CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What is this place?” Montero asked, as the three of them pulled up to a simple but rugged iron gate.
Lauren punched in a code and the gate swung open, revealing a long, curved driveway that rose up a gentle hill and ended at a massive stone house situated well back from the road.
“Grandma’s house!” Abigail cried out from her car seat, her enthusiasm clearly evident.
“It was handed down from Donovan’s mother’s side of the family. We call it Grandma’s house. It’s been in the family for over a hundred fifty years.”
“Mommy, I want to go to the pond and catch frogs,” Abigail said loudly. “Can you see the horses? I want a pony all my own.”
“I don’t see the neighbor’s horses today, but we’ll keep an eye out for them, okay? We’ll go to the pond after dinner, and maybe Ms. Montero will help you catch a frog.”
Montero turned and spoke to Abigail. “What do we do if we catch one?”
“My dad and I have a special bucket.”
“Then what do you do with them?” Montero asked.
“They’re my pets, I keep them, but they always get away when I’m sleeping. My dad says they’re smart, so we just catch more.”
Lauren pulled around back to the four-car garage and stopped. She left the engine running, stepped out, and went to a metal box obscured by bushes and disabled the second of three alarm systems. The garage could now be opened. Lauren eased the Range Rover inside and shut off the engine. Abigail hit the ground running and made straight for the tire swing that Donovan had hung from a sprawling oak tree.
“This place is amazing,” Montero said, as she gathered up some of the groceries they’d brought from the house.
“It’s almost two hundred acres. It’s where Donovan is the most relaxed. Abigail loves it out here as much as he does.”
“I can see why.”
Lauren opened the door and deactivated the last of the alarms, but reset the perimeter alarm so they’d know if anyone else came onto the property. “The kitchen is through there. I’ll get the air conditioning going. It won’t take long to cool down the place, and then I’ll get Abigail down for a short nap.”
Montero glanced at her watch. “I need to check in with my guy in Miami. Is there a landline I can use? I don’t want to risk using my cell phone.”
“There’s a small office through there, make yourself at home,” Lauren said, then turned back to Montero. “You know, if you don’t mind, I’d like to check in with Donovan first. Let him know we’re out here.”
“No problem,” Montero replied, as she went out to retrieve the rest of their things from the SUV.
Lauren sat down at the desk. From the window she could see Abigail. She stopped for a moment at the sight of her daughter in the tire swing, pumping her legs and swinging back and forth, happily giggling as she spun around in great climbing circles. Behind her was the small lake that Donovan called the pond. She caught herself wishing he were here, that the three of them were here, and that none of the last year had happened. She shook off her wistful thinking and focused on the hard reality of the situation.
Three people had died today, and, as far as Lauren knew, their only connection was Central America and William VanGelder. Lauren looked at Abigail—could the man her daughter knew and loved as Grandpa be a killer? Had William orchestrated the death of Meredith Barnes and others? Her heart said “no,” but everything she’d heard today pointed toward a potentially different verdict.
Lauren reached for the phone. She needed to hear Donovan’s voice, see how everyone was holding up, find out if there were new developments. She started to call his cell and then decided that if he were with a group of people he wouldn’t be able to talk. Instead, she retrieved the piece of paper with the number for his hotel and dialed. He probably wouldn’t be there, but if he was, he’d be able to talk. If not, she’d simply leave a message. The hotel operator put her call through to his room.
It rang and rang. Lauren was about to hang up when someone picked up the phone.
“Hola,” a groggy voice said.
Lauren froze, uncertain what to do or say. It was a woman’s voice, and Lauren had woken her. Had they connected her to the wrong room? Should she just hang up and redial?
“Hola?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Lauren said, finally. “I was looking for Donovan Nash.”
“He’s not here,” the woman replied.
“Who is this?” Lauren asked, finding a woman asleep in her husband’s hotel room troubling in ways she couldn’t begin to calculate.
