin had given her the night before.
But she couldn’t find the card. Where was it? Had she left it in her room at the Holbrooke estate? If she had, then most certainly Beth would have packed it. Last night’s silk pantsuit and nightgown, plus one or two other outfits she didn’t recognize, tumbled onto the seat in a jumble. She searched the pockets of the suitcase and found toothpaste and brush, shampoo, a comb, even deodorant. But no card.
Cassi thought back to the night before when she’d prepared for bed. The card had been lying next to her ring and bra, and when she went back for the ring in the dark, she remembered feeling it. So where did it go?
Chills crawled up her spine. She remembered how she had felt this morning when she looked at her things, as though something had been missing—the card, obviously. It couldn’t grow legs and walk away on its own. Someone had to have taken it.
She swallowed hard. Was it her imagination, or did someone not want her to go to the FBI?
“I can still go,” she said. “I can find a pay phone and call information for the number.” But then she might not find the same men Linden worked with—at least not right away.
Quentin’s words of the night before came back to her: “It seems odd to me that Mr. Johansen would talk to them shortly before some men came into his house and shot him.”
Was there a leak in the FBI? Confusion as far-reaching as the numbness in her heart filled Cassi’s mind. No matter what, she had to keep the envelope safe until she turned it over to the right people. Jared’s life depended on it.
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