“That would be great. Thanks.”
A few minutes later, Charlotte put her foot in the stirrup and swung herself up into the saddle. Sahara sidestepped once but settled quickly. Charlotte took her through her paces, walking, trotting, and then pushing her to a canter. Pleased with how well the mare responded to her commands, she reined her in beside Mr. Carsdale.
“She could work well for what I have in mind. Any chance you would be able to drive her over to the stables by the show grounds?”
“Are you paying asking price?”
“If you can deliver her today, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Mr. Carsdale extended his hand, and they sealed the bargain. “I can have her to you by noon.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you in a little while.” Charlotte took a step back. “I assume you’ll accept cash.”
“Works for me.”
“I’ll have it ready for you when you get to the stables.” Charlotte headed to where the taxi driver waited. She didn’t want to think of how quickly she was going through her emergency cash or about the fact that she had just spent most of what she had left on a horse, of all things.
Rather than drive straight to the show grounds, Charlotte instructed her most recent cab driver to take her to a local feed store, where she bought a used saddle and a basic pad, bridle, and lead rope. Half an hour later, the cab driver dropped her off at the stables she had scouted out earlier.
When Mr. Carsdale arrived, Charlotte paid him the money as promised, clipped her new lead rope on Sahara’s halter, and said good-bye to the horse’s previous owner. To anyone watching, she would look like a woman simply taking her horse out for a little exercise. She hoped that in the confusion of the many people coming and going on a Saturday no one would notice when she didn’t come back.
She reached the trees on the far side of the field, guided her horse along a well-used trail, and turned south. Finally, she was on her way, and it was time to stop looking back.
Chapter 11
The old-fashioned grocer’s market hadn’t changed a bit since Jake had last returned home. One of the Henley girls manned the cash register while the owner, Chuck Henley, worked behind the meat counter. The store had started as a butcher shop and expanded out of necessity to support the local farmers.
“Thank you for driving me, dear,” Jake’s grandma said with a pat on his arm. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Jake started to tell his grandmother he would help her shop, but she seemed so focused on her task that he decided maybe he should let her get what she needed and he could add anything she missed. Keeping her in sight, he browsed through the aisles in search of easy meals he could prepare himself. His grandmother hadn’t managed to fix anything that had fallen into the edible category since he’d arrived home.
The door behind him opened, and Jake felt his ex-girlfriend’s presence the moment she stepped up behind him. He wasn’t sure if it was the overly floral fragrance of her perfume or an overactive sense of self-preservation that alerted him to what would surely be another unpleasant encounter.
“Jake Bradford. You are back in town.”
Willing the tenseness in his shoulders to subside, he turned reluctantly to face her. She was lovely, really. Blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face, her skin smooth, and her lips full. If she didn’t consider a man’s net worth as his number-one asset, they might have stayed together beyond high school. “Hello, Desiree.”
“Rumor has it you’ve decided to move home.” She tilted her head slightly to the left, her short blonde hair staying perfectly in place, undoubtedly coated in hair spray to ensure a flawless appearance.
“For the moment.” Jake wondered how word had already spread about his decision to spend the next few weeks at Jackson Hills. Since he hadn’t told anyone but his sister and Max, the farm foreman, his bet was on Kennedy.
“I haven’t seen you in forever. How has life been?” She shifted closer.
Jake took a step back. Though surprised by her friendliness, Jake recognized the body language. He wrote about it often enough. The woman showing interest in the long-lost love. Not that he really believed he was Desiree’s long-lost love, but she was certainly playing the scene well. At least she would have been had she not glossed over the fact that his entire world had just been turned upside down. “Actually, life’s been a little rough lately for my family.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Desiree said as though only just remembering the accident. “I heard about your parents. I was visiting some friends in California when it happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t back in time to make it to the funeral.”
Though his typical response would have been to brush aside the slight, he reminded himself that this was his sister’s best friend. While it might not have mattered to him if Desiree had been there to mourn with his family, he couldn’t say Kennedy would feel the same. Jake fell silent, not sure how to respond.
He caught sight of his grandmother moving down the baking aisle. Eager to escape Desiree, he said, “I’d better go help my grandma. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Definitely.”
A little uncomfortable with the surety in her voice, Jake headed for his grandmother, who was loading oatmeal into the cart. When he saw she already had eight large containers and was reaching for another, he asked, “Grandma, why are you getting so much oatmeal?”
The lines between her brows wrinkled. “For breakfast.”
“I don’t think we need this many.”
“But you love oatmeal.”
Jake shook his head. “Not really. At least not unless it’s disguised in a cookie.”
“But I’ve always fixed it for you for breakfast.”
As her confusion increased, he found clarity. It wasn’t him she was thinking of but his father. His grandmother had often helped his mother make breakfast, and nearly every morning his father had had a bowl of oatmeal.
