“Information that could have been shared with a phone call instead of engaging in an entrapment scene out of a Hollywood plot.”
She heard her daughter snort, and the sergeant’s mouth twitched beneath the mustache. “But admittedly, the recording carries a lot of weight. It’s possible that the girls won’t be charged in return for your daughter’s promise not to engage in unlawful activity again.”
Deputy Krantz approached Janie with a legal pad and pen. “Be sure to include how you gained access to the lake house this evening,” he instructed. After a moment, Janie picked up the pen and began writing.
“I have other concerns to attend to. I want to assure you, Mrs. Willard, that this matter will be investigated thoroughly.” Rossi’s words held a note of sincerity. But it was Janie that Claire was focused on, bent over the notepad and scribbling away with a freedom denied her with the spoken word.
“I believe you will. But that’s all thanks to my daughter, isn’t it?”
David Willard
November 13
10:36 p.m.
As silently as possible, David crept out of bed and tiptoed toward the front door of the town house, where he called Claire again. Waited impatiently while the cell rang four times and went to voice mail. Frustration mounting, he called his daughter’s phone. Same result.
He stared into the shadows, a hundred different scenarios circling in his mind. Claire should have called by now. It’d been nearly three and a half hours. He shouldn’t have let her handle Janie’s situation alone. His wife could handle little on her own these days.
And Janie . . . what the hell had gotten into his daughter? Trespassing? Or had Claire gotten that wrong? The girl barely went anywhere outside of school, the Dairy Whip, and the library. Nothing about the few details Claire had provided made sense.
The questions had echoed in his mind for hours, making sitting through the dinner with the execs from Ralston Electronics interminable. Somehow he’d managed to say the right things. Laugh on cue at Kurt’s jokes, all of which he’d heard a hundred times before. The whole time he’d been expecting to have to excuse himself for a phone call that had never come. Twice he’d surreptitiously texted Claire with a similar lack of response.
Maybe he should call the sheriff’s office. David considered the idea, found it unappealing. He’d had his fill of law-enforcement types recently, after fielding another call from that fucking Foster. The memory had his gut churning. He’d have an ulcer from that prick before all this was done. Just as David had feared, the agent must have gotten all of David’s reservations from the hotel, not just the ones under the company’s name. And he’d had some not-so-innocent questions about them, too. David hadn’t given him the same answers he’d offered Grayson. He couldn’t risk having the man corroborate his story with Claire. Instead, he’d spun a story about meeting potential clients on his own, which was frowned upon by the company. That job fell to Kurt and Martin, and while David had done exactly that in order to get the Bonner Nursery account, he’d woven an elaborate cover story, making his initial meeting with Bonner seem accidental.
David was very adept at cover stories.
He tried Claire again. Then his daughter. No response.
At a loss, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the attorney name he’d given Claire.
The call was answered on the second ring. “Brant Strickland.”
“Brant.” David kept his voice hushed. “It’s David Willard.”
“Yes. How are you?” The man’s circumspect manner gave nothing away. David heard him murmur, “Deal me out this hand.”
“I’m sorry to take you away from the poker game.” The man played every Friday night. “I’m in Columbus, and there’s been some trouble with my daughter tonight. I told Claire to call you, but I haven’t been able to reach her. Have you heard from her?”
“From your wife?” The surprise in the attorney’s voice sent David’s spirits even lower. “No, I can’t recall the last time I’ve spoken to her. What kind of trouble?”
“Some sort of trespassing thing. I’m afraid I don’t have many details.” And now that it was clear that Strickland didn’t, either, David was eager to end the conversation. “I’m really sorry to have bothered you. Looks like I’m going to have to drive home and handle this myself.”
“Well, give me a call when you get more information if I can help out. Unless there was vandalism involved, a simple trespassing charge won’t be difficult to get dismissed.”
“I will, thanks. I’ll let you get back to your game.”
“No problem.”
So Claire hadn’t called Strickland. Because she hadn’t needed him? If that was the reason, why wouldn’t she have reported that to him? The cell in his hand vibrated. An incoming text. Finally. David opened it to read it. From Janie, and maddeningly cryptic.
Everything will be fine. Taking care of Mom.
Will be? Damn it, what was that supposed to mean? Were they home, then? They’d have to be, in order for Janie to access her phone, wouldn’t they? He called his daughter. Felt his blood pressure rise when once again it went to voice mail.
Fuming, he considered his options. He was going to have to drive back to West Bend. There was another get-together set here for tomorrow night, drinks this time with a client Kurt was courting. It could be done without David, but he was loath to miss out. It was unusual for him to be included at this juncture in the process. The invitation made it likely that if the account was won, it would be added to David’s roster. He wouldn’t miss it, he decided in the next moment. With any luck, he could drive back tomorrow evening after dealing with whatever was going on at home.
Decision made, he rose.
“What are you doing up? Who were you talking to?” He looked over his shoulder at the woman silhouetted in the hallway. Just the outline of her figure in the filmy nightgown was enough to have desire stirring.
“I have to go.” The regret in his voice was genuine. “Something’s come up that I have to deal with. Hopefully, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“David, no.” There was a pout in her voice. “You just got here. Surely it can wait until Monday.”
“If I had a choice, I wouldn’t go, believe me.”
He crossed to her and drew her into his arms, pressing a lingering kiss on her mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, she returned it with enough heat to get his pulse racing. “I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered against her lips. “I promise.”
Special Agent Mark Foster
November 13
10:48 p.m.