Four Doubt

A Silas McKay Suspense

Book IV

by Luana Ehrlich

Copyright © 2024 Luana Ehrlich

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

You’re invited to visit the author’s website here: LuanaEhrlich.com

All books by Luana Ehrlich are available on Amazon here

When you sign up for Luana’s newsletter, you’ll receive a FREE download of One Step Back, the prequel to the Titus Ray Thriller Series. Her bi-monthly newsletter contains notices about when her books are on sale, plus updates about her series, along with information about new books and giveaways from other authors. Join Luana’s newsletter here and receive your FREE BOOK.

To my mother, Mary Lee Pollock,

who delighted in sharing the book she

was reading with anyone who would listen.

Books by Luana Ehrlich,

USA Today bestselling author

Available on Amazon

Each book can be read as a standalone novel, but to have the series experience, the following order is suggested.

Order of Titus Ray Thriller Series:

One Step Back, the prequel to One Night in Tehran

One Night in Tehran, Book I

Two Days in Caracas, Book II

Three Weeks in Washington, Book III

Four Months in Cuba, Book IV

Five Years in Yemen, Book V

Two Steps Forward, Book VI

Three Steps Away, Book VII

Four Steps Missed, Book VIII

Five Steps Beyond, Book IX

One Good Time, Book X

Two Good Deeds, Book XI (Coming 2025)

Order of Ben Mitchell/Titus Ray Thriller Series:

(These novels are in the voice of Titus Ray, but Ben Mitchell is also featured.)

Ben in Love, Book I—chronologically, this book follows Two Steps Forward

Ben in Charge, Book II—chronologically, this book follows Three Steps Away

Ben in Trouble, Book III—chronologically, this book follows Four Steps Missed

Order of the Mylas Grey Mystery Series:

A Day Ago, the prequel to One Day Gone

One Day Gone, Book I

Two Days Taken, Book II

Three Days Clueless, Book III

Four Days Famous, Book IV

Five Days Lost, Book V

Six Days Spent, Book VI

Seven Days Off, Book VII (Coming  2024)

Order of the Silas McKay Suspense Series:

One Wonders, Book I

Two Believe, Book II

Three Confess, Book III

Four Doubt, Book IV

Five Alive, Book V (Coming 2025)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Characters

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

PART TWO

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

PART THREE

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

PART FOUR

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

PART FIVE

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

A NOTE TO MY READERS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BONUS EXCERPT

One Night in Tehran

Books by Luana Ehrlich

List of Characters

in Four Doubt

Aldridge, Nancy—Homicide detective in the Dallas Police Department.

Davenport, Ashley—Intern at DCSS; daughter of Duncan.

Davenport, Duncan—CEO of Precept Healthcare; client of DCSS.

Davenport, Marjorie—Wife of Duncan, mother of Ashley.

Dean, Felicia—Head of Background Searches at DCSS.

Decker, Wes—Chief Operating Officer at QWave Systems.

Edman, Grant—Head of Industrial Espionage at DCSS.

Fenton, Charlotte—Daughter of Sherwood and Louise.

Fenton, Louise—Wife of Sherwood.

Fenton, Sherwood—CEO of QWave Systems.

Greiner, Buck—Head of Surveillance at DCSS.

Hensley, Claudia—Administrative Assistant to Silas.

Hudson, Tyler—Head of Embezzlement at DCSS.

Javits, Jacob—Member of the Surveillance crew at DCSS.

McKay, Emma—Deceased wife of Silas.

McKay, Marissa—Daughter of Silas; freshman at Texas A&M.

McKay, Silas Daniel—Head of Operations at DCSS.

Marshall, Gabe—Boyfriend of Marissa McKay.

Monte, Kevin—Homicide detective in the Dallas Police Department.

Norwell, Mike—Deputy Head of Operations at DCSS.

Sanger, Beverly—Administrative Assistant to Austin Tomlin.

Tomlin, Austin—Owner of DCSS; former Army Colonel.

Vargas, Miguel—Friend of Trent Wade.

Wade, Trent—Boyfriend of Charlotte Fenton.

Weidman, Rusty—CEO of Quantum Tech.

Woodley, Luke—Head of Cybersecurity at DCSS.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Monday, February 9

When I reached the end of the block, I tugged on Guy’s leash and ordered him to wait. Much to my surprise, he obeyed me instantly and came to a halt at the curb.

Although I’d been teaching him some simple commands since adopting him six weeks ago, his willingness to respond appropriately had been inconsistent.

But then, so had my discipline of him.

My reluctance to scold him was partly because he was still just a puppy—barely four months old—and partly because if I used a harsh tone with him, he would immediately tilt his head to the right, stare inquisitively at me with his liquid brown eyes, and open his mouth in a toothy, mischievous grin—a look that made me want to hug him instead of reprimand him.

Guy was an all-black standard poodle who weighed close to thirty-five pounds, and who was already twenty inches tall.

According to the vet, he would be twice that size by the end of his first year, so it didn’t escape my attention that he needed to know who the alpha dog was fairly soon. Otherwise, I’d have a big problem on my hands—literally, a big problem.

As I was about to jog across the street and head home, I heard someone call my name. “Hey, Silas, wait a second.”

When I turned around, Guy immediately growled, so I tightened the hold on his leash and said, “No, Guy, it’s okay. Noah is a friend.”

The neighbor approaching me, Noah Baxter, wasn’t exactly a friend, but I didn’t think Guy was ready for a nuanced conversation about friendship just yet.

“Hi, Noah. It’s a beautiful morning for a walk, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Walking is all I do these days. When I was younger, I used to jog, but not anymore.”

“I’ve heard walking is still good for you, though.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.” He pointed his finger at Guy. “I see you got yourself a dog.”

I didn’t consider Baxter a nosy neighbor—he never dropped in on me to gossip about someone, nor did he suddenly appear on my doorstep when I got a delivery—yet he never seemed to mind asking me personal questions when he saw me out jogging.

I looked down at Guy. “Well, I admit it was hard to resist when a colleague from work introduced me to the puppies from her dog’s litter, and this fella started licking my face.”

He smiled. “I know your house must seem empty since your wife passed away, especially now that your daughter’s off at college.” Before I could reply, he gestured at Guy and asked, “So what’s this big fella’s name?”

“His name is Guy, and if you’ll give him one of these,” I reached inside my pants pocket and removed a doggie treat, “he’ll probably be your friend for life.”

After Baxter spent a few minutes getting acquainted with Guy, he gestured down the street toward my house. “That was some commotion you had at your place on New Year’s Eve. I couldn’t believe the number of police cars, not to mention all the reporters.” He shook his head. “I admit I wasn’t expecting to see our neighborhood featured on the nightly news a few hours later.”

Since the news reports I’d seen had covered the basics of what happened that Saturday afternoon when I confronted a Chinese national inside my house and subdued him, I was hoping Baxter wasn’t going to press me for more information. If he did, I’d have to tell him I couldn’t discuss it since it affected one of my clients.

I was the head of operations for Discreet Corporate Security Services (DCSS) in Dallas, Texas. Our agency provided corporations, as well as small businesses, with a variety of services to meet their security needs.

Needless to say, discretion was an essential component of the DCSS mission statement—a statement written by my boss and the owner of DCSS, Austin Tomlin, a retired colonel in the U. S. Army.

I said, “Yes, Noah, I’m sure seeing our street on the news got your attention, but at least things have been quiet around here since then.”

Baxter nodded. “It’s always been a quiet street. Nothing much exciting happens around here. Uh . . . I don’t guess you could tell me anything about the guy who broke into your house, could you?”

I grimaced a little. “No, I’m sorry. I really can’t.”

“Okay, I understand.”

I gave him a wave. “It was nice seeing you, Noah, but I better run now, or I’ll be late to my appointment.”

He chuckled. “Don’t you mean jog?”

I let out a short laugh, and Guy and I headed back toward our house.

Before I got there, I quickly glanced down at my watch to see if it was too early to call Claudia, my administrative assistant, and tell her I wouldn’t be in the office until after lunch.

Although she usually arrived by seven forty-five, I tried not to call her before eight-thirty to avoid disturbing her morning routine.

Claudia’s morning routine was a big deal to her—a sacred rite.

Did I always cater to my assistant’s peculiarities?

Not always.

Just most of the time.

* * * * * *

After making sure Guy had plenty of water, I went upstairs where I took a shower and got dressed. Due to the nature of my appointment, I decided to wear a suit instead of a sports jacket, and once I secured my gun holster inside my waistband, I called Claudia.

It was eight forty-one when I made the call.

“Good morning, Claudia. This is Silas. How was your weekend?”

She gave me a brief rundown of her activities—attending a birthday party for one of her grandkids and doing some shopping—and then she immediately inquired about my weekend.

Once I told her about taking Guy to a dog park, having dinner with a friend on Saturday night, and going to church on Sunday, I let her know I wouldn’t be in until after lunch.

I expected her to ask me the name of my dinner companion on Saturday night—I did consider Claudia a nosy person—but instead she said, “I’ve already talked to Beverly this morning, so I know you won’t be in the office until after lunch. She told me you and Austin have an appointment with Louise Fenton at QWave Systems at eleven o’clock.”

Although I wasn’t completely sure what Claudia did during her sacred morning routine, I should have remembered one thing she always did—other than having a large mug of dark roast coffee—was to contact Beverly Sanger, Tomlin’s administrative assistant, and get his schedule in case I wanted to see him when I got to the office.

“Yes, that’s right,” I said. “When I saw Austin at church yesterday, he said Louise Fenton called him on Saturday and asked him to come by the QWave offices and see her this morning. She specifically requested that I be present, so we think she may want to discuss the status of QWave’s contract with DCSS. We won’t be surprised if she wants to add more security around the building after her husband’s murder.”

“That’s probably it, especially since the police haven’t found the person who murdered Sherwood yet.” She paused a second. “Do you need me to make any appointments for you this afternoon?”

After telling her to arrange a meeting to discuss the Anchor data breach case with Luke Woodley, my head of Cybersecurity, I hung up and went downstairs to look up any recent news about the murder of Sherwood Fenton before I left to meet Tomlin.

Although DCSS was responsible for all of QWave’s security needs—safeguarding their intellectual property, vetting their employees, securing their communication systems, auditing their accounting, and even protecting their physical plant—none of the services DCSS provided could have prevented Sherwood Fenton’s murder.

He was murdered in the parking lot of an upscale restaurant as he and his wife, Louise, were getting in his vehicle following dinner.

Louise was not injured.

Sherwood was shot twice in the chest and died instantly.

His murder happened three weeks ago, and even though the airwaves were flooded with news stories at the time—Sherwood and Louise were well-known fixtures among the Dallas social scene—I wasn’t able to find any updates about his murder since then, which could mean the police had exhausted whatever leads they had.

I admit I hadn’t thought about Fenton’s murder since Tomlin and I attended his funeral together.

In my defense, my schedule had been busy the last several weeks.

The third week of January, I’d flown to Washington, D. C., with Tomlin so we could testify before a Congressional intelligence committee on the Chinese Communist Party’s threat to America’s intellectual property rights.

Then, when I got back to Dallas, my staff and I were tied up investigating a massive data breach at one of our oldest clients, Anchor Credit Services. It had taken us a week just to assess the damage and two more weeks to repair it.

While all of this was happening, I was also dealing with some personal issues.

Namely, my relationship with Ashley Davenport.

* * * * * *

I was a recent widower. My wife, Emma, died eight months ago from an aggressive form of brain cancer shortly after our twentieth wedding anniversary. For several months after she was gone, the thought of being around another woman didn’t appeal to me.

However, all that changed when Ashley showed up at DCSS.

Although she was hired as an intern, Ashley was ten years older than the interns Tomlin usually hired, and unlike them, she didn’t need to start earning a paycheck—her father, Duncan Davenport, was a multi-millionaire who owned Precept Healthcare, one of our highest-paying clients.

When Davenport called Tomlin and asked him to hire his daughter so she could get some experience in the investigative business, Tomlin didn’t hesitate to do so.

In reality, Ashley had an impressive resume. After receiving her master’s degree in business at SMU and touring Europe for a couple of years, she held a managerial position at Precept Healthcare for five years. However, according to her, she didn’t find the corporate life all that exciting, and although she briefly considered joining the CIA, she decided to enroll in the PI Academy at North Texas University.

When I met Ashley last November, she told me she was eager to learn all about the investigative business at DCSS so she could launch her own detective agency, the Precept Detective Agency.

Evidently, Davenport supported his daughter’s decision—he’d agreed to bankroll Ashley’s agency for three years, plus pay for the construction of a new office building for her.

However, Ashley and her father both knew she needed some hands-on experience, so she agreed to join DCSS as an intern, and I agreed to be her mentor—her father’s idea, not mine.

Since then, I’d arranged for Ashley to be my partner on three different cases, and after working with her, I couldn’t help but be impressed with her work ethic, as well as her investigative abilities.

Last week, when I’d mentioned this to her immediate supervisor, Buck Greiner, the head of my Surveillance Division, he had the same assessment of her. However, he also noted that she could be a little intimidating when she was questioning someone, and she didn’t hold back when expressing her opinion.

I agreed with Buck, but I also defended her by pointing out those were the qualities she needed in order to be the head of her own agency.

He gave me an amused look, and since I could usually tell what was going on in Buck’s mind after working with him for twelve years—Buck and I were covert officers in the Defense Intelligence Agency together before I came to work at DCSS eight years ago—I thought I knew why he found my defense of Ashley so amusing.

I figured it was because he remembered I wasn’t happy when Duncan asked me to be her mentor.

Even though I agreed to do it, my intention was to give her assignments where I wouldn’t have to work with her.

That quickly changed when I got to know her better.

Truth be told, I found myself enjoying working with her, which surprised me as much as it did Buck, primarily because Ashley’s personality was completely different from Emma’s.

My wife had been a typical introvert—quiet, calm, reflective—whereas Ashley was an extrovert—talkative, outgoing, gregarious.

But the differences didn’t end there.

Emma grew up in Sherman, Texas, where she worked on her parents’ farm, went to church every Sunday, and never dated anyone but me—the two of us had been high school sweethearts—whereas Ashley grew up in Dallas, where she went to an elite private school, partied with the other rich kids in Dallas, traipsed around Europe after college, and never lacked for anything.

However, despite Ashley’s privileged upbringing, I quickly discovered she was a hard worker, and although she was willing to take instructions from me, she didn’t hesitate to give me her opinion.

In fact, one of the things that surprised me was how bold she was about asking me if she could go on client interviews with me, and how audacious she was about dropping hints for me to give her special assignments—which I usually did.

Even though I found working with Ashley to be extremely enjoyable, it wasn’t until she invited me to dinner at her house—her housekeeper did the cooking for us—that I realized just hanging out with her was also very nice.

After dinner, we ended up spending the evening getting acquainted with the puppies from her dog’s new litter—Guy was one of those—and we also discussed her feelings about religion, faith, and God.

Although I was never that good about sharing my faith with others, after I told Ashley that I’d committed my life to follow the teachings of Christ when I was in high school, she admitted that even though she had always wanted to believe in God, she wasn’t there yet.

When I left her that evening—after suggesting she try reading a few chapters from the gospel of Luke every day—I promised to pray for her, and the more I prayed for her, the more I felt drawn to her.

A short time later, I was delighted when she came by my office to let me know that after thinking about our discussion, and reading through the gospel of Luke, she had become a believer herself.

I was speechless when she told me—which she laughingly pointed out probably meant I didn’t believe in my own prayers—but I also didn’t have any idea what advice I should give her about her decision, so I did the only thing I knew how to do; I invited her to attend church with me the following Sunday.

On Christmas Eve, when Ashley brought Guy to my house to surprise my daughter, Marissa, who was home for the holidays from Texas A&M, I was able to introduce the two women to each other.

Even though they seemed to get along just fine, Marissa said she was surprised I had feelings for Ashley because she was so different from Emma. When I explained we were just friends, Marissa brushed that aside and said she could tell I had feelings for her.

Marissa possessed an innate ability to read people—a trait I assumed would be an asset if she followed through with her plans to become a psychiatrist—so I was taken aback by her perception of my emotions. Perhaps that’s why I finally admitted I had feelings for Ashley a few days later.

It happened on New Year’s Eve when I went over to her house to pick her up for a party, and during an emotional moment in the middle of our conversation, I took Ashley in my arms and kissed her.

Any doubts I harbored about her feelings for me faded away the moment I felt her lips on mine, but shortly after we shared that passionate kiss, I realized the dynamics of our relationship had changed forever in those short blissful moments.

Ashley also acknowledged we’d reached a turning point in our relationship, but she suggested we save our discussion of what to do about it for another day, and I immediately agreed.

I was eager to put off that discussion because I had no idea if what I felt for her was the beginning of an unconditional love relationship, or if I was simply attracted to her as a woman.

However, because of a personal crisis in Ashley’s life the next day, we hadn’t been able to talk about where our relationship was going for the past six weeks.

The personal crisis occurred on New Year’s Day, when Ashley’s brother, Dylan, was involved in a horrible car accident, and Ashley had to take a leave of absence from her internship at DCSS so she could be with her family in the intensive care unit at Baylor Medical Center.

For my part, I’d been equally tied up, not only with the trip to Washington, but also with managing the Anchor Credit Services case.

However, last week, when her brother’s condition improved enough for him to be moved out of ICU, Ashley and I were able to have dinner together Saturday night.

Although I’d been talking to her on the phone on a regular basis, it was our first time to be alone since New Year’s Eve. But while I was in the middle of getting her caught up on the cases I’d been working on, her mother called and said Dylan had taken a turn for the worse, and they were taking him back to surgery.

We left for the hospital immediately, but since only family members were allowed in the ICU waiting room, I dropped her off at the door with a promise to keep praying for Dylan as well as her family.

Before she got out of the car, she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Silas. I’m sorry our evening had to be cut short, but as soon as Dylan is out of the woods, I promise we’ll be able to have some time alone.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. I completely understand.”

“I know you do, but in the last few weeks, I’ve had plenty of time to think about our relationship, so I’m anxious to share with you what I’ve decided.”

And with that, she got out of the car, closed the door, and hurried into the hospital, leaving me to speculate what decision she’d made.

Last night, she sent me a text to tell me Dylan’s surgery had gone well, and she promised to call me today to see if we could have dinner together tonight.

I could hardly wait.

Chapter 2

Tomlin called me shortly after I got off the freeway, as I was stopped at a traffic light at Winchester and Cornell Road, not far from where the QWave Systems building was located.

He said, “I arrived here a little early and decided to wait for you in the parking lot. What’s your ETA?”

“I’m on Winchester, so I should be there in about two minutes.”

“I know both of us thought Louise wanted this meeting to discuss increasing the security around the building, but the setup here looks pretty good to me. Of course, I’d like to hear your opinion about it before I say anything to her.”

If Tomlin thought security around a building was sufficient, then I couldn’t imagine I would think otherwise. My boss was paranoid about security—as well as a number of other issues.

“Maybe she has something else on her mind,” I said.

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.” He paused. “I believe I see your Lexus at the gate now, so we’ll talk in a few minutes.”

While I waited at the entrance to the QWave facility for the security officer to check my ID against his computer, I studied the CCTV cameras around the facilities.

I admit I was pleased to see the guard was still following the procedures DCSS put in place several years ago, and it didn’t appear Fenton had changed anything around the building’s exterior either.

His contract with DCSS included vetting his employees, monitoring his online presence, and providing security inside the building.

Since QWave’s specialty was cybersecurity, it didn’t come as a surprise to any of my staff at DCSS that Fenton was willing to spend whatever was necessary to safeguard every aspect of his facility.

However, QWave Systems was not just any cybersecurity firm.

Shortly after moving their headquarters to the Delco District of North Dallas—the hub of digital startups, cybersecurity labs, and tech ventures—QWave quickly earned the reputation of being at the cutting edge of encryption technology by developing specialized systems to secure quantum computing environments.

Within a few years, their proprietary Quantum Firewall Protector or QFP had become the gold standard in protecting sensitive corporate data against the next generation of cyber threats.

Basically, Fenton had created a kind of “super lock” to make sure a company’s computer secrets stayed secret. As a result, QWave’s QFP had made Fenton very rich.

When Fenton first started out seven years ago, he met Tomlin at a charity event, and in the course of their conversation, he described his plans to build a state-of-the-art facility to house his newly formed company. Tomlin, whose main responsibility at DCSS was securing new clients, took the opportunity to make a pitch for DCSS to provide security for his building, and a few days later, Fenton called and told him he was ready to sign a contract.

Since then, Tomlin and I had become very familiar with the QWave building, as well as the company’s security procedures and practices, and to a certain extent, we understood their product, although in some ways, quantum computing was a foreign concept to both of us.

Now, with Fenton out of the picture, I wasn’t clear what would happen to QWave Systems. The only thing Tomlin and I knew for certain was that Louise was the beneficiary of his will, and for the moment, she appeared to be in the driver’s seat at the company.

After parking my Lexus, I got out of my vehicle and waved at Tomlin who was standing next to his silver Audi. As we met on the sidewalk, he paused and pointed up at one of the security cameras mounted on a light pole. “Although this model was just installed two years ago, I suppose we could always recommend that Louise upgrade these cameras to the new Ultra HD 560 model.”

While we were walking up to the entrance of the building, I said, “The 560 model would be a nice upgrade, but do you really think Louise will be making the managerial decisions at QWave now?”

“I’ll be surprised if she is, but she’s obviously a very smart woman, and if her charity events are any indication, she’s also a very good organizer. However, being the CEO of a cybersecurity firm is a little different than deciding the seating order of a charity event. Plus, I’m not sure she knows enough about quantum computing to discuss it intelligently.”

“Personally, I think QWave’s operating officer, Wesley Decker, is the most qualified person to run the company, but we can’t forget Sherwood’s daughter. Didn’t he tell us she was working here now? I wonder if it’s possible she could take over as CEO.”

Tomlin nodded as I held the lobby door open for him. “Charlotte’s a brilliant girl. She has her master’s degree in computer science from MIT, so I can guarantee you, she knows more about quantum computing than the two of us put together. But whether that translates into running a company is another matter.”

The ground floor in the headquarters of QWave Systems reflected the sleek, futuristic façade of the building’s exterior—a combination of glass, steel, and white stone.

During our first visit, when Sherwood showed us around the building, he emphasized he wanted the work environment at QWave to have a minimalist appearance, and there was no doubt the person who designed the lobby’s interior had achieved this objective.

A long white marble reception desk—in the shape of an arc—was located in the middle of the lobby, and its wavy appearance was a repeated theme in the artwork on the walls, where curvy lines of black paint swirled around a white canvas background.

Four black computer tablets were mounted along the length of the reception desk, where all visitors were required to sign in with a name and a cell phone number. The moment I entered my number, my cell phone dinged with a welcome message, plus a request to make myself comfortable in the seating area until my escort arrived to assist me.

The escort who arrived to assist Tomlin and me turned out to be none other than Charlotte Fenton.

* * * * * *

Charlotte was dressed in a pair of black trousers with a loose-fitting white cashmere sweater, and whether she realized it or not, she blended in perfectly with the lobby’s décor.

The shape of her face—which was rather long—reminded me of her father’s features, but her high cheekbones were softened by her wavy, shoulder-length brown hair, which also drew attention to her bright green eyes. Although she was wearing makeup, it was very subtle. The exception was her bright red lipstick.

I considered her attractive, but not drop-dead gorgeous.

Since she knew Tomlin, she addressed him first. “Good morning, Austin. Thank you for dropping by this morning.”

She looked over at me. “And you must be Silas McKay.” She held out her hand. “I’m Charlotte Fenton. I believe I saw you at my father’s funeral.”

As I shook her hand, I said, “It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte. Yes, I was at Sherwood’s service. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “It’s so hard to believe he’s really gone.” When she looked up, she swept her hand around the lobby. “I still feel his presence here every day.”

Tomlin smiled. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It definitely is.” As she motioned for us to follow her, she said, “My mother’s waiting for you in my father’s office. Since she asked me to join you for the meeting, I volunteered to be your escort.”

