“He walked into the Fourth District precinct two hours ago. He’s at Northwestern Memorial Hospital, being evaluated. What we know so far is that he is dehydrated and malnourished.”
This was impossible. Leah couldn’t grasp the ramifications… It was unbelievable.
“Walker here.”
Leah’s attention jerked back to Owen. He’d gotten another call. She tried to breathe, but the air just wasn’t making it to her lungs. Chris was alive? He’d been alive all this time? Who had held him prisoner? And how ironic that he would be in Chicago as well. Or that he would be found in the middle of this other mess.
She closed her eyes, tried to slow the spiraling thoughts. The whole situation was outrageous and growing more so every minute.
“Leah.”
She forced her eyes open and met Owen’s gaze. The worry there almost undid her completely. If this latest news had him worried…she was doomed.
“Detective Lambert has asked that we come to his office in the morning at ten.”
She moistened her lips. “Did he say why?”
“They found Douglas’s body.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wednesday, August 13
Colby Agency Safe House
East Elm Street, 8:00 a.m.
Owen had gotten up early for a conference call with Victoria and agency attorney Alfred Mannington. One of the agency’s top criminal attorneys, Darren Brocato, had sat in on the call and provided the best advice for Owen going forward. If Lambert chose to move toward an arrest or even suggested as much at this time, Brocato would act as Leah’s representative if she accepted the offer. Once the call ended and Owen heard Leah moving about upstairs, he started breakfast.
The toast popped up and Owen added it to the plates he’d prepared. Scrambled eggs, fresh fruit and toast. He was no master chef, but he made a mean scrambled egg. The secret was adding a little milk when whisking. He would let Leah be her own judge. It was doubtful that she would complain, even if she didn’t like his efforts. She was too kind. He still found it difficult to conceive that she’d been involved with someone like Chris Painter as a senior in high school. He’d done his research on the guy. Painter and his crew had been serious trouble. Not to mention the thirty-year-old man, now forty, had been way too old to be dating a high schooler. Maybe not by legal standards, but in Owen’s opinion.
Just then, Leah walked into the kitchen. “Coffee smells great.” She mustered up a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Good morning.”
Assuredly, the effort wasn’t one of her real smiles. He’d gotten a glimpse of the real thing a few times. Her whole face came to life with one of her genuine efforts. This one was nervous and for his benefit only. Not to mention her voice was a little over-bright. She was trying but couldn’t quite pull off theI’m okaymask. She had every right to be nervous. The situation for her grew more complicated each day, as well as admittedly more disturbing.
“Good morning.” He gestured to the plates he’d finished preparing. “This is my limited breakfast endeavor.” He chuckled. “Hopefully, it’s edible. If you like butter or jam on your toast, there’s a nice variety available.” The staff who maintained the safe houses were particularly good at stocking kitchens when guests were expected.
Her smile widened a bit, the expression prompting a little extra light in her eyes this time. “Looks great. Thank you for going to so much trouble.”
They ate for a while without talking. He had spent a good deal of time last night considering how the setup mounting around her appeared to be a bit of an overkill. The end game seemed fairly clear at this point, and still the hits kept coming. This newest element—the resurrection of Chris Painter—really was over-the-top. Last night they hadn’t talked a lot about that news or even the more painful reality that Raymond Douglas’s body had been discovered. Leah had called it a night quite early. Owen understood she’d needed time alone to think.
She managed a few bites of eggs and half a piece of toast before diving into the questions he’d fully expected this morning. Her gaze fixed on Owen’s. “Where did they find him? Raymond, I mean.”
“They weren’t liberal with the details,” he clarified. “But it was near the lake house. In a car registered to him.”
She nodded slowly. “No sign of Isla?”
“There was no mention of her.” He understood the question she really wanted to ask but dreaded the answer even more than the previous two.
She sipped her coffee, then cleared her throat. “How…” Deep breath. “How did he die?”
This was where things got even stranger and considerably more murky. “He was shot, once, in the chest.”
Another slow nod. “I guess that’s where all the blood in the lake house came from.”
The answer was not as cut and dry as that, and he only knew the few details at his disposal because the agency had friends in the medical examiner’s office. Certainly Lambert had not shared the gritty details as of yet. The detective was far too convinced Leah was his best potential suspect.
“There’s some question about that, actually,” he explained, pushing his plate aside as well. He didn’t look forward to relaying the rest to her. She was already hurt at the prospect of how she’d been fooled.
