“Yes.” He seemed strangely casual about it. “We will survive. These are temporary setbacks. We’ll find other investors, and there will be other contracts. But meanwhile things are very tense. More tense than Rynda was aware.”
That didn’t line up with Rynda telling me that Brian was calm, but Edward wasn’t lying. “Did Brian know about these problems?”
A flicker of something passed in Edward’s eyes. Contempt or exasperation? It was too quick for me to nail it down.
“Brian is a genius. His realm is science and research. Financial issues and the day-to-day operations of the company are my responsibility. I made him aware of the situation a couple of days ago. I also let him know that our situation wasn’t hopeless. However, as I’ve mentioned, Brian does become overwhelmed. It wouldn’t be out of character for him to disappear and return when the problem has resolved itself. Like I said, he’s excellent at hiding.”
Brian sounded more and more like a real piece of work.
“Does he have access to cash other than his bank accounts?” Cornelius asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Edward said. “He likes to put things away for a rainy day.”
“Are you aware of any marital issues between Brian and Rynda?” I asked.
“Rynda works very hard at being an ideal spouse for my brother. She anticipates his needs, and Brian isn’t given to emotional outbursts. My brother is quiet and easily hurt, so he prefers calm and routine.”
He didn’t answer the question.
“Has Brian expressed any dissatisfaction with his marriage?” Cornelius asked.
“Everyone expresses some dissatisfaction with their marriage once in a while,” Edward said. “He hadn’t said anything lately.”
“Could you define lately?” I asked.
“Last couple of years.”
True.
“Do you believe that Brian would permanently abandon his wife?” I asked.
“No.”
A true statement again. “Does BioCore view Rynda as a liability?”
Edward leaned forward, his gaze suddenly focused. “Rynda is never a liability. She’s a woman of grace, kindness, and incredible patience. She’s compassionate and intelligent. We are fortunate to know her. She has the full support of House Sherwood.”
The real Edward Sherwood finally made an appearance. I’d touched a nerve. He wasn’t worried about his brother, but the moment I tried to bring up Rynda, he was ready to bite my head off. Interesting.
“Did you kidnap your brother, Mr. Sherwood?”
His eyes blazed. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”
“Mr. Sherwood,” I said. “Rynda is extremely upset. She came to me because everyone else had turned her down. I want to resolve this as quickly as possible to minimize her emotional distress. The sooner I can eliminate you from the pool of possible suspects, the sooner we can move on to finding out what actually happened to your brother.”
“What makes you think I would tell you the truth? I could be lying.”
“I’m an excellent judge of character,” I said. “Did you kidnap your brother?”
“No.” Muscles played along his jaw.
Truth.
“Did you kill him or otherwise cause him harm?”
“No.”
“Did you order or hire someone to make Brian disappear?”
“No!”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“Do you know where he might be?”
“No.”
“Has he tried to contact you since his disappearance?”
“No.”
Not a single lie in the bunch. I rose. “Thank you, Mr. Sherwood.”
Edward got to his feet. He was furious, but his anger was tightly controlled, squeezed by his will like a fist. “Are we done?”
“We are.”
He flicked his phone and raised it to his ear. “Margaret, I need you to show some people out.”
Margaret escorted us to the exit. On our way, Cornelius had paused by a large tree, the first one we saw as Edward had led us into the inner sanctum. It stood by the entrance, supporting thick clusters of yellow mushrooms with wet glistening caps. Cornelius looked at it for a few seconds, called Talon to him, and we exited the building.
“What do you think?” I asked as we pulled the car out of the parking lot.
“I thought he was being truthful.”
“He was. For the most part. He didn’t kidnap his brother, and he has no idea where Brian went. He’s in love with his brother’s wife.”
Cornelius nodded. “She married the wrong brother.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Do you recall the tree I stopped by? The one with yellow mushrooms?”
I nodded.
“It’s called honey mushroom, and prepared the right way it can be delicious. If you prepare it the wrong way, it’s poisonous. It’s a facultative saprophyte. It kills the tree on which it grows and then feeds on its rotting wood.” Cornelius paused. “It’s growing on an apple tree.”
Brian Sherwood could’ve chosen any kind of tree to grow his mushrooms on. Instead he chose a fruit tree. And he chose to put it right at the entrance to the atrium where it couldn’t be avoided.
“Every day Edward Sherwood has to walk past that tree,” Cornelius said. “He feels it slowly dying, choked to death by the mushroom, and he can’t do anything about it.”
“Thank you. I would’ve missed that.”
“I’m glad I was useful.” Cornelius smiled.
“Brian seems to be passive-aggressive in his cruelty,” I said. “And he’s a coward. He tends to run away any time things get tough and trusts that his wife or his brother will sort it out.”
“Why are we driving so slowly?”
“Because Edward Sherwood told the truth. He did see his brother leave the parking lot in his vehicle, which means that if something happened, it happened in the three-mile stretch along this road. I don’t want to miss it.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Anything out of the ordinary. Broken glass. Chunks of a blown tire.”
“What was he driving?”
“Mercedes-Benz, S550, iridium silver metallic finish, which basically means the color of stainless steel.”