After we got on the elevator, Tomlin asked, “How do you think your mother’s doing? Is she holding up okay?”

“She has her bad days, but then so do I. This past week she hasn’t been as depressed about losing my father as she is about the lack of progress the police have made in finding his killer.”

The cell phone in her hand lit up, and when she looked down at it, I also glanced over at the screen. It appeared to be a text message.

Although I couldn’t see what it said, she looked pleased at what she read there. However, she didn’t text anything back—either because she was being polite or because the elevator arrived on the third floor before she had a chance to reply.

As we stepped off, she gestured down the hallway to her right. “It’s this way.” She let out a short laugh. “But you knew that, didn’t you? Please forgive me. I was distracted for a moment.”

“Yes,” I said, “text messages have a way of distracting me too.”

She looked startled for a moment, as if she were surprised by my mentioning her text, or maybe she was wondering if I’d actually been able to read the text. I hadn’t read it, but her nervous response raised my curiosity level a notch.

“Here we are,” she said, opening the door to Fenton’s office suite and gesturing us inside. “Just have a seat, and Jeffrey will let my mother know you’re here. I need to go down to my office to make a phone call, but then I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Fenton’s administrative assistant, Jeffrey Judd—a transplanted Brit from Ludlow, England—greeted us as Charlotte left the room, and then he pointed to the phone on his desk and said, “Louise is on the phone right now. While you wait, could I offer you a beverage?”

Tomlin and I both declined his offer, and a couple of minutes after we took a seat across from Judd’s desk, he jumped up and motioned at us. “Louise is ready to see you now.”

He walked across the room to a wooden door with a brass nameplate on it that said, “Sherwood Fenton, Chief Executive,” and as he opened the door, he said, “Austin Tomlin and Silas McKay are here for their appointment. Charlotte will join you in a moment.”

Louise nodded at him. “Thank you, Jeffrey. I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

Louise Fenton was wearing a deep purple jacket and matching skirt, along with a set of pearl earrings and a pearl necklace. Even though she might not want to take on the role of an executive at QWave Systems, she certainly looked the part.

I figured she was about the same age as her late husband—he was sixty-two—but she appeared to be winning the war against aging, either through the assistance of a good plastic surgeon or some expensive skin products.

She wore her short blond hair—no hint of gray—in a style that fell loosely around her face, and she had on a pair of reading glasses that were almost the same shade as her hair color.

She took them off as she pointed over to a seating area away from Fenton’s glass-topped desk—which only held a laptop computer and an executive video phone. “Please have a seat, Gentlemen. I assume Jeffrey has already offered you some refreshments.”

“Yes, he offered,” Tomlin said, as the two of us sat down at opposite ends of a tan leather sofa, “but Silas and I both declined.”

Louise picked up her cell phone from the credenza behind Fenton’s desk, and when she sat down in a matching chair across from the sofa, she placed it on the coffee table in front of us. “Please forgive me if I have to take a phone call during our discussion. I’m trying to line up a guest speaker for the Luminaries of Hope Gala, and I’m expecting to hear back from someone this morning.”

“That’s not a problem,” Tomlin said. “The Luminaries of Hope Gala raises funds for cancer research, doesn’t it? I believe Wynona and I usually attend that event.”

“Then I’m sure your names are on the guest list for this year too, but I’m not in charge of that.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I wish I wasn’t in charge of lining up the guest speaker for this year. When I agreed to do it, I had no idea I’d be dealing with the loss of my husband at the same time.”

“I’m so sorry, Louise,” Tomlin said, extending his hand toward her. “Please accept our condolences once again.”

She reached out and briefly touched his hand, and then she looked over at me. “I’m sure you understand what I’m going through, Silas. Didn’t Sherwood tell me you lost your wife this past year?”

“Yes, it was last spring, but it wasn’t unexpected like Sherwood’s passing was. I have a feeling that kind of situation would have been much harder on me.”

“I was so shocked when it happened, I barely remember talking to the police. I finally have my wits about me now, which is why I asked you to come by and see me today. I want to know who murdered Sherwood, and I believe you can find out for me.”

Tomlin leaned forward a little. “Are you saying that’s why you asked to see us today? You want us to investigate his murder?”

She nodded. “That’s right. I’m completely fed up with the police. They have no idea who killed him.”

“I understand your frustration, Louise,” Tomlin said, leaning back in his seat, “but if the shooting was a random act of violence like it appears to be, then finding the perpetrator is going to be extremely difficult, and it could take the police a while to find the person.”

He turned his head in my direction, as if he thought I might add something, so I said, “I agree with Austin. When there’s no apparent motive or connection to the victim, then it’s much harder to find the killer, especially if there were no clues left behind.”

Louise wasn’t someone who could hide her feelings—or maybe she deliberately chose not to—and as I was speaking, I couldn’t help but notice her lips were pressed firmly together, and her eyes had narrowed to small slits, as if she were perturbed with my response.

She gestured toward me. “And what if I gave the police a clue, and they chose to ignore it? Would that make a difference?”

“It’s hard for me to believe the police would ignore anything that would help them solve the case. What kind of clue was it?”

“It was something Sherwood said to me when he was shot.”

Tomlin asked, “What did he—”

Before he could finish asking the obvious question, there was a light tap on the door, and Charlotte walked in the room. “I apologize for being late. I had to make a phone call.”

“That’s okay, dear,” Louise said, as Charlotte took a seat in the chair next to her. “We were just getting started. When you walked in, I was asking them about looking into Sherwood’s murder for us.”

“You’d be willing to do that, wouldn’t you?” Charlotte asked, looking first at Tomlin and then at me. “I’m not sure if QWave’s contract with DCSS includes investigating the murder of the company’s CEO, but if it doesn’t, we’ll pay you whatever a private investigator would charge to look into it.”

When I noticed Louise looked displeased with her daughter, I wondered if it was because Charlotte had come in the room and immediately taken control of the discussion.

Louise’s response validated my suspicions. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Charlotte. I’m sure they want to hear more about the details of what happened that night before they make a decision whether to take this case or not.”

“There’s no doubt about that,” Tomlin said. “The only thing we know is what we heard on the news.”

Her mother’s reprimand didn’t seem to faze Charlotte. “Well, those reports didn’t tell the whole story, which is why my mother and I think we need to hire a private investigator.”

Tomlin nodded at Charlotte. “In reference to your question about whether our contract includes investigating a murder, there’s nothing specific in there about it, but we would definitely consider it part of our responsibilities if that’s what you’re requesting.”

“Do you have any experience investigating a murder?” Charlotte asked.

Tomlin pointed over at me. “I don’t, but Silas certainly does. In fact, he’s worked with a couple of detectives in the Dallas Police Department to solve two separate cases since he’s been with DCSS.”

“That’s good,” Louise said. “I know you’ll need to be in contact with them if you agree to do this for us.”

I said, “Before we go any further, I’d like to hear exactly what happened the night of Sherwood’s murder, and about the clue you said you gave the police.”

Louise turned to Charlotte. “When you came in, I was just about to tell them what your father said to me after he was shot.”

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, wait till you hear this. I think it definitely proves who killed my father.”

Chapter 3

Before Louise began describing the events that transpired the night of the murder, I asked her if she would mind if I took some notes on my cell phone.

Once she gave her consent, I said, “One more thing, Louise. Is it okay if I interrupt you occasionally to ask a question?”

She flipped her hand at me dismissively. “Oh, of course, that’s fine.”

After she clasped her hands in her lap, she said, “As you probably heard on the news, the shooting occurred at Bevy’s Steakhouse on Preston Road after Sherwood and I had dinner there. It was about eight-thirty when we came out and walked across the parking lot to our car. Naturally, the police asked me if I saw anyone suspicious hanging around, but I can’t remember seeing anyone except a couple who were entering the restaurant as we were leaving.”

“Any particular reason why you noticed them?” I asked.

“Uh . . . yes.” She looked a little embarrassed. “It was because the woman had on a red coat very similar to mine.”

“But you didn’t see anyone when you were getting in your car?”

“No, but Sherwood and I were talking to each other, so I wasn’t really paying attention, plus it was a little chilly, so I was eager to get to my car, or rather to Sherwood’s car. We were in his Mercedes.”

“So what happened then?”

“Sherwood opened the door for me, and then after I got inside, just as he was about to close the door, I heard a loud pop. He immediately put one hand up to his chest and closed the door with the other.”

When Louise stopped talking for a moment and took a deep breath, Charlotte leaned over and laid her hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay, Mother? Would you like some water?”

Louise placed her hand up to her forehead and nodded.

Tomlin and I sat there quietly while Charlotte went over to the credenza, where she poured her mother a glass of water from a carafe.

Once she brought it to her, Louise took a sip and then gave us a weak smile. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t talked about this in a couple of weeks, and it’s harder on me than I thought it would be.”

“Take your time,” Tomlin said. “We’re not in any hurry.”

“It’s just that this is the most difficult part because I’m certain Sherwood was trying to protect me by closing the car door, even as he was dying. As soon as he shut the door, there was a second shot, and I believe that bullet was intended for me.”

I said, “The reports I heard said that Sherwood was shot twice, so I assume that shot also hit him. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it hit him in the chest, but if he hadn’t shut my door, the police officer told me it was possible the bullet would have hit me.”

“So what happened next?” I asked. “You said Sherwood spoke to you after he was shot. When did he do that?”

“It was the moment he realized he’d been shot the first time. Like I said, when I heard the pop, Sherwood put his hand up to his chest, and as he was shutting my door, he said, ‘He actually did it.’ That’s the clue I think the police are completely ignoring.”

I thought about what she said for a moment. “So his last words to you were, ‘He actually did it.’ ”

“Yes. I believe he realized who shot him at that moment.”

Charlotte gestured at me. “That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“That depends. Did Sherwood see the person who shot him? Had someone been threatening to kill him? And more importantly, was he coherent enough to know what he was saying at that moment?”

Louise nodded her head. “Oh, I definitely believe he was aware of what he was saying.”

Tomlin asked, “So who do you think he was referring to?”

Charlotte spoke up. “We believe he meant Rusty Weidman, one of QWave’s competitors.”

Once again, Louise looked slightly annoyed by her daughter’s remarks. “Well, let me explain that a little,” she said. “Rusty Weidman, the CEO of Quantum Tech, had a meeting with my husband about six months ago to discuss the idea of a merger between QWave Systems and Quantum Tech. Although Rusty’s company is our closest competitor, and a merger might appear to be beneficial, Sherwood ultimately decided to decline the offer because it—”

“It was a ridiculous offer,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mother, but it still infuriates me that Dad would even consider such a thing. Quantum Tech doesn’t use advanced encryption techniques and their user-interface is inferior to ours, so a merger would benefit them far more than it would us.”

I said, “I have to believe Rusty Weidman thought he was bringing something to the table that would benefit Sherwood, or else he wouldn’t have suggested a merger in the first place. What would QWave Systems gain from the merger?”

I was looking at Louise as I asked the question, but she must have thought Charlotte knew more about the merger than she did or else she was getting tired of trying to control the discussion, because she turned to Charlotte and said, “Go ahead and answer that, Charlotte. You know more about those discussions than I do.”

“Yes, I was in those meetings from the beginning, and I understood why Dad was willing to talk to Rusty, at least initially. It was primarily because of Quantum Tech’s partnerships with leading companies in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. They also have lucrative contracts with several foreign governments, so Quantum Tech’s international credibility is greater than ours.”

Tomlin said, “But in the end, your father declined their offer. From what I knew about him, Sherwood had good instincts about business matters, so I have to believe something came to light during those discussions that raised some red flags for him.”

Charlotte smiled and nodded. “That’s so true. My dad was concerned about the very thing Rusty thought would make his company appealing to us.”

I asked, “You mean Rusty’s foreign connections? Was he afraid QWave’s proprietary encryption technology would be compromised?”

“Exactly,” Charlotte said. “My dad was wary of Quantum Tech’s connections to overseas companies that had ties to the Chinese Communist Party, and he was concerned about the questionable business practices of certain Middle Eastern companies. Since our own National Security Agency has expressed interest in QWave’s Quantum Firewall Protector, my dad didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize a future partnership with them.”

“So Sherwood rejected the offer to merge with Quantum Tech, but if I’m hearing you correctly, you think their CEO didn’t take his refusal all that well and decided to kill him.”

Louise said, “I know that must sound like an extreme response, but according to Sherwood, Rusty was so angry when he heard the deal was off the table, that he lost his temper and told him he’d be sorry for turning him down.”

I gestured at Charlotte. “Were you in that meeting? Did you hear Rusty threaten your father?”

“No, I wasn’t able to be in that meeting. It was just my dad and Wes Decker, our chief operating officer. But from the way my dad described it, Rusty definitely threatened him.”

Louise said, “And that’s why we think when Sherwood said, ‘He actually did it,’ when he was shot, he meant that Rusty carried through on his threat to kill him.”

I asked, “Did you tell the police everything you’ve just told us?”

“Oh, yes,” Louise said. “They interviewed both me and Charlotte, and when they asked us if Sherwood had any enemies, Rusty was the only person we could think of.”

“I’m sure they probably asked you this question too, but when was the last time Sherwood had any contact with Rusty?”

Louise looked over at Charlotte. “When did your father have that meeting to tell Rusty he wasn’t interested in a merger? Wasn’t it the same day as your engagement party?”

“Yes, it was three months ago,” Charlotte said, glancing down at the engagement ring on her finger. “It was the seventh of November.”

As I was about to ask another question, Louise’s cell phone vibrated and when she picked it up, she said, “This is the phone call I was expecting. Excuse me. This shouldn’t take but a few minutes.”

We assured her it was fine, and she went to her outer office to speak to the caller. After she left, I gestured at Charlotte and said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait until Louise gets back before we continue our discussion.”

“No, I don’t mind, but I hope your questions mean you’ve decided to take this case.”

I looked over at Tomlin. “Well, that’s up to Austin, but I’m certainly intrigued by it.”

Tomlin smiled. “I might as well tell you I’ve already decided to have Silas look into this for you, Charlotte.” He extended his palm toward her. “By the way, congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you so much.” Her face clouded over for a moment. “I’m just sorry my dad won’t be around to see me get married. If he hadn’t decided to indulge me and purchase our beach house in Cabo San Lucas, I would never have met my fiancé.”

I said, “I remember Sherwood talking about looking at some property there when I talked to him last year around this time.”

“Yes, it was last March when he bought the house there. The three of us took a vacation to Cabo in April, and that’s when I met Trent. He was working for an electronics company that came to our house to install the equipment in our media room.” She paused and let out a short laugh. “It took him and another guy almost a week to complete the job, and it might have taken them longer if my dad hadn’t figured out the reason the work was taking so long was because Trent was spending so much time talking to me.”

Tomlin and I both smiled at her story, and when he asked if that meant she’d spent a lot of time in Cabo last year, she shook her head. “No, not really. A couple of months after Trent and I agreed to start seeing each other exclusively, he moved here and enrolled in the Heritage School of Real Estate. Before he met me, he was already looking into moving back to the States and getting his real estate license. Trent grew up in Dayton, Ohio, and went to the University of Dayton, but he dropped out during his sophomore year.”

She got up from her chair and walked over to a bookcase behind the seating area, where she picked up a framed picture. When she came back over and sat down, she handed it to Tomlin.

“This is our official engagement picture. As you can probably tell, it was taken at the Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek.”

“Yes, that’s a lovely setting,” Tomlin said, handing the photograph over to me. “And the two of you make a beautiful couple.”

“Thank you, Austin. That’s very kind of you. My father wasn’t as enthusiastic about Trent at the beginning of our relationship, but he was beginning to warm up to him.”

As I was studying the photograph, Charlotte continued talking. “Trent’s last name is Wade, and my dad was trying to convince me not to drop my maiden name when I got married. He wanted me to use Fenton-Wade, since the Fenton name was becoming so well-known in the field of quantum computing. His plan was that I would eventually become the CEO of QWave Systems, and he felt the Fenton name would open more doors for me."

Trent Wade was a handsome guy—he had an engaging smile, as well as a thick thatch of blond hair, which he wore short on the sides and long on the top. As I continued looking at the photograph, I asked, “Have you decided what you’ll do about your last name yet?”

“I’m leaning toward keeping it and using Fenton-Wade, but I won’t be the CEO of QWave Systems for a while yet. My mother owns the company now, and she’s considering moving Wes Decker into the CEO position and making me the chief operating officer for now.”

Charlotte said this matter-of-factly, as if it wasn’t a problem for her, which made me wonder if she wasn’t more interested in her upcoming wedding than she was in running her father’s company.

As I handed her back the photograph, I said, “If Trent grew up in Ohio, how did he end up working for a home theater business in Cabo?”

She laughed a little. “I can tell you must be a good investigator, Silas. You like to ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m sorry if I was being too personal. I was just curious.”

“It’s okay. Trent has had an interesting life, but it’s also been a tragic one. In his sophomore year of college, his parents were both killed in a car accident. He and his sister were equal beneficiaries in his parents’ estate, which, according to Trent, left them a considerable sum of money, so he decided he wanted to live in Cabo San Lucas.”

She paused as she got up and walked over to put the engagement picture back on the bookshelf. “He actually stayed in a resort in Cabo for almost a year before he got bored and decided to find a job doing something he liked, even if he didn’t make much money. That’s when he went to work for the home theater company. He had been working for them for a year when we met, but he said he was thinking of quitting and going into real estate. When we became serious about our relationship, my dad encouraged him to go back to school and get his degree in real estate here in Dallas at the Heritage School. He’ll graduate this May, and we’re planning a June wedding.”

“Is he going into commercial or residential real estate?”

“Uh . . . I’m not really sure. I suppose commercial, but he hasn’t—”

Louise came back in the room at that moment, and she apologized once again for having to take the phone call.

Once Tomlin assured her it was fine, and that we’d been enjoying hearing how Charlotte met her fiancé, Louise said, “When I left, I was telling you about giving Rusty Weidman’s name to the police as someone who had threatened Sherwood. I believe you were about to ask me some more questions about what I told them.”

Tomlin gestured toward me, so I said, “I’d like to know the name or names of the detectives who’ve been assigned to Sherwood’s case so I can get in contact with them. That is, if you remember their names.”

She smiled a little. “Does that mean you’ve agreed to look for Sherwood’s killer?”

Tomlin spoke up. “That’s right. I can assure you Silas will use all our DCSS resources to find who murdered Sherwood. Of course, he’ll be cooperating with the DPD in the investigation, and I’m going to ask you to contact the detectives in charge of the case and let them know Silas will be acting on your behalf from this point forward.”

“Oh, sure, I’ll be glad to do that. There are two detectives on the case, a man and a woman. The woman is the senior investigator, and her name is Nancy Aldridge. The man’s name is Kevin Monte.”

After I wrote down their names, I said, “In the next day or so, I’ll need to talk to Wes Decker and ask him some questions about the last meeting your husband had with Rusty Weidman. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Louise shook her head. “No, that won’t be a problem. In fact, in a few weeks, Wes will be named the CEO of QWave, and Charlotte will move into his position. I have no interest in running the company, and I certainly don’t know enough about quantum computing to be the spokesperson for it, so I’m actually looking forward to turning things over to him.”

“When you speak to Wes, please tell him I’ll probably give him a call tomorrow.”

“I’ll be glad to do that. Are there any other questions?”

“One thing we haven’t covered is how the news media reported Sherwood’s murder. They all said it was—”

“Oh, yeah,” Charlotte said, “I know what you’re about to say. Every news report I heard said it was a random act of violence, probably gang-related, with no apparent motive.”

“Yes, every report I heard or read said it could have been part of a gang member’s initiation into a leadership position. Was that something the police also told you?”

“When Detective Aldridge took my statement the next day,” Louise said, “she told me a restaurant worker who stepped out the back door of the steakhouse right after the shooting said he saw a man in a black hoodie running down the alley behind the restaurant, and he was positive the man had a gang tattoo on his left cheek. I’m pretty sure that story must have been leaked to the press, and that’s why Sherwood’s murder was reported as a gang-related shooting.”

Charlotte spoke up. “So I’m sure you’re going to ask if Rusty has a tattoo on his cheek. No, he doesn’t, but my mother and I believe he could have hired someone to shoot my father, so even if the witness saw someone running away from the scene that looked like a gang member, that doesn’t mean it was a random shooting.”

“No, it doesn’t. Did the police tell you about any other witnesses or evidence found at the scene they haven’t made public yet?”

“If the police found any evidence at the scene, they haven’t told me about it.” Louise let out a heavy sigh. “I just hope you can find the person who killed Sherwood so we can have some closure.”

Tomlin said, “I know Silas and the rest of our DCSS staff will do their best, Louise. You can be assured of that.”

Charlotte looked over at me. “You don’t have any doubts, do you?”

“You mean doubts about whether I can find your father’s killer?”

“No. Do you have any doubts Rusty is responsible for my dad’s murder?”

“In my line of work, I never shy away from having doubts. Doubt stems from a desire to know the truth, and if I engage in it, it’s only because I’m pursuing the truth.”

“Well, my mother and I doubt this was a gang-related shooting.”

“And your doubts will be the reason I’ll pursue the truth about who murdered your father no matter where it takes me.”

“That’s what we both want,” Louise said.

I hoped that was true.

Chapter 4

Tomlin and I waited until we were walking out to our cars before we said anything to each other. Although I expected him to comment about investigating Rusty Weidman as the shooter in Sherwood’s murder, he started talking about Quantum Tech.

“Sherwood was right to be wary of going forward with the Quantum Tech merger. I have a feeling Weidman’s company is already under the thumb of the Chinese government and possibly the Russians as well.”

I wasn’t as sure of that as Tomlin was, but I didn’t contradict him.

“No matter how you look at it, Austin, the merger itself didn’t sound very beneficial to Sherwood’s company. Right now, I’m mainly interested in finding out what Wes Decker remembers about that last meeting between his boss and Rusty Weidman.”

“I can see why his answers might affect how you proceed with the investigation. I just hope the two detectives handling the case won’t give you a hard time about sharing information with you. You don’t happen to know them, do you?”

“No, their names aren’t familiar to me, but I’m not worried about it. If it turns out they’re not willing to cooperate with DCSS, then I can always call Marcus and get him to help me.”

Marcus Nixon was a detective with the DPD, and his wife, Luisa, worked at DCSS in our Human Relations Department. The two of them went to Crossroads Church, where Tomlin and I were both members.

“You’re right. Marcus Nixon will be a good resource for you.”

When we reached the parking lot, we paused a second to finish our conversation before heading over to our separate cars.

“To have any chance of finding Sherwood’s killer,” I said, “I’ll need to call on several resources, maybe even the FBI. Needless to say, I’ll need to use our own people as well.”

“You know you have my full support to do whatever it takes. QWave Systems has been a good client for us, and it sounds like Charlotte may eventually follow in her father’s footsteps and become the CEO one day, so you might want to keep that in mind.”

I smiled at him. “Are you saying if we don’t find her father’s killer, she might want to change security providers?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I better find out who killed Sherwood Fenton.”

* * * * * *

I called Claudia on my way into the office to see what time she’d scheduled my appointment with Luke Woodley, and after she told me she’d set it up for two o’clock, I told her to let Norwell know I’d need to see him in my office at one o’clock to brief him on our newest case.

Mike Norwell was my deputy director of operations, as well as an expert at harvesting all kinds of information from cyberspace. Even though he assured me there was nothing illegal about what he did, I always tried to keep in mind he used to be a CIA analyst before he joined DCSS, so his thinking in that area might be a little fuzzy.

“What’s our newest case?” Claudia asked.

“I’ll tell you about it when I get there, but I need to grab some lunch on my way in, so it may take me forty minutes or so.”

“If you just plan to use the drive-thru at a fast-food place, I could have something delivered from Herb’s Deli. I was just about to order something for Mike, so it should be here by the time you arrive.”

“Thanks, Claudia. I’d appreciate it. Just order me my usual Reuben sandwich with extra dressing.”

“Will do. See you in a few minutes.”

When I hung up, I thought about calling Marcus Nixon to discuss the Fenton murder investigation, but then I changed my mind.

