by D. B. Henson
“What do you mean?”
Toni let go of his hands and picked up the remote from the coffee table. “I really don’t feel like talking anymore. Let’s just try to forget about all this for tonight and watch the rest of the movie. Okay?”
She could tell Mark wanted her to explain, wanted to press her on the subject, but he relented.
“Okay.”
To the north, in Belle Meade, Clint Shore sat on an antique sleigh bed, goose down pillows propped behind his back, an open computer on his lap. He stopped typing for a moment and took a sip of pinot noir from the glass on the bedside table.
“Did you talk to Toni?” he asked, his question directed toward the master bathroom.
Jill appeared in the doorway wearing a teal silk robe, a silver hairbrush in her hand. “I left about a dozen messages on her machine, but she never called me back.”
“Just give her some time. She won’t stay mad forever.”
“I’m not so sure. She’s convinced Scott didn’t jump. She thinks he fell somehow.”
“Then maybe you should just go along with her. Let her think it was an accident. Whatever she needs to believe in order to put it behind her and move on.”
“Is there any chance she’s right? Could he have just lost his balance or something?”
Clint returned his fingers to the keyboard. “No.”
“You didn’t see anything at the hotel that might have caused him to fall?”
Clint’s forehead wrinkled. “Look, the police checked all the angles. They reconstructed every move Scott made. I didn’t want to believe it any more than you do, but if they’re satisfied it was suicide, then so am I. We just have to accept it and let it rest.”
Jill tilted her head to the left and slid the brush through her long blonde hair. “I guess you’re right.”
“Good. Now that we’ve got that settled, I need you to concentrate on writing up the contract to buy Scott’s share of the company. We need to get it done as soon as possible. I want everything in place before I approach Toni.”
After ten years of working with a partner, Clint would now be the sole owner of Chadwick & Shore.
He knew it was no secret that Scott’s absence would strike a major blow to the business. It would take a while for it to recover. Clint would have to make some adjustments, but he was up to the challenge. He had long since wanted to take a more active role.
Even though the shift in power was under less than perfect circumstances, this was his chance to prove himself. To show the world what he was capable of doing.
Although Scott had been the primary designer, Clint still had two architects on staff. Now they would be working on his designs. From now own, the visions created, the legacy built of brick and stone would be his.
And his alone.
Jill placed her brush on the table and took a long drink of Clint’s wine. “I’ll start on it first thing Monday.”
Clint pointed toward the computer screen. “I’m making a list. Possible new names for the business. What do you think about Clint Shore Enterprises?”
“I think,” Jill opened her robe and let it fall to the floor. “That it’s time to turn off the computer.”
When the closing music began, and the credits started to roll, Mark realized he couldn’t remember exactly how the movie had ended. Instead of paying attention, he had been going over legal strategies in his mind, trying to recall a precedent.
He had decided to consult with a probate expert on Monday. It might be a difficult fight, but he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that Toni retained Scott’s estate. Or at least the majority of it.
He stretched and looked over at Toni. She had drifted off to sleep, her head on the throw pillow. He was glad she was finally getting some rest. He doubted she had slept at all during the past two days.
He inched his way up off the sofa, careful not to wake her.
She had a rough battle ahead. Not just with Brian. However grueling, that would be the easy part. Toni had to battle the pain of losing Scott, a fight that had already left a permanent scar. It would take time, but he knew she would win this war. She was one of the strongest people he had ever known.
She was a survivor.
Mark found a quilt in the closet of the guest bedroom and draped it over Toni. She looked so peaceful, like an angel.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispered.
The intruder watched the blue Mercedes pull around the drive and then speed down the street. Luck was on his side. Mark Ross was gone. For a while, it had looked like the attorney might stay until morning.
It was one thing to do the job while she was at home. The intruder had no choice in that. He had to get it done tonight. He had already wasted too much time. But he didn’t feel comfortable with two people in the house. The odds of him getting caught would have been doubled.
He slipped his night vision binoculars back in their case and checked his watch. He would give her another hour. By then, she would more than likely be asleep.
The house was a newly constructed brick Georgian located in an exclusive subdivision in Blanton Hills. Situated on five landscaped acres, the home came complete with a pool, hot tub, and tennis court.
He had scoped out the property earlier, before nightfall. Having determined the lights at the rear and side of the house were set to be motion activated, he had devised a route to avoid them.
In a house of this size, it was obvious there would be a security system. And he had come prepared to deal with one, or so he thought. He had brought along a small receiver specially designed to capture the electronic pulses transmitted through the air whenever someone entered in the alarm code. After picking up the signal, the device would display the numbers.
But so far, the box hadn’t registered anything. Either the system wasn’t armed, or the receiver had stopped working. He figured he would find out when he reached the house.