Cornelius grimaced. “I probably should’ve known that. I’ll do better next time.”
I smiled back. “It’s my fault. All of the details are in your email. At the beginning of the case, we make a basic info packet, which includes all the relevant information known to us, and Bern drops it in our email so we can access it on our phone. I should’ve told you this, but we’ve operated as a family business for so long and I’ve never hired anyone for a permanent position.”
“Do you think Brian was kidnapped?” Cornelius asked.
“Right now I’m leaning toward him abandoning everything and escaping somewhere calm for a few days. His company is on the brink of a financial disaster, his son still failed to manifest magic, and his wife, who was supposed to open the doors to the House elite, is viewed as unclean. He seems to have fooled everyone into thinking that he is sensitive and easily overwhelmed, but the tree makes me think there is some calculation in his responses . . .”
We crossed a bridge spanning a drop. Ahead the guardrail bent slightly, as if hit. I pulled over and got out of the car. A smudge of silver paint marked the bend in the guardrail. I crouched and took a picture of it with my phone. Nothing else was out of the ordinary.
“What now?” Cornelius asked.
I pivoted on my feet. Across the street a brand-new gas station was doing brisk business.
“Now we go and ask them for their security recording.”
Three minutes later, we were in the gas station. One of their security cameras did point toward that stretch of the street to cover the exit from their parking lot, and all recordings were uploaded to a server and kept for ninety days. The manager and I bargained. He asked f
or ten thousand dollars. I asked him if he really wanted me to come back with a cop and a warrant, which would result in him getting no money at all. He told me warrants took time. I told him to Google my name. Then he and his clerk watched Mad Rogan tear downtown apart like he was a demon from hell. We settled on two hundred bucks plus the $19.99 USB stick. Which was highway robbery for 8GB, but I decided to pick my battles.
I plugged the USB into my laptop and fast-forwarded the video.
5:00 p.m.
5:30 p.m.
5:45 p.m.
I let it run at normal speed. At 5:51 p.m., a silver Mercedes slid into view. A black SUV, maybe a GMC Yukon, rear-ended it, forcing it off the road and into the guardrail. A man got out of the Mercedes, presumably Brian Sherwood, although I’d have to ask Bug to enhance the footage to be sure.
Two men stepped out of the Yukon. The driver raised his hand. Brian crumpled to the ground. Taser. The driver scooped him up like Brian was a child and carried him into the Yukon. The passenger got into the Mercedes. At 5:52 p.m. the two vehicles pulled onto the road.
Cornelius raised his eyebrows.
I took out my phone and called Rynda.
“Yes?” She sounded on the verge of tears.
“You were right. Brian was kidnapped,” I said.
“I know!” Her voice reached hysterical pitch. “They just called the house!”
Chapter 4
Brian and Rynda Sherwood lived in Hunters Creek Village, in what the real estate listing called a “lovely family home designed for an active lifestyle.” They bought the house four years ago, and real estate sites kept archived listings forever. The house sat on an acre. It had six bedrooms and five bathrooms, eighty-five hundred square feet of living space, a pool, a “party cabana,” and a wine grotto, which I had trouble picturing. My mind kept serving up something out of a Disney movie, but filled with wine instead of ocean water.
The house also sold for three and a half million, about average for the neighborhood. Driving to it, I could see why. We were surrounded by woods. Birds sang. Squirrels dashed up an occasional palm growing among the oaks. You’d never know Houston was just a two-minute car ride away.
We pulled up to the house. I parked next to a familiar gunmetal-grey Range Rover. Rogan got there before us. Rynda or someone on her security team must’ve called him. Good. She seemed to listen to him better than she did to me.
“Is that Rogan’s car?” Cornelius asked.
“Yes.”
“Does it bother you?”
“It does a little.” I would have to be a robot for it not to bother me. “But I try to keep things in perspective.”
He tilted his head, waiting for me to elaborate.
“Rynda just lost her mother and all of her friends. I have a feeling she must’ve relied on her husband a great deal, and now he’s missing too. She’s a mother, and she’s laser-focused on surviving and keeping her children safe. She’s known Rogan since she was a toddler. He’s practically family, and he has the magic and resources to keep her and the kids alive through this. It’s natural for her to reach out to him.”
“I don’t believe she sees him as family,” Cornelius said.
“She can see him however she wants. I only care how Rogan sees me.”
He told me he loved me, and he wasn’t lying. I would’ve trusted him even without my talent. Rogan was dangerous, at times unpredictable, and always stubborn. Given a chance, he would roll over people like a bulldozer to accomplish his goals. But I could never see him cheating. He was too direct for that. It wasn’t in his nature.
The two of us walked to the door. An armed guard blocked our way. Not one of Rogan’s ex-military hard asses; this guy looked like a cross between a bodybuilder and a park ranger, his olive-drab cargo pants tucked into desert-tan boots, and his khaki polo shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and thick chest. It was obviously custom tailored to accommodate his overdeveloped physique. Around a surprisingly narrow waist hung a thick nylon tactical belt with a pistol in a plain holster, handcuffs, and a handheld radio. Completing the ensemble was a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses and a ball cap with “Sherwood Security” embroidered above the House crest. High-priced hired muscle.