For one thing, Nixon preferred to get a text from me first and then call me back, and secondly, I decided I’d rather contact him after visiting Bevy’s Steakhouse and having a look at the murder scene.

The steakhouse was an ultra-expensive dining establishment, known for its award-winning desserts and for only serving prime cuts from prestigious Texas beef ranches.

I’d only been there a couple of times—once with Emma to celebrate my birthday and once with Tomlin to meet Duncan Davenport for lunch. Consequently, I was having a hard time visualizing the layout of the parking lot.

However, after remembering the lunch we had there with Davenport, it occurred to me it might be a nice place to take Ashley for dinner, plus I knew she’d be intrigued to hear about the Fenton case and excited to go over the crime scene with me.

I debated if I should wait to give her a call until she got in touch with me later today, but that debate didn’t last very long, and moments later, I had her on the phone.

“Hi, Ashley, it’s Silas. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, not at all. I’m driving home from the hospital after seeing Dylan.”

“How’s he doing today?”

“Extremely well. They’re talking about releasing him to a rehab center in a couple of days. I was planning to call you when I got home to see if we could have dinner tonight.”

“That’s why I was calling you. I’d like to take you to Bevy’s Steakhouse tonight if that’s okay with you.”

“That would be wonderful. What time?”

“I’ll make our reservations for seven-thirty, and I’ll pick you up at six forty-five. I think it’s about a thirty-minute drive from your house.”

“Yes, and with traffic, it might be a little more. Thanks for choosing that restaurant, Silas. I’ve always enjoyed eating there.”

“I confess I have an ulterior motive for taking you there, although I was hoping we could have dinner together tonight. Austin and I just met with Louise Fenton, whose husband, Sherwood, was murdered outside the restaurant three weeks ago. Since the police haven’t been able to find the person who shot him, she’s asked DCSS to investigate.”

“I remember hearing about his murder on the news, but I didn’t realize his company was a DCSS client.” She let out a short laugh. “I have a feeling there might be some women who would be offended if you told them you were taking them to a restaurant where a murder had been committed just so you could take a look around.”

“No, that’s not the only reason I wanted us to—”

“I’m teasing you, Silas. Really, it’s fine. Actually, this sounds pretty exciting. I haven’t had any experience investigating a murder, so I hope you’ll share all the details with me.”

“I promise I’ll do that. See you at six forty-five.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

That was good to hear.

* * * * * *

The five-story building that housed DCSS was located at Preston Road and Mockingbird. From the first time I saw it, I thought it was an impressive-looking building, partly because of the granite monument sign at the front entrance which featured the company’s logo—a black shield trimmed in gold with the DCSS letters centered in the middle.

The company’s name, Discreet Corporate Security Services, was spelled out at the top of the sign, and the words were also across the top of the building itself, just above the fifth-floor windows.

There were no assigned parking places in the lot next to the building, and when Tomlin pulled in a few seconds after I did, we both ended up parking in the last spaces at the end of a row.

Tomlin had obviously been thinking about the Fenton case while he was driving to the office, because as we began walking up to the building, he asked, “What did you think about Louise’s assertion that the gunman who shot Sherwood also intended to kill her? How plausible do you think that is?”

“I think it’s entirely plausible, but if it were true, then why didn’t the assailant take a shot at both of them before they reached their car? Once Louise got inside, there was less chance of her being hit, so in my way of thinking, taking them both out when they were walking across the parking lot would have been much easier.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Of course, we’ve been trained to think in those terms, and the shooter might be some punk kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

As we entered our building through the back entrance and headed over to the employee elevator, I said, “It sounds like you might be leaning toward the random shooting theory instead of Rusty Weidman being responsible for Sherwood’s death.”

“I’m not going with one theory or the other until you’ve finished your investigation. But you need to be careful when you start digging around, Silas. It’s highly possible you may discover there’s some foreign government agency involved in Sherwood’s murder, and if that’s true, things could get messy for you.”

“Thanks, Austin, I appreciate the warning.”

When we got on the elevator, Tomlin changed the subject and asked me how my daughter, Marissa, and her boyfriend, Gabe, were doing since the New Year’s Eve crisis at my house—both of them had been there at the time. He seemed pleased when I told him they were back at Texas A&M now, and Marissa assured me they were both doing fine.

“How serious are they? Are they talking about getting married?”

“Are you kidding? Marissa’s only a freshman, barely nineteen years old, and Gabe’s just a sophomore.”

“Didn’t you tell me you and Emma were married at that age?”

I gave him a smile as we got off the elevator on the fifth floor. “That was different. Much different.”

He shook his head at me. “No. What’s different is that you’re a father, and fathers are always protective of their daughters, especially when it comes to a potential son-in-law.”

I let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I admit that.”

He gave me a wave as he turned right and headed over to his office across the hall from mine.

Our office suites were the only ones on the fifth floor, but they weren’t identical. For one thing, the Operations suite was glass-enclosed, which meant anyone who stepped off the elevator was able to see Claudia sitting at her desk in front of our reception area, whereas Tomlin’s executive suite was practically invisible.

Access to his office suite was only available through a single wooden door which gave no indication of what was behind it. His incognito door—which I assumed gave Tomlin a greater sense of security—wasn’t a problem for his visitors, since a security guard from the lobby always escorted Tomlin’s guests up to his suite.

Another difference between the Operations suite and Tomlin’s executive suite was their size. Because he had a conference area inside his private office, his office was much larger than mine, and also his reception room was a lot more spacious than mine was.

My reception area didn’t need to be that big because whenever I had visitors, Claudia would make sure they were immediately taken back to my office for their appointment.

If they showed up without an appointment, Claudia made sure they didn’t make that mistake again.

It wasn’t that Claudia was mean. She was simply looking out for my interests, which she considered her responsibility, a responsibility she carried out to a fault.

Even if she had to be mean.

* * * * * *

When I walked in, Claudia was on her phone, but she pointed over to the end of her credenza where I could see a paper sack with the logo from Herb’s Deli on it, along with a large Styrofoam cup.

I assumed there was iced tea in the cup, although I didn’t tell Claudia to order me a drink. One of the ways she looked out for me was to make personal decisions about my food intake, so it was also possible I might find an order of potato salad or coleslaw in the sack, along with the Reuben sandwich.

As I picked up the sack, as well as the cup, I mouthed the words, “Thank you,” and headed back to my office.

After placing the food on the coffee table in my seating area, I walked across the room to the laptop computer on my desk and checked the messages on my phone log. There was nothing urgent, so I picked up my iPad and sat down on the couch to eat my sandwich and do some preliminary research on the Fenton case.

Although Norwell was in charge of doing research on all DCSS cases, I always did some preliminary snooping so I could steer him in the direction I wanted him to go. That way, he wouldn’t spend his time on superfluous fact-checking, which he had a tendency to do, especially if a case involved national security.

Since Charlotte said our own National Security Agency was interested in QWave’s QFP software, I decided I had to keep in mind Fenton’s murder might be related to national security, but I planned to put that possibility at the very bottom of my list of reasons for why someone would want to kill Sherwood Fenton.

No matter what I was investigating at DCSS—whether it was corporate espionage, employee embezzlement, or a murder—a key element in the way I structured the case often depended on what I thought might be the motivation behind the crime in the first place.

Once I developed a list of possible motives, I looked at obvious suspects connected to the crime, and then I assigned each of my division heads a responsibility in their area of expertise, unless the circumstances of the case didn’t call for it.

There were five divisions in Operations—Embezzlement, Cybersecurity, Surveillance, Industrial Espionage, and Background Searches—and since there didn’t seem to be any kind of embezzlement involved in Fenton’s murder, I didn’t expect to give Tyler Hudson, the head of Embezzlement, any responsibility. That might also be true of Grant Edman, the head of Industrial Espionage.

Until I had Norwell do some research, I had no idea what assignments I’d give the others.

It all depended on my list of suspects and motives.

At the moment, I had three obvious suspects in mind, but only one of them had a name. Naturally, I had Rusty Weidman at the top of my list. The others were nameless—an anonymous gang member and an unknown foreign government.

As I ate my sandwich, I did some quick checking on the internet for any news reports that involved Aldridge and Monte, the two detectives assigned to Fenton’s case.

I was primarily interested in seeing if either one of them had been involved in cases of gang-related killings or random shootings.

I knew from my friend, Marcus Nixon, that the Homicide Division in the DPD often assigned detectives who had experience with certain types of shootings to similar cases, so I figured if Aldridge and Monte typically investigated murders connected to gangs, then perhaps Fenton’s murder was being investigated as such.

Although I found the detectives had a case six months ago that involved a gang member, that didn’t necessarily seem to be something they did that often, so perhaps the DPD didn’t consider Fenton’s murder to be a gang-related shooting, despite what news reports said.

By the time I finished my Reuben sandwich and my container of coleslaw—Claudia must have thought I needed some veggies in my diet—I had a mental list of what I planned to tell Norwell that I needed him to do when he arrived for his one o’clock appointment.

Before I went over to my desk to type up the list, I took one last look at the notes I’d made during the meeting with Louise and Charlotte, doublechecking to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

I was almost halfway through reading my notes before I realized there was a glaring omission on my suspect list.

It was a person I always had to consider when a murder was committed, and yet such a person was seldom revealed until I asked myself an important question—who would be better off if the victim were dead? Or to put it another way, who would benefit the most if Fenton was no longer around?

Although the legal beneficiary of Fenton’s death was Louise, I had a hard time believing she’d killed her husband. If anything, her life appeared to be more complicated and less secure than when he was alive and prospering.

The same was true for Charlotte, who didn’t seem to be that eager to assume the reins of QWave Systems.

Thus, I simply typed “unknown beneficiary” on my suspect list.

As soon as I did, a name popped in my head.

Chapter 5

Once I finished typing up my notes for Norwell, I buzzed Claudia and asked her to come in and see me so I could tell her about our newest case, although I wondered if Tomlin’s assistant, Beverly, had already given her a heads-up about it.

If so, then she’d immediately inform me that she’d already assigned a file number to it, even though all my division heads, including me, usually ended up referring to our cases by names instead of numbers—a source of endless frustration to Claudia.

When she came in and sat down in the chair across from my desk, she had her pen poised to take notes on an old-fashioned steno pad, something I always found strange in light of her technical expertise.

“Before you get started,” she said, “I should let you know I just got off the phone with Beverly, and she told me Louise Fenton wants DCSS to investigate her husband’s murder. She seemed surprised Austin took the case, but I told her I didn’t think you were surprised.”

I smiled at her. “No, I wasn’t surprised. QWave Systems is an important client, and Austin was good friends with Sherwood, so naturally, we’re both curious about who murdered him.”

“Well, of course you are. I’ve already assigned a file number to the case. It’s SF-556. I’m sure you haven’t had time to prepare the SAS yet, but do you want me to go ahead and schedule a staff meeting so you can discuss it with the division heads?”

The Strategic Action Scheme, or SAS, was a phrase Tomlin had been using for DCSS cases since before I joined the agency.

Basically, a SAS document outlined the structure of a case, and once I developed it, I’d present it to my division heads and have them discuss it. Their idea of a discussion included arguing, joking, and theorizing about it—all at the same time.

Despite that, I always encouraged discussion, and by the end of the meeting, it wasn’t unusual for me to change my mind about some aspect of the SAS, or even add something to it.

“Go ahead and schedule the meeting for two o’clock tomorrow,” I told Claudia. “That should give me enough time to develop the SAS. I’ll be visiting the crime scene tonight, but it may be tomorrow before I’m able to get in touch with the detectives assigned to the case.”

“How much should I include in the staff memo about the case?”

“You can use your own discretion about that after I tell you what we learned from talking to Louise and Charlotte Fenton.”

I went through what they told us about the murder, and then I explained their frustration that no one had been arrested yet. However, I decided not to mention their suspicions about Rusty Weidman being the shooter. Instead, I told Claudia they felt a competitor might be responsible for his death.

“In your synopsis to the staff,” I said, “go ahead and include any links to news stories you can find about the case.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. I should be able to have this memo out to everyone within the hour. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, I think that’s it for now. I know it’s a little early, but if you want to check with Mike and see if he’s ready for our meeting now, that’s fine. No rush, though.”

“He may still be on the phone with his mother. When I gave him his order from Herb’s Deli, he said he was going to call her while he ate lunch, and he asked me not to disturb him.”

“Oh, sure. Well, don’t bother him then.”

“Just so you know. When he told me he needed to call her, he seemed a little upset.”

“Okay, thanks, Claudia. I’ll keep that in mind.”

On her way out, she went over and picked up my sack from the deli, along with my trash, and after she wiped off the coffee table with one of my unused napkins, she left the room.

Although I didn’t always appreciate Claudia’s gossip about her co-workers, I made a mental note to be sure and ask Norwell how his mother was doing since his father passed away in December.

Norwell had been estranged from his parents for several years until his mother called a few days before Christmas and told him his father had cancer and was near death. He was so concerned about the situation that he flew to Indianapolis, his hometown, where he was able to spend a couple of days with him before he passed away.

When Norwell got back, he wasn’t that eager to talk about his trip, but he definitely seemed a lot quieter and more introspective.

He also thanked me for praying for him and his family during that time, which surprised me, because shortly after he became my deputy, he hinted that his estrangement from his parents had something to do with certain expectations they had of him regarding their religious beliefs. However, he clearly didn’t want to discuss it, and I never brought it up with him again.

When he got back from his father’s funeral, he told me he was having trouble sleeping, but he said he knew it was because of the last conversation he had with his dad, and he promised to discuss it with me one day when we had more time.

Unfortunately, the last few weeks had been pretty hectic for both of us, and even when we had a few minutes together, he hadn’t shown any inclination of wanting to discuss anything about his family, so I hadn’t asked him to elaborate on the conversation he had with his father before he passed away.

Since I tended to shy away from talking about personal issues—my own as well as others—I recognized I was probably just using our busy schedules as an excuse not to ask him about it.

Occasionally, I had an overwhelming feeling I should bring up a personal topic with someone, and when that happened, it almost felt like I was getting a divine “push” from heaven to do something I wouldn’t ordinarily do.

Is that what was happening now?

Did I feel like I should bring up Norwell’s dad with him?

Yeah, pretty much.

* * * * * *

At twelve forty-five, when I heard the knock on my door, I immediately knew it was Norwell. For some reason, he’d come up with his own unique way of tapping on my door.

It was always four short knocks . . . pause . . . one more knock.

I raised my voice. “Come on in, Mike.”

As he stepped inside, he said, “Hi, Silas. Claudia said you were ready for me. Are we sitting over here?” He pointed over to the couch.

“Yeah, just let me grab these papers, and I’ll join you. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, I just had a cup in my office while I was talking to my mother.”

“How’s she doing?”

He shook his head. “I’m not really sure. My sister thinks she’s doing fine, but my sister is so occupied with her three kids and her husband that I don’t think she’s paying enough attention to her. Whenever I talk to Mom, she sounds really lonely to me.”

I sat down in an armchair across from him. “I’m sure she is. Your parents were married a lot longer than Emma and I were, and the first few weeks after she was gone, there were times when I felt lonely.”

“I remember thinking you might be lonely, but I knew you had Marissa there with you, plus you came back to work pretty quick.” He motioned toward me. “But hey, Silas, I know it must be painful to talk about a loved one’s death, even after all these months, so we can just drop the subject. To be truthful, that’s the reason I haven’t brought up anything about my dad’s passing or the last conversation I had with him. I figured something like that would be too painful for you.”

I couldn’t deny I had the perfect opening to ask him about the last conversation he had with his dad, so I took advantage of it before I thought of some excuse not to do it.

“No, Mike, it’s not too hard on me. I was able to get over those feelings a couple of months ago. If that’s what’s been holding you back from telling me about that conversation, don’t hesitate to tell me about it. Really, I’m fine.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Have we got time? Claudia said we have a new case to discuss.”

“Yes, we do, but I already have a list of things I want you to find out for me before I talk to the rest of the staff tomorrow, so we have plenty of time to talk.”

He shifted his weight in his seat. “To be honest with you, you’re the only person I could ever see myself talking to about this, which you might find amusing since I told you several years ago that I didn’t want to talk about religious stuff.”

“Well, I need some amusement in my life, so go ahead and tell me.”

“First, you need to understand the kind of family I grew up in. My parents were both strong conservative Christians, so my sister and I were in church from the time we were born. We went there twice on Sunday, once on Wednesday night, and just about any other time the doors were open. My sister and I also attended a Christian school.”

“That sounds like the way I grew up, except I didn’t go to a Christian school.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only difference between us. Even though I told the pastor I believed in Jesus when I was in second grade, and he baptized me a week after that, I’m not sure I really believed what I told him, or even if I did, by the time I was a teenager, I was having doubts about the existence of God.”

“No, that’s not my story, but at the same time, I can’t say I thought that much about my faith. I was more interested in sports back then.”

He smiled. “Yeah, and I was interested in computers and learning all about programming. But I couldn’t escape the doubts I had about what I was being taught in church, as well as at school. It bothered me so much that I finally went to my parents and told them I wasn’t sure I believed in God. Well, that was a big mistake.” He paused and shook his head. “I had never seen my dad so upset with me. He told me I wasn’t reading my Bible enough, that I wasn’t listening to the pastor’s sermons, and that I was probably spending too much time on my computer. The bottom line was he refused to even discuss it with me. My mother just kept quiet and didn’t say anything.”

He stopped talking for a second and took a deep breath.

“Would you like a soda or some water?” I asked. “I’ve got plenty in my fridge.” I pointed across the room to my mini refrigerator.

He nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind having some water.”

After I grabbed two bottles of water from my refrigerator, I walked back over and handed one to Norwell, and then as I sat back down, I said, “That whole scene had to be pretty tough on you.”

Once he took a drink, he said, “Yeah, it was. After that, I wasn’t about to talk to anybody about what I was feeling. That happened when I was a junior in high school. A year later, during my senior year, when I knew I wanted to major in computer engineering in college, I asked my parents about applying to Virginia Tech and some other universities who offered computer majors. Would you believe they told me they would only pay for me to go a Christian university?”

“Well, since I know you got your degree from Virginia Tech, I believe I know how that turned out.”

He nodded. “I told them I would pay my own way, and that’s what I did. Fortunately, I was awarded a scholarship from Virginia Tech that paid for most of my tuition, so I didn’t have to work all that much. As you’ve probably guessed by now, by the time I left home, I didn’t want anything else to do with my parents. Sure, I occasionally called my mother and my sister, so I wasn’t completely cut off from them, but for the past fifteen years, I haven’t participated in family activities, and until my mother called and asked me to come and say goodbye to my father, we never spoke to each other during that time.”

He took another drink, and then he put the water bottle down on the coffee table. “Okay, so now I guess you have a better idea of how traumatic it was for me to honor my mother’s request to see my father before he passed away.”

“You’re right. I knew that visit had to be hard on you, but I wasn’t aware of how really difficult it must have been.”

“Thankfully, my dad was cognizant, as well as lucid, until the last few hours before he passed, so we were able to have a good conversation.” He rocked his hand back and forth a couple of times. “Well, ‘good’ is a relative term in this situation, but you get the picture.”

“I hear you. I’m sure it was a bittersweet moment for both of you.”

“It was certainly that, plus a whole lot more.” He looked away from me for several seconds, glancing over at the picture window where I had a picturesque view of one of the city’s golf courses.

He appeared to be processing his emotions, so I kept quiet.

When he looked back at me, he gave me a weak smile and said, “My dad apologized to me. He said he knew he’d made a mistake when I was questioning my faith back in high school, and he refused to listen to me. He told me he was wrong to criticize me instead of trying to help me work through my feelings. Finally, he broke down and asked me to forgive him.”

Norwell bowed his head and looked down at the floor. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “I told him I accepted his apology, and I forgave him.”

“As hard as it must have been, I’m not surprised you did that.”

He reached for his water again and took a sip. “Oh, to be truthful, Silas, it wasn’t that hard. In spite of what he did, I’ve always loved my father, and talking about it gave us both some closure.”

“So it sounds like you’re glad you went to see him.”

At that point, I thought Norwell was about to wrap things up, but then he sighed and said, “Yes, but that wasn’t the end of our conversation. After I accepted his apology, and we had a good cry together, he asked me if I’d been able to resolve my doubts about God. I admit I thought about lying to him, but I just couldn’t. I told him I still had doubts about the existence of a loving God, because I couldn’t understand if he existed, why he allowed so much suffering and evil in the world. I even pointed to his cancer as an example.”

I nodded. “That’s a question a lot of people ask, even believers.”

“Well, my dad said the very fact that I thought suffering was wrong, and that I saw evil in the world, indicated I had a standard of morality. He said having an innate sense of what was right was because I was made in God’s image—just like the book of Genesis said—and he insisted that having a standard of morality was proof of the existence of God all by itself.”

He crossed his arms and simply shook his head at me without saying anything.

I smiled at him. “So I’m guessing that didn’t satisfy you.”

“He made a good point, Silas, but that doesn’t explain why God allows evil and suffering in the world, and I said as much to him.”

“Was he able to give you an answer?”

He smiled. “If someone asked a question, my dad could always come up with an answer. He told me that God will always use suffering to bring about his plans for good. He said the perfect example was Jesus’ death on the cross, which was the worst evil, but ultimately, it proved to be the best good because it provided us with salvation.”

“I agree with him about that.”

“Yeah, I kinda thought you would.” He took a deep breath. “The last words my dad said to me were, ‘I have to believe when this cancer takes me, good will come from it. I’m just grateful my suffering has allowed me to seek your forgiveness before I die. I know I’ll see you in heaven, Son, because I’m convinced you’re a believer. Deep down, despite your doubts, you sense God’s presence in your life. Hang on to that. It’ll take you through the dark tunnel you’re in.’ ”

Norwell looked down at his lap for a moment, so I waited to see if he had anything else he wanted to tell me before I said anything.

When I decided he didn’t, I said, “In a way, Mike, I can identify with what you’re going through. When cancer took Emma from me, even though I didn’t doubt God’s existence, I had a hard time believing he knew what was best for me, so I ended up being angry with him. I’m happy to say, I’ve worked through that now, so to use your dad’s analogy, I guess you could say I’m on the other side of that tunnel.”

He looked up at me. “I’m glad you told me that. I felt like you were working through something a few months ago.” He chuckled. “I guess that’s why I kept urging you to get a dog.”

I laughed. “Now that was some of the best advice you ever gave me. Guy is one incredible dog.” I paused to take a drink, and then I motioned toward him and asked, “So how are you dealing with what your dad said? Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

He smiled. “No, not really. We’ve been working so much that I’m exhausted by the time I get home. It’s all I can do to stay awake until eleven. As for what my dad said, I’m still processing it, so if you’re wondering if my doubts remain, the answer’s yes.”

“Then I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told someone else today. I told them that there’s nothing wrong with having doubts because doubts stem from a desire to know the truth. If I’m struggling with doubt, then that’s a good indication I’m pursuing the truth.”

“Pursuing the truth. Yeah, I guess that’s what you could say I’m doing, but if you don’t mind my asking, what was the topic of that conversation?”

“Actually, Austin and I were meeting with Louise and Charlotte Fenton at QWave Systems. They made an appointment with us so they could ask Austin if he would use the resources of DCSS to investigate Sherwood’s murder. That’s the new case we’ve just opened, and why I wanted to see you this afternoon.”

He slapped his hands on his thighs. “Let’s get to it then. We’ve discussed my personal problems long enough.” He motioned at me. “But thanks for letting me talk things out with you, Silas. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, sure. Anytime you wanna talk, I’m here. One last word about the doubts you’re having, Mike. If you’re really looking for truth, the best place to find it is in the Bible. I have a feeling it’s been awhile since you opened it.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it has. But just when you said that, a verse from my childhood popped in my mind. This isn’t an exact quote but it was something like, ‘Ask and you’ll be given; seek and you’ll find.’ That’s weird that I remembered it, isn’t it?”

I gave him a skeptical look. “Well, personally, I don’t think it’s all that weird.”

He let out a short laugh and said, “Okay, I hear you,” and then he pointed at the paper in my hand. “So tell me what you’ve got for me.”

