Clay took out his phone. ‘Texting him to come give us a report.’
‘Where is he?’ Frederick asked.
‘In his room downstairs. I sense you judging me for texting.’
Frederick heard the humor in his voice. ‘Maybe a little. I’m supposed to be the old man.’
Clay grinned. ‘Not touching that one. One, I’m too tired to get up and call down there. Two, if he’s got his processors off, he won’t hear me yelling anyway.’
The door to the basement opened and Alec joined them, but he looked frustrated. ‘I was just about to take a break.’ His hair stood up on end, like he’d been shoving his hands through it. ‘I’ve been searching for a way into the widow’s home system, but she’s wily and my Internet’s been wonky. You guys may have to take the low-tech road and simply ask her.’
Thorne sighed. ‘She’s the only loose thread we have – that ties to my past anyway. We still have the judge, his son, and Tristan Armistead, the boy Patricia was . . . involved with? Molesting? Shit.’
‘Stevie was on her way to Tristan’s house when she got hit,’ Clay said. ‘She and Paige had stopped at the school to check in with the coach. They never got to talk to him. He was out today. They were leaving the school office when the shot came.’ He rubbed his face with his palms, shuddering. ‘God. Stevie had stopped dead in her tracks for at least ten seconds when she got shot. The gunman had time to set the shot up, but it was the lightest of grazes. She barely needed stitches. Which, you know, I’m happy about, but . . .’ He shrugged, looking gray. ‘Ten seconds is a long time. If the gunman had any skill at all, he could have hit her right in the heart.’
‘But he didn’t,’ Gwyn said, reaching over to pat his arm. ‘What made her stop?’
‘Oh.’ Clay shook his head as if to clear it. ‘She got a text from my number. Said that the house was under attack, that Cordelia had been shot and was being airlifted to the ER.’
‘Oh,’ Gwyn breathed. ‘Poor Stevie.’
‘Yeah.’ Clay swallowed. ‘We’d set up a code between us, a word we’d use so that she’d know it was me. By the time she figured out that the text was a spoof, she was hit.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Jamie said. ‘We need to have a word. What—’
‘Stop,’ Alec interrupted. He looked around, a tense frown creasing his brow, then put his finger over his lips and ran downstairs. No one said a word, no one even moved a muscle until he returned holding a scanner.
Shit. Frederick recognized that scanner. It was used to search for listening devices. No. No, no, no. He exchanged horrified glances with everyone else in the room as Alec did a thorough search before dropping to his knees in front of a stack of boxes.
‘No.’ Jamie covered his mouth, cheeks gone pale.
Holy fuck. Frederick met his eyes. ‘Anne,’ he mouthed, and Jamie nodded miserably. They were the boxes of client files that Anne had brought to Phil’s hospital room the day before, and that Frederick had piled in the corner of Clay’s living room because leaving them in Jamie’s van had been too insecure.
Motherfucking shit.
Alec emptied one of the boxes, carefully scanning the contents as he stacked papers and file folders on the floor. Finally, he got to the bottom of the box and pulled out a padded envelope. He gave a yank, and the cardboard box split down the side, revealing a wire.
And the microphone. Alec held it up for them to see, eyebrows lifted in question.
Clay pointed at the door. ‘Get rid of it,’ he mouthed, and Alec nodded.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie said as soon as the door was closed. ‘They’re my boxes.’
‘Stop,’ Clay said. ‘You didn’t know that you couldn’t trust your office manager. Let’s just try to figure this out. When did you put them there?’
‘Yesterday evening,’ Frederick said. ‘So they heard all the plans we made last night.’
JD ran a trembling hand through his hair. ‘They knew about the evacuation plans then. That we did it differently may have saved their lives.’
Frederick’s gut dropped. ‘I said they were safe at Ethan’s. I said it softly, but I said it. Depending on how sensitive the microphone is . . . Anyone who does a background check on you, Clay, knows who Ethan is.’ Clay and his former partner had co-owned the personal security business that had grown into Clay’s existing private investigation firm.
‘I’ll call Ethan now,’ Clay said, already dialing. He shared the information with his friend, then ended the call. ‘He’s putting additional security measures in place. He’ll be watching. That’s all we can do for now.’
Alec came in from outside, dusting off his hands. ‘I felt like throwing it in the manure pile,’ he said, ‘but I want a chance to pull it apart. I disconnected it and put it in the gun safe in the trunk of my car. It’s lead-lined.’
‘That’s good,’ Clay said. ‘How did you know to look for it?’
‘My Internet connection was being disrupted. Sometimes that happens downstairs because I’m so far from the router in Clay’s office. I figured it’d be better up here, but it was even worse. I’d done a routine sweep before everyone started gathering here a few days ago, so I knew this was new.’
Clay’s pride was evident in his expression. ‘Good work. I want to go over this house again with a fine-toothed comb. Until then, we discuss nothing here.’
Thorne took out his phone and typed out a text, but didn’t send it. We’ll check out the ME tech’s widow. He passed the phone around. ‘Okay?’ he asked aloud.
‘Fine,’ Clay said. ‘JD and Frederick, you go with them.’ He indicated Gwyn. ‘But you need a vest if you’re going. Stevie has a few extra ones upstairs in her closet. Next to the sparkly evening gown she wore when we went on a cruise.’ His lips curved a little, as if remembering. ‘You can’t miss them.’
‘Thanks.’ She kissed his cheek and took the stairs two at a time.
Thorne glared at Clay. ‘You could have asked her to stay here.’
Clay snorted. ‘Yeah? No. I got enough problems with Stevie. You want Gwyn to stay here, you deal with her. Jamie, I need your help. Alec, get him a scanner and a long-handled extender. If you would, Jamie, scan every wall on this floor. Alec, you take downstairs. I’ll take upstairs. Scan the perimeter, up to the ceilings, then back and forth along the carpet.’
‘Got it.’ Jamie grabbed Thorne’s arm. ‘Do not do anything stupid. Do not make me ground you.’
Thorne smiled. ‘Okay, Dad.’
And that time it hadn’t been mocking at all.
Chevy Chase, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 6.20 P.M.
Eileen Gilson, the ME tech’s widow, lived on a beautiful tree-lined street where a sporty Mercedes and a tidy Kia sedan vied for the only available space in front of her townhouse. Luckily her neighbors didn’t seem to be home, so Thorne was able to find a place to park. The four of them had said little on the drive from Clay’s house, despite Alec declaring the SUV free of listening devices.
Thorne felt edgy and paranoid and he had to draw a breath before getting out of the car. ‘We’re going to overwhelm her,’ he said as the four of them gathered on the sidewalk.
‘I’ll take the lead,’ Gwyn said. ‘You three can be my entourage.’
Without waiting for argument, she hurried up the walk and knocked on the door. A woman in her mid forties answered. She was small and fit-looking, with straight black hair cut in a sharp angle that followed her equally severe jawline. Her gaze scanned their faces, coming to rest on Thorne’s.
‘Hi,’ Gwyn said. ‘We’re sorry to bother you, but we’d like to talk to you. I’m Gwyn Weaver, and this is—’
The woman lifted her hand. ‘I know who you are. You and Mr Thorne, anyway. Come in,’ she said. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’
Casting a perplexed look at Thorne over her shoulder, Gwyn followed, but came to an abrupt halt when she entered the small sitting room. Thorne nearly knocked her over, and stumbled when JD ran into him. But he immediately saw why she’d stopped short. Three suitcases stood at the base of the staircase.