Desiree appeared at the end of the aisle, and Jake suddenly felt trapped. His grandmother thought he was the son she had lost, and Desiree seemed to see him as a means to a future she felt she deserved. When, he wondered miserably, would someone choose to see him as himself instead of someone they wanted him to be?
* * *
Charlotte looked up at the early afternoon sun. The map she’d picked up at the hotel gift shop a few days ago gave her a general idea of the terrain she needed to cross. Unfortunately, she had no way of gauging the number of miles already traveled, so she wasn’t exactly sure where she was. The seemingly endless ride had left her weary and struggling against despair and hopelessness.
She adjusted her heading, deliberately avoiding the roads. Instead, she rode along the edges of open fields, often taking cover and winding her way through the trees.
The woods were the hardest to navigate, often growing so thickly that she had to get off and lead the horse to make sure she didn’t get knocked off by low-hanging branches.
The minutes stretched out with little to do but fight against grief and try to find her way to an unknown city, where she would search for a man she had only met a handful of times. It was a daunting prospect.
Charlotte normally enjoyed the quiet of the woods, the scents and sounds of nature, but today every little sound made her think someone was behind her and that they would unravel all of her desperate efforts to hide.
Steadily she rode for three more hours, stopping only once when she came across a small stream, where she watered her horse. Her arms and legs felt like rubber, her back ached, and her fatigue competed with her emotional exhaustion.
With the light beginning to diminish, she began her search for a suitable camping spot, specifically somewhere where she could build a campfire to keep any local wildlife at bay.
She hadn’t seen any sign of civilization since she had caught a glimpse of a farmhouse around midday. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since lunch, and she wished for something besides the emergency rations in her bag and the few snacks she
had gathered during her travels the day before.
She noticed some wild strawberries on the side of a small clearing and took that as a sign. Wearily, she reined in her horse and climbed down. Her shaking legs nearly gave way when her feet hit the ground. She didn’t even want to think about how she might feel if she hadn’t been accustomed to riding every day.
When she felt stable enough, she forced herself to follow the simple camping procedures she had learned from her parents over the years. After unsaddling her horse and tying it to a nearby tree, she set about gathering some firewood and rocks to make a fire pit.
With no real camping equipment at her disposal, she dug one of the oversized black trash bags out of her pack and ripped open the bottom. Digging out a piece of thin rope, she tied one end to a nearby tree, ran it through the trash bag, and then tied the other end of the rope to another tree. When she laid her blanket on the inside of the trash bag, the weight of it made the bag look like a crude triangular tent. Even though it was open on the ends, it would at least offer her some protection from the dew and any possible rain during the night.
She kept her mind and body occupied as the evening waned into nighttime—feeding the horse, picking strawberries, building her fire, washing in the creek. All of the tasks were simple enough, but she was numb with fatigue. As the darkness became complete outside the reach of the flickering campfire, she rolled up a shirt to use as a pillow and crawled into her makeshift tent.
Thoroughly exhausted, she blinked back the tears that always seemed to be a memory away, closed her eyes, and prayed she could lose herself in sleep.
* * *
Owen stared at the screen in disbelief. For five days he had been tearing down firewalls and using every skill he had to crack the encryptions Dwight Martin had put in place to protect the identities of the overseas operatives. Now he stared at the code on the screen and realized it had all been for nothing.
The security protocols were nothing more than a ruse. The system was locked down, and there was only one way in. He needed the key.
The sale of the database would net them tens of millions of dollars. Foreign governments tended to pay well to learn who was spying on them. Owen fully intended to exploit the market, assuming he could open the blasted program.
Cheng walked into the room. “I can’t find her.”
“She couldn’t have just disappeared. Someone must have seen her.”
“I’m sure someone did, but she isn’t making this easy,” Cheng said. “Trains, taxis, buses. It’s going to take time to tap into all the surveillance video and go through all the cab fares to find her.”
Owen turned his back on the computer equipment and his own problems to focus on the task Cheng had taken on. “What do you have so far?”
“We finally figured out what stop she got off on the subway, and we know she took a cab to Herndon. So far, it looks like she’s heading west.”
“Or she wants us to think she’s heading west.”
“Do you really think she expects we’ll be able to track her?”
“The sheriff said she grew up with Martin. We have to assume he taught her a few things. After all, look at how long it took us to figure out where he was hiding out.”
“That’s true,” Cheng admitted.
Owen tapped a finger on his knee, considering. “Broaden your search. Don’t assume we know where she’s going.”
“Is finding this girl really worth all this trouble? What does it matter if we find her or not?”
“Because we need the key to this system, and she might know how we can find it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Martin designed this without any back doors. It has a failsafe program that can only be opened with a biometric key.”
“A biometric key?” Cheng echoed in disbelief.
“Yeah. We need a fingerprint and a retinal scan. If we can’t figure out who the key is, we’ll never get what we want.”
“I thought you said you could hack the system,” Cheng said.
“No, I said I might be able to,” Owen said, more to placate than defend. “Martin was one of the best. That’s why I tried to have him give us access directly.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have killed him.”
