by Paula Munier
“We don’t even know if this key belongs to Feinberg. Besides, Wolfe is dead.”
“Max must be in on it. He killed Wolfe so he wouldn’t have to share the proceeds.”
“Why kill him before he got the key?”
“I don’t know. But that could be what he was looking for at my house. Maybe he thought Amy had it.”
“That’s a lot of maybes.”
“Max knows he’s on your radar now.” Mercy’s face flushed. “He’s going to make his move soon, if he hasn’t already. And today is the perfect time. Everybody’s in town.”
“I’ll let Thrasher know about the key.”
She grabbed the box from him. “Not good enough.” She whistled for Elvis, and he came bounding over.
“What are you doing? That’s evidence.”
“Evidence you would never have found without me.” She strode off down the trail that ran south through the forest, the handsome shepherd on her heels. “We’re going down there,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Are you guys coming or what?”
Susie Bear danced in front of him, desperate to tag along with her new friends. So much for following his lead. Troy cursed under his breath, and jogged after them.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
IN THE END, TROY TALKED her into going back to the compound and getting his truck. They were burning sunlight and he didn’t want them wandering around the woods after dark looking for a place neither of them had ever been to before and had only a vague idea of where it was anyway.
They bounced down the logging road away from the art colony, then along the back roads until they got to a place where they could get a signal. Troy plugged Feinberg’s address into his GPS and contacted Thrasher. Another twenty minutes on backroads and they came to the unmarked three-mile drive that led to Daniel Feinberg’s estate.
About two miles in, a massive black iron gate crossed the road, part of a six-foot iron fence that stretched between the trees as far as they could see in either direction. According to the GPS, the road led up to Feinberg’s lodge, which sat at the edge of a forested ridge looking east out over the mountains. Most of the house was hidden by trees, but a couple of stone and log turrets peeked just over the ceiling of the forest.
Troy spotted security cameras in the decorative copper caps that topped the gate posts and pointed them out to Mercy. Before he could say anything, she was out of the truck, checking out the cameras. And back in a flash.
“They’ve been disabled,” she said, getting back into the front passenger seat. “And the intercom has been smashed in, with a hammer, by the looks of it.”
“Not good. I’m calling for backup.”
“The electric gate is locked,” she said. “And we don’t have the remote. We have to find another way in.”
“We should wait for backup.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“That’s what Thrasher always says.” Even if they rarely arrive in time to help, thought Troy—but did not say aloud. “And this time he’s right.” He put in the call.
“How long will it take?”
“Hard to say. We’re pretty far off the beaten path, and Delphine says that between the fireworks in Bennington and Northshire and all the big shots who need babysitting, coming to check out a possible burglary won’t be a priority.”
“It will be when they tell Harrington it’s Daniel Feinberg’s house.”
Troy grinned. “You might be right. But it could still take a while for them to get up here.”
The sound of a low boom echoed down the ridge from the direction of the lodge. Elvis yelped. Susie Bear bellowed. Mercy and Troy looked at each other.
“Fireworks,” Troy said. “Just the beginning.”
“Or our thieves decided not to wait for the security pass,” she said. “We need to go, before they get away.”
“Doesn’t Feinberg have staff?”
“Yeah, but it’s a big place. His bodyguards are with him in Northshire. And it’s a holiday, a lot of them could be off.” Mercy pursed her lips. “There’s a groundskeeper, too. Feinberg told me he caught the Herbert brothers poaching on his land.”
“So they know Feinberg and they know Max. There could be a lot of perps up there. More reason to wait for backup.”
“But there’s only one road out of here,” said Mercy. “And we’re blocking it.”
“If it is Skinner or the Herbert brothers, they know these woods. They could just disappear into the forest and head north.” He could see the flush beginning at her collarbone and rising up her neck, and knew he was frustrating her again. But she needed to listen to reason. “It doesn’t take that long to cut a painting out of a frame, roll it up, and carry it out on foot.”
“Or on an ATV,” Mercy said “Feinberg has a lot of ATV trails running all through his property. And we know Max has one.”
“I’m betting the Herberts do, too.”
“Which means we don’t have the time to wait for backup. Besides, Amy and Helena could be in there. Not to mention maids and cooks and—”
“Okay, okay.” Troy knew she was right. He at least needed to do some reconnaissance and see what was going on up there. “I’m going in for recon, so we have a better sense of what we’re up against. You stay here.”
“No way,” she said, stepping out of the truck.
“You’re staying here with Elvis.” He got out, too, grabbing his binoculars and holstering his pistol.
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you aren’t,” Troy said in his toughest voice. He shouldered his rifle. Better safe than sorry. “Vests in the back, for you and Elvis. And a twelve-gauge shotgun. I assume you know how to use it.”
“Of course.”
“Okay. After we’re gone, pull the truck across the road to block the gate and wait for backup. If there’s any trouble, just drive like hell out of here.”
“Like that’s going to happen.” She looked at him as if he were crazy.
“Stay out of trouble.” Whether he left her here or took her with him, she wasn’t going to listen to a thing he said. She was going to do what she was going to do. And he couldn’t stop her. “Don’t be a hero.”