“Nevada Baylor and Cornelius Harrison,” I told him.
He mumbled something into the radio and opened the door for us.
The interior of the house was as beautiful as the exterior. The place swarmed with similarly uniformed gym rats, all of whom paused to give us their versions of hard stares. We walked through the short foyer into a cavernous family room. Delicate furniture, a beautiful Oriental rug, a toy truck, a water gun on the floor, and a child’s paintings on the wall in beautiful modern frames. A massive Christmas tree stood in the place of honor, glittering with white and gold.
Rynda stood in the middle of the floor hugging herself. Rogan stood very close to her, one hand on her shoulder. His eyes were warm, and his face was concerned.
She saw me.
“Did you record the phone call?” I asked.
“Yes.” She held up her cell and hit play.
A male voice said, “You know what we want.”
The recording cut off.
“Did they say anything else?”
“No.”
“Do you know what they want?”
“No!” Tears wet Rynda’s eyes. “If I knew what they wanted, don’t you think I would’ve given it to them already? They have my husband!”
She wasn’t lying.
“Gather the children and pack your bags,” Rogan said. “I have a secure base in the middle of the city.”
And he just offered to move her into his HQ.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Rynda shook her head. “This is my house.”
Rogan’s expression snapped into a no-nonsense mask. He was about to order her around, and Rynda would balk. She was a Prime. I silently shook my head at him.
“Let’s sit down,” I said. “Everyone is really upset, so let’s just take a moment and catch our breath.”
I sat down. Rynda sat opposite me on the ornate sofa. She was breathing too fast. If I didn’t calm her down, she’d hyperventilate. I had to break her train of thought.
“Are these Kyle’s paintings on the walls?”
She frowned. “Yes. My mother had them framed.”
“He’s very talented.”
“Thank you,” she said, probably on autopilot.
“What about the water gun?”
“That’s Jessica’s. She loves ambushing him with it.”
“Where are the children now?”
“In the playroom with Svetlana.”
Her breathing deepened.
“Who’s Svetlana?”
“She’s from the nanny service.”
“How did you get the nanny service?”
“All of the mothers in the neighborhood use it. I don’t remember who recommended it.”
“When did you get the phone call?” I kept my voice quiet and steady.
She checked her phone. “Twelve minutes after ten.”
“Do you recognize the voice?”
“No.”
“Listen to it again, carefully.”
She did. “No.”
“Can you think of any enemies Brian had?”
“I told you already, no.”
“Rynda,” Rogan said, “someone grabbed a Prime off the street in broad daylight. It had to be a rival House. Nobody else would have the balls. Did Brian say anything? Was he angry with someone?”
“Brian doesn’t get angry.” Rynda sighed.
“Who is his biggest competitor?” I asked.
“House Rio,” she said. “But he wouldn’t know anything about that in detail. Edward runs the business. Brian grows mushrooms.”
Rogan was looking at me.
“Edward is in the clear,” I told him.
“Did you think Edward had Brian kidnapped?” Rynda shook her head. “Edward would never do anything to hu
rt me.”
Rynda’s cell phone rang.
“Put it on speaker,” I told her.
She answered the call and pressed the speaker button on screen. I gently took it from her.
Same male voice, controlled, even. “Give it to us, or he will come back home in pieces.”
“My name is Nevada Baylor,” I said. “I’m authorized to negotiate with you on Rynda’s behalf.”
“No negotiations.”
“We’re trying to meet your demands. We want Brian back home safe. But we require proof of life, so we know we’re dealing with the right people. In our place, you would want proof of life, wouldn’t you?”
There was a pause. A softer male voice said, “Rynda?”
“Brian!” Rynda made a mad lunge for the phone, but Rogan clamped her down. “Brian, are you okay?”
“Just give them what they want. Please.”
The phone call ended.
Rynda buried her face in her hands.
“FBI—” I started.
“No,” Rogan, Rynda, and Cornelius said at the same time.
Yes, why wouldn’t we call professionals who specialize in exactly this type of crime? That would be silly. “They will call again.”
“What if they kill him?”
“They won’t kill him,” Rogan said. “They went through the trouble of kidnapping him, which means they want their ransom. If they kill him, they’ll have nothing to negotiate with.”
I handed her the phone. “Rynda, the next time they call, you have to establish an emotional connection. It’s critical. Ask them questions. If they answer, repeat the answer back to them and ask if it’s right. Get them to the place where they agree with you. They need to get used to viewing you as being on their side. Use your magic. I know it’s hard, but you can’t get upset and you can’t be hysterical. Make them think that all of you are in this together and that you want them to succeed. Get them to tell you what it is they want.”
She took the phone and nodded.
“You will be safer with me,” Rogan said. “They’re calling your cell. You can take it with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Connor. I’m a Prime in a house that’s built like a fortress and filled with armed guards. My kids are already freaked out, and you want us to move across town into your barracks. No. I’m going to stay right here. We have to stay right here, because we are waiting for Daddy to come home.”
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