I handed him the list I’d typed up for him about several things I wanted him to check out on the Fenton case. “Speaking of weird, you may find a few weird things on this list.”

He briefly scanned through the list. “Well, yeah. What does gang activity around Bevy’s Steakhouse and the CEO of Quantum Tech have in common?”

“According to Louise and Charlotte Fenton, they have a lot in common. Frankly, though, I have my doubts about that.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one who’s dealing with doubts.”

Chapter 6

After I told Norwell about the Fenton case, he left my office at one forty-five, giving me enough time to return the phone calls in my phone log before Woodley arrived for his two o’clock appointment.

Luke Woodley, the head of my Cybersecurity division, was my youngest division head. He was only thirty-five, and even though he still had some immaturity about him, he was very good at taking care of the online security needs of our DCSS clients.

He was also a hard-working guy, very meticulous about any assignment I gave him, and extremely knowledgeable about the latest developments in cybersecurity, including cutting-edge protection technologies.

Consequently, I was eager to find out what he knew about QWave Systems, as well as Quantum Tech, and even though I didn’t usually brief my division heads separately before I had a SAS meeting, I planned to tell him about the Fenton case.

Since Woodley was someone who took satisfaction in knowing stuff before other people did, I fully expected going over the details with him would make his day.

But the primary reason I wanted to discuss the case with him was to find out if he was acquainted with anyone at Quantum Tech. I once overheard him telling an intern he hung out with a bunch of computer nerds online, and I thought there might be a chance he knew someone from Quantum Tech on there, or maybe there’d been some discussion about Fenton’s murder in one of his online groups.

As usual, when Woodley walked in, he had his laptop with him, and like he always did, as soon as we greeted each other, he immediately walked over and placed his computer on top of my desk before sitting down in one of the guest chairs.

After pulling the chair a little closer to my desk, he opened up his computer and said, “I’m happy to report we’ve now completely repaired the data breach at Anchor Credit Services and implemented new measures and policies to prevent it from happening again.”

“That’s good news. I’m really glad to hear it.”

“Uh-huh. I thought you’d appreciate that news. And by the way, they also agreed to install more sophisticated encryption technology and to allow regular security audits by our DCSS personnel.”

“As usual, you’ve done a great job, Luke. At our staff meeting tomorrow, I’ll ask you to give a brief report to let everyone know we’re closing this case.”

“Oh, sure, I’ll be glad to do that.” He grinned at me. “Before I came up here to see you, I got a memo from Claudia about a new case. I didn’t pay any attention to the case number, but I’m pretty sure you know I mean the Sherwood Fenton murder.”

I smiled. “I haven’t seen Claudia’s memo yet, but yes, our newest case is a murder investigation. Sherwood’s wife, Louise, asked us to look into it because no one’s been arrested yet, and she wants some answers.”

“That’s understandable. When he was murdered, everyone in my department was in shock. His name has always been synonymous with QWave, as well as their QFP software.” As he closed the lid on his laptop, he said, “Of course, since it involves cybersecurity, you know I’m eager to hear what assignment you’re gonna give me. Is there something I can do to help you get ready to brief the rest of the staff tomorrow?”

“Thanks for asking. As you know, I don’t ordinarily go into the details of a case until I have the SAS ready, but in this instance, I wouldn’t mind having your input on a couple of things.”

His eyes brightened. “Well, sure, Silas. Tell me what you need. And if you don’t want me to mention to anyone that you briefed me beforehand, I’m okay with that.”

I grimaced. “No, Luke, it’ll be obvious we discussed it beforehand when I ask you to give a report on certain aspects of the case.”

“Gotcha. I’m good with that too.”

* * * * * *

After I gave Woodley the details of what Louise told us about her husband’s murder, including her insistence that Rusty Weidman of Quantum Tech was the shooter, I asked him to give me his opinion about a merger between the two companies.

“QWave definitely has the better firewall product, which would be beneficial to Quantum Tech,” he said. “On the other hand, QT’s global reach is extensive, so QWave would benefit there. I’m guessing Sherwood rejected it because he didn’t want foreign governments to have access to his product.”

“Yes, that’s what Charlotte told us, but evidently, Rusty was extremely displeased when his offer was rejected, and he got upset about it. Have you heard anything about this from any of your contacts in the field?”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t heard a word about it.”

“Are you acquainted with anyone who works at Quantum Tech?”

He thought about my question for a few seconds. “It’s possible I do, although I may not know them by their real name. I participate in several online communities in the Dallas area where we discuss all kinds of tech stuff, but most of us are known by our usernames or our handles, as we call them.”

“So I suppose that makes it difficult to identify someone.”

“Yeah, pretty much. That is, unless they say something in a comment that makes it obvious who they are.”

“Does that happen very often?”

“No, but if I’m curious about someone, I’ll try to figure out who they are by their handle. I’m pretty sure someone could find me that way.” He grinned. “My handle is TimberTechie.”

I thought for a second. “Oh, so you mean someone might associate timber with wood and use their research skills to find cybersecurity experts in the area with ‘wood’ in their name.”

“Exactly. That hasn’t happened to me yet, but I’m just saying I don’t think it would be that difficult to figure out the handles of the people I meet online. That is, if you think that’s relevant to the Fenton case.”

“Unless someone says something that makes you think they work at QWave or Quantum Tech, there’s no need for you to do that. Of course, if your online contacts happen to bring up Fenton’s murder, then I’d like for you to find out who they are.”

“Actually, I believe there was a brief discussion about it when it happened, but I don’t recall anyone making any unusual comments regarding it.”

“You mean no one confessed?”

He chuckled. “No. The only type of shooting these computer nerds participate in takes place during online games, and they only use avatars to do it.”

I glanced down at the notes I’d made on the Fenton case and said, “I’m sure I’ll need to ask you some questions about quantum computing in the meeting tomorrow, but if possible, frame your answers in such a way that some of us who know nothing about the subject will be able to understand it.”

“You mean explain it so my five-year-old son gets it?”

“You’ve got the picture. One thing I plan to ask you is how QWave Systems became such a lucrative business so quickly. I know it’s cutting-edge technology, but in what way is it valuable, and does it still have future potential even though Sherwood’s no longer around?”

“Okay, I’ll be able to answer that easily enough, especially after I look up some stats on it. Do you know who’s going to be running things over at QWave now?”

“Yes. It sounds like it could be Wes Decker, the operating officer.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I can see that. I’ve had several meetings with Wes in connection with our DCSS security package, and of course, I talk to him pretty regularly on the phone, so that’s a logical move. What about Charlotte? I’m pretty sure she could fill Sherwood’s shoes.”

“Evidently, that’s coming in the future, but right now, she’s focused on getting married.”

“Lucky guy. If QWave continues its upward trajectory, she’ll be a multi-millionaire soon.”

“Yes, that thought crossed my mind too.”

I didn’t elaborate on it, though.

It required a lot more thought.

Plus some research.

And a little snooping.

* * * * * *

After Woodley left, I buzzed Claudia to see if she could find me a direct phone number for Detective Nancy Aldridge, but I told her I’d be leaving the office in thirty minutes to go check out the location where Fenton was killed, so I didn’t need the number until tomorrow.

I had no intention of telling her I was meeting Ashley at the restaurant for dinner. When Ashley showed up at DCSS several months ago, Claudia didn’t hide her displeasure when she learned the daughter of Duncan Davenport would be serving as an intern at DCSS. One of Claudia’s pet peeves was someone who took advantage of their position of power to make demands on another person, and she felt sure that was the situation when Davenport requested that his daughter be hired as an intern at DCSS.

Claudia’s animosity toward Ashley only increased when she found out I’d agreed to be her mentor, and Ashley began making regular visits to my office, arriving without an appointment and coming directly to my office, bypassing Claudia’s desk altogether.

In addition, I had a feeling Claudia suspected I might be attracted to Ashley, and as my gatekeeper, she didn’t think she could possibly be a good match for me, especially since she’d gotten along so well with Emma and considered her a friend.

Thus, ever since Tomlin sent out a memo after New Year’s that Ashley had taken a leave of absence to be with her family after Dylan’s accident, Claudia had taken every opportunity to draw my attention to a couple of attractive single women who worked at DCSS, although I’m sure she thought she was being subtle about it.

One day last week she asked me, “Did you happen to notice Andrea Walters’ new haircut when you were in Tyler’s office yesterday?”

“Uh . . . no, I don’t believe I did.”

“She’s such a sweet woman and so attractive. I’m sure she’d make someone a wonderful wife. She’s probably just waiting for the right man to come along. Oh, and I also hear she’s very smart.”

“Yes, Tyler mentioned she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Well, there you go then.”

Being subtle wasn’t one of Claudia’s outstanding qualities.

* * * * * *

Ashley lived in Stonebriar Estates, an upscale neighborhood in North Dallas. The house, a two-story, multi-million-dollar residence with numerous rooms, as well as a live-in housekeeper, had been a college graduation gift from her father.

It was Maria, her housekeeper, who met me at the door, and even though I’d been to Ashley’s house several times in the past three months, Maria still refused to use my first name.

“Good evening, Mr. McKay,” she said, as I walked in the foyer. “Ashley said to tell you she’ll be downstairs in two minutes. Do you want to wait here or have a seat in the living room?”

“Two minutes? I think I know what that actually means, but I’ll just wait here. Thanks, Maria.”

I sat down on a bench in the foyer, but true to her word, within two minutes, Ashley appeared at the top of the stairs. She had on a long-sleeved silky red dress with a pair of black leather boots, and draped across her arm was a black fur jacket.

I was momentarily stunned by how beautiful she looked.

Her white standard poodle, Sissy, was at her side, and the dog immediately bounded down the stairs ahead of her to greet me.

By the time I finished telling Sissy that Guy was behaving himself and getting bigger every day, Ashley had made her way down the long staircase, so I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“So do you,” she said, caressing my cheek, “except maybe I should be proper and say you look handsome.”

“Either way, I appreciate the compliment. Can I help you with your jacket?”

“Yes, please.”

When I touched the fur, it was so smooth and silky, I suspected it might be mink, and as I helped her put it on, I noticed it was surprisingly short, barely covering anything other than her shoulders.

I quickly decided the jacket wasn’t intended for warmth as much as it was for show.

However, it was a nice show.

* * * * * *

On our way over to Bevy’s Steakhouse, Ashley updated me on Dylan’s condition—she said he appeared to be on the road to a complete recovery—and then she described how her parents had handled the crisis.

“Of course, my mother kept driving the hospital personnel crazy with all her demands. I’m not sure it even dawned on her that she couldn’t just order them around like she does her household staff.”

Since Ashley seldom mentioned her mother—although she hinted she had a better relationship with her father than she did with her mother—her statement caught me off guard for a moment.

“But, you know my father,” she continued. “He was absolutely calm, even when we weren’t sure Dylan was going to make it. For my part, I just kept praying, and when the doctor came in and told us the next twenty-four hours would be crucial to my brother’s survival, I asked everyone if they would join hands and allow me to say a prayer for him.” She chuckled. “And would you believe they did?”

I glanced over at her. “Really? That’s great, Ashley. I’m sure that must have surprised some of your relatives who didn’t know you had become a believer.”

“Oh, yeah. Everyone looked pretty shocked.”

She reached over and touched my arm. “But the best part is that four hours after we prayed together—or rather I prayed and everyone listened—the same doctor came in and told us Dylan had turned the corner, and he expected him to make a full recovery. After he left, my mother actually came over and told me she was sure my prayers had helped, and she asked me to keep praying.”

I smiled at her. “How did you feel about that?”

“Incredible. I felt absolutely incredible. And it made me happy to know I’d done what I felt I should do, although I admit I was a little apprehensive when I offered to say a prayer for Dylan out loud. That was a first for me.”

Once we arrived at Bevy’s Steakhouse, and I pulled into a parking spot, I reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m really proud of you, Ashley, but more importantly, I’m thankful the Lord answered your prayer for Dylan’s recovery. It will always be a witness to your family of your faith, and you never know what the outcome of that may be.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Silas. It really means a lot to me.”

After I turned off the engine, I nodded toward the restaurant. “I’ve been looking forward to having dinner here with you all day, and of course, telling you all about the Fenton case.”

“I can’t wait to hear about it, and if the police haven’t solved Sherwood Fenton’s murder yet, then I have to believe it’s an interesting case.”

As we got out of the car, I glanced around the parking lot. “The interesting part is what happened out here, and when we finish eating, I hope you don’t mind if we spend some time looking around the parking lot and also the alley behind it.”

“Oh, sure. I’m all for that.”

After I reached over and put my arm around her as we walked toward the restaurant, she said, “Be forewarned, though, I’ve got some important things I want to discuss with you while we eat.”

I was forewarned.

Chapter 7

The exterior design of Bevy’s Steakhouse was reminiscent of a bunkhouse on a Texas cattle ranch, and the rustic theme continued inside the restaurant with soft ambient lighting, dark wooden floors, and leather chairs.

As the hostess escorted us to our table, I felt my phone vibrate, and when I took it out and glanced at the screen, I saw it was a text from Marissa.

Once the hostess left, I held up my phone and said, “I hope you don’t mind if I take a few seconds to text my daughter back. She said she was checking up on me, and that usually just means she needs reassurance that I’m alive and well.”

“No, of course I don’t mind. Go ahead. And if you need a witness, I’ll be glad to attest that you’re alive and well, and I’ll even take a picture, if you like.”

“Uh . . . no, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Since Marissa wasn’t fully convinced Ashley was a good match for me, I wasn’t about to mention I was having dinner with her. I preferred to have that conversation on the phone so I could hear the inflections in her voice.

I texted her, “Thanks for checking on me. I’m doing fine. We just took a murder case, and I’m at the crime scene. How are you?”

“Doing okay. Lots of studying. Sorry I missed your call last night. Gabe and I were at a college Bible study.”

“Not a problem. I remembered that after I called you.”

“I’ll give you a call sometime tomorrow.”

“I have a staff meeting at 2, but otherwise, I should be able to talk.”

“Love you, Dad.”

“Love you more.”

I slipped my phone back in my pocket, picked up the menu, which was printed on a slab of wood, and asked, “Okay, so tell me what looks good to you.”

She motioned toward me. “Is everything okay with Marissa?”

“Oh . . . yes, I’m sorry. I should have said something. She’s fine. She was just checking up on me. We try to talk to each other every day, but it’s been hit and miss lately with our schedules.”

She nodded. “I know what you mean. It’s really hard to keep up with family sometimes, especially if they don’t live in the same city. Despite the circumstances of Dylan’s accident, it’s been nice to sit and talk with some of my relatives who’ve come by the hospital. I don’t have many opportunities to do that. Notice I said ‘some,’ not all.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I have a few relatives I’d rather not be in the same room with for any length of time.”

Once the waiter brought us our drinks, and we ordered our entrées—prime ribeye for me, filet mignon for her—she asked, “Are you ready to tell me about the Fenton case now?”

“Yes, but first, let me give you some background.”

After I gave her a brief description of QWave Systems and told her about Fenton’s relationship to DCSS through Tomlin, I said, “So, with that as a background, here’s what happened a little more than three weeks ago when Sherwood and his wife, Louise, had just finished eating here at Bevy’s. They walked out to the parking lot to get into Sherwood’s car, and as soon as he opened the passenger side door, and Louise got inside, someone shot him in the chest. Louise told us she heard him say, ‘He actually did it,’ just as he shut the door. At that point, the assailant got off another shot, and that one took Sherwood to the ground.”

Just as Ashley was about to respond, the waiter arrived at our table with our appetizer—pan-seared scallops—so she waited until we each took a bite before she responded. “I can’t imagine how shocking that must have been to the poor woman. Is she handling it okay?”

“Evidently, the first couple of weeks were hard on her, but now her grief has turned into frustration towards the police for not finding Sherwood’s killer.”

“Three weeks isn’t really that long, is it? I mean, sometimes a murder investigation can go on for months.”

“Yes, that’s not unusual, but because of the information Louise gave the police about the person she suspects of killing Sherwood, she thinks they should have made an arrest already.”

“What kind of information?”

After I explained about QWave Systems and Quantum Tech having talks about a merger, and their CEO, Rusty Weidman, getting angry about Fenton’s rejection of his offer, I said, “Louise is convinced the last words Sherwood said to her after he was shot definitely point to Rusty as the person responsible for his death.”

“Really? Had the man actually threatened to kill Sherwood?”

“Louise thought he implied it, and that’s what she told the police. She also believes if Sherwood hadn’t closed the car door, she would have been shot as well.”

“What are the police telling her?”

“The detectives say they’re pursuing all leads in the case and hope to make an arrest soon. Of course, that’s the standard line the police always give the family of a murder victim.”

While we ate our scallops, we talked about how the police handled murder investigations, but then when our entrées arrived, we didn’t say anything while our waiter lingered at our table to make sure the steaks met our expectations.

Once he left, Ashley said, “I’m a little puzzled, because I remember hearing a news story about the murder being a gang-related homicide. Was that bad reporting or has that theory been disproved now?”

“I don’t know if the police have disproved it, but Louise and her daughter, Charlotte, are skeptical of that report. As I understand it, an employee here at Bevy’s walked out the back door of the restaurant just moments after the shooting, and when he was interviewed by the police, he said he saw a male figure in a black hoodie running down the alleyway behind the restaurant. When he gave the police a description, he mentioned there was a tattoo on the guy’s left cheek.”

She nodded several times. “Oh, I see. The dark hoodie and the tattoo must have led to the report that it was gang related.”

After I took a drink of my iced tea, I said, “Yeah. I figure a TV reporter interviewed the restaurant employee and decided to go with that angle of the story, and then all the other news outlets picked it up and reported the same thing. Personally, I’m not sold on that as a motive because I’ve never heard of gang activity in this area.”

“No, me neither.”

I shrugged. “Even so, since I know it’ll be a topic of discussion in our staff meeting tomorrow, I went ahead and asked Mike to see what he could find out about gangs operating in this area.”

As she was cutting into her filet, she paused and glanced up at me. “Just so you know, I’m planning to be back at DCSS tomorrow, and if it’s okay with Buck, I’d like to be in the staff meeting to hear the discussion about the case.”

I gave her a smile. “I was hoping you were ready to come back. And don’t worry about Buck. I’ll make sure he includes you with the other interns he brings to the meeting.”

After taking a bite of her steak, she placed her fork back on her plate, and then she reached over and squeezed my hand. “I know this may come as a surprise to you, Silas, but when I come back tomorrow, I plan to give Austin my two weeks’ notice and end my internship at DCSS a few months early.”

I know I must have looked shocked because that’s the way I felt.

“But . . . why are you quitting? I thought you wanted the experience of working with us. Have you changed your mind about that?”

“No, I haven’t changed my mind, but my relationship with you has changed, and I think going forward, we’d both find it awkward if I were working there.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right, and I admit I’ve actually thought about this, but I’ve just been trying to ignore it. Is this the discussion you wanted us to have tonight?”

She nodded. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about our relationship in the last few weeks, and what I’ve realized is that it’s going to be detrimental to your leadership at DCSS the moment your colleagues discover we’re dating.”

“You mean because you’re considered an intern there?”

“Yes, that’s partly it. I’m sure it’s against company policy for supervisors to date subordinates, and then when you add the preferential treatment you’ve shown me by allowing me to be your partner on three of your recent cases, then it’s inevitable someone’s going to get jealous, or just downright mean about it. Once that happens, they’ll gossip about us, spread a bunch of rumors, and before you know it, your reputation will be ruined, and Austin will be asking for your resignation.”

“Whoa! That’s quite the scenario you’ve painted there.”

She laughed a little. “I may have gone a little over the top, but you’re not going to deny the situation has the potential for causing you massive problems, are you?”

“No, I can’t deny that. And if you hadn’t taken a leave of absence because of your brother’s accident, I might have brought up the subject myself. Our company definitely has strict regulations about supervisors dating subordinates. On the other hand, I’ve never really thought of you as a subordinate.”

“No, but one of the reasons I think your co-workers hold you in such high esteem is that you don’t treat any of them as subordinates. They’re all equal partners to you. Even when you have to rein them in a little, they respect you for exercising your leadership responsibilities. Believe me, I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that relationship. That’s why I’m going to be giving Austin my two weeks’ notice tomorrow.”

“Fair warning. I’m sure he’ll ask you why you’ve decided to end your internship early.”

“I expect that, but I’m not going to mention anything about us. I’m just going to tell him the truth. And the truth is that I’ve just learned my new office building will be finished in two months, so I need to spend the next two months recruiting my staff.”

I nodded. “I’m sure he’ll accept that answer. And, by the way, congratulations. Even though I’m gonna miss having you around the office, I’m really happy to hear your building’s almost ready.”

She smiled. “Now don’t start saying your goodbyes prematurely. I plan to be around DCSS for the next two weeks.”

I took my last bite of steak, and then as I put my fork down, I said, “So I guess that means I need to cram as much mentoring into the next two weeks as possible. How do you feel about helping me on the Fenton murder case?”

“Do you even need to ask? I can’t wait to get started.”

“We’ll start as soon as we’re finished here by taking a look at the crime scene. But first, how do you feel about dessert?”

We decided to share a decadent concoction called Rocky Road Bread Pudding that included chocolate chips in a caramel sauce with candied walnuts and homemade marshmallow cream.

When it arrived, our conversation centered around desserts we remembered eating as a child. That was it. Nothing more was said about her resigning from DCSS.

That was fine with me.

I was already feeling a little sad about her decision.

* * * * * *

As we walked out of the restaurant and headed over to my car, I glanced down at my watch and noticed it was eight forty-five, which was almost the same time as when Fenton was killed.

The air was also a little chilly, which was how Louise described it that night. When I realized that, I told Ashley if she was too cold, she could wait in the car while I scouted out the area.

“No, I’m fine. This jacket will keep me warm enough. Do you know where the killer was standing during the shooting?”

“The article I read in The Dallas Morning News quoted a source in the police department as saying the shooter was hiding between two parked cars directly across from where Sherwood had parked his Mercedes.”

We stood there beside my car and looked around at the layout of the parking lot for a moment. In front of the restaurant was a single row of parking spaces with four spots nearest the entrance reserved for handicapped patrons. Across from it, separated by a narrow driving lane, was a double row of spaces in a back-to-back configuration, with no divider between them.

This second row was where I’d parked my Lexus, with the front end of my car facing the last row of parking spaces along the back of the restaurant’s property.

This row was the farthest away from the entrance and only a few cars were parked there, whereas the double row in the middle of the lot held the majority of the vehicles.

More than likely, the restaurant’s employees were asked to park in the fourth row at the back of the property so that customers would have the more desirable parking spots closer to the entrance.

I pointed toward the cars parked in the last row. “I think it’s logical to assume the shooter positioned himself over there so he’d have a clear line of sight to this section of the parking lot, and at the same time he could see the Fentons when they came out of the restaurant.”

Ashley looked thoughtful. “But wouldn’t that also be true of the row up there next to the entrance?”

“You’re right, the shooter would still be able to see his victim, but since he needed to stay hidden until Sherwood and Louise came out of the restaurant, I have to believe he positioned himself between the parked cars along the back of the property, because more than likely, those vehicles belong to employees, and they wouldn’t be coming out to get in their car until the restaurant had closed.”

“Well, yeah, I hadn’t thought of that. And now that you mentioned it, I just remembered that employees at my dad’s office are asked to leave the first two rows empty so visitors won’t have to walk so far.”

“I’ll need to check out my theory when I talk to the police detectives assigned to the case, but for now, let’s assume that’s where the shooter was. After he fired the shots, he would have either run toward the street—which doesn’t seem likely since someone could have seen him—or else he would have run toward the alleyway.”

When Ashley and I began walking toward the alley, I checked out the lighting in the parking lot. It appeared to meet our own safety standards, although there weren’t any security cameras installed.

I asked myself if the shooter had picked this location for that very reason. After all, if he had tried to take Fenton out in the parking lot at QWave Systems, he would have been caught on camera.

I also pointed out my observation to Ashley.

Once we were standing in the alley, I looked in both directions to see how far it went before ending at a cross street, and as I was standing there, I went ahead and took some pictures of the scene with my cell phone—the parking lot as well as the alleyway.

