She circled two spots—one an old money cache, already emptied to pay for Clint’s defense, which he well knew. The second a safe house he hadn’t used in years, mainly food and weapons, little cash, nothing to draw Clint there. It was a cabin up on Tussey Mountain, difficult to get to on foot, impossible by any vehicle larger than an ATV.
Should be good enough to keep Jenna and Andre safely out of trouble for a few days, at least. In the meantime, Morgan was still working out how to set a trap for her father without being caught herself.
Problem was, he knew her too well—he’d basically created her, molded every aspect of her personality until she was his perfect foil. She had to find a way to make him come to her while thinking it was his idea, not hers.
Jenna squinted at the two spots Morgan had indicated. “Middle of nowhere. What’s there?”
Morgan tapped the first. “His bank—money cache. Probably already ransacked,” she added. The best lies began with the truth. She jotted down GPS coordinates and the combination to Clint’s deposit box at the vault. “The second is a safe house. Hunting cabin, really. Only basic supplies. Hard to get to but easy to defend and multiple escape routes.” She glanced at Jenna. “Pretty rough terrain.”
“Think I can’t handle a few trees?” Jenna asked. “I’ve been camping.”
Even Andre scoffed at that. Jenna’s style of “camping” no doubt included a designer wardrobe from Abercrombie and Fitch along with catering from the nearest four-star restaurant.
Jenna glanced up, and he wiped the smirk from his face. “Well, I have. But always start with the money. Fugitive Tracking 101. Besides, the money cache is closer.”
The phone rang. Jenna continued her study of the map. Andre grabbed it. “Galloway and Stone.” He listened for a few minutes. “Yes, ma’am. No, of course. We’ll be there.”
He hung up. “Clinton Caine will have to wait,” he told Jenna. “It’s Mrs. Radcliffe, confirming our appointment.”
Jenna frowned. “Her, again? I thought we turned her down.”
“A new case?” Morgan asked.
“Missing sixteen-year-old boy. His mother wants us to consult, augment what the police are doing.”
“Probably out partying or with a girl,” Jenna said, still focused on the map. Morgan thought she was probably right—just as she recognized that this new case was Andre’s way of trying to divert Jenna from the hunt for Clinton Caine.
“Gone almost a week. She sounds desperate.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “Don’t they all? That’s why they call us.”
Andre blew his breath out with a raspy sound of exasperation. “And isn’t that why we’re in business?”
“I need to work these new leads on Caine. Take Morgan.” She sat down and opened her laptop, dismissing them.
Andre stared at Jenna, a crease forming beneath the ridge of scar tissue along his forehead. Disappointment, Morgan recognized—despite his scars, he was in many ways easier to read than other Norms. But he shrugged it off and turned to her. “What do you say, Morgan? You on board for another case?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Stone.” Morgan smiled at Andre—a real smile, not one of her endless supply of artificial ones. She loved that after their last case, he trusted her enough to invite her to join him, even if a large part of it was his desire to keep an eye on her.
Jenna would be busy following her wild-goose chase after Clint, and maybe this new case would give Morgan a chance to keep Andre occupied while she lured her father close enough to turn the tables on him.
Chapter 4
AFTER SEEING MORGAN and Andre off on their fool’s errand, Jenna retreated to the office’s back closet to gather supplies for her manhunt. Extra magazines of ammunition for her SIG Sauer P226, a second SIG along with an ankle holster, ballistic vest, field trauma kit, stun gun, box of slugs for her Remington pump action, two pairs of handcuffs, zip ties, more zip ties, and, from a space hidden behind the carton of zip ties, a box of her favorite coconut-chocolate protein bars…which was empty. Damn it, how did Morgan always find them?
She hung her vest on a hook and secured the items in their respective pockets. Then she shook the vest roughly, checking for any extraneous rattles, loose gear, weight, and balance. Once she was satisfied, she grabbed the vest along with the rest of her equipment and returned to her office.
Only to find a hulking man wearing a black windbreaker and a scowl that on second glance was maybe a weird interpretation of a grin standing in her doorway. “You’re loaded for bear.”