“I’m sure it is.”
Toni drove them around Green Hills, pointing out the different houses, though more often than not, the only thing visible was a long driveway, a few of which were gated. Ananke nodded and commented as required.
As they headed up the hill back toward the main gate, Toni said, “And that’s Green Hills Estates. What did you think?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Do you think your CEO would be happy here?”
“I think anyone would be happy here.”
“I couldn’t have said that better myself. Anywhere else specific you’d like to check out?”
Ananke made a show of looking at the time on her phone. “Actually, I need to be heading back to the hotel. I have a conference call soon and some other work to deal with.”
“Of course. We can finish the tour next time you’re available.”
“That works for me.”
The gate opened before they reached it. As they drove out, Ananke looked at the guard hut, but Asshole Joseph remained hidden inside.
Chapter Eight
The Chartered jet landed on a private runway fifty-one miles northeast of Bradbury, seven miles south of the Canadian border.
Three Range Rovers and a pickup truck waited next to the automated weather station that provided information for the few flights that used the field. When the plane came to a stop, the vehicles pulled up to its side.
Six passengers disembarked, all strangers to each other. Due to the nature of their trip, conversations on the flight had been basically nonexistent, a pattern of similar flights filled with other strangers.
A young man stood near the base of the stairs and directed each passenger to one of the waiting Range Rovers, while two other men loaded luggage into the bed of the pickup. The drive to the lodge took twenty minutes, and by the time the building came into view, the sun had set and stars had filled the sky.
The lodge was three stories tall and large enough to house at least fifty guests. From its pitched roof rose five chimneys. The place had the look of a quaint mountain hotel one might escape to for a weekend away from the city.
The SUVs stopped under a portico, and the same young man who’d been at the plane directed the guests to the main entrance. The ornate double doors opened onto a large room, two stories high. A fireplace roaring with flames sat in the center of the room. Facing it were several soft leather couches and chairs arranged in two arcs. A second-floor balcony stretched across the room, reachable at either end by a spiral staircase. There were several doors off the big room and a hallway to the left.
The new arrivals were the only people present.
“Hello?” the first man who entered said. He had made millions in Eastern Europe by cheaply converting old buildings into apartment complexes, and then renting them out at exorbitant rates. As for his name, they had all been instructed to leave identifications behind before boarding the flight in New York. They would be given temporary identities for the duration of their stay.
Another man, the second youngest in the group and heir to a large clothing company, spotted a bar beyond the arc of chairs and headed over to it.
When two of the others realized where he was going, they followed. Both were older than the heir, but their money was newer. One had struck it rich by playing the market, while the other had earned his cash from a growing network of fast-food franchises in the American Southeast.
The heir poured himself a whiskey, neat, and offered to do the same for the other two men. The fast-food magnate accepted, while the investor preferred making himself a rum and Coke.
“Hello!” the slumlord repeated, cupping his hands around his mouth.
The final two men, the oldest and youngest of the group, decided they too wanted something to drink. The oldest man, barely in his sixties, was the retired founder of a budget airline that operated throughout the Mediterranean. He now enjoyed a life of leisure funded by the millions he’d earned from paying his employees shit. The youngest guy was a new breed of entrepreneur who had started and sold three different companies for insane profits before his twenty-ninth birthday. Their drinks of choice were a glass of cabernet and a bottle of water, respectively.
The slumlord finally decided to join the others.
“Someone should have been here to greet us,” he said as the heir handed him a whisky on the rocks. “It is very rude.”
“You’re right,” a female voice said behind him.
They turned en masse to find a beautiful woman with long brown hair smiling down at them from the second-floor balcony. She wore a green calf-length dress that matched her eyes, and could have been anywhere from twenty-three to thirty.
“I’d like to welcome you all to Stanhope Lodge. I apologize for the delay, and I do hope you can forgive me. The nature of our gathering, as I’m sure you can imagine, requires us to limit the amount of people involved. This occasionally means having to do double duty.” She descended the stairs nearest the men. “Perhaps one of you would be kind enough to pour me a glass of pinot noir.”
The only two who didn’t immediately spring into action were the retired airline CEO and the slumlord. Of the others, the heir won the day, laying his hand on the correct bottle before the others spotted it.
“Thank you,” she said as he fulfilled her request. Glass in hand, she said, “Gentlemen, if you will please have a seat.”
After the guests made themselves comfortable, the woman stepped in front of the hearth and faced them.
“We are so glad you are finally here.” She walked over to the mantel and removed several envelopes from inside a wooden box. “These contain keycards to your rooms and approved areas of the lodge. If you lose your card, contact me immediately. Failure to do so will result in a nonrefundable termination of your stay.”
The slumlord opened his mouth to say something, but she lifted a finger to cut him off.