“My name is Eva. Who is this?”
“This is Donovan’s wife. Do you know where he is?”
“Meredith?” The woman asked, her voice still thick with sleep.
“What did you say?” Lauren said, stunned. What had Donovan told this woman?
“Donovan said his wife was Meredith. Is that not right?”
“It’s a long story. Where is he?” Lauren felt her fear beginning to win out over her other emotions.
“He and Buck went to the airport. They’ll be back later. Can I give him a message?”
“No, no message. I’ll call him later,” Lauren replied and hung up. This Eva woman’s relaxed demeanor was beyond irritating. Did Donovan feel free to jump into bed with random women he met on the road? Was he finished with her and their marriage? Lauren didn’t know what to think, and decided that at the moment she didn’t have the luxury to dwell on the possibilities. Later, she told herself, she’d talk to him later.
“Abigail, come on, honey.” Lauren stepped out on the patio and called to her daughter. “It’s time for a nap. Mommy will read you a story.”
“That was quick,” Montero said.
“Voice mail.” Lauren shrugged.
Abigail slid from the tire and ran toward her mother. Lauren watched as her daughter stopped; something had caught her eye. She bent over to try to catch something, but the grasshopper buzzed out of reach. In the blink of an eye, the chase was on. Both her husband and daughter were impulsive free spirits, and in that moment, still burned by the phone call, Lauren wondered if her husband had ever been faithful.
“Are you okay?” Montero asked.
Lauren dabbed at the tears that had formed, then turned and smiled at Montero. “I will be, some things just caught up with me is all.”
“It’s been a day,” Montero nodded. “You enjoy your daughter. I’m going to call Miami, then I’d love a shower. Once Abigail is asleep, we’ll talk if you want?”
“Thank you,” Lauren said. “I’m glad you’re here. I can’t bring anyone out here who doesn’t know the secret. Beneath that big sycamore tree out near the next hill is an old family cemetery. Donovan’s mother is buried there along with some other ancestors. The Huntington family ghosts are everywhere around here.”
“I know,” Montero said. “The pictures in the kitchen alone gave me chills. Robert as a boy, his parents, it’s like a museum.”
“Down the hallway to the right is one of the guest bathrooms. You should find everything you need.” Lauren turned toward Abigail, who was still after her quarry. “Come on, sweetie.”
Lauren led her daughter to her room. As always, Abigail grabbed a country version of her beloved stuffed animal, Shadow. The golden retriever was identical to the one at the house, designed to watch over Abigail’s room between visits. Abigail pulled a book from the basket, kicked off her shoes, and climbed up onto the bed. Lauren covered her with a blanket.
“Is Ms. Montero really going to take me frog hunting?” Abigail asked.
“It sure sounded like she was,” Lauren replied. “I’m going to go too. I’ll take pictures and we’ll send them to Daddy.”
Abigail nodded her approval and then handed her mom the book she’d chosen.
Lauren was reading, and Abigail was making animal sounds along with each different barnyard creature illustrated in the book, though she was fading with each turn of the page and quickly dozed. Laure
n pulled the cover up, tucked it under Abigail’s chin, and quietly left the room. She found Montero had showered and dressed, her dark hair still wet.
Montero was writing furiously and looked up as Lauren entered.
“She was tired.” Lauren sat down in a leather chair in the corner. “Feel better?”
“Much, thank you.”
“Okay, what did your guy in Miami tell you?”
“Before we get to that, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Lauren said, aware that her instinct to withdraw was probably unnecessary, but she felt her defense mechanisms switch on anyway.
“Your tears today, they weren’t about today, were they? Butterfield died, but we didn’t kill him, we didn’t even know him. The two people in the car, they made their choice. As one of a handful of people on earth with whom you can speak freely, I’m here to listen.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine, really,” Lauren said.