The reasons for my actions weren’t apparent to Ashley. “I don’t get it,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for the quickest way for the shooter to exit the parking lot on foot.” I pointed off to my right. “If he headed west in this direction, he would have reached the next cross street much quicker than if he had gone the other way.” I pointed over to my left.

“Yes, but if the person the restaurant worker saw was really the shooter, then he wasn’t taking the shortest way out of the parking lot. Evidently, he was running east, because there’s no way someone standing over there by the dumpsters,” she motioned toward the back of the restaurant, “would be able to see him otherwise.”

“That’s true, so let’s walk over there and take a look at where the employee was standing when he saw the guy in the hoodie.”

As we walked over to the back of the restaurant, she linked her arm in mine, and I suddenly realized how odd we must look dressed in our fancy clothes—Ashley in her red dress, fur jacket, and black boots, and me in my suit and tie—making our way behind a couple of green dumpsters at the rear of Bevy’s Steakhouse.

Once we were standing close to the back door, we both looked over toward the alleyway. “Yes,” I said, “to be seen from this position, the hoodie guy had to be running east, and if he was the shooter, then he wasn’t taking the shortest way out of the parking lot.”

She made a futile gesture. “Well, maybe he wasn’t a good planner, and he didn’t scout out the area beforehand.”

“Are you kidding? Don’t you realize criminals are known for their meticulous planning and attention to details?”

She let out a short laugh, and just as she did so, the back door opened, and a beefy guy wearing a chef’s apron appeared on the steps.

“Uh . . . what are you doing back here?”

A few replies went through my mind—from humorous to deceitful—but instead, I opted for the truth. “We’re private investigators looking into Sherwood Fenton’s murder.”

“Private? So you’re not with the police?”

“No,” I said. “I’m Silas McKay, and this is Ashley Davenport, and we’re doing a separate investigation for the wife of the deceased. By any chance, would you be the person who told the police he saw someone running down the alley right after the murder?”

“No, that would be Manny, one of our dishwashers.”

“Is there any possibility I could ask him a few questions?”

He frowned. “Uh . . . I don’t know. You sure don’t look like private investigators, and Manny’s already gotten himself in trouble with the management for spending too much time talking to reporters.”

I reached inside my suit coat and pulled out my business card, which had the DCSS black shield logo in the corner and Discreet Corporate Security Services centered in the middle. My name and title were below that.

After I handed him the card, he studied it a second, and then he said, “I’ll see if he’ll talk to you.”

Less than a minute later, Manny came out the back door holding my card in his hand. “I’m Manny Tolbert, but I don’t have but a couple of minutes. What do you want to know?”

Manny was an African American, probably in his early twenties, who was wearing baggy pants and a wet t-shirt.

He didn’t appear to be hostile, just bone tired.

I asked him, “Would you mind telling us what you saw the night Sherwood Fenton was murdered over there in the parking lot?”

“No, I guess not. It’s the same thing I told the police and a couple of reporters who showed up. When I came out here to throw some trash in the dumpster, I saw a young white guy—to me he looked like a teenager—running down the alley right over there by that light pole. He had a black streak, like a tattoo, on his left cheek. That’s it.”

“Did he have a gun in his hand?”

“Nope, no gun.”

“Did he see you?”

“Huh-uh. I don’t think he saw me. He did look behind him, though.”

“You mean he was looking down the alley?”

He thought about my question for a second. “Yeah, he was looking down the alley. He wasn’t looking over at the parking lot.”

“Anything else you remember about him?”

He shook his head. “Nope, that’s it.”

“Thanks, Manny. I appreciate your taking the time to talk to us.”

“Sure, no problem. It was nice to get a break.”

As he turned to go back inside, I pulled out my wallet and removed a twenty. “Hold on a second, Manny.”

When he stopped on the stairs, I handed him the twenty.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“We had dinner in the restaurant tonight, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciated how spotless all the dinnerware and the utensils were. Consider this a tip for how well you’re doing your job.”

His face broke into a wide grin. “Well, thanks, man. I try my best.”

“Keep it up, and I’m sure you’ll go far.”

As we were walking back across the parking lot, Ashley looked over at me and said, “This evening has certainly been informative.”

“Yes, it has. I have a much better picture of how things went down the night Sherwood was murdered.”

“Actually, I was talking about how much I’ve learned about you.”

“Is that right? What have you learned?”

“That you’re a tender-hearted man with a sensitive soul.”

“Nah. You’ve got that wrong. I just appreciate clean silverware.”

PART TWO

Chapter 8

Tuesday, February 10

When I arrived at DCSS headquarters at eight forty-five Tuesday morning, instead of immediately heading up to my office on the fifth floor, I stopped off on the fourth floor where the Surveillance suite was located so I could speak to Buck.

Although I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t invite Ashley to come with him to the SAS meeting, I wanted to make sure he knew I wanted her there.

As soon as I entered his office suite, I could hear Buck’s robust laughter coming from the break room around the corner from the reception area, so I put my finger up to my lips and motioned to Buck’s assistant not to tell Buck I had dropped by.

She just smiled and nodded.

When I entered the break room, Buck had his back to me, and he appeared to be entertaining some members of his surveillance crew with a story about the time he had to live with a goat farmer and his six kids in a mud hut in Afghanistan for a month.

I’d heard the story several times, but each time, the number of days he’d had to stay at the farm had gotten longer and longer. It started out being a week, and now it was up to a month.

When he paused a second, I said, “Don’t forget to tell them you had to eat goat’s head every meal.”

At the sound of my voice, he jerked around and let out another burst of laughter. “Aw, man, it wasn’t just goat’s head; it was also goat’s feet.” He motioned at the guys standing there. “You talk about making a quick trip out to the bushes.”

Once the laughter died down, he nodded at his crew members and said, “Everybody get out of here and get to work so I can see what the boss wants.”

As they were leaving the room, I went over to the coffee machine and inserted a coffee pod. While it was brewing, Buck asked, “Do you wanna talk here or would you rather take that coffee down to my office so we can have some privacy?”

“Let’s go down to your office.”

The DCSS Surveillance suite, which occupied half of the fourth floor, was as large as Tomlin’s suite, primarily because it had several small offices for surveillance crew members, as well as a large room separated into cubicles for the half-dozen interns assigned to him. In addition, there was a separate room containing all kinds of high-tech—as well as low-tech—surveillance equipment.

Buck’s private office was at the end of a long hallway. Although it wasn’t professionally decorated, it definitely reflected his personality—colorful, humorous, and a little frayed around the edges.

To my left, just as I entered the room, were three high-definition screens mounted on the wall, each tuned to a different morning news program. On the wall across from the doorway was an assortment of certificates, plaques, photographs, and memorabilia of Buck’s Department of Defense days, plus a large wooden sign that said, “In God We Trust, All Others We Monitor.”

Against that wall was a couch, and in front of it were a couple of chairs, one of which was a recliner. Occasionally, when Buck put himself on the schedule for an all-night surveillance shift—which I discouraged—he used the recliner to catch a nap in the afternoon.

Buck’s solid oak desk, to the right of the doorway, had two guest chairs in front of it, and the desk itself held a couple of computer screens, our DCSS video phone system, a bunch of framed pictures of his family, and a paperweight made from an old-fashioned hidden surveillance camera.

On the credenza and bookshelves behind his desk was an assortment of surveillance gadgets—cameras, listening devices, hearing amplifiers, lock-picking equipment—most of which were outdated.

He also had several shelves of paperback books—all spy novels—which, according to him, always seemed to surprise his visitors.

When we entered the room, Buck gestured over toward the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in just a minute. I need to check something on my computer first.”

He took a quick look at his computer, hit a few keystrokes, and then came over and sat down in his recliner.

“So, what’s up? I hear we’re going to be investigating Sherwood Fenton’s murder. I have two surveillance teams following the suspects from the AstroNex Aeronautics company right now, so I hope you won’t need all of my people.”

“Once you hear about the suspects in the Fenton case, you can decide how many teams you’ll need. Of course, you can always call in some extra people if that’s what you need.” I took a drink of my coffee. “But I’m not here to talk about the Fenton Case. I mainly came by to see if you knew Ashley Davenport was coming back to work today.”

“Yeah, I had a notice from the HR Department in my email when I got here today. I haven’t seen her yet, though. I suppose this means her brother’s gonna be okay. I called her a few weeks ago, and it sounded like it was still touch and go.”

“Yes, he’s much better. We had dinner last night at Bevy’s Steakhouse, and she told me he’s starting physical therapy this week.”

“Oh, so you spent the big bucks on her and took her to Bevy’s Steakhouse.” He gave me a wide-mouth grin. “Things must be getting serious between you two.”

“Even if that’s true, that’s not the reason I took her there, and besides, she’s used to eating at upscale restaurants, so she didn’t act like it was anything out of the ordinary. We went there because the parking lot at Bevy’s is where Fenton was murdered, so I wanted to take a look at it before I decided how to organize the case.”

“But you still invited her to go with you to check it out, didn’t you? In my way of thinking, that’s a date.”

“Okay, I guess you could say we’re officially dating now, which is the reason I came by to see you.”

“You wanna talk to me about Ashley? Believe me, I’ve got plenty of advice for you. For one thing, I’m pretty sure Tomlin’s gonna have a problem with you dating an intern, and then there’s—”

“Hold on a second, Buck. You’re heading off into unknown territory without a map. I’m sure the reason you haven’t seen Ashley yet this morning is that she’s in Tomlin’s office right now giving him her two weeks’ notice.”

“She’s resigning?” He paused for a second. “Okay, in my opinion, that’s exactly what she needs to do. After all, it’s not like she needs the money or anything.”

“The official reason she’s giving Tomlin for why she’s leaving is that her building is about to be finished, and she needs to start recruiting personnel for her detective agency.”

“And the unofficial reason?”

I smiled at him. “That would be the change in our relationship. We definitely have feelings for each other, and we’re gonna see where that takes us. Obviously, it would be awkward for both of us if she were to continue working here as an intern.”

He gave me a thumbs-up. “Well, buddy, I’m happy for you. I really hope it works out.”

“Since she’ll only be here for two more weeks, she’s looking forward to working on the Fenton case with me. It’ll be the first time she’s had any experience with a murder investigation, so I’d like for you to be sure and include her with the other interns you bring to the staff meeting today.”

“Okay, no problem there. If you hadn’t told me to do it, I’m sure she would have bugged me about it until I did it.”

I got up from the couch. “Yeah, you’re right. She can be persistent.”

As he walked me over to the door, he said, “Not a bad trait when you’re pursuing a target. In fact, when you put that together with her other qualities, I can pretty well guarantee her detective agency will be a success. But I’d watch out if I were you. When she starts staffing her agency, she might make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

I waved him off. “Not a chance. But thanks for the warning.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Nah, I think I’m good.”

I hoped I was right about that.

* * * * * *

Once I finally got to my office suite, I checked in with Claudia, who told me she’d put Detective Nancy Aldridge’s phone number in my phone log under new contacts, and then she asked me if I’d heard the latest news.

Although I suspected I knew what she was talking about, I said, “You mean what the President announced this morning? Yeah, I heard it on one of the morning shows while I was having breakfast.”

“No, not that. I’m talking about Ashley Davenport returning to work today. From what I hear, her brother, Dylan, is recovered enough to start physical therapy.”

“Wow, that’s really good to hear.”

Before she had a chance to ask me if I was referring to Ashley’s return or to Dylan’s recovery, I told her I needed to call Detective Aldridge and organize the Fenton case before the staff meeting, so I’d rather not be disturbed for the next hour, unless it was an emergency.

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. No worries.”

When I got to my office—after checking my emails and phone messages—I spent thirty minutes organizing my presentation of the Fenton case for the staff meeting, and then at nine-thirty, I made the call to Detective Aldridge.

She answered her phone on the second ring.

“Detective Nancy Aldridge.”

“Good morning, Detective. My name’s Silas McKay, and I’m with Discreet Corporate Security Services. We provide security for QWave Systems.”

I paused a few seconds to see if she might respond, but when she remained silent, I continued. “In connection with that, Louise Fenton has asked our agency to look into the murder of Sherwood. When our CEO and I met with Mrs. Fenton yesterday, she indicated she would be contacting you about our involvement.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, I heard from Mrs. Fenton yesterday, and I’m aware she’s asked your company to investigate Sherwood’s murder. I told her the DPD’s policy was to cooperate with any licensed agencies who were investigating criminal activity as long as it didn’t interfere with our own investigation.”

“I assure you, DCSS has a strict policy of never interfering with any police investigation. Our intention is to use our own resources and personnel to discover new evidence that would aid you in your efforts to find the perpetrator. In fact, I think you’ll find that we—”

“There’s no need to try to sell yourself on your usefulness or your intentions, Mr. McKay. I did my homework and checked out your company, so I know you’re in good standing with us, as well as the FBI and Homeland Security.”

“Yes. DCSS is part of the FBI’s Corporate Security Initiative, and we’ve worked closely with them on several cases. Our agency is very informal, Detective, so please feel free to call me Silas.”

“Okay, Silas. I also found out that you’re good friends with Detective Marcus Nixon, and while he speaks very highly of you, he also warned me that you can be a real magnet for trouble.”

When she delivered this remark, I didn’t catch a hint of humor in her voice, but I just figured her humor was the dry variety, so I said, “Is that right? Well, the only reason Marcus said that was because he’s never forgiven me for the time he had to wade through a muddy ditch in his new Gucci loafers to rescue me from a deranged killer.”

I was glad to hear her chuckle a little. “Knowing Marcus, if that actually happened, then I’m not surprised he holds that against you. I swear that guy spends his entire paycheck on his wardrobe.”

“Yeah, we’re talking about the same guy, all right.”

“Do you have any specific questions you’d like to ask me about our investigation into Fenton’s murder, or shall I just give you some basic information?”

Since I was eager to hear what she meant when she said she was willing to tell me the “basic information,” I decided to hold my questions until later.

“Go ahead and give me the basics, and I’ll see if I still have some questions when you’re finished.”

“Smart choice, Silas; you didn’t disappoint me. Marcus also told me you were no dummy. Okay, so I’ll start with what you probably already know from news reports and talking to Louise. After that, I’ll tell you what our investigation has turned up so far.”

“That works for me.”

Detective Aldridge briefly went over the same set of facts I knew already—how the shooting occurred in the parking lot, where the assailant was hiding, and what the restaurant worker reported seeing when he went outside to put some trash in the dumpster.

Then, she got to some things I didn’t know.

“Two nine-millimeter bullets were recovered from Fenton’s body, and our team found the shell casings between a couple of vehicles parked along the back row of parking spaces, directly across from where Fenton’s car was parked. In that same spot, we also found a couple of shoe prints. The tread pattern was a little unusual, and we’re in the process of trying to determine if they belong to some kind of unique sneaker that might be a limited edition.”

When she paused for a moment, I thought she might be finished, but then I realized she was taking a drink of something.

“Sorry. I’m just getting over a cold, and if I don’t stay hydrated, I’ll start coughing.”

I assured her I understood, and after she took another drink, she said, “Okay, so that brings me to some possible suspects. We’ve primarily focused on the young guy with a tattoo on his cheek who was seen running down the alley wearing a hooded sweatshirt. The restaurant worker described the tattoo as a black mark, so right now, we’re going with the assumption the shooter could be a junior gang member who needed to kill someone in order to be accepted as a full member. That area isn’t known for gang activity, but we have some undercover cops working in gangs in other areas, and they’re listening for any talk about the shooting at Bevy’s Steakhouse. The bottom line is, we’ve run into a blank wall when it comes to suspects.”

When she paused to clear her throat again, I popped in with a question. “I know Louise suggested to you that Rusty Weidman of Quantum Tech might have killed her husband because of a failed merger attempt with QWave. Is there any—”

“I was just about to say we didn’t find any other viable suspects, including Rusty Weidman. Naturally, we interviewed him about where he was the night Fenton was killed, but it turns out he has an airtight alibi. He and his wife were at a restaurant with two other couples that night. We even checked the restaurant’s CCTV cameras in the parking lot, and the three couples were definitely there.”

“Any reason why you haven’t shared that information with Mrs. Fenton yet?”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I sounded a little accusatory, which wasn’t my intention, but as my daughter often pointed out to me, whenever I got frustrated about someone’s ineptness, I often sounded that way.

The detective said, “Yes, I have a good reason why I haven’t told her yet. I just got the report back from our video analysts, and I haven’t had a chance to go over it with my lieutenant yet.”

Her voice had a slight edge to it, so I tried to soften my earlier question by saying, “Okay, that makes sense. I know the DPD must have a huge backlog of cases to deal with, and you just have to wait your turn.”

“You’ve got that right. Anything else you’d like to ask me?”

“No, I can’t think of anything right now, but I promise to let you know if we turn up any suspects or uncover any new evidence.”

“Please do, and I’ll try to update you when I hear back about the shoe prints or we locate the guy in the hoodie.”

After we hung up, I went back over our conversation and made a mental note that she said she would “try” to update me. I figured that meant I would need to call her in a few days and ask for an update.

Since my hour without being disturbed was over, I buzzed Claudia and told her I was still working on the SAS for the Fenton case—except I referred to it as SF-556—but that I was available if anyone needed to see me.

“That’s good because Mike has been waiting to see you. He didn’t tell me what it was about, but he seems really anxious about it.”

“Thank you, Claudia. I appreciate the heads-up. Go ahead and tell him to come and see me.”

Seconds later, he was at my door.

Chapter 9

When Norwell came in and sat down on the couch, placing his laptop on the coffee table, I wasn’t surprised he was a lot more animated than he was the day before when we had the conversation about his dad.

Scouring the internet, digging into data, and lurking behind the curtains of cyberspace—where no one knew he was there—always had a way of energizing him.

Since he had a mug of coffee with him, I didn’t bother asking him if he wanted something to drink.

“I was hoping to catch you before you presented the Fenton case at the SAS meeting today,” he said. “I figured you might want to hear what my research turned up on gang activity in the area around Bevy’s Steakhouse, and also what I found out about Rusty Weidman.”

“You bet I do. It sounds like you may have discovered something that could affect the case.”

“Uh-huh. I think I did.” He reached over and opened the lid on his laptop. “I’ll begin with the gang activity. Basically, it’s almost non-existent in the area around Bevy’s. It’s an affluent neighborhood and heavily patrolled, so I wasn’t really expecting to find gangs operating around there. I doubt if you were either.”

“No, I wasn’t, and that’s the same thing I just heard from one of the police detectives investigating Fenton’s murder.”

“Good to know. Okay, so after I determined that, I decided I’d try to identify the tattooed guy a little differently.”

“Now why does that not surprise me?”

He smiled as he brought up a screen on his computer. “First, I got into the student database at Beltline High School—that’s the high school that serves the neighborhood around the restaurant—and from that database, I created a list of students who live within a four-block area of Bevy’s restaurant. I discovered there are roughly eighty students in those residences. Once I got their names, I began going through their social media posts.”

“You’re kidding.” I shook my head. “Talk about a tedious task.”

He let out a short laugh. “Actually, it was pretty amusing.” He pointed at a couple of social media apps on his screen that teenagers were using these days. “I was primarily looking for photographs of kids who had facial tattoos, or any mention of tattoos, or kids who were thinking about getting a tattoo.”

“So you weren’t necessarily looking for someone with a gang-related tattoo. You were just looking for facial tats in general?”

“Correct. My research turned up a group of six boys at Beltline High School who are into extreme skateboarding. They call themselves the RadRollers. I bet you can guess where each of them has a tattoo.”

“On their left cheek?”

“Jackpot.” He scrolled down his screen, and a picture of six boys standing against a brick wall appeared. Each kid was holding his skateboard in front of him—with the colorful design on the board facing the camera—and each kid’s head was turned to the right so his left cheek could be seen.

I was pretty sure the tattoo I saw on each cheek was a lightning bolt, and I was able to verify that a few seconds later when Norwell enlarged his screen and zeroed in on one teenager’s face.

The tattoo on his left cheek was actually a lightning bolt intertwined with a picture of a skateboard.

I sat back in my chair and nodded at Norwell. “This is great work, Mike. You’ve outdone yourself.”

He grinned. “Yes, I have, haven’t I? Of course, I’m not kidding myself. I realize we’re a long way from proving one of these guys was in the alley the night Fenton was murdered, but at least we know the person with the tattoo doesn’t have to be a gang member.”

“Just to clarify, are you saying all six of these RadRollers live within a few blocks of Bevy’s?”

“No, I’m sorry. I should have made that clear. Only three of them live in that neighborhood.”

He clicked over to a different screen and showed me their individual pictures, reciting their names as he pointed them out to me.

“Porter Young lives on Harrington Street, and Robert Pickens lives on the same street two blocks down from him. Billy Gibbs lives three blocks away from the other two on Kensington Street.”

I asked Norwell to wait a second while I walked over to my desk and retrieved my iPad. Once I sat back down, I made a few notes about the RadRollers, and then I said, “At our meeting today, I’ll be calling on you to show us these photographs and tell us about your research on this group, and then I’ll assign Buck the responsibility of running surveillance on the three who live in the area around Bevy’s. Since the information you found out about them on their social media accounts could help him set up his surveillance teams on these guys, he’ll probably ask you to share that with him.”

It wasn’t unusual for me to give Norwell a heads-up about how Buck’s assignments might affect him. I did this primarily because he and Buck didn’t get along that well—I figured their personalities were just too different—but if Norwell knew what to expect beforehand, he didn’t seem to be as bothered by Buck’s attitude. Otherwise, it wasn’t unusual for Norwell to openly criticize Buck for one thing or another.

“Sure, I’ll share my information with Buck,” he said. “Of course, he may take all the credit for finding them if one of these guys turns out to be the killer.”

I ignored his remark and asked, “What about Rusty Weidman? What did you find out about him?”

“Practically nothing. He doesn’t have a police record, and if he owns a gun, it’s not registered. I couldn’t even find a parking ticket on him. He’s never been involved in a lawsuit, and he’s not on social media. I checked a bunch of other stuff, but I came up empty-handed. The man really keeps a low profile.”

“Since his specialty is cybersecurity, that doesn’t surprise me. It’s not important though, because he has an alibi for that night.”

“Is that what the police detective told you?”

I nodded. “Detective Aldridge said Rusty and his wife were at a restaurant with two other couples that night, and there’s some CCTV footage from the parking lot to prove it. However, I’m not sure that’s gonna satisfy Louise or Charlotte. They might point out that Rusty could have hired someone to take Sherwood out.”

“Are they really that sold on the idea?”

“Louise definitely is, and yeah, I’d say her daughter is too. But if pursuing Rusty’s involvement looks like it’s going to interfere with Charlotte’s wedding plans, she might be willing to let it go.”

I was quiet for a few minutes as I glanced down at some other notes I’d made on my iPad about the Fenton case.

After Norwell took a drink of his coffee, he asked, “So do you have another assignment for me? Whatever it is, I’m up for it.”

“Uh . . . yeah, I believe I do, but since it might be a wild goose chase, I don’t think I’ll bring this up at the staff meeting.”

“You know me. I never mind chasing a wild goose.”

“Okay, so here’s one for you to chase. I want you to check out Charlotte’s fiancé, Trent Wade. The reason I’m curious about him is that when I asked myself who would benefit from Sherwood’s murder, I realized if both Sherwood and Louise were killed, then Charlotte would be the sole heir of their estate, and consequently, a very rich woman. It was no secret her father was grooming her to become the CEO one day, and I’m sure Trent knew that.”

“Uh . . . yeah. I can see why you might want to know more about him.” He started typing on his laptop, talking out loud as he was making notes. “Trent Wade. Full background search. Financial status. Social media accounts.” He looked over at me. “Give me what you already know about him.”

“Trent is in his early thirties. He grew up in Dayton, Ohio, and dropped out of the University of Dayton in his sophomore year when his parents were killed in a car accident. He and his sister were equal beneficiaries of their parents’ estate, and the first thing he did with his money was to take an extended vacation in Cabo San Lucas. He lived at a resort there for a year, and Charlotte met him when her father hired him to set up the media room in their house in Cabo.”