After an hour had passed, he dropped the binoculars at the base of a tree and pulled on a black stocking cap. He looked up at the sky. The winds were coming in from the southwest, pushing a thick canopy of clouds across the full moon. He hoped the clouds would block the moonlight long enough for him to reach the house.
Sliding the backpack containing his tools over his left shoulder, he emerged from his hiding place, a clump of mature evergreens at the edge of the property.
He paused for a moment, scanned the street for approaching cars, and then slipped across the lawn, going from tree to tree until he reached the garage. The foundation shrubs pulled at his jeans as he picked his way between and then behind them. He needed to stay as close to the walls of the house as he could, or he would set off the motion detectors. Keeping his back to the brick, he rounded the corner of the garage and made his way along the rear wall of the house.
When he reached the first window, he turned around. The blinds were open allowing him to see inside the kitchen. The alarm keypad hung next to the door leading to the garage. Again, he was lucky.
All the lights were green. The system was off.
He hoisted himself up onto the patio and squatted beside the glass doors to the breakfast room. The moon sliced through a break in the cloud cover, partially illuminating the patio.
He froze, crouched in the shadow of the roof overhang.
When the moon had safely hidden itself again, he unzipped his backpack and removed a penlight, a pair of latex gloves, and a small wooden box. The box contained a metal object resembling a dentist’s tool. But the device hadn’t been created for oral torture. Instead, it was an electronic lock pick.
He pulled on the gloves, clasped the penlight between his teeth, and went to work. He opened the deadbolt first, and then the knob lock.
With his tools tucked away again in the backpack, he eased open the door and crawled across the threshold. He pushed the door closed and sat still on the tile floor of the breakfast room, listening. The only audible noise was the low hum of the refrigerator.
It see
med his wait had paid off.
The first thing he had to do now was locate her. He didn’t feel comfortable starting the job until he knew exactly where she was. Until he could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t surprise him.
He removed the Beretta 9mm from the holster on his belt and then crept through the kitchen and up the back staircase. He paused briefly at the top of the stairs, again listening for any movement. Detecting none, he decided to turn left.
The first room he came to was a bedroom. Obviously a guest room. The bed was still made up, and there were no clothes in the closet. The adjoining bath was empty.
The next room was huge, seeming to span the entire area of the four-car garage below. There was no furniture here. It was probably intended to be a recreation or media room. He made his way back down the hall, past the stairs he had used, checking each room.
Once he cleared a room, he closed its door.
The last room he came to, at the end of the hallway, was the master bedroom. The door was open, revealing a sitting area with a love seat and two chairs. He stood still in the doorway, trying to pick up the sound of her breathing.
Silence.
He eased into the room. To the right, a four-poster bed stood awash in moonlight. The bed was empty. The pillows and comforter undisturbed. The door to the master bathroom was open as well, the lights off.
He checked the walk-in closet. Nothing. Where was she? He knew she had to be in the house. Mark Ross had driven off alone.
He returned to the first floor and checked the dining room and then the formal living room. Just past a powder room on the left, he came to a set of closed double doors. The only closed doors he had encountered so far were closets.
This didn’t look like a closet.
Keeping his pistol raised, he turned the knob with his left hand and nudged one of the doors open. He slipped inside. He noticed the silhouettes of several tall pieces of furniture as he turned to check behind the now open door.
Directly in front of him stood the shadow of a man.
He dropped to a crouch, ducking behind one of the pieces of furniture, the Beretta aimed toward the shadow.
The man was gone.
His eyes darted across the room. Unlike the previous rooms he had visited, the blinds here were closed. However, enough moonlight peeked through that the objects around him began to materialize into familiar forms.
He touched the piece of furniture beside him. The metal was cool against his skin. It was not a chair, as he had first thought. It was a weight rack. The kind that holds round iron plates.
He could now clearly make out a stationary bike, a treadmill, and several weight machines. Mirrors paneled the side walls from the floor to just below the ceiling.
He realized the man he had seen was himself.
He left the exercise room and continued to comb the house. He finally found her in the family room, asleep on the sofa. He stood over her, studying her as she slept. Her breathing was slow and methodical. Her eyes flitted back and forth beneath her lids, lost in that deepest state where dreams become reality.
In the glow of the moon, she appeared almost childlike.
Alone.
Vulnerable.
The thought of killing her flashed through his mind. He stifled his rage and pushed the thought away. Now was not the time.
He returned the Beretta to its holster and backed out of the family room, easing the double doors closed.
Brian Chadwick had work to do.
CHAPTER 6
Morning sunlight streamed through the window, warming Toni’s face and waking her. She opened her eyes, disoriented at first, unsure of why she was in the family room. Then she remembered. Mark had been there. They had been watching a movie.
At least, she had pretended to watch.
Her eyes may have been on the screen, but her mind had been far away. She had spent most of the night trying to come up with a way to gain some kind of evidence against Brian. She knew so little about him. She wasn’t sure exactly where or how to begin.
