“Well, you know what Dorothy said: There’s no place like home. But I knew I could never come back…unless I found a way to make it right. What better way than to put it all on a dead man’s shoulders? I only had to wait for him to die—well, I may have hastened it along. He was dying anyway. When the dust settles, I’ll be able to get any price I want for my book, and no one, no one, will be able to touch me.”
“I don’t believe you.” She had to keep him talking until she figured out some sort of new plan. “How could you have learned what was happening and then pulled all this off?
“I still have a few of my old contacts. I learned of a certain someone’s failing health, and a plan came to me. I could kill two birds with one stone, as they say. With your grandparents long gone and you so lonely, all cooped up in that old house, I estimated you were ripe for the picking.” He grinned. “I love itwhen I’m right.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Well, it’s past time I left. You two enjoy yourselves.”
He turned and walked out the French doors.
Allie started after him. She wanted to tear into him. He slammed the door in her face and locked it. She reached to unlock it, but it was the type of lock that required a key. And he had that key.
“Damn it!”
She ran for the staircase.
“Where are you going?”
She dared to pause and look back. “I’m sorry, Tommy, but I have to leave.” No matter that she would love to know how he was here…she had to get word to Steve. Rivero could not slip away again.
“Apologies,” this man—Tommy—said, “but you cannot leave. I can’t allow it. You are the target.”
Allie started to ask what that meant, but she actually knew. No need to try buying time. So she rushed up the stairs instead.
The sound of his footfalls behind her echoed in her ears.
Rivero Residence
Lake Shore Drive, Wonder Lake, 2:00 a.m.
Allie wasn’t here.
Steve felt way beyond desperate. He had to find her.
Mannington had made another call to the chief of police, and every available uniform on the city’s payroll was helping with the search. An APB had been issued for Rivero and his SUV.
Steve had even called Agent Potter for help. She and Fraser had shown up ASAP. He supposed he should appreciate the effort, but to his way of thinking, Allie wouldn’t be missing if not for Potter’s little game.
With the house fire and Allie missing, the chief had declared exigent circumstances and Rivero’s home had been searched.
The bastard had all sorts of evidence related to Ledwell. He’d had it for years it seemed. Insurance? Blackmail? Whatever his game, it was not about getting evidence for his long overdue story or the book he claimed to have written. This was about something else entirely.
Two detectives had been sent to the home of Edgar Ledwell, the man who’d started the company. Several officers were posted outside the lab. Another pair of detectives had gone to the home of Ledwell’s son, second in command at the renowned company. So far, no sign of Rivero, his vehicle or Allie.
“I think it’s safe to say,” Fraser spoke up, “that Rivero is on Ledwell’s payroll.”
Steve resisted the first response that came to mind.You think?Instead, he grunted an agreement. Right now, he cared about just one thing: finding Allie safe.
He swiped his forearm across his face to clear away the sweat. Fatigue tugged at him. He smelled of smoke and sweat from Allie’s home. Fraser got a call and moved away. Steve watched as he motioned for Potter. The police were still searching the property.
Rivero had no other properties—at least none listed in his name.
Where the hell would he take her? And why? She had nothing in the way of concrete evidence unless what she’d found in that time capsule was significant.
Maybe that was the problem. Rivero might not want her to have it, particularly if he was working for Ledwell.
Steve swore again. He had to find that lowlife bastard.
In his pocket, his cell vibrated. He hoped to hell this was something, anything to help. The number wasn’t one herecognized. No matter, he hit accept. Allie could be using someone else’s phone. “Durham,” he said in greeting.
“Mr. Durham, this is Gayle Fischer.”