He glanced up from his computer. “Did he run out of money and have to go to work?”

“That I don’t know. Charlotte just said he was bored and enjoyed working in electronics. According to her, before they met, he was thinking about going into real estate, and when they started dating, her father encouraged him to enroll in the Heritage School of Real Estate here in Dallas. He followed Sherwood’s advice, and he’ll graduate this May. They’re planning a June wedding.” I paused for a moment. “I believe that’s it. That’s all I know about him right now.”

“Not to worry. I can take it from there.” Norwell closed his laptop. “Do you have any idea where he was the night of Fenton’s murder?”

“No, and I realize now I should have tried to get that information before asking you to spend your time doing a profile on him. For all I know, he may have an airtight alibi just like Rusty does.”

As Norwell stood to his feet, he said, “No need to apologize. Your instincts are usually spot on. If he has an alibi, just let me know, and I’ll stop poking around in his life.”

After Norwell left, it occurred to me he hadn’t brought up anything about Ashley returning to work, but then I realized he might not have read his emails yet.

As I was thinking about Ashley, I briefly considered texting her to see if we could have lunch together, but then I remembered I hadn’t called Wes Decker at QWave Systems to set up an appointment to see him yet.

Even though it appeared Rusty Weidman had an alibi and couldn’t have been the shooter, I was still interested to hear about the meeting Decker attended when Rusty supposedly lost his temper and threatened Sherwood.

If Decker described that conversation as a threat, I might have to seriously entertain the possibility Rusty had hired a contract killer to take Sherwood out.

A hitman as the killer seemed a little farfetched to me.

On the other hand, so did a teenage skateboarder.

As well as a future son-in-law.

Was I missing someone?

* * * * * *

When I remembered Wes Decker’s assistant always had me leave a message whenever I called his office, and she never gave Decker the message immediately, I decided to call his cell phone instead.

I was sure Louise had already told him we were looking into Sherwood’s murder, so I figured he was expecting my call anyway.

I wasn’t wrong.

However, when he answered my call, it sounded like he wasn’t just expecting it, he was eagerly anticipating it.

“Hi, Silas. I’m glad you called. I’ve really been looking forward to hearing from you.”

“Can I assume that means Louise told you we’re investigating Sherwood’s murder?”

“Yes, we spoke briefly after you and Austin left yesterday. I already knew she’d made an appointment with you, so I thought you might come by my office to see me when you were finished talking to her. Frankly, I was a little disappointed you didn’t do that.”

Sherwood once told me he hired Wes Decker as his chief operating officer because of his directness—which was one reason I figured he would tell me if he thought Rusty had actually threatened Sherwood.

After working with Decker on security issues at QWave for several years, I also recognized he valued honesty and a no-nonsense approach, and the best way to communicate with him was to be as straightforward with him as he was with me.

“I wish I could have done that, Wes, but I had to get to my office, and to be honest with you, I still needed time to process what Louise told us, so I’d know the right questions to ask you.”

“Yeah, I know you like to mull things over before you act on them. I get that. Could you come by my office this afternoon? I’ll be free around two o’clock.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t do that. I have a meeting scheduled with my staff then. Would tomorrow work for you?”

“Let me check. Yeah, that’s fine as long as we meet after lunch. Shall we say one o’clock?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll see you at your office at one.”

“I’ll let security know you’re coming. Will you be alone?”

“No, I’ll have one of my colleagues with me. Her name’s Ashley Davenport.”

“I don’t think I’ve met her before. Be sure and let her know she’ll need to show some ID at the gate.” He laughed for a couple of seconds. “I guess she’ll be prepared for that, won’t she?”

After I assured him she would, we said goodbye, but then I sat there for a few minutes and tried to think of some excuse to call Charlotte to ask if we could also stop by her office after our meeting with Decker.

I finally decided I would use the excuse that I had some follow-up questions from our meeting on Monday.

However, unlike my conversation with Decker, I couldn’t be straightforward with her because the only question I really wanted to ask her was about Trent Wade.

I wanted to know his whereabouts the night Fenton was murdered.

* * * * * *

Since I didn’t have Charlotte’s private cell number, I had to call the main number at QWave Systems and speak to the receptionist.

After she told me Ms. Fenton was unavailable, she cheerfully informed me I could leave a message on her voicemail, which is what I ended up doing.

While I was listening to Charlotte’s greeting, I had to make a quick decision about whether to ask her to call me back, or to explain why I was calling her in the first place.

Since I was afraid I might end up playing phone tag with her, I decided on the latter. “Hi, Charlotte. This is Silas McKay, and I wanted to let you know I have an appointment with Wes Decker at one o’clock tomorrow, and when I finish with him, I’d like to stop by your office and ask you some follow-up questions from our meeting on Monday. There’s no need for you to call me back unless this doesn’t fit with your schedule.”

After I hung up, it occurred to me Charlotte might mention to her mother I was coming by to ask her some follow-up questions, and Louise might be upset that I wasn’t including her in the conversation.

Since Louise had given me one of her business cards with her cell phone number on it before we left her office, I sent her a text message telling her I’d be coming by QWave tomorrow to talk to Wes and I planned to also ask Charlotte some follow-up questions. I told her if I had any new information on the case, I’d drop in and see her too.

When I immediately received a text back from Louise thanking me for keeping her informed, I realized I’d made the right decision.

I admit there were times when I felt like my job consisted of staying one step ahead of my staff, two steps ahead of my clients, and running at breakneck speed to catch up with the bad guys who were already far out in front of me.

The funny thing was, I loved every minute of it.

And now, as I picked up my laptop and headed down to the third-floor conference room for my staff meeting, I was eager to hear their ideas on the Fenton case.

Or more accurately, serve as a referee for their ideas.

Chapter 10

The conference room was already half full when I got there, but only one person was seated at the long wooden table in the middle of the room—Mike Norwell.

Norwell was at the far end of the table at his usual spot near the large interactive touchscreen we used for presentations. He was looking at something on his laptop, which I figured could either be the slides I’d sent him for my presentation or the slides he planned to use for his own presentation.

There was no one else at the table because they were all gathered at the other end of the room around a refreshment table, which Claudia always made sure to stock with a variety of beverages as well as a tray of either cookies, donuts, or cupcakes.

Today it was cookies, and since I’d skipped lunch, I walked over and grabbed a couple, along with a diet soda.

As I was about to take them back over to the table, Felicia Dean, the division head of Background Searches, walked up to me and said, “Do you think anyone would mind if I adjusted the thermostat in here? I think it’s a little warm, don’t you?”

I started to point out that she had on a heavy wool sweater, with a turtleneck shirt under it, but I decided not to go there. “It’s fine with me, Felicia. Just don’t mention you turned it down, and maybe no one will notice when their fingers start turning purple.”

She winked at me. “That’s a good idea, Silas. I’ll try to do it undercover . . . so to speak.” She appeared amused by her own pun.

I gave her a smile, and I must have still been smiling when I walked over to the head of the table and took my seat, because a few seconds later, Grant Edman plopped down in the chair next to me on the right side of the table and said, “I have a feeling the reason you’re all smiles today is because we’re about to be involved in a murder investigation, and I’ve always suspected those were your favorite cases.”

Edman, the head of Industrial Espionage at DCSS, sounded like he was only making an innocuous comment as a conversation starter, but I was pretty sure he had an underlying reason for his observation—he wanted me to give him some “inside” information about the case before I presented it to the rest of the staff.

Knowing stuff about other people or their situations was one of the hallmarks of Edman’s personality, and I figured it was probably the reason he’d joined the FBI right out of college. Before he left the FBI and took his present position at DCSS, he was a special agent with the FBI’s National Security branch, investigating foreign agents who spied on U. S. companies. Thus, he was an excellent fit at DCSS.

Personally, I found him easy to work with, but like all of us, he had his own set of idiosyncrasies. Besides snooping around in other people’s business, he had a hard time letting go of his former FBI persona, which seemed to irritate some of the other staff members.

Buck, who had an open distrust of the FBI, had a secondary reason for being wary of Edman. Namely, Edman was a redhead, and when Buck and I were on assignment with the DIA in Pakistan, a redheaded DIA agent almost got us killed. Thus, Buck had a tendency to be prejudiced toward redheaded males.

“You’re not wrong there, Grant,” I said. “I do enjoy investigating homicides, although I’m glad that’s not the only type of criminal case DCSS handles.”

“Oh, yeah, me too.” He leaned in a little closer to me. “Since Sherwood Fenton was the CEO of a hot cybersecurity firm, I’m just assuming there’s a good chance a foreign government could be involved in his murder. Is that how you see it shaking out?”

Although I had a foreign government entity on my suspect list, I hadn’t planned on having Edman investigate it, but I quickly decided I’d need to have him look into it just to keep him happy.

“That’s one option, all right, and I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts about it once I give everyone all the details.”

Although I was trying to make it clear I wasn’t about to tell him anything about the case before the meeting started, he didn’t seem to think I was refusing to answer his question.

“Oh, sure. And thanks for giving me that information.”

Since Luke Woodley and his assistant had just walked in and sat down across the table from Edman, I turned and greeted them.

As I did so, Buck entered the room with his interns—he’d brought five of them today, including Ashley—and there were also several members of his surveillance crew, most of whom took a seat in the chairs behind the conference table. Ashley, however, along with two other female interns, took a seat at the end of the table next to Buck and across from Norwell.

After Ashley was seated, she opened her iPad, and then she glanced down at the end of the table and gave me a smile.

I returned her smile along with a brief nod.

At the same time, Felicia Dean and her assistant sat down next to Edman, and moments later, Tyler Hudson, head of our Embezzlement division, came in. Since he was the last member to arrive, he must have thought we were waiting for him, so he began apologizing.

“I’m sorry I’m late, but you won’t believe what happened to me.”

“No, we probably won’t,” Buck said, “but tell us anyway.”

He stopped in the middle of the room and grinned. “So I met my wife for lunch at Henry’s, and after we ate, I stopped at the restroom. Unfortunately, a rebellious zipper caused me to suffer a wardrobe malfunction. Consequently, I had to call my wife from the restroom and tell her to go down the street to Beckman’s and buy me a pair of pants. Well, it took her forever, and would you believe she said it was because she couldn’t decide between the black pair and the blue pair?”

While everyone was having a good laugh, Hudson sat down beside Felicia, who motioned toward him and said, “When we get finished here, Tyler, you might want to borrow a pair of scissors from your assistant so you can cut the tags off your back pocket.”

Once he’d endured another round of laughter, he shook his head and said, “This day couldn’t get any worse.”

I said, “You might change your mind when you hear I’ve asked Luke to give us a mini lecture on quantum computing.”

A groan went up from everyone in the room.

On that note, I began my staff meeting.

* * * * * *

Before I told them about the Fenton case, I had Woodley and Norwood report on the Anchor Credit Services case, and how they were able to repair the damage caused by the data breach.

Edman was the only person who asked Woodley a question about it, which he answered satisfactorily, and at that point, I moved on to the main item on the agenda.

After nodding at Mike to put up the first slide, I motioned at the screen and said, “Austin agreed to take our newest case—SF-556—yesterday when we met with Louise Fenton, the wife of Sherwood Fenton, the deceased owner of QWave Systems. As some of you already know, QWave is a cybersecurity firm that specializes in securing quantum computing environments. They’ve been our client for several years now, and I believe most of you in this room have worked with Sherwood, or someone on his staff, at one time or another.”

Hudson shook his head. “No, I never did meet the man, so I guess that means he never suspected any of his employees of embezzling from him.”

Woodley said, “I knew him pretty well, and I can tell you the cybersecurity industry suffered a great loss when he was killed. His encryption technology is cutting edge, and I’m not sure anyone can match it right now."

It sounded like Woodley thought I wanted him to tell everyone about QWave at this point in the meeting, so I quickly said, “Luke’s right about that, and a little later, I’ll ask him to explain why QWave is at the top of the cybersecurity charts, but first, I want to go over the details of Sherwood’s murder.” I gestured toward the interactive screen. “Mike, go ahead and put up the photographs I took at Bevy’s Steakhouse last night.”

The first slide he put up was a picture of the parking lot.

“I took these pictures at approximately the same time Sherwood was murdered here a little over three weeks ago. As you can see, the parking lot has sufficient lighting, and my Lexus is parked very close to where Sherwood’s vehicle was parked that night. Although I’m sure you’ve read news reports of his murder, I’m going to tell you how Louise Fenton described what happened when she and her husband came out of the restaurant.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes going over the details Louise gave Tomlin and me, and when I finished, I held up my hand and said, “Before I ask for comments, I want you to see the next set of photographs I took, and then I’ll explain why I took them.”

As I was talking, Norwell clicked over to the pictures I took of the alleyway behind the restaurant.

“After the shooting, the killer had the option of heading out to the busy street or exiting the scene by way of the alley. The street wasn’t a good option since there are CCTV cameras along that route, plus pedestrians might be able to identify him later, so I believe we have to assume he headed over to the alley.”

I paused a second while I picked up a laser pointer from the table and shined a beam of red light on the second picture, which showed the back of the restaurant. “Shortly after the shooting occurred, a restaurant employee named Manny came out the back door to put some trash in this dumpster, and he reported seeing a young white guy in a black hoodie running down the alley. He was heading east, away from the restaurant. He told the police the guy had a tattoo on his left cheek that looked like a black streak.”

I went on to tell them about talking to Manny at the steakhouse last night, although I decided not to mention Ashley was with me. “Manny was certain the person he saw didn’t have a gun in his hand, and he also told me the tattooed guy kept looking back down the alley as he was running toward the cross street.”

After I explained what happened, I addressed reports about the murder being a gang-related shooting. “Those stories were based on Manny telling the police the guy he saw had a facial tattoo. When I spoke to a DPD detective this morning, she verified they were still investigating the murder as a random shooting by a gang member.”

I paused for a second and took a drink of my soda, and then I asked Norwell to put up the slide on Quantum Tech.

The slide showed a picture of the outside of their building, a headshot of Rusty Weidman, and a screenshot of their website, which emphasized their global network of operations.

“I’m going to muddy the waters a little now and tell you about some other possible suspects.”

I pointed to Weidman’s picture with my laser. “Louise and her daughter, Charlotte, are convinced this man, Rusty Weidman, the CEO of Quantum Tech, murdered Sherwood because when he approached Sherwood about merging their two companies, Sherwood told him he wasn’t interested. She believes that’s why her husband’s final words to her were, ‘He actually did it.’ ”

I asked Norwell to put up my list of possible suspects, and when he clicked over to the next slide, there was a numbered list from one to four, which I read out loud.

“So here’s my suspect list so far. First, Tattooed Alley Runner, second, Rusty Weidman, third, an Unknown Beneficiary, and Fourth, an Agent of a Foreign Government.”

As soon as I read off the last entry, Edman smiled, although I wasn’t sure he was as pleased when I said, “I’ve listed these in the order I think they could be involved in Sherwood’s murder. As you look over the list, I need to qualify the second one by telling you the police have determined Rusty has an airtight alibi for the night of the murder. A security camera shows he and his wife were at a restaurant with several other couples that night. However, I left him on there because there’s always the possibility he hired a contract killer to take care of Sherwood for him, although I admit that doesn’t seem likely.”

I explained that I put Unknown Beneficiary on the list because I wanted to explore if the shooter could be some unknown person who would benefit if Sherwood was out of the picture, either financially or in some other way. “I added the last one, Agent of a Foreign Government, because our National Security Agency has shown interest in QWave’s proprietary Quantum Firewall Protection, and it’s possible a foreign entity might want to remove Sherwood and discourage that partnership.”

I’d also planned to say I thought the chances of that were remote, but since I knew Edman wanted to look into the possibility, I didn’t want to discourage him, so I didn’t express my doubts.

Besides, I realized I could be wrong—the days when I used to think my instincts were infallible were long gone.

As I put my laser pointer down on the table, I sensed everyone was eager to make a comment or to ask a question about the case, so I held up my hand and said, “Believe me, I’m as anxious to hear your thoughts as you are to share them with me.” I hesitated a moment as several people in the room chuckled. “However, Mike discovered an important piece of information when he was researching gang activity around the restaurant, so before I open this up for discussion, I’ve asked him to tell you what he found.”

Norwell didn’t particularly like speaking to a large group, so the way he usually handled it was to keep his eyes glued to the screen as he went through his presentation, and this time it was no different.

His first slide was a map of the residential area around Bevy’s Steakhouse. "This section of North Dallas is an affluent residential area with gated communities and a lot of police presence, so I wasn’t surprised when I couldn’t find any reports of gangs operating in the vicinity.”

He pointed at Beltline High School. “But since the restaurant worker said the guy he saw running down the alley appeared to be young, I decided to look for male high school students in the area who had tattoos, and this is where I started.”

Norwell quickly went over the same thing he did with me about finding a group of extreme skateboarders called RadRollers who had a tattoo of a lightning bolt intersecting a skateboard on their left cheek. After he put up the group photograph of them on the screen, he identified the three boys who lived in the residential area behind Bevy’s Steakhouse.

Once he did that, he turned around and nodded at me.

I said, “Thanks, Mike. And now, as promised, Luke is going to give us a very brief—and I’ve emphasized the brief part to him—mini lecture on quantum computing, and why QWave Systems’ firewall protection program made Sherwood Fenton a multi-millionaire.”

Woodley had his laptop open, and he gestured toward it as he got started. “Just to make sure I follow the boss’s orders and keep this short, I’ve made myself a few notes here so I won’t go wandering off in the forest and leave all of you behind.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Buck said, “that might not be such a bad idea.”

Woodley grinned at him. “Just put your hiking boots on, Buck, and try to keep up with me.”

Once he got started, Woodley surprised me by the way he was able to simplify a complicated concept by doing just what he said he would do—explain it so his son could understand it.

“For everyone’s benefit, I’m gonna explain this to you the same way I would if I were telling my five-year-old about it.”

Buck said, “At least that’s a language Tyler speaks fluently.”

Hudson gave Buck a snarky look, and Woodley continued. “Quantum computers are just super-smart computers that can figure things out really, really fast, and QWave Systems has invented a super-smart lock, so if people want to hide their secrets in their quantum computers, they’ll be safe, and no one can take a peek at them. QWave calls this super lock their Quantum Firewall Protector or QFP. Since no one else has come close to inventing a lock for quantum computers as good as the one QWave Systems has, that’s the reason Sherwood Fenton has been raking in the money.”

Woodley put the lid down on his computer and said, “How’s that for a mini lecture?”

Felicia, who made no secret of the fact she wasn’t that tech savvy, gestured at him and said, “Thank you so much, Luke. I completely understand that explanation.”

I said, “Okay, Ladies and Gentlemen, that’s the explanation of the Fenton murder case, and my thoughts on possible suspects. What are your thoughts before I start giving out assignments?”

No one said a word.

Seconds later, three people started talking at once.

Chapter 11

Because three people were talking at once when I opened the floor for discussion, I only caught snippets of what each one was saying before I had to call for a time-out.

However, I did hear Buck say surveillance on the RadRollers should be a priority, while Edman mentioned a foreign intelligence service, and Felicia offered to do a background check on Rusty Weidman.

“Time out,” I said, making a T with my hands. “I’ll start with Buck and go around the room. Okay, Buck, share your thoughts with us.”

“Personally, I think it’s obvious I need to put surveillance teams on the three skateboarders who live near the restaurant. Even if they don’t exhibit any suspicious behavior, if I can get some decent photos, then maybe the dishwasher at Bevy’s . . . uh, the Manny guy, can tell us whether the tattoo looks like the one he saw on the kid in the alley.”

“I agree, Buck. That’s what I was thinking too.”

Edman spoke up. “But shouldn’t we be discussing motives first? What possible motive would an extreme skateboarder have for targeting the CEO of QWave Systems? It makes more sense for an assassin from a foreign intelligence service—say the Chinese or the Russians—to want to get rid of Sherwood in case he’s developing other quantum security platforms which will make it harder for foreign actors to penetrate our defenses.”

“If you wanna talk about a motive,” Felicia said, “then I think Rusty Weidman’s background should be investigated. I agree with Silas about the possibility he hired a hitman to take Sherwood out.”

“I believe I qualified my statement by saying I considered that unlikely. On the other hand, I’m not opposed to your doing an in-depth background check on Rusty. Mike did a preliminary search on him, and the man turned up squeaky clean, but something interesting might turn up if you peeled back those layers a little farther.”

“Let’s get back to the question of the killer’s motivation,” Edman said, bouncing around in his chair like he was having a hard time keeping still. “There are numerous CEOs who attempt mergers with like-minded companies, and the negotiations end up going nowhere. However, they don’t hire a hitman to hide in a parking lot and murder the CEO who turned them down. That whole scenario seems extremely farfetched to me.”

I said, “According to Louise and Charlotte, the man did it because he was furious at Sherwood and wanted revenge. That’s how they’re making sense of Sherwood’s last words.”

Norwell looked up from his computer and said, “Anger can be a powerful motivator. There’s no doubt about that.”

His comment sounded surprisingly personal, but I also realized it was probably because I knew about his relationship to his father. No one else seemed surprised by it.

I said, “Tomorrow afternoon, I have an appointment with QWave’s chief operating officer, Wes Decker, who was in the meeting with Rusty and Sherwood when he turned down the merger offer, so I plan to get his take on the whole episode. I forgot to mention that Wes will become the CEO of QWave in a few weeks, although more than likely, Charlotte will take over that position in a couple of years.”

Edman spread his arms out wide as if he were trying to embrace the whole room. “Well, there you go, people. What about Wes Decker as the shooter? Talk about motivation!”

Woodley shook his head. “I just can’t see it, Grant. I work with Wes on cybersecurity issues at QWave all the time, and he’s one of the nicest people in the business. I can’t imagine him being able to kill a man in cold blood.”

Edman shrugged. “Maybe so, but Silas brought up the idea of an unknown beneficiary of Sherwood’s death, and Wes certainly fits that description.”

I looked over at Felicia. “Just so we’re covering all the bases, go ahead and check into Wes Decker’s background too. Even though you monitor all of QWave’s employees on an annual basis, I know that doesn’t include executive personnel, so to be on the safe side, let’s see what turns up on Wes.”

“Does that mean I need to add Rusty and Wes to my surveillance assignment too?” Buck asked. “It sure sounds like we’re treating them as suspects now.”

There was a slight edge to Buck’s voice, which I suspected reflected his irritation at Edman for dominating the discussion.

“No, Buck,” I said, “let’s hold off on that until we see what Felicia turns up on both of them. I’ll have a better understanding of whether to treat Rusty and Wes as suspects once I meet with him tomorrow to discuss the case.”

Hudson said, “I’d like to just throw something out here, if no one minds.”

Buck let out a short laugh. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not sure I wanna hear from someone who split his pants after eating a big lunch at Henry’s.”

All of Buck’s entourage sitting behind him laughed, plus there were several chuckles from the rest of us.

Hudson wagged his finger at Buck. “I told you it was a faulty zipper.” He grinned. “But if you wanna talk about embarrassing situations, then I might have to bring up what happened to you at that Rangers game last spring.”

Buck held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Nope. That’s not necessary. I stand corrected. You had a faulty zipper. We’re good.”

“Tell us what’s on your mind, Tyler,” I said.

“I was just thinking that I should probably look into the possibility an employee at QWave was embezzling funds. Maybe the employee realized Sherwood was suspicious of him, so he decided to kill Sherwood before he made the decision to call DCSS in to investigate.”

It was increasingly obvious to me that every member of my staff wanted to have a role in investigating Fenton’s murder, even Hudson’s office, so although I hadn’t planned on giving him an assignment, I told him I’d assign him the task of investigating that angle.

Buck asked, “How confident are you that you’ll be getting regular updates from the police detectives?”

I waffled my hand back and forth. “It’s a fifty-fifty shot. Detective Aldridge wasn’t hostile to me, but she wasn’t that helpful either. I figure if we uncover something and share it with her and her partner, she might be more eager to share what they’ve discovered.”

“I wish we had access to the shoe prints they found,” Edman said. “I could probably convince one of my FBI buddies to run them through the Forensic Footwear Database.”

