by Rebecca York
“Thanks so much,” Carrie answered, “but we’re still thinking about what to get.”
Once on the street they headed in the direction that Rita had taken, putting other shoppers between themselves and their quarry. She turned down the cross street and walked to a nearby bank, where she disappeared inside.
Wyatt motioned Carrie to a passageway between two shops, where they waited in the shadows.
“What do you think they were doing?” Carrie asked.
“I’m not sure, but I assume it’s nothing on the up-and-up. I mean, how do they even know each other?”
Carrie shook her head.
Rita was inside the bank for twenty minutes. When she emerged, she wore an annoyed expression.
“I guess that didn’t go well.”
“Are we going to follow her?” Carrie asked.
“If we can do it without her spotting us.” They trailed half a block behind as Rita walked in and out of a couple of shops, then headed for the garage where Patrick had parked.
They waited until she’d disappeared inside, then got into his rental. By the time they’d paid, Rita’s car was already down the block, but Wyatt caught up and kept pace with her. The surveillance did not turn out to be particularly productive, since she was only heading back to her condo.
When she turned into the garage, Wyatt continued on past.
“Now what?” Carrie asked.
“We go back to Patrick.”
“You mean follow him home?”
“I hope that’s not where he’s going. The reason I left you alone outside Starbucks was to buy a tracker, like the one someone put on my car. And I slapped it under Patrick’s bumper.”
“Good thinking.”
“But I’m betting he wasn’t even looking. We can follow him and find out where he’s going.” As he drove, Wyatt got out the other part of the device, a GPS that kept them apprised of Patrick’s location. Douglas Mitchell’s chief of staff was heading along the Capital Beltway again.
“He could be going home.”
“We’ll see.” Wyatt switched the subject back to Rita. “What if Rita was feeding us a bunch of bull when we talked to her?”
“About what?”
“Everything. What if that book has nothing to do with gambling debts?”
“Then what?”
“We have to find out.”
Instead of heading for the Mitchell estate, Patrick took I-95 toward Baltimore.
He skirted around Baltimore and turned in the general direction of Annapolis. Wyatt stayed well back because there was no need to keep the vehicle in sight. They could follow perfectly well using the GPS.
Carrie caught her breath as he swung onto East Oak Road.
“I think I know where he’s going.”
Wyatt turned his head toward her, then back to the road. “Yeah?”
“Remember I told you about the house my father owns on the river in Arnold? This is the route you take to get there.”
“Patrick’s going to your father’s house? That’s an interesting development. Okay, tell me everything you remember about the property.”
She organized her thoughts.
“It was an old bungalow that my dad bought maybe thirty years ago and fixed up. The property’s worth a lot because it’s right on a bluff overlooking the river. The access road is about a hundred yards long. The house is one story. There are three bedrooms and a great room. Nothing fancy. In back there’s a gravel walkway and stairs that lead down to a dock. Dad keeps a motorboat there.”
“Is there a garage?”
“Yes, a big detached one on one side.”
“So cars could be hidden inside.”
“Yes.”
“Is there a lot of cover on the grounds?”
“Yes. Lots of trees and shrubs. And probably underbrush that’s grown up, since I don’t think Dad has a gardener down here.”
They stayed well back as Patrick headed down the road, then disappeared onto a long drive winding through a wooded lot that completely hid the dwelling from view.
“What’s he doing here?” Carrie murmured.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Wyatt continued for another hundred yards until he found a place where he could turn off. When he climbed out, he checked his Sig.
Carrie eyed the weapon. “You’re expecting trouble?”
“I don’t know what to expect. I mean, why is Patrick here at all? Did Rita send him here? Or did something he told her give him the idea?”
Carrie shrugged, trying not to think the worst of a man she’d considered a friend for all of her life.
She hadn’t been to this house by the river in years, but memories came flooding back as they stepped off the road and into the underbrush. She’d loved this place when she’d been a kid. Playing in the woods. Swimming in the river. Fishing from the pier. She and Patrick had made forts in the woods. Later, when they’d gotten older, they’d been allowed to take the motorboat out on the river. In the early days, there had been no air-conditioning in the house, and they’d slept out on the screened porch.
“There’s a path through the woods,” she whispered.
Or there had been. When she tried to find it, she found that nobody had kept it up, and the forest had closed in around the almost imperceptible trail.
“You’d better show me the way,” Wyatt said, although it was obvious he didn’t like the idea of her going first.
She took the lead position and started moving as quietly as possible toward the house, avoiding brambles and patches of poison ivy.
From the road, it was an uphill slog, and Carrie tried to keep the house in sight so that she wouldn’t get lost as they navigated the wilderness area.
They passed a dilapidated structure.
“What’s that?” Wyatt asked.
“That was one of the forts Patrick and I built. We used to play pioneer out here.”