“He’s the one who locked the system. There’s no way he was going to cooperate.”
“We’ll never know now, will we?” Cheng let silence hang in the room for a moment before he squared his shoulders and spoke with a renewed sense of resolve. “It’s going to take some time, but I’ll find her.”
Chapter 12
Nelson handed his ID to the man at the front gate of the National Security Agency. He knew the people inside probably wouldn’t give him any information he didn’t already have, but he owed it to Dwight to at least try.
A week had passed since he had discovered his friend’s body in his secret office, and Nelson wasn’t thrilled that it had taken this long to find someone willing to talk to him. A handful of locals made the commute into Maryland every day to work for the agency, and one of them had been kind enough to set up this meeting. Nelson hoped he hadn’t wasted both his time and the better part of a tank of gas.
He’d always suspected Dwight was more than just a farmer because hired hands had always done the majority of the work at his place. Yet he spent enough time in the fields and in the barn to make it seem like he just might be what he appeared to be.
After the fellow from the NSA showed up, though, Nelson decided it was time to do some digging of his own. If Dwight had equipment that belonged to the government, it only made sense that he had access to it for a reason.
Nelson parked where he was told and made his way inside, where he waited at security until a dark-haired man arrived and introduced himself.
“Sheriff Hendricks, I’m Ken Holtz.”
“Good to meet you,” Nelson said. He followed the man through the complicated security procedures for admittance into the building and walked with him down a long hallway and into an office.
“Please, take a seat.” Ken gestured to a chair across the desk from his own. As soon as they were both settled, he said, “I understand you’re here about Dwight Martin?”
“That’s right. I’m investigating his murder, and so far the only apparent motivation is tied to the equipment we found in his barn.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Equipment?”
“That’s right. The extensive computer equipment we found at the scene of the crime.” At the blank expression on the other man’s face, Nelson added, “Someone from this agency picked it up right after the murders.”
Even though the man’s expression didn’t change, Nelson sensed an increased level of tension in the air, and his own concerns heightened. Nelson opened the file he carried and pulled out a copy of the authorization Nick White had given him. “Does the name Nick White ring a bell?”
“May I see that?” Ken asked, standing up so he could reach for the paper Nelson held.
Nelson handed it over, glad he’d had the foresight to make copies of everything before bringing the file with him.
The man across from him took his time as he studied the form silently. His own impatience humming, Nelson decided to get straight to the point. “Do you think it’s possible that Charlotte Martin could be responsible for killing Dwight Martin and Kurt Dorsey?”
“Charlotte? The daughter?” Ken asked, looking up with surprise that was quickly replaced by resolve. “No. Absolutely not.”
Nelson was surprised by the absolute certainty in the man’s voice. “How can you be so sure?”
“With what you’ve told me, I think it’s possible Dwight and Kurt were killed because of a project they were working on. Charlotte wouldn’t have anything to gain by their deaths, and she and Dwight were very close. If anything, these men died protecting her.”
“Protecting her from what?”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid that information is highly classified,” Ken said. “I only menti
on this so you understand that if you search for Charlotte, you could inadvertently be putting her in danger.”
“Can you give me any clue as to who might be behind these murders?” Nelson asked, frustrated. “Surely you must know who would be involved with this project you mentioned, or at least the equipment at Dwight’s farm.”
“We’re still trying to ascertain that information ourselves. If we’re able to isolate any solid suspects, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Though he wasn’t happy with the lack of cooperation, Nelson stood.
“I’ll be in touch, Sheriff. You can count on that.”
“I hope so.” Nelson said. “Dwight was a friend. I owe it to him to find out who did this.”
“I understand, and I share that sentiment.”
Nelson pondered the man across from him, seeing for the first time a trace of sincerity on the other man’s face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He let himself be escorted out of the office and back through security. When he reached the parking lot, he looked up at the formidable building behind him. Classified or not, Nelson wasn’t about to let this case grow cold.
* * *
Charlotte rolled up her bedding, tying the worn blanket to the back of her saddle. For five days she had followed the same routine, breaking camp shortly after the sun came up and stopping an hour before sunset to start the process all over again.
At midday she took a short break for lunch and to indulge herself by reading the Jackson Clark novel in her bag. If nothing else, it provided her with an escape for a little while. Since the book was set in central Virginia, at times she could even distract herself by imagining she was living in the fictional world the author had created instead of this new life she could barely believe was real.
On her second day, she had come across an apple orchard and gratefully taken advantage of the fruit to supplement her meals. Some wild asparagus and strawberries had given her slightly more variety. Thankfully, she had also found several water sources, streams mostly, where she could bathe and replenish her water supply.
Hopefully she would find some more food along her path today since she had eaten the last of her harvest for breakfast and didn’t want to break into what remained of her emergency rations. She turned to gather the trash bags she had used for her makeshift shelter and ground cover just as a gust of wind lifted them and carried them toward the stream.
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