“You’re one of the most intelligent, pragmatic people I’ve ever met. To see you emotional was…unexpected. I can’t just shrug it off as if it never happened. If we’re going to be partners, I need to know you’re with me in mind and spirit. What would you think if you saw me tear up?”
“I’d be thinking what you’re thinking, that something must be wrong. You and I aren’t exactly the overly emotional types.” It had been a long time since Lauren had another woman she could talk to that wasn’t family. “Business first, tell me what the guy in Miami found.”
“Okay,” Montero said. “La Serpiente is a hired gun for whatever crime you want committed. He earned the name by being not only elusive, but also lethal, like some sort of venomous viper. To the best of his knowledge, la Serpiente disappeared fifteen years ago and is thought to either be dead or in prison.”
“That doesn’t give us much,” Lauren said.
“Someone is cleaning house. As of today, not a single victim, or suspect, connected to la Serpiente is still alive. Whoever killed Butterfield and Knight may be a member of the conclave Butterfield talked about before he died.”
“Do we think this la Serpiente kidnapped Vargas’ granddaughter to make some fast money? Maybe he’s been in prison. The girl escaped, and in a completely random set of circumstances, Stephanie gets taken.”
“It’s possible. But if it is la Serpiente, then he knows Stephanie is William VanGelder’s niece, a man he’s possibly worked for in the past. How does that play out?”
“One of two ways, as a business deal,” Lauren said. “This is what Donovan told me William was working toward. Or the kidnapper, if it is la Serpiente, is panicked, and trying to eliminate all his ties with the past.”
“What are you thinking?” Montero asked.
“I’m thinking about Hector Vargas. We have no idea if he’s been in touch with the kidnappers since his granddaughter was abducted.”
“I say that’s far too dangerous,” Montero offered. “We can’t let anyone outside our camp know what we know. Vargas could do anything, including panic, and that in turn could put Stephanie in even more danger.”
“I know,” Lauren nodded in agreement. “It’s just that I’m afraid Donovan is unraveling in Guatemala over Stephanie’s kidnapping, and that the man he reveres as a father might be the cause of a great many things, including the death of Meredith Barnes.”
“If William’s behind this, then Donovan is perfectly safe. William has kept the State Department, as well as the FBI, out of this investigation from the beginning. You’re right, to him, it’s a business deal, and according to what we’ve learned, there’s no one better at wheeling and dealing than William VanGelder.”
Lauren listened to Montero’s words, but her thought process was leading her somewhere completely different. “Earlier, when I was upset, it was because I called Donovan’s hotel room in Guatemala. I wanted to talk to him, but I knew if I called on his cell phone, chances were he’d be with William, or Buck, or Michael, and unable to really talk.”
“Makes sense, go on.”
“A woman answered. She spoke English with a thick Spanish accent. I woke her up. She said Donovan wasn’t there. When I identified myself as his wife, she asked me if I was Meredith.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Montero whispered. “What else did she say?”
“Nothing, I was caught off guard. I was upset, so I hung up.” Lauren shook her head at the memory. “I think he’s in trouble, and I also don’t think there’s anyone with him who’s in a position to understand, let alone help. The only person down there with any knowledge of the complexities of Donovan’s state of mind is William, and, as of right now, I don’t know if William has his back.”
“Has there ever been a time when William didn’t have Donovan’s best interests at heart? I mean, you know them better than I do, but Donovan values loyalty above all else, and if he ever thought William wasn’t one hundred percent behind him, I think you’d have heard about it.”
“I have no reason to believe that William is any less compartmentalized, damaged, and secretive than Donovan. That’s the frustrating part. William, hell, Donovan, could each be a cold-blooded killer, and I don’t think I’d have a clue.”
“Oddly enough, the two known killers are you and I,” Montero said.