“Understood.”
“Hold on to your dog.”
“Elvis will be fine.”
Maybe, Troy thought. He put on a vest and armored up Susie Bear as well. No sense in taking any stupid chances. Not without backup. “Come on, girl.”
The big dog jumped out and hit the ground running. Troy heaved himself up over the fence and landed on the drive on the other side. Susie Bear raced after him, barreling over the six-foot fence, black fur rippling, plumed tail flying. She landed on her thick shaggy paws with a bump ba dum bump.
“Pretty impressive,” said Mercy said through the fence. “I didn’t know Newfoundlands could jump that high.”
Troy grinned. “They can, they’d just much rather jump into water. But she’ll jump anything. I think it’s the retriever in her.”
He waited while Mercy got in the truck and parked it just like he’d asked.
Then he and Susie Bear headed down toward the house, keeping to the tree line along the road, hidden from view as they traced the hairpin turns that wound up the hill.
Until the drive’s loops ended and the woods opened up, revealing the enormous estate of Nemeton. A magnificent mountain lodge the size of a resort, made of native stone and hand-hewn logs, sat at the top of a ridge surrounded by forest, against a backdrop of mountains. Three stories high, with walls of rock supported by pillars of wood, the enormous home was a warren of decks and balconies and turrets, a billionaire’s version of a kid playing with rocks and Lincoln Logs.
A grand porte cochere extended over the crescent-shaped drive that fronted the house, anchoring the entrance of the lodge. There was a white twelve-foot box truck parked there. Through his binoculars, Troy could see that the roll-up door on the back of the truck was up. Two guys dressed in black and wearing ski masks and glove
s came out of the house, carrying rectangular objects wrapped in mover’s blankets.
Paintings, thought Troy. Damn if the redhead wasn’t right.
He kept a tight rein on Susie Bear’s lead as they skirted the lodge, staying hidden in the maples as they made their way to the back of the property. Which was really the front, since this side faced a spectacular vista of the forest, the valley, and the mountains beyond. Water surrounded the estate on three sides, flowing from swimming hole to fishing pond to twin waterfalls cascading over granite boulders, and feeding a rich landscape of ferns and flowers and trees and carefully manicured topiary.
Other than the pair of masked men loading the truck, he didn’t see anybody. He trained his binoculars on the colossal windows that allowed the people inside to see that view—and the people outside to view inside. He scanned all three floors, and discovered two other guys in the house, also in black and wearing ski masks and gloves.
Four in all. At least as far as he could see. He used the sat phone with no problem—no surprise given that the billionaire’s home was so well situated, even in the middle of the mountains—to call Delphine at Dispatch and confirm his report about a robbery in progress at the Feinberg estate.
“You be careful,” Delphine said.
“Roger that.”
He turned to Susie Bear. “Stay.”
He moved stealthily past the wooden bridge separating the fishing pond from the swimming hole and up to the three-car garage attached to the west side of the lodge. He wondered if the groundskeeper lived above it. If so, he didn’t seem to be there now. Probably out chasing holiday trespassers off the estate, and making sure the hikers and ATVers treated Feinberg’s land with respect.
He backed up against the stone wall of the garage and inched his way around to the first outside door, which was marked Service Entrance. It was locked, but there was a keypad there. Troy pulled the key card out of his pocket and tried it, and with a beep, the door opened.
Mercy Carr was right.
Again.
Wolfe had a key card, presumably because he was working for Feinberg. Or he simply stole it off one of the staff while he was on the property.
Troy found himself in a mud room lined with a wall of lockers, many of which were secured with padlocks, presumably for the employees. The mud room led to another door, also opened only with the key card. He edged up to peek through the small square window in the door and smiled. He’d located the chef’s kitchen. He slipped into the room, gun at his side.
This should be a relatively safe place; even if the thieves had entered this way with a key card of their own, they wouldn’t exit from here. As soon as they had the truck loaded, they’d leave by the front door and drive away. There was little chance of their venturing back this way; the most valuable art in the house would be found in the living and entertaining areas, and in the bedrooms. Not the kitchen.
This room led to two additional cooking spaces, a huge pantry and a walk-in freezer, and an extensive potted herb garden. He moved quietly through the rooms and into a wide hallway that connected the food prep area to the rest of the house. He spied the first empty walls in the room to his right, a huge dining room with a glass-topped table with at least two dozen chairs that could seat Troy’s entire extended family for dinner. These were walls that in the home of a billionaire art collector would be hung with paintings. The pale dove-gray walls bore slightly lighter patches, faint impressions left by the artwork that had graced the space.
He heard the sound of a vehicle backfiring and tucked himself into a corner by the massive sideboard while he peered out the window. Two of the masked men were rolling down the back door of the box truck. They were getting ready to leave.
He raced back down the hallway and through the kitchens and the mud room and outside the way he came. He ran around the side of the house to the porte cochere. The truck was moving forward, out of the crescent drive and into the road. He waved his badge and yelled, “Stop! Game warden!”
Someone answered him with a shot. Troy saw the rifle extend out of the truck window, and he dove into the small copse of birches that flanked the entrance.