“I know you all have questions, but I ask that you refrain for now as most of your queries will be answered in due course.” She walked over to the entrepreneur and handed him the top envelope. “You are Mr. Welles, and you will be staying in the Nyyrikki Suite. South wing, upstairs.” She gestured toward the appropriate stairs. He started to stand, but she touched his shoulder. “Please wait until everyone is ready.” She moved on to the slumlord. “You are Mr. Huston, and will be staying in the Rundas Suite.” She pointed the way and moved on again.
She handed out the rest of the cards and revealed their temporary names—Mr. Ford, Mr. Hawks, Mr. Wise, and Mr. Reed.
After the last envelope was distributed, she said, “You are free to go to your rooms and freshen up. But please return here within the hour and fix yourself another drink. I will collect you when dinner is ready.”
“Where’s Mr. Lean?” Ford, the fast-food king, asked. Mr. Lean, they had been told after their participation fees were received, was the name of their host.
“Mr. Lean will join us at the first trial.”
“What do we call you?” the heir, now known as Reed, asked.
“I am Miss Riefenstahl.”
Chapter Nine
The Brazen Diner filled the ground floor of one of the historic brick buildings on Main Street. While its name implied it possessed an unconventional menu, the choices were standard fare—french dips, patty melts, grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, and the old standby chicken fried steak. The most exotic item was the Caesar salad, but from the look of the one a customer was chomping on a few booths away from Ananke and Rosario, it wasn’t worth the risk.
Ananke settled for the tomato soup and a side of toast, while Rosario opted for the roasted chicken breast with rice and green beans. Neither option turned out to be particularly impressive.
As Ananke popped the last bit of toast in her mouth, the bell above the main entrance dinged.
“Oh, great,” she muttered.
Rosario raised an eyebrow. “Ricky?”
Ananke shook her head. “Officer Harris.”
The cop, dressed in jeans and a nice turquois top, paused just inside and scanned the room for an empty table. When her gaze landed on Ananke, one corner of her mouth ticked up, and she started walking again.
Ananke groaned and said, her lips barely moving, “I think she’s coming over here.”
“Why?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Ananke tracked Harris’s approach from the corner of her eye, and waited until the woman reached their booth before looking directly at her.
“Well, Officer Harris, what an unexpected pleasure. What brings you here?”
“It’s dinnertime.”
At that moment, Ananke and Rosario’s waitress walked by. “Evening, Morgan,” the woman said. “What’ll it be tonight?”
“I’m thinking chicken fried steak.”
“Spinach and onion rings?”
“You know me too well.”
The waitress smiled and walked off.
“Sounds like you eat here a lot,” Ananke said.
“Every night. Pre-shift ritual.”
“Everybody’s got to have a thing, right? Is there something I can help you with, Officer?”
Harris made a show of glancing down at her clothes. “I’m not in uniform. You can call me Morgan.”
“Is there something I can help you with, Morgan?”
“I just thought I’d check to make sure you didn’t have any problems finding your hotel.”
“I would have thought you knew that already. I mean, since you followed me all the way there.”
A small smile. “We try to be a full-service department.”
“Is that so?”
Harris glanced at Rosario and then back at Ananke. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Harris held her hand out to Rosario. “I’m Morgan.”
Rosario shook it. “Caroline.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Caroline. So, what brings you ladies to our little town?”
“You part of the official greeting committee?” Ananke asked, forcing a smile.
“Just a local wanting to make sure you’re enjoying your stay.”
“We are. Thanks.” Ananke stared at Harris, making it clear she wasn’t going to add anything else.
Harris held her gaze for a moment before saying, “I’ll let you get back to your meal, then. Enjoy your evening.”
“Appreciate that…Morgan,” Ananke said.
Harris tilted her head and walked toward an empty table across the room.
“Can you believe her?” Ananke said as she watched the cop go.
“The pictures of her online didn’t do her justice. She is stunning.”
“Who cares what she looks like? I don’t like the fact she seems a little too interested in us.”
“Maybe she has a crush on you.”
“Very funny.”
“What’s funny?” Rosario glanced over at Harris’s table. “I would be flattered if she had a crush on me.”
“Just…hurry up and finish. We’ve got things to do.”
The big item on Ananke and Rosario’s post-dinner agenda was getting a look inside Natasha Patterson’s house. For this task, they needed Ricky’s help.
Ananke called him as they were making their way back to the hotel. After she’d explained his role, he said, “What do you mean I don’t get to go inside?”
“We need eyes on the street. That’s you.”
“Boooring.”
“I hope so.”
“Come on, hon, you’re wasting my talents.”
She let the hon go without comment. As far as Ricky’s terms of endearment went, it was the least offensive. “Ricky. Do you want to do the job, or do you want to go back to the ship?”
“Fine. If the boss wants to waste Ricky’s talents, then Ricky will waste his talents.”
“Good. I’m happy to hear that. Now get moving.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ananke and Rosario remained at the hotel until Ricky reported all the lights had gone off in the houses surrounding Patterson’s place. They then set out on foot, passing behind the business district, crossing the high school baseball field, and finally hiking through the woods that separated old town from the housing development.