When they reached the edge of the woods, Wyatt stopped short. The house looked deserted, and Patrick’s car was the only one in sight, parked beside a large heap of brush and sticks that had been piled up in the front yard and left there. He had turned his vehicle around, making it look as if he was poised for a quick getaway.
Carrie focused on the car and breathed out a little sigh when she saw Patrick through the window. He must have stayed in there for a few minutes. Now he was stepping out.
“What has he been doing all this time?” Carrie whispered.
“Don’t know. Stay here.”
As he got out of the vehicle, Patrick was focused on the house, not what might be in the woods behind him.
Wyatt sprinted forward and caught up with the man while he was still twenty yards from the building.
Pressing a gun into Patrick’s back, he said, “Raise your voice or make a sudden move, and you’re dead.”
The other man went stock-still.
“What...what are you doing here?” he sputtered.
“I’ll ask the questions,” Wyatt answered. “Turn around and walk back toward the woods.” He emphasized the order with a jab from the gun.
Patrick’s gaze fixed on Carrie, and his eyes widened.
“You.”
She raised one shoulder in a little shrug.
“Move.”
Patrick finally unfroze from his position. Wyatt stayed behind him, marching him into the woods, where he couldn’t be seen from the house—if there was anyone inside. Wyatt still didn’t even know that.
He moved around to face Patrick. “What are you doing here?”
Patrick responded with a look of panic.
“Is someone here?” Wyatt prompted.
Carrie jumped into the conversation. “Did it have something to do
with Rita?” she blurted, and Wyatt gave her a quick glance, sorry that she’d mentioned the other woman’s name. He’d wanted to save that information as a surprise after he’d gotten the initial version of Patrick’s story.
“What about Rita?” Patrick asked cautiously.
“You met with her,” Carrie answered.
The look of panic on Patrick’s face changed to one of cunning.
“Don’t say anything else,” Wyatt advised Carrie. “I want to find out what he’s got to say.”
Her face contorted, and he knew she realized that speaking impulsively might not be such a good idea.
“She asked to meet with me,” Patrick said.
“About what? How do the two of you even know each other?”
“After her husband died, she contacted me because she knew about your being on the run.”
Patrick turned to Carrie. “She gave me some information about your father. It’s right here.”
“About Dad?”
Patrick put his hands up. “I’m reaching into my pocket. I won’t make any sudden moves.” As he put his hand in his jacket pocket, Wyatt saw Carrie step closer to the man, no doubt eager to see what he had to show her.
“Stay back!” he shouted.
But it was already too late. Carrie darted forward, getting between Patrick and Wyatt’s gun.
In the next second, Patrick grabbed Carrie, holding her in front of himself as he pulled out a gun and pressed it to her neck.
Chapter Eighteen
Wyatt froze.
“Drop your gun or I’ll shoot her,” Patrick ordered. “And don’t think I won’t do it.”
“Patrick?” Carrie whispered.
“Shut up,” he growled, and she clamped her lips shut.
Wyatt’s only option was to obey.
Still holding Carrie, Patrick bent down and scooped up the weapon. But the man wasn’t very good at hiding his intentions. As he held one gun on Carrie, he raised the hand with Wyatt’s gun and fired.
Wyatt was already ducking behind a tree. More bullets followed him into the woods, but he could tell that Patrick wasn’t much of a shot with his left hand. Ducking down, Wyatt waited in the shadows of the trees.
Behind Patrick, the door to the house opened. Peeking from behind a tree, Wyatt saw two young men emerge, both carrying guns. They looked like the terrorists he’d seen at the Federal Building and at the safe house.
“What’s going on?” one of them shouted to Patrick.
“Carrie Mitchell and Wyatt Hawk showed up. I’ve got her. Hawk’s in the woods. I’ve got his gun. You can blow him away.”
The idea of leaving Carrie in Patrick’s clutches made Wyatt’s stomach knot, but he wasn’t going to do her any good if he was dead.
As he turned and ran back the way he’d come, a bullet whizzed past him, and he heard the pounding feet of the pursuers.
He ducked low, making for a tangle of brambles and diving in, scratching himself as he hunkered down.
The two men were coming through the woods, mowing down underbrush as they searched for him.
Wyatt cursed under his breath. He hadn’t been sure of Patrick’s role in this plot. He still wasn’t sure, but he knew that the man was willing to kill Carrie to get what he wanted.
Which was?
Wyatt felt his throat constrict. In the past few minutes, it had become clear that this whole plot had been about killing Carrie, and every second that passed put her in more danger.
Desperately, he tried to figure his best course of action.
The sounds in the woods told Wyatt that the men pursuing him had separated. From Wyatt’s hiding place, he saw one of them approaching his location, but his attention was focused on something farther on—the fort that Carrie had pointed out on their way up from the road.