Toni yawned, stretched, and forced herself up off the sofa. The stress of the past few days was finally catching up with her, weighing her down. She was tempted to spend the entire day curled up under the quilt, staring at the television. Feeling sorry for herself. Being what her father used to call a poor-me-baby. No one could blame her. Wouldn’t most people do the same? But she knew from experience, self-pity never solved anything. It only made things worse.
Toni folded up the quilt and returned it to the guest room. She went into the kitchen, dropped two slices of bread in the toaster, and grabbed a bottle of Coke from the refrigerator. Her answering machine was on the counter and she noticed it was blinking. She pressed the play button.
“Hi, it’s Jill. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Call me when you get this.”
The machine beeped, and then played the next message.
“I’m really sorry for what happened at the funeral. Won’t you please talk to me?”
And there was a third.
“Toni, it’s me again. I’m worried about you. Please call me.”
Toni hit the erase button. The messages were from the day before, left while she was at the hotel. Jill should be awake; she was usually up early on Saturday mornings. Toni picked up the phone to call her back, dialed the first three numbers, and then put the phone back down. She just wasn’t ready to talk to her yet.
Jill was her closest friend. But somehow, she felt like a stranger now.
The bread popped up in the toaster. Toni got a plate from the cabinet and coated the toast with a thick layer of blackberry preserves. She took a bite. The bread stuck in her throat, making her want to gag. For some reason, the breakfast she ate nearly every day tasted like cardboard.
She threw the toast in the trash and went upstairs to shower. She was starting to feel anxious. There was no reason for her to hang around the house. She might as well go in to the office. She could do a little research on Brian while she was there.
McKay-Wynn Properties was located near Interstate 65 in the Magnolia Springs Office Park. Toni parked her car in the spot reserved for the top producer and entered the large glass building. Shannon, one of the weekend receptionists, was at the front desk. When she saw Toni walk in, she stopped writing and put down her pen.
“Toni? What are you doing here?”
Toni smiled. “Well, the last time I checked, I worked here.”
“I meant –” Shannon’s gaze fell to the floor.
“It’s okay. I know what you meant. I just need to keep busy right now.”
Shannon nodded. Toni walked past her to the elevator and hit the call button, opening the doors. She got on and pushed the button for the third floor.
Along with the reception area, the ground floor of the building housed the administrative offices, a full kitchen and six private conference rooms. The second floor contained a training room where the managing broker held the weekly sales meetings, a computer room that allowed agents to access the multiple listing service, and a large bullpen area with agents’ desks arranged back to back. The company reserved the third floor for the private offices of the top producers.
The elevator bell chimed and the doors slid open. Toni’s office was at the end of the hallway, her name plastered on the wall just beside the door. She slipped her key in the lock and then breezed through the outer office past the two vacant desks belonging to her assistants, Janet and Cheryl. Then she unlocked the second door to her own private corner office.
She noticed a package from UPS perched on the side of her desk with a return address she didn’t recognize. She put down her purse and briefcase and opened the box, spilling Styrofoam peanuts across the floor. Inside was a package wrapped in white paper with a large cream-colored bow. Obviously a wedding gift. There was an envelope taped to the top. Toni opened it and read the card.
Toni –
I saw your wedding announcement in The Tennessean. You looked absolutely beautif
ul. I am so happy for you.
We’re living in Memphis now. Bob decided to open another restaurant. His son is running the one in Nashville. I would love to see you sometime.
Mom
She had scribbled her new address and phone number at the bottom.
“As usual, you’re too late, Mother.”
Toni tossed the unopened gift into the trash and turned on her laptop computer. The office was equipped with Wi-Fi, so all she had to do was click on her browser icon and she was ready to search the web. She pulled up her favorite search engine and typed in Brian’s name in quotes along with the name of the Washington, D.C. based news magazine he worked for, The World Revealed. When she pressed enter, a sea of hits filled the screen.
The magazine kept extensive archives online. There were articles written by Brian going back as many as five years. It was a lot to wade through. Stories on fraud in the meatpacking industry, political corruption, and organized crime, to name a few. What really caught her eye was a seven-part exposé on a man named Edward Sheffield, a CIA assassin turned traitor. The article went into great depth regarding Sheffield’s covert activities, including detailed information on his CIA training.
A chill prickled the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. Maybe Brian had learned to kill from a professional.
Toni printed the entire article. You never knew what might come in handy later. She only wished she had access to Brian’s personal information. She had come across a short biography listing his educational background and various awards he had earned, but could find nothing damaging.
She would love to call a loan officer and have them pull a credit report, but to do that, she needed Brian’s social security number. For now, she would just have to keep digging on her own.
There was a knock at the door, and before Toni could answer, Dana Dawson pushed her way into the office. Her mass of red hair was piled on top of her head with little tendrils streaming down the sides of her face. She was wearing a navy blue suit, the skirt a bit too short, and was waving a sales contract.