“That’s different. You’re a former FBI agent and I was—”
“Protecting your husband,” Montero finished Lauren’s sentence. “And I was doing it for God and Country. It doesn’t make either one of us right or wrong. What we did have though, was the unwavering belief that the lethal course we took was the only way to solve the problem.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“We don’t have enough information to do anything about William, or this conclave, or the woman in Donovan’s room. What we do know is they’re using their formidable skills to get Stephanie returned unharmed. Any direct confrontations between you and William compromises that mission, and I don’t think that’s what we’re after. If you continue down this path toward confronting William, then you’d better make sure that you’re right, or I promise you you’ll lose any option you might harbor of being a family again. How do you think Donovan would react if William had a part in killing Meredith Barnes?”
“I can’t imagine,” Lauren said, her voice nearly a whisper.
“How do you think they’d both react if you accused William, and he was innocent?”
Lauren hung her head as she played out the implications. “I’d never have the trust of either one of them again.”
“That’s the price each of you may pay if we continue. I don’t know what truth we’re headed for, but it might not be what anyone wants. You may have to step out of your science and reason safety zone and contemplate the human cost.” Montero reached across the table and took Lauren’s hand. “All I’m saying is that rational thought will only take you so far when the family you’ve known implodes. Relationships are about emotions, and yours is on the brink of tearing itself apart. You and Donovan are both used to winning. If we continue, I can promise you, no one gets out of this one unscathed.”
“Thank you for that,” Lauren said as a sad smile came to her lips. “You’re right, I’m a scientist. I use logic to arrive at facts that can then be used to provide tangible results. It’s how I grew up, it’s how I operate.”
“Throw all of that out for one moment. You love your husband, and he’s in trouble. Imagine this. There’s no data to help him, just your woman’s intuition coupled with a gut feeling. What’s your move?”
“I’m not sure,” Lauren felt out of her comfort level and more than a little outmaneuvered by Montero, though she knew the former FBI agent was trying to help.
“Feel, then think,” Montero urged. “We need to leave William, Donovan, and Eco-Watch alone until Stephanie is home safe. That’s a given. We’ll let the FBI grind on those issues. The moment we need to shut down the FBI, we’ll show them the pictures Stephanie took of the kidnapping, and make the case that there is no retribution being
leveled toward William. If you can, once Donovan’s home, work with him on the William question. It’s what you’ve asked of him, to be let into his world, to allow you to help, before he’s overwhelmed. Show him the same respect.”
Lauren felt the sting of truth as Montero’s words hit home. In a single instant she flew through a flurry of emotions—from anger, to denial, to gratitude—that Montero had not only the insight, but the ability and guts to explain the situation.
“Which leaves us with what part of our investigation we haven’t looked into?” Montero asked. “The information only we hold?”
“Marie Vargas was kidnapped eighteen months ago, and then again six days ago,” Lauren said as she jumped to her feet and began to pace. “What’s happened between then and now? Who are the players and who has the most to gain? I have an idea. This may sound crazy, but please, hear me out.”
“I’m listening,” Montero said as she displayed a rare smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Donovan let himself into his room. The lights were out, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The curtains allowed in enough light for Donovan to see a room service tray, as well as an empty shopping bag next to a stack of new clothes. He could see the pile of tags on the table. She must have tried them on and then removed the tags before folding them up again. He looked at the bed. All he could see was her hair spilled out over a pillow, her slender body outlined by the sheet. She was curled up, her arm wrapped around a pillow. It struck Donovan once again how much she resembled Meredith. Donovan shook off those thoughts. He didn’t want to go there—couldn’t go there right now. Instead, he clicked on a light and called her name.
“Eva,” Donovan said gently, not wanting to startle her. “Eva, wake up.”
She moved under the covers but didn’t respond. Donovan went to the side of the bed and switched on another light. He reached over and put his hand on her shoulder. She immediately awoke—terror in her eyes as she struck out at him, twisting to escape his touch. He stepped back, surprised. Her facial expression was filled with raw fear, her chest heaving like a trapped animal.
Aftershock: A Donovan Nash Novel (A Donovan Nash Thriller) Page 16