The truck rumbled on and he cursed. Now Mercy and her dog and his Ford F-150 were the only things between these thieves and freedom. Not a good scenario.
He darted back around the house to the edge of the property where Susie Bear was waiting for him, practically coming out of her skin. Her shiny long black coat was rustling, her sturdy muscular body shaking with energy under the body armor.
“Come on, girl,” he said, and they were off, running through the trees along the edge of the forest. Not the best cover but better than nothing.
What mattered was speed. He needed to get to that gate as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t outrun a truck, not even one as clumsy as a box truck.
He was going to be too late. He ran harder, and Susie Bear bound ahead of him. She didn’t care about cover, she only wanted to win the race.
And they were racing.
The big Newfie mutt was not an attack dog, she was a search-and-rescue dog. But her protective instincts were strong, and while she was not trained to take perps down the way Elvis had taken down that guy on the float, she had protected Troy in tense situations in the past.
Her formidable size and guardian growl alone were usually enough to intimidate most people. But when that proved inadequate, she could knock bad guys right over with a jump and sit on their chests, immobilizing them. When he’d first rescued her, she was the biggest puppy he’d ever seen, and her enthusiasm had often laid him flat. He’d trained her to curb that enthusiasm, but when she got excited she sometimes forgot herself. And she was excited now.
She bolted down the hill, with no regard for the landscape, nimbly navigating the trees and boulders and plantings, headed right for the gate as the crow flies. Troy cursed again and sprinted after her.
The road twisted and turned as it wound its way between the lodge and the gate. The truck veered out of sight as the driveway curved west. They were safe for now, out of view, and they could conceivably catch up with the thieves by forgoing the road’s hairpin turns and cutting straight down through the trees. Troy and Susie Bear plowed on through the landscape, determined to beat the thieves.
The truck came back into view, gaining on the entrance, which was just around the next bend. Only five hundred yards away. Only five hundred yards from Mercy and Elvis and his Ford F-150.
Troy wanted to disable their vehicle before it got there. He was betting that Skinner and company had the remote control, and would use it to open the gate. The electronic gate would swing in toward the truck, which meant that they’d have to stop or at least slow down near the entrance until the dual black aluminum-alloy doors opened wide enough for them to get through.
Troy holstered his pistol and pulled his rifle from the case. He positioned himself behind a boulder and whistled for Susie Bear, and she circled back to him. He needed to get her out of the line of fire.
“Down,” he said.
Normally, he’d never try a stunt like this. But they’d taken a shot at him, so he could justify deadly force. And he didn’t know who was in that truck. For all he knew Amy and her baby were in there. So he couldn’t aim for the driver, since he couldn’t predict where that bullet might end up if it bounced around the cab. Then there was the priceless art. He didn’t want to damage a Picasso, for God’s sake.
He could aim for the engine or the tires. The tires were the safest bet, but hitting a tire on a moving vehicle was far harder in real life than in the movies. And there was no guarantee that would stop them. But with any luck it could slow them down.
As soon as the dog plopped down behind the rock with him, he took aim and blew out the left rear tire of the white box truck. The truck swerved wildly but kept on going. Troy got off another shot just as the vehicle approached the loop of the next hairpin turn. Missed.
One of the masked men leaned out of the passenger window a
nd fired as the truck bumped and bounced along with its lame wheel. The bullet splintered the slender trunk of a young birch tree several feet to Troy’s left.
“Let’s go,” he told Susie Bear, and again they took the rough shortcut through the trees. He hoped Mercy had taken the shots as the warning they were and that she would heed that warning.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MERCY HEARD THE GUNFIRE AND GRABBED the shotgun.
“Down,” she told Elvis. The shepherd was practically imploding with energy, the fire in his belly so hot she thought he’d never settle down. But at least he didn’t move. Just to be safe she turned on the ignition so she could roll his window up and hers down, to keep his head in and her gun out.
She considered her options. They could stay in Troy’s truck, and she’d pull it over to the side of the road, the better to chase down the thieves as they tried to make their getaway. Or she could leave it right here in the road and take cover in the trees with Elvis, and slow them down with the shotgun if Troy’s truck didn’t do the trick.
There might be another way as well. She turned off the ignition and hopped out, going around back to the bed of the truck. Everybody who drove a truck—civilian or law enforcement—carried chain in the bed, and Troy Warner was no exception. She dragged the chain out and ran to the gate. She could hear the rattle and roar of the thieves’ vehicle in the distance, growing louder and nearer.
Elvis banged his head against the window, yelping like a puppy, not unlike the way he yelped when he had a nightmare. “Steady, boy.” She hoped he wasn’t going to freak out.
He clawed savagely at the window, scratching the pane.
“Okay, okay.” Worried he’d break the glass—his nails were fierce—she let him out. He barked his approval—a low guttural non-nightmare bark—and sat by her side. Waiting for instruction.
“You got what you wanted. Now stay.”
Elvis watched her without comment while she quickly wrapped the chain through both sides of the gate, looping the doors together. One loop. Two loops. Three loops. And several more for good measure.