Patterson’s home on Cloud Drive was near the middle of the tract. As best they could, they avoided the spill of streetlamps by creeping over front lawns, down alleys, and through the occasional backyard. By 10:27 p.m., they were in the alley behind the missing woman’s home.
Ananke activated her comm. “Ricky, how’s it looking?”
“I hate to tell you this, but there’s an entire SWAT team surrounding the house, just waiting for you to make a wrong move.”
“Ricky.”
He snickered. “I haven’t seen a damn thing for almost half an hour. See, boring. Seriously, I’m dying out here.”
“If only we could be so lucky.”
“Funny.”
Ananke peeked over the fence, confirmed everything was clear before she and Rosario climbed into Patterson’s backyard. Crouching next to the flower bed lining the fence, they listened for anything indicating they’d been seen. All remained quiet.
Ananke led the way to a raised wooden deck attached to the back of the house, stopping at the base of the steps leading up. She scanned the home for signs of life, but everything was dark. Using her phone’s camera, she zoomed in through one of the French doors. The only things she could see were the shadowy shapes of furniture. She lowered her phone and moved her finger toward the button that would turn the screen off, but before she pressed it, the cell’s glow glinted off something on one of the steps.
She knelt down for a closer look.
Well, lookie here.
She motioned to Rosario and pointed out what she’d found. Rosario leaned in and then looked at Ananke, her eyebrows raised.
Thin monofilaments stretched half an inch above the center of each step, ensuring that even if someone skipped a step or two on the way up, he or she would still step on one of the thin lines, leaving behind evidence someone had been there.
Ananke checked under the steps in case the filaments were connected to silent alarms or, God forbid, explosives. They weren’t.
Had Patterson been worried about intruders and put the traps there herself? That seemed pretty paranoid, not to mention out of character, for a typical CFO. But Ananke could think of no other reason.
With the stairs a no-go, she and Rosario climbed over the deck’s railing and made their way carefully to the house. Ananke checked the French doors for any additional security devices but they were clean. She signaled for Rosario to do her thing, and waited while her colleague used a wand attached to her cell phone to scan for an alarm system.
When Rosario finished, she whispered, “She has one, but nothing too fancy. Doors and windows. Four motion detectors. And two interior cameras. This will not take long.” She tapped on her phone for half a minute and then slipped it into her pocket. “Disabled.”
Ananke dealt with the locks herself before easing the door open. Not a sound from inside. They moved across the threshold and shut the door.
“We’re in,” she reported over the comm.
“I and the empty streets surrounding you rejoice in your accomplishment,” Ricky said.
The first order of business involved checking the entire house to confirm no one else was present, which they accomplished in under two minutes.
Task two, a more thorough search.
They started on the ground floor. A chef’s kitchen, a sunken living room, dining room with a table large enough to seat twelve, and a plus-sized family room. Every item in each room had its place, with nothing extraneous lying around. Patterson clearly possessed a meticulous mind. The only thing that seemed off was the thin layer of dust everywhere. No maid service, then. Eithe
r that or service had been suspended for the last couple of weeks.
They checked drawers and cabinets but found nothing of interest, so they moved to the second floor. Four generous-sized bedrooms and an open area that served as an upstairs living room took up the entire space.
Their first stop was the master suite. Like the rooms on the ground floor, the bedroom was uncluttered and orderly. A look through the walk-in closet gave Ananke a sense of the woman’s style—hip while a bit conservative. Patterson apparently enjoyed taking advantage of the local outdoor lifestyle because among the shoes sat two pairs of hiking boots—one brand new, the other with well-worn soles. No signs of any male clothes, so if Patterson was seeing someone, the relationship hadn’t reached the leave-things-at-the-other-person’s-place stage.
She checked the hamper. It was nearly filled, all with women’s clothing.
Two of the other bedrooms were set up for guests, while the final one had been turned into a home office. They quickly dealt with the guest rooms and moved on to the office, knowing it would take more time.
After searching through the desk drawers and checking the closet, Rosario said, “There is a modem and a Wi-Fi router but no computer. Unless you’ve seen one somewhere else?”
Ananke shook her head. “Maybe she only uses a laptop and took it with her.”
“Look at the desk,” Rosario said. “The whole center area is open.”
“Plenty of people use laptops and keep their desks clear.”
Rosario knelt in front of the desk and checked underneath. “There is a power strip attached to the side. Very difficult to plug and unplug. Better to plug in once and leave it.”
“Which again doesn’t rule out a laptop. She could have multiple cords.”
“Then where is the one she would have left here?”
“There’s no cord?”
“I did not say that.” Rosario slapped the female end of a white extension cord on top of the desk. “There is no laptop cord, but there is this one for a desktop machine.”
“You knew that already, didn’t you?”
Town at the Edge of Darkness Page 7