* * *
PATRICK MARCHED CARRIE into the house. As soon as they were inside, he said, “Take off that purse and toss it over here.”
She removed the strap from across her chest, and he upended the purse onto the floor, then pushed her into a chair in the great room. “Stay there if you don’t want to get hurt—yet.”
She watched him sort through the contents of the pocketbook. When he found the cell phone, he slammed it against the floor, spewing out its guts.
“Is that what you used to call me and get me to drive into D.C. so you could search the house?”
“No.”
“Liar. You were hiding in the pool shed, weren’t you?”
She didn’t answer.
There were three other men in the house watching her and Patrick. One was blond. His leg was bandaged, and he was leaning on a crutch. The two others had dark hair. Ordinary-looking young men, all of them. She recognized them as the terrorists from the park.
Patrick looked at them with an expression she recognized. He was pleased with himself and going to rub it in.
“You couldn’t get her, but here she is,” Patrick said.
“You’re going to tell us you planned to have her show up?” the blond asked.
“No, but I know how to take advantage of a situation.”
Carrie’s stomach roiled. She was coping with her altered view of Patrick—and the stupidity of what she’d done. She’d trusted Patrick, and she’d been so desperate to get information about her father that she’d let him trick her into getting close, and now she was trapped.
“Where is my father?” she asked.
“Shut up,” he snapped.
The blond young man leaned on his crutch and kept his gaze on Patrick. “This isn’t working out the way it was supposed to. I’m shot in the leg. Bobby’s still in custody, and he’s not going free, is he?”
“It’s not my fault that he got caught.”
“This whole deal was your idea.”
“Rita Madison’s idea,” Patrick corrected.
“How?” Carrie gasped out.
Patrick spared her a glance. “I said shut up.”
“I trusted you.”
“Oh, really? Is that why you sent me on that wild-goose chase into D.C. and hid in the pool shed?”
She could tell that really bothered him, and she knew she’d better answer carefully. “I didn’t want to do it, but Wyatt insisted.”
“Blame him,” Patrick snarled.
“Patrick, I thought you and I were friends.”
“Oh, sure. On a limited basis. You and your father always thought you were better than me.”
“No. Of course not.”
All along she’d thought Patrick was on her side, but now she understood that their friendship was only an illusion. She saw the hatred on his face. Hatred that she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t seen it for herself.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from trying to reach him. “Don’t you understand that Dad gave you every advantage?”
Patrick snorted. “Not like he gave you.”
“I’m his daughter.”
“And I was always just an afterthought. Or later, someone convenient he could use for jobs that needed getting done.”
Seeing she wasn’t going to get him to change his mind, she asked, “You hatched this whole plot?”
“No. It was Rita’s idea. But I liked the way she thinks. Big.”
“But why?”
“After the way her husband was pissing away money with his compulsive gambling, she needed some cash, and I knew where I could get it. She had the connections to pull off what looked like a terrorist attack—and to set you up.”
Carrie gripped the arms of the chair where she sat, trying to anchor herself to reality when the whole world felt as if it was sliding out from under her. Everything she’d thought about the past few days was all wrong. “Are you saying it was
n’t really a terrorist attack at all?”
“In a way, it was. An attack on you and your father, actually.” He laughed. “Rita knew exactly how it would go once you ratted out the ‘terrorists.’ She knew you’d end up down at the Federal Building.”
“But why set up an elaborate scheme?”
“Don’t you know the insurance policy your father bought you pays triple if you’re killed in a terrorist attack?”
“He bought me an insurance policy?”
He grinned. “Well, I did it for him. He was so out of it that he didn’t even know.”
She felt sick as she stared at him in disbelief, trying to rearrange years of thinking. Her father had done everything for this man, and it turned out that all he felt was resentment for not getting more. He’d hidden it well. She hadn’t suspected a thing, but Wyatt had obviously had a very different view of her father’s chief of staff. He hadn’t trusted him from the beginning, and she should have listened to him.
Although bitterness had festered in Patrick for years, she wondered if he would have acted against her and her father without Rita.
But it was clear that he was enjoying crowing about his exploits, and she wanted to keep him talking, because the longer she stalled, the better chance Wyatt had to rescue her, and she had no doubt that he could do it.
“How did you meet Rita?” she managed to say.
“I was driving your father to a reception at her country club, and the old man let me come in and mingle with the guests. Rita and I hit it off right away.”
“It was her idea to kidnap my father?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
As they had gone back and forth in their revealing conversation, Patrick had taken his gaze off the blond man with the crutch. Now the blond pulled out a gun and pointed it at Patrick.
“Enough of this blathering.”
Patrick stared at him in disbelief. “I’m in charge here.”
“Not anymore.” He punctuated the announcement by raising the gun and firing.
Carrie stared in disbelief as Patrick staggered back against the wall, blood spreading across his left shirtsleeve.