As usual, Edman didn’t miss the opportunity to point out that he had connections at the FBI, but before I could respond to him, Norwell said, “I’m sure the police will do that anyway, don’t you?”

Edman shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

“The detective did say she’d let me know what they found,” I said. “Evidently the tread was a little different, so she thought it might take them a little longer to make the identification.”

Edman said, “A unique tread pattern could indicate they were purchased in a foreign country, which obviously goes along with a foreign actor being involved.”

“That’s a good point, Grant,” I said.

“Or maybe the RadRollers wear a special type of shoe,” Buck said. He turned and gestured toward the members of his surveillance crew. “Remember to take photographs of the footwear those teenagers are wearing when you’re running surveillance on them.”

They murmured their agreement, and I used the opportunity to gesture in the direction of the surveillance interns and asked, “Do you have any thoughts or questions about the murder case or the points we’ve been discussing? I’m sure Buck told you to keep your mouth shut, but you have my permission to talk.”

Jacob Javits, a crew chief for one of the teams, held up his hand and said, “When you were telling us about the location of the shooter in the parking lot, you said he probably picked the spot between the two cars at the back row because those cars belonged to employees, and he didn’t think their drivers would come out of the restaurant until closing time. That struck me as a little odd. How would the shooter know the vehicles belonged to the restaurant’s employees?”

“Of course, the assailant couldn’t know that for sure,” I said, “but since a lot of restaurant and service industries ask their employees to leave the parking spaces closest to the entrance available for their patrons, I just assumed that was why that particular spot was chosen.”

Ashley raised her hand, and when I looked over at her, she started speaking before I acknowledged her. “I think what Jacob was asking is whether that’s common knowledge or not. That’s not the policy here at DCSS, and I’m only aware of it myself because when I worked at Precept Healthcare, employees were required to do that. Could that mean the shooter is employed in a similar service industry?”

“Ashley makes a good point,” Edman said. “Maybe we need to find out if that policy is in effect at QWave Systems or even Quantum Tech.”

He looked over at Ashley and smiled at her as if he thought his supportive comment would impress her.

His actions didn’t surprise me.

I’d given Ashley the assignment of working with Edman—who was single—on a corporate espionage case shortly before she took her leave of absence, and once the case was solved, he told me he really enjoyed working with her, and he’d like to do it more often.

I decided that wasn’t happening again.

Felicia said, “That question might be relevant if we’d actually narrowed our suspects down to one or two people, but right now, it sounds like we have a lot of work to do just to get to that point.”

“Felicia’s right,” I said. “So now, I think it’s time for me to make the assignments, and then when we meet next week at this time, we should be able to shorten our suspect list down to one or two possibilities.”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind in the last few minutes,” Buck said, “it sounds like you want Surveillance to concentrate on the three teenagers in the RadRollers group.”

“Correct.” I pointed over at Norwell. “Mike has their addresses and some other information about them, so the two of you can get together about that.”

Buck said, “Oh, sure. I’ll talk to you after the meeting, Mike.”

Norwell gave him a two-fingered salute and nodded.

“Felicia, I believe you also know what your assignment is.”

She glanced up at me and said, “Uh-huh. I’ll be doing a deep dive into the backgrounds of Rusty Weidman and Wes Decker. I’ll let you know as soon as I turn up anything noteworthy.”

I turned and looked over at Edman. “And Grant, you’ll be exploring the possibility that a foreign intelligence service is responsible for Sherwood’s murder. I’ll let you know what Wes Decker has to say about the interest our government has shown in their QFP program when I get back from seeing him tomorrow.”

Hudson said, “Since I’ll be looking into the possibility an employee at QWave has been embezzling funds, then I’ll need permission from Decker to speak with their chief financial officer. Shall I ask him about that myself, or do you want to do it when you’re there tomorrow?”

“I’ll bring it up with him tomorrow.”

As Woodley closed the lid on his laptop, he said, “Like we talked about yesterday when you were briefing me on Fenton’s murder, I just assume you want me to monitor the cybersecurity chat rooms whenever I’m online with my computer buddies.”

I tried not to smile at Woodley’s obvious desire to let everyone know I’d talked to him before briefing everyone else about the case. “Yes, that’s part of your assignment, Luke, but I also want you to see if you can find out who Rusty Weidman uses at Quantum Tech for his security needs. If I decide I need to meet with him, then I may have to use that as an excuse for scheduling an appointment.”

For a moment, I thought someone might ask me what assignment I was giving Norwell, and if they did, I was prepared to tell them I was waiting until after my meeting with Decker to make that decision.

Since I was mostly indulging my curiosity about Trent Wade, I certainly wasn’t ready to bring up his name with everyone in the room, plus it hadn’t escaped my attention that despite all the discussion, no one had suggested he might be a suspect, even though I mentioned he was engaged to Charlotte.

In the end, I figured no one said anything about Norwell’s assignment because as I was about to dismiss the meeting, Buck stood to his feet and said he had an important announcement to make.

Hudson groaned, probably thinking it was a joke about his pants.

It wasn’t.

It was about Ashley.

“It’s a pleasure to have Ashley Davenport back with us today,” Buck said, “and Ashley, I know I speak for all of us when I say we’re very happy to hear your brother is on the road to a full recovery.”

She smiled as she looked around the room. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate all your thoughts and prayers for him, and I know he really enjoyed the lovely flowers you sent him.”

Buck nodded. “Yes, I picked those out myself.”

He quickly held up his hand. “Okay, I was joking about that, but the rest of my announcement is no joke. I’m sorry to say Ashley gave our CEO her two weeks’ notice today, and she’ll be leaving us at the end of the month. As most of you know, she’s starting her own private detective agency, and she’s ending her internship here early so she can work on staffing her agency and be ready to move into her new building in a couple of months.”

Since many of Buck’s interns and surveillance team members were detective wannabes, I noticed several of them looked a little more alert after this announcement.

Buck continued, “I can honestly say Ashley’s been an asset to our division by the example of her work ethic, her willingness to take on any assignment, and her attention to detail.” He turned and looked down the table in her direction. “Personally, I’ll be sorry to see you go, Ashley.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Buck. You’re a good boss, and I’ve really enjoyed my time at DCSS working with you and your crew.”

He pretended to look angry at her remark. “Oh, now look what you’ve done. You’ve just destroyed my reputation. I suppose you know I’m gonna have to make the next two weeks as hard on you as possible.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”

I realized my position required me to say something, so I stood up and said, “I agree with Buck. It’s been a pleasure having you here at DCSS, Ashley, and I certainly echo everything he said about you. We all wish you much success at your new agency. All we ask is that when you have more clients than you can handle, you’ll recommend they make an appointment with us.”

A murmur of laughter traveled around the room, although I noticed Edman didn’t look that amused.

In fact, he looked very sad. “We’ll miss you, Ashley.”

“I’ve really enjoyed working with all of you, and I’m sure I’ll see many of you again, even after I leave here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll see some of us fairly often,” Hudson said, looking in my direction.

And on that note, I dismissed the meeting.

Moments later, I found Ashley waiting for me by the elevator.

Chapter 12

When I stopped to speak to Ashley, she asked me if I had time to talk, and naturally, I told her I did, but then I suggested we go up to my office where we’d have some privacy.

She smiled. “I like that idea.”

When the elevator arrived a few seconds later, it was empty, so once the doors were closed, I reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “It was nice seeing you in the conference room today.”

“Thanks. I enjoyed being there again. One thing’s for sure, there’s never a dull moment.”

“You’re right. Tyler and Grant were definitely in rare form today.”

As we got off on the fifth floor, I saw Claudia take off her reading glasses when she noticed Ashley was with me, and when I opened the door to the Operations suite, she was giving us her full attention.

Once we both greeted her, I said, “I need to meet with Ashley for a few minutes, but as soon as we’re finished, I’ll tell you what we discussed at the staff meeting.”

“Uh . . . okay.” She glanced over at Ashley. “I understand you won’t be with us much longer, Ms. Davenport.”

She smiled. “No, just two more weeks.”

“I know everyone around here will be very sorry to see you go, but I’m sure you’re anxious to get your detective agency set up.”

“You’re so right. I’m really excited about it.”

When both ladies seemed to have exhausted their social niceties, I told Claudia we’d talk later, and Ashley and I went back to my office.

As soon as I closed the door behind us, I pointed over at my coffeemaker and said, “I’m ready for some caffeine. How about you?”

“That sounds wonderful. Thanks.”

While I was fixing us each a cup, she walked over to the window. “I still love this view from your office. My new office has lots of windows, but the view isn’t nearly as nice as this one.”

I thought I heard a note of sadness in her voice, but I waited until she strolled over and picked up her coffee cup before I said anything about it. “It sounds like you might be upset about leaving DCSS.”

After she took a sip, she nodded. “Oh, I definitely am, but to be honest, I’m more upset about the conversation I had with Austin this morning. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m anxious to hear about it.” I pointed at the sofa. “Let’s have a seat first.” Once we sat down, I said, “I hope Austin didn’t give you a hard time about leaving your internship early. It’s certainly not the first time that’s happened.”

“No, he said he understood I needed time to interview my staff and get the place furnished, but what upset me was that he hinted he was worried about me stealing his employees in order to staff my agency. He was subtle about it, but I got the feeling he thought that was partly the reason I wanted to be an intern here in the first place.” She shook her head. “I was really disappointed when I heard that.”

“I can understand why that must have upset you, but don’t give it another thought. That’s just the way Austin’s mind works. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s always been overly suspicious of people, as well as his own security. Why do you think he doesn’t have a nameplate on his office door?”

She smiled. “That is a little strange. Austin’s a really charming guy, and as you know, my father thinks the world of him, but I guess his attitude just took me off guard because I wasn’t expecting it. It made me wonder if my leaving on such short notice had made him angry, and this was simply the way he chose to show it.”

“I’ll be truthful with you, Ashley, and if you hadn’t brought it up, I wouldn’t have told you this, but a few days after you arrived here, Austin voiced his concern about you being here for the purpose of scouting out our personnel. This isn’t something new with him.”

She looked surprised. “Really? He said that several months ago? Okay, that makes me feel a little better.”

“I’m sure you must have thought of this already, but don’t be surprised if some of the interns you’ve been working with approach you about interviewing for a position at your agency.”

She smiled. “That’s already happened, but I didn’t see any reason to discourage them from applying once their internship here is over. Jacob Javits has also been kidding around with me about putting in an application, but I’m pretty sure he’s joking with me.”

“I don’t think Austin would be upset about the interns going to work for your agency. There aren’t enough openings here at DCSS to hire most of them, so he expects them to get a job elsewhere.”

After brushing a few wispy strands of blonde hair away from her face, she said, “I’m glad I talked to you about this, Silas. I believe I can put the conversation with Austin out of my mind now and not think about it anymore.”

“Would it help you forget what Austin said if we talked about the Fenton case?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She took a drink of her coffee. “I was already planning to ask you if I could tag along with you tomorrow for your appointment with Wes Decker. Is that a possibility?”

“As a matter of fact, I told him I’d be bringing a colleague with me. While I’m there, I plan to drop in and see Charlotte and perhaps her mother as well. My appointment with Wes is at one o’clock, so maybe we could have lunch together before we go.”

“I’m all for that. Shall I tell Buck I’ll be working with you tomorrow, or will you take care of it?”

“I’ll let him know. I’ll text you tomorrow when I’m heading out to the parking lot around eleven-thirty.”

She glanced down at her watch, and then she picked up her iPad from the coffee table. “I better go now. I told my mother I’d stop by the rehab facility after work and see Dylan.”

As we both got up from the couch, she looked over at me as if she’d just thought of something. “Uh . . . you said you might pay Dylan a visit soon, so would you like to meet me at the rehab facility in a few minutes? It’s in North Dallas, so it’s not that far from your house.”

Her question took me off guard for a second, but then I said, “Sure. This is probably as good a time as any to stop in and see him. I’ll leave as soon as I talk to Claudia.”

“Okay. I’ll text you the address. Since I’ll be there before you, I’ll just meet you in Dylan’s room.”

“If he’s having a bad day when you get there, text me, and we’ll do it some other time.”

“I really think he’ll enjoy a visit from you. When I said something about you in front of my mother, he had some nice things to say about you.”

“Is that right? As you probably know, I usually deal with your father whenever I need to discuss DCSS issues at Precept, but one day, when I was quizzing Duncan about his future security needs, he called Dylan into his office and introduced us. I’m glad your brother had some nice things to say about me. I definitely felt we had a good rapport with each other, and I remember being very impressed with his answers.”

Dylan’s position at Precept Healthcare was Vice President of Strategic Development, and although he seemed a little young and inexperienced for the heavy title, he didn’t have any trouble answering every question I asked of him that day.

I figured when his father retired one day, Dylan would become the CEO of the company, so I was glad I was able to meet him that day, and if I was being honest with myself, it was partly the reason I told Ashley I’d go by and visit with him when he was in rehab.

Besides, I also knew it would make Ashley happy, and making her happy kept popping up on my agenda these days.

Once she left, and I walked over to my desk to look at my notes so I could discuss the staff meeting with Claudia, it suddenly dawned on me that Ashley said she and Dylan were talking about me in front of her mother.

I hadn’t met Marjorie Davenport yet—although I’d seen her picture in a glitzy Dallas magazine—and since Ashley seldom talked about her, I knew absolutely nothing about her other than she didn’t have a favorable reaction when she found out Ashley had become a believer. According to Ashley, when she told her about her newfound faith, her mother asked her if she’d joined a cult.

Now, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was that Ashley said to her mother about me that prompted Dylan to say some “nice things” in response.

Although I preferred to have those questions answered before I encountered Marjorie Davenport in person, I realized if she happened to be in his room when I showed up, I might not get the chance.

Could that be why Ashley invited me to stop by Dylan’s room?

Did Ashley want me to meet her mother?

* * * * * *

After entering the address for the Lone Star Recovery Center in my GPS, I headed out of the DCSS parking lot towards the expressway, and as soon as I merged into traffic going north, I gave Buck a call.

“Hey, Buck, do you have a minute to talk?”

“I’ve got more than a minute. What’s up?”

“First of all, I wanted to say thanks for acknowledging Ashley in such a nice way at the meeting today. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I meant what I said. She’s done a good job.”

“Speaking of Ashley, the other reason I called you is to let you know I plan to take her with me when I meet with Wes Decker at QWave Systems tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I kinda thought you might want to be with her. That’s why I didn’t give her a surveillance assignment.”

“I won’t deny I’m looking forward to being with her, but that isn’t the only reason I’d like to take her with me. After I meet with Wes, I plan to drop in and see Charlotte, and I’m hoping the two ladies will be comfortable enough with each other that Ashley can ask her some personal questions that might seem strange coming from me.”

“Hold on a second. Don’t tell me you suspect Charlotte of killing her father. You never said a word about that in the meeting today.”

“No, that’s not it. I can’t think of a single reason Charlotte would have for killing her father, and unless I wasn’t reading her correctly, she’s grieving over his death as much as her mother is.”

“So what kind of personal questions do you want Ashley to ask Charlotte?”

“I’m not prepared to answer that just yet. Give me another twenty-four hours, and I’ll tell you.”

“Not prepared to answer that? That must mean you have no idea what you’re doing or you’re just playing a hunch.”

“Can it be both?”

* * * * * *

The Lone Star Recovery Center was located at the end of a tree-lined road in Spring Meadows. It was a two-story, red brick building with a circle drive in front and a parking lot on one side. With its white shutters and colonial look, it could easily have been mistaken for a country club.

As I entered the lobby, I was immediately greeted by an impeccably coiffured receptionist seated at a mahogany desk in front of a fireplace. Across from her were several couches and chairs, plus a large grand piano.

An older gentleman—dressed in a tuxedo—was seated at the piano playing a tune, which I immediately identified as “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head.”

A few guests or patients—I couldn’t tell which—were either standing around the piano or seated on the couches listening to him.

I noticed the artwork on the walls were mostly bucolic scenes—rolling hills, rock-filled streams, fields of wildflowers—which gave off a calming vibe, and the greenery throughout the lobby reinforced this soothing ambience.

I smiled at the receptionist. “I’m here to visit Dylan Davenport. His room number is 114, and I believe I’m expected.”

She glanced at her computer. “Yes, that’s correct. Mr. Davenport is in the Occupational Therapy Room now, but he’ll be back in his room shortly. If you’ll fill out the questionnaire on this mobile tablet, I’ll have one of our attendants take you to his room.”

She handed me a mobile tablet, and after filling in the blanks for my name and phone number, I had to answer a series of personal health questions, which I assumed were intended to make sure I wasn’t about to infect their patients with some horrible disease.

Although it was a little irritating, I admired their professionalism.

In fact, when a male attendant, dressed in a blue blazer and khaki pants, was escorting me down a long hallway with subdued lighting, soft music, and polished wooden floors, I made a mental note to make the Lone Star Recovery Center my first choice if I ever had to undergo physical therapy in a rehab facility.

Although I wasn’t sure my insurance would pay the full cost for such a luxurious place, or even if they’d admit me in the first place, I figured Duncan Davenport, CEO of Precept Healthcare, had no problem getting a room for his son at the facility.

Unlike most medical centers, there were no antiseptic odors or medicinal smells lingering in the air, nor did I see any medical equipment stored in the hallway outside the patient rooms.

“Here you are, sir,” the attendant said, stopping at a door with the number 114 on it. “This is Dylan Davenport’s room.”

His demeanor reminded me of a hotel bellboy, and for a split second, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I should tip him, but then he headed back down to the lobby, and I discarded that notion.

A couple of seconds after I knocked on the door, Ashley opened it wide enough for me to see her but not wide enough for me to enter.

As soon as she did, I heard voices inside—loud angry voices.

Ashley grimaced a little and said, “I’m sorry, Silas. My mother’s having a disagreement with one of the directors, so let’s just talk here for a few minutes until they’re done.”

“Sure, I can even come back some other time, if you like.”

“No, it’ll be fine. Dylan is in a therapy session right now, but he should be finished in a few minutes, and my mother will probably leave when he gets back.”

“Who are you talking to, Ashley?”

She rolled her eyes and motioned for me to follow her inside. “I was speaking to Silas McKay from DCSS. He’s here to visit with Dylan.”

The room I entered was at least twice the size of a regular hospital room, plus it was a lot nicer. Besides having polished wooden floors, it was divided into two sections—a living area separated from the bedroom by a half-wall partition, and a bedroom section with a large picture window overlooking a well-manicured courtyard.

Marjorie Davenport was seated on the couch in the living area.

Across from her in a leather recliner was a man dressed in a suit and tie who stood to his feet when Ashley and I entered the room.

Ashley gestured toward her mother and said, “Mother, I’d like for you to meet Silas McKay. He’s the head of operations at DCSS, and the person who’s been mentoring my internship.” She nodded at me. “Silas, this is my mother, Marjorie.”

“Mrs. Davenport, I’m very pleased to meet you,” I said, offering her my hand. “It’s been a joy working with Ashley these past few months.”

She shook my hand. “Silas McKay. By any chance are you related to Colton McKay of McKay Oil and Gas? I’m on the Dallas Heritage Art Council with his wife, Cora Sue.”

“No. I’m not related to them. I was born and raised in Sherman, Texas, and I’ve only been living in Dallas a few years now.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, withdrawing her hand.

She looked very disappointed.

Ashley said, “Silas, this is Trevor Jacobson. He’s the director of the Recovery Center.”

After I shook hands with him, Marjorie said, “Trevor, I believe we’ve discussed my concerns sufficiently. Consequently, I’m sure you’ll address them accordingly.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see what accommodations can be made.”

As he headed for the door, she said, “I expect you to call me tomorrow to keep me informed.” When he got to the door, he turned around and gave her a brief nod before making his escape.

Once he closed the door behind him, Marjorie breathed a heavy sigh and shook her head. “That man. He’s so incredibly incompetent. Honestly, I have no idea how he became the director of this place.”

“He’s been the director here for fifteen years, Mother,” Ashley said. “I’m sure he would have been replaced if he wasn’t doing his job.”

“But this place is horrible. There’s no way Dylan can feel comfortable here. Haven’t you noticed the harsh lighting? And the sheets on Dylan’s bed feel like sandpaper.” She motioned toward a wooden cabinet beneath a large TV screen mounted on the wall. “And what about that coffee machine? There’s no way anyone could make a decent cup of coffee with that piece of garbage.”

I noticed that “piece of garbage” was the same brand of coffeemaker I had at my house, which I thought made excellent coffee, but I kept my mouth shut and let Ashley respond to her mother.

As she was pointing out Dylan’s stay at the facility would be a short one, the door opened, and Dylan slowly made his way inside using a four-wheeled rolling walker.

He looked surprised to see me standing in his room, but then he grinned and said, “Well, hi, Silas. It’s nice to see you.”

Before I had a chance to say anything, his mother picked up her handbag from the chair and walked over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “This room is too tiny for all of us to be here at the same time, so I’ll come back after dinner. If the food isn’t edible, call me, and I’ll have Phoebe make you something to eat and bring it with me.”

“Thank you, Mother, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She turned and gave me a polite wave. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. McKay. I'm sorry we couldn’t visit longer.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Mrs. Davenport.”

I couldn’t bring myself to say I was sorry we had such a short visit.

Once she left, Ashley looked over at me with a mischievous grin on her face. “And now you’ve met my mother.”

Dylan smiled. “And you’ve lived to tell about it.”

I shrugged. “What can I say?”

“Nothing,” they both said in unison.

PART THREE

Chapter 13

Wednesday, February 11

Marissa and I hadn’t been able to have a phone conversation in several days, so I called her as I was driving to DCSS headquarters Wednesday morning.

Although I’d planned to call her the night before, by the time I got home, fixed dinner, and took Guy for a two-mile walk, it was nine-thirty, and since I knew she had an eight o’clock class on Wednesday morning, I was afraid she might already be in bed.

Now, it was almost nine o’clock, so I figured she was either walking back to her dorm or sitting at one of the campus coffee shops sipping her favorite drink—a skinny cinnamon dolce latte.

“Hi, Dad,” she said, when she picked up. “I’m walking out of a very noisy building, so give me a second.”

“No problem. I’m happy to wait.”

“It’s good to hear your voice.” She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Okay, I’m outside now. How are you? I bet you’re on your way to work, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. I’m fine, Marissa. Of course, I’m super busy, but that’s a good thing. How about you?”

“Other than the fact I’m having a tough time in Calculus, and I’ll probably get a B in there, I’m doing great. Don’t worry, though. Gabe took the class last year, so he’s helping me a lot.”

“I’m glad Gabe’s able to help you, but a B isn’t a bad grade, you know, especially not in Calculus. You don’t have to get all A’s.”

She laughed. “You don’t need to give me that speech right now. I’m not stressing about my grades just yet. So how’s everything with you and Ashley? Are you officially dating her yet, or are you still pretending to see her for work-related reasons only?”

I chuckled a little. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s official now. And because we’re dating, Ashley gave Austin her two weeks’ notice yesterday. She’s leaving DCSS at the end of the month.”

“Oh, really? Well, that’s interesting.”

“She made the decision herself, but I was already thinking we might need to talk about it. She assured me it won’t be a hardship on her since her office building is almost ready, and she needs to start hiring personnel for her agency.”

“Forgive me, Dad, but it’s still hard for me to believe she’s serious about running her own private investigator business. Don’t people in her income bracket spend their time doing charity work or something?”

“Well, yeah, some do. In fact, her mother’s involved in various charities, but after I met Mrs. Davenport last night, I’m pretty sure Ashley doesn’t want to be anything like her mother.”

“I know you’ve been around a lot of important and well-to-do people in your life, but somehow, I can’t see you being all that comfortable around any member of Ashley’s family.”

I wondered if she meant Ashley’s family or Ashley herself.

If she meant Ashley, then it wouldn’t be the first time my daughter had voiced her concern about how compatible Ashley and I were for each other. “I don’t expect to be spending much time with Ashley’s family. Right now, we’re just enjoying each other’s company, but I couldn’t possibly say what the status of our relationship will be six months from now or where we’ll end up.”

“Yeah, it’s a little early to know that.”

The oddness of my daughter and I having this conversation about another woman suddenly hit me, and I decided to change the subject. “Since Gabe’s spending his time tutoring you in Calculus, it sounds like the two of you are getting along fine.”

“Things couldn’t be better. He’s taking me out to a very expensive restaurant Saturday night, but he’s keeping it a secret. He just told me I should wear something fancy.”

“Sounds like he wants it to be something special.”

“You do know Saturday is Valentine’s Day, don’t you?”

“Uh . . . no, I hadn’t actually thought about it.”

“Well, since you’re officially dating Ashley, maybe you should.”

I let out a short laugh. “I’ll have Claudia put it on my calendar.”

* * * * * *

I arrived at DCSS headquarters shortly after I said goodbye to Marissa, but I wasn’t in my office for more than thirty minutes before Norwell called and said he had some information about Trent Wade he thought I should see.

He told me everything was already set up on his computer—he had three wide-screen monitors strung out across his desk—so to save time, he suggested I come down to his office. As soon as I grabbed my coffee cup, I went down to see him.

Norwell’s private office was located a few feet away from the reception area, and since Claudia was on the phone, I pointed at Norwell’s door to let her know I’d be in his office, and I didn’t need to speak to her.

She nodded and continued her conversation, which from what I could tell, was more about someone’s personal business than it was about DCSS business. “Oh, yeah,” she said, “that’s exactly what I thought when I heard the news about her too.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if they were talking about Ashley, or maybe even the two of us, but I quickly dismissed that thought almost as soon as it popped in my head.

When it came to what other people thought about me, I had one philosophy, and it was very simple—it didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was what God thought about me.

If he was pleased with me, then nothing else mattered.

* * * * * *

As soon as I entered Norwell’s office, I could tell by the look on his face, he thought he’d found something interesting.

“So tell me about Trent Wade,” I said, as I sat down in front of his desk. “What have you turned up on Charlotte’s fiancé?”

“I’m preparing a full dossier on him, but here are the bullet points, or at least what I think you need to know about him immediately.”

He swiveled one of his computer screens around for me to see.

On the monitor was a collage of several images—a real estate listing for a beautiful home, a newspaper article from the Dayton Daily News, and a photograph of a contemporary-looking building with a sign across it that said Prestige Media Systems.

“What am I looking at here?” I asked.

“Those images are related to how I arrived at my first bullet point about Trent Wade. Before I explain them, I figured you’d like to know that I definitely confirmed what Charlotte told you about him.”

He quickly went through the basic facts Charlotte told Tomlin and me about Wade growing up in Dayton, Ohio, and attending the University of Dayton before dropping out during his sophomore year when his parents were killed in a car accident.

He said, “So everything he told Charlotte about growing up in Dayton checks out. But what struck me as suspicious about Wade was what you said about him living at the resort in Cabo San Lucas for a year before he got bored and went to work for the home theater company. I wondered if that was actually true, or if his money ran out, and that was the reason he took the job.”

“I admit the same thing occurred to me.”

“Obviously, the only way for me to determine that was to find out how much he and his sister inherited from his parents’ estate when it was settled.”

He glanced over at what appeared to be a spreadsheet on one of his monitors, and then he motioned toward the monitor in front of me. “The article you’re looking at there is from the local newspaper, and as you can see from the headline, they’re reporting on the fatal accident that killed Trent’s parents, Clint and Sandra Wade. Notice how the reporter describes the Wades as highly respected members of the Dayton community.”

I read some of the article out loud. “Clint and Sandra Wade were a vital part of the Dayton community and will always be remembered for their entrepreneurial and philanthropic spirit.”

Norwell said, “The entrepreneurial part is referring to Clint Wade’s business, Prestige Media Systems. That’s a picture of their building on your screen. He started the company to provide state-of-the-art media systems for corporations and educational institutions, as well as wealthy clients.”

“I guess that explains why Trent went to work for a similar company in Cabo. He probably knew what he was doing.”

“I’m sure that’s true. But the strange part is why he went to work in the first place. From what I’ve been able to figure out, his parents’ estate was probably worth at least ten million dollars. The realtor listed their home for two million, and their business sold for over seven million dollars, so even if he shared half of the money with his sister, taking a job for a home theater company doesn’t make a lot of sense when you’re worth five million dollars.”

“I’m sure it was pretty expensive taking up residence in a resort for a whole year. But even so, I can’t believe he blew through that much money in a year.”

“Click over to the next screen, and you’ll see some photographs he posted on social media while he was living at the resort. They’ll give you an idea of what he was doing during that year.”

It took me a few minutes to scan through all the images. Wade seemed to be with a different group of young people in every picture. In one, he was on what appeared to be a luxury yacht. In another, he was parasailing with two females, and there were several photos of him and a couple of guys enjoying themselves in a hotel casino.

There were also pictures of him in a luxury spa, on the beach with a beautiful sunset in the background, and partying at different nightclubs. In each of the posts he had comments like, “living the good life,” and “it doesn’t get any better than this,” and “exploring paradise one day at a time.”

I said, “Yeah, all this ‘living the good life’ took money all right, but unless he was dropping a lot of cash at the casinos, I have to believe he wasn’t broke when he decided to go to work.”

“Exactly. So why did he do it?”

“It sounds like you’re not buying the idea he was bored, and you suspect he had an ulterior motive for getting a job in Cabo.”

“You got that right. After spending several hours sifting through those images and calculating what his inheritance was worth, that was definitely my conclusion. I’m sure he still had plenty of money to live a very comfortable life, but I figure he decided he didn’t wanna just be comfortable; he wanted to be rich, like filthy rich.”

I took a drink of my coffee to give myself time to think about what Norwell was saying. Then, as I set my cup back down on the desk, I nodded. “Okay. So your analysis of Wade is that he took the job setting up media rooms in the homes of wealthy clients in order to meet someone, say a single woman with a trust fund whose father was a multi-millionaire, someone like Charlotte.”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. I know it sounds very calculating, but we’ve investigated enough high-paid executives who’ve engaged in criminal activity to know they’re very shrewd in how they achieve their objectives. Of course, what Trent did in pursuing Charlotte isn’t a crime, but you understand what I’m saying.”

“Sure, I know what you’re saying. It’s the time-honored marrying-for-money concept, and I agree it’s plausible this was Trent’s objective when he took the job at the electronics company. What are your thoughts about why he enrolled in real estate school here in Dallas?”

He shrugged. “It may be just a way for him to show Charlotte and her family that he’s not a bum. It’s not costing him but a thousand bucks to take those classes. The serious money will come into play if he decides to start his own real estate business.”

“I’m sure you’ve been able to locate an address for him. Is he leasing or did he buy a place here in Dallas?”

“Yeah, I didn’t have any problem getting an address for him. He’s renting a two-bedroom apartment in Preston Hollow Village, and he’s also leasing a BMW. If you’re considering setting up surveillance on him, I think that’s a good idea.”

“I’ll consider it, but it might be a waste of time if he has an alibi for the night Fenton was killed.”

“You can find that out pretty easily, can’t you?”

I nodded. “I’m seeing Charlotte after my meeting with Wes Decker today, and I’ll try to work it into the conversation. Once I talk to her, I’ll decide about putting Trent under surveillance.” I gestured toward his computer. “Do you have anything else for me?”

“Just one more thing. If you don’t mind, I thought I’d look into the circumstances of the car accident that killed Trent’s parents.”

“Uh . . . no, that’s not a problem, but why did you—”

“Let’s just say I’m curious about it. Trent came into a bundle of money as a result of their accident, and from what I can tell, he immediately liquidated all the assets of the estate as soon as possible, even though it sounds like he could have taken over his parents’ business and continued living in a two-million-dollar house.”

“Sure, go ahead and look into it, Mike. I’m not about to say no now that you’ve made me curious about it too.”

He smiled again. “I’ll keep you updated.”

I stood up and grabbed my coffee cup. “Go ahead and send me the full profile on Trent, and I’ll have Ashley take a look at it when we’re on our way over to interview Decker this afternoon.”

He gave me a crooked grin. “Speaking of Ashley, do you mind telling me what’s going on with her? Since you’re taking her with you this afternoon, I guess that means you’re still getting along, but if that’s true, then why did she suddenly decide to resign?”

“You’re right. We’re getting along just fine. And to answer your question . . .” I paused a second. “That’s the reason she decided to resign.”

It took him a couple of seconds, but then he nodded. “Oh, I get it. The two of you are in a relationship now.”

“Let’s just say I agree with your analysis and leave it at that.”

He gave me a thumbs-up.

We left it at that.

Chapter 14

Before our one o’clock appointment at QWave Systems, Ashley and I went to lunch at a place called The Green Onion. This was her choice when I asked her to pick a restaurant near the tech area so we wouldn’t get caught in lunch-hour traffic.

I wasn’t familiar with The Green Onion, which didn’t surprise me when I found out it specialized in homemade soups and quiche—not exactly the sort of eating establishment I frequented.

Since I wasn’t that hungry, I figured it would be okay.

She ordered the spinach and feta cheese quiche, and I had a ham, spinach, and ricotta quiche, and we both had the potato soup with green onions, which she said was the house specialty.

I was amused when she didn’t bring up anything about her mother until we were almost finished with our meal—which I found surprisingly filling—but from her comment, I realized she was expecting me to bring up the topic first.

“You haven’t said anything about meeting my mother yet, but it’s okay if you want to talk about it. I don’t mind.”

“If you mean the concern she expressed for Dylan’s well-being at the rehab center, I’m sure a lot of mothers would feel the same way.”

She brushed the air with her hand. “You’re being very diplomatic, Silas, and I appreciate that, but my mother’s always had a tendency to think the people in her life function best under her direction, and she never minds pointing that out to them.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, my mother was a little bossy too.”

She shook her head. “If my mother was just bossy, she might be easier to take, but the truth is, she’s accustomed to people catering to her, and as you probably noticed, she’s also a bit of a snob.”

I chuckled. “I suppose you’re referring to her obvious disappointment when she asked me if I was related to Colton McKay of McKay Oil and Gas. Believe me, I wasn’t the least bit offended.”

She laid her hand on top of mine. “I’m glad it didn’t bother you. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“By any chance, were you hoping she’d be at the rehab center when I dropped by there yesterday?”

She hung her head like she was embarrassed. “I should have known you’d see right through that. Can you forgive me? I was just anxious for her to meet you, and that seemed like a good opportunity. Of course, I wasn’t expecting her to be complaining to the director when you showed up.”

“So it sounds like it was more about wanting your mother to meet me than it was about me meeting your mother. Is that because you had a previous conversation with her about me, and she didn’t have a favorable reaction?”

“Uh-huh. Something like that.”

She took a drink of her water. “What happened was, one day at the hospital, she overheard me telling Dylan how much I appreciated all the time you’d spent mentoring me, and how much I was learning from you about how to live out my faith. When she heard that, she warned me that a man who was that nice was probably a phony and was only out to get something from me.”

Although I smiled at her, I decided not to comment.

She continued. “When my mother said that, Dylan told her she was wrong, and he was sure you were a man of integrity. Of course, I agreed with him, but I knew she probably wouldn’t change her mind until she met you, and that’s why I asked you to drop by yesterday.”

“Your mother and I didn’t have a chance to have a real conversation, so I doubt if she’s changed her mind about me.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll arrange for us to go out to dinner with both of my parents soon, and since you and my dad are friends, I’m sure she’ll change her mind about you by the end of the evening.”

Since I suspected her mother’s animosity toward me was because I’d encouraged Ashley to become a believer, I had a feeling it would take more than having dinner with me for Marjorie Davenport to change her mind.

I didn’t share those thoughts with Ashley, though.

I felt sure she suspected that already.

* * * * * *

As we were finishing lunch, I updated Ashley about what Norwell told me about Trent Wade, and then I explained my purpose for meeting with Decker—to learn more about Rusty Weidman’s merger offer and to get his opinion about Charlotte and her future at QWave.

I paused while the waitress brought our check to the table, and then I said, “As with any interview, there’s bound to be something that comes up we weren’t expecting, so don’t be surprised if I veer off in another direction. While I’ll take the lead in questioning Wes, if you have a question for him, don’t hesitate to ask it.”

“As you’ve probably noticed, I’m not shy about doing that.”

Once we were on our way over to QWave, Ashley said, “You mentioned you wanted to see Charlotte when we finished talking to Wes. Is that because you plan to question her about Trent’s whereabouts the night of Sherwood’s murder?”

“Yes, but I’ll need to be subtle about it. One of the reasons I wanted you to come with me is because you and Charlotte have similar business backgrounds, so if you see an opportunity to make a connection with her—for example, by talking about working for your father—then she might do the same. If that happens, I think we’ll be able to know if her relationship with Sherwood was as amicable as she indicated it was when she spoke to Austin and me on Monday.”

“Since she has her master’s degree from MIT and understands quantum computing, I’m not sure how much of a connection I can make with her. Those courses weren’t in my degree program.”

“I’m more interested in you finding common ground with her on a woman-to-woman basis. She was eager to talk about her upcoming wedding, so maybe that could be a starting point for you.”

“Oh, sure, I can probably manage some girl talk with her. That won’t be a problem.”

A few minutes later, we pulled up to the security gate at QWave Systems, and as we waited for the car in front of us to be cleared, I noticed it was a BMW—a bright red BMW—and then I realized the person sitting in the front passenger seat was Charlotte Fenton.

I was pretty sure Trent Wade was the driver, but the back of his head was partially obscured by a male passenger in the backseat.

I pointed out my observation to Ashley, but before she could respond, the BMW went through the gate, and it was our turn. Once the guard checked our IDs on his computer, he also waved us through.

“This could be our lucky day,” Ashley said. “Maybe Trent will be with Charlotte when we stop by her office to see her.”

“Yeah, that would be great, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen. It looks like he’s just dropping her off at the front door.”

While the BMW was driving around to the front entrance, I backed into a visitor parking space and cut the engine. As we sat there and watched them for a moment, an idea occurred to me, so I immediately unstrapped my seatbelt and pointed over to the entrance. “Let’s see if we can make it up there before Trent drives off. If we do, maybe Charlotte will introduce us to him.”

Ashley and I quickly walked up the sidewalk—although I hoped our hurried pace didn’t look too obvious—but when we saw Wade getting out and walking around to open Charlotte’s door for her, we slowed down so we’d arrive at the exact moment she was emerging from the vehicle.

Our timing was perfect.

“Well, hi, Silas,” she said, giving us a wave. “I got your message about wanting to see me today. I plan to be in my office all afternoon, so when you finish with Wes, feel free to drop by.”

“Okay, thanks. That’s what we’ll do.” I gestured toward Ashley. “Charlotte, this is my colleague, Ashley Davenport. Ashley, this is Charlotte Fenton, Sherwood’s daughter.”

Charlotte gave Ashley a nod, and then she introduced us both to Wade, emphasizing that he was her fiancé. Wade had a big smile on his face as we shook hands with each other.

“Nice meeting you, Silas. Charlotte’s told me she’s counting on you finding the person who murdered her father.” He nodded at Ashley. “I’m pleased to meet you too, Ashley.”

As Charlotte and I were making these introductions, the guy in the backseat of the BMW had gotten out of the car and was opening the front passenger door, obviously intending to take the spot recently occupied by Charlotte.

There was something familiar about the man, but I couldn’t decide what it was. He had Hispanic features, short black hair, a well-trimmed mustache, and a stocky build. He was wearing a blue windbreaker over a black knit shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of athletic shoes. A gold chain was around his heavily tattooed neck.

He acted like he didn’t want to be noticed, but just as he was about to slip inside the BMW, Charlotte turned toward him and said, “Miguel, come here and let me introduce you.”

Charlotte gave Wade a stern look as if she might be upset with him for not taking the initiative to make the introductions, but then she put a smile on her face when she turned toward Ashley and me and said, “This is Miguel Vargas, one of Trent’s friends from Cabo. He’s staying with Trent for a few weeks.”

Once she told Miguel our names, I asked, “Have you been to Dallas before or is this your first time?”

“This is my first time.” His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, which also matched his facial expression.

I thought the man seemed uncomfortable with the situation, and when Wade said, “Okay, I guess we’ll be going now. I’ll see you this evening, Charlotte,” I wondered if he noticed it too.

When Wade leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek, Vargas got inside the BMW without saying a word to us, but as Wade was walking over to get in the driver’s seat, he turned around and gave us a wave. “It was nice meeting you both.”

The moment I spotted Wade and Vargas sitting in the front seat together, I suddenly realized why Vargas looked so familiar.

He was in one of Wade’s social media posts Norwell had shown me earlier. The two of them were sitting side-by-side at a table in one of Cabo’s resort casinos. In that photo, they were both laughing.

I made myself a mental note to have Norwell find out more about Miguel Vargas as soon as I got back to the office. Not only was I curious about the guy’s background, I also wanted to know why he was carrying a gun.

I’d caught a glimpse of it inside a side holster attached to his waist when he got out of the backseat and was adjusting his jacket before Charlotte introduced us.

Since it seemed logical to assume he’d flown to Dallas from Cabo, he must have purchased the weapon after he arrived here.

But why? What kind of danger was he in?

* * * * * *

As Ashley and I rode the elevator up to the third floor with Charlotte, I set aside my questions about Wade and Vargas to concentrate on the conversation between Charlotte and Ashley.

During the short ride, it was Charlotte who seemed to be interested in reaching out to Ashley, rather than the other way around.

Charlotte began by asking her where she’d purchased her leather tote bag. “I love your fabulous bag. It’s just the right size. The ones I’ve been looking at are either too big or they look masculine.”

“I got this one in Paris several years ago,” Ashley said. “As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it. It’s really convenient because I can put all the items from my purse in here, along with my laptop and my iPad. That way, I don’t have to carry an extra handbag.”

“Oh, absolutely. Were you vacationing in Paris?”

By the time we stepped off the elevator, I had no worries about Ashley and Charlotte finding common ground. They were talking to each other like they were sorority sisters.

Charlotte even walked us down to Wes Decker’s office, although I assured her I’d been there several times.

“Here you are,” she said, opening the door to Decker’s suite. “I’ll see you in my office when you get finished with Wes.”

Decker’s assistant told us he was expecting us, so we followed her over to his private office, and when she led us inside, we found him sitting at a small round conference table.

He stood to his feet as we walked in.

After I introduced Ashley to him, he gestured toward a couple of seats around the table. When the three of us sat down, I was in the middle with Decker on my right and Ashley on my left.

She immediately removed her iPad from her “fabulous” tote bag, but I waited a moment before I took my cell phone out of my pocket. Having worked with Decker before, I knew his pattern was to engage in small talk before we got down to business.

However, he brought up Sherwood’s murder as soon as he took his seat again, so I assumed he was eager to get to the point of our visit.

“Just so you know, Silas, I was very pleased when Louise told me she’d made the decision to ask you and Austin to conduct a private investigation into Sherwood’s murder. I believe it’s imperative for the future of this company that the killer be identified ASAP, and unfortunately, the detectives in the DPD are so overworked, I don’t believe they’ll find the person anytime soon.”

“I appreciate your confidence in us, Wes, and I assure you, we’ll do our best to find the person who killed him. Do you believe Sherwood’s murder has already affected the company, or are you just concerned about what might happen in the future?”

“I haven’t seen any repercussions so far, but then, it hasn’t been that long since it happened. Of course, as you can imagine, our employees have been affected. Sherwood was a good boss and everyone liked him, so morale is obviously down.” He paused and raised his hand slightly. “But to answer your question, I’m mainly concerned about the confidence our clients have in the company, plus QWave’s reputation in the industry.”

“Okay, thanks for clarifying that.”

He nodded. “I suppose it goes without saying that I’m worried about our competition taking advantage of the situation.”

“So let’s talk about your competition. Your main competitor in cybersecurity software is Quantum Tech, right?”

“Correct, and Louise told me you already know about Rusty Weidman, and the merger that never happened.”

“In that case, I have to believe you’re anticipating my next question.”

“I’m sure you want to know if I think Rusty could be behind Sherwood’s murder.”

When I nodded, he smiled slightly and said, “Well, the guy certainly has a temper, and I saw it on full display when Sherwood told him he wasn’t interested in his merger offer. But no, I don’t believe he killed Sherwood. I know that’s what Louise and Charlotte think, but I haven’t bought into that theory.”

“Why not?”

“I just think Rusty is one of those people who blows up when he’s angry, and then he’s over it. We both belong to the same gym, and when I saw him a few days after that meeting, he seemed perfectly fine. We even joked around with each other.”

Ashley spoke up for the first time. “Do you mean you joked around about the merger deal?”

“No, he never even brought it up.”

I asked, “What were Sherwood’s feelings about Rusty after he lost his temper at the meeting? Was he angry with him?”

He shook his head. “No. Sherwood seldom got upset with anyone. I’m pretty sure it was because he was good at reading people. In Rusty’s case, I believe Sherwood recognized Rusty just needed to vent, and once he did, that was the end of it.”

“Well, then, that brings me to my next question. Can you think of anyone who works here at QWave Systems that might have wanted Sherwood dead?”

He sighed. “No. The police asked me the same thing, but I couldn’t think of a single person here at QWave, or even someone who worked here in the past, who had any problems with Sherwood.”

“Since you’ve already told us you don’t believe Rusty could have murdered Sherwood, does that mean you think the shooting was just a random thing?”

He shrugged. “It’s certainly possible. After all, it’s a crazy world out there these days.”

As he was voicing this opinion, he looked away from me, as if he wasn’t confident in what he was saying.

“Okay, but what if it wasn’t a random thing? Do you have someone in mind you’d like for us to investigate as a possible suspect?”

He looked troubled for a second. “Uh . . . yeah . . . maybe, but I admit I’m apprehensive about giving you the name.”

“I assure you, Wes, whatever you tell us will remain confidential. We’re working independently from the police, and we’re not obligated to share information with them until we have conclusive proof of the killer’s identity.”

“I’m not worried about the police, but if I have your word you won’t tell anyone here at QWave that I gave you this name, then I guess I’ll be okay with it.”

“You have my word.”

He rubbed his hands together nervously. “A month before he was killed, Sherwood confided in me about someone, and now, I think it’s possible this person might have had something to do with his murder. I’m only saying it’s possible, though.”

“I understand, but I’m gonna need a name.”

“Uh . . . okay. I’ll tell you.”

Chapter 15

When Decker paused yet again, I wondered if he’d changed his mind about revealing the name of the person, but after clasping his hands together as if he were bracing himself, I realized he was only mustering his courage.

“Sherwood told me he was getting some bad vibes from Charlotte’s fiancé, Trent Wade. He’s a guy she met down in Cabo San Lucas not long after Sherwood bought a second home down there.”

“We just met Trent downstairs. What do you mean by bad vibes?”

“Like I said before, Sherwood could read people pretty well, and he told me he just didn’t feel right about the guy, especially after he started asking him questions about QWave’s financial status, and what role Charlotte would have in the company’s future.”

Ashley asked, “Was this before or after they got engaged?”

“It was after. And yeah, I understand that might seem like a normal question since Trent was making plans for his future with Charlotte, and that’s pretty much what I pointed out to Sherwood.”

“Did he agree with you?”

“No, he was skeptical, but he said he’d give it some thought. Then, about a week after that conversation, he told me Trent had approached him about investing a million dollars in a risky real estate venture, and he was pressuring him for an answer.”

“A million dollars? Did Charlotte know about Trent’s request?”

“No, she didn’t know anything about it. Sherwood told me he was trying to decide whether to tell her or not.”

“So what specifically was Trent asking Sherwood to do?”

“He wanted Sherwood to finance his real estate business. He told him once he got his license, he planned to start his own agency and specialize in developing commercial properties, like shopping centers and office buildings.”

I nodded. “In today’s market, that could be risky, all right. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say Sherwood turned him down.”

“Of course he did. With Trent’s inexperience and the fluctuating market for commercial property, Sherwood knew it wasn’t a good investment, so he told him he wouldn’t be interested. Instead, he suggested Trent join an established real estate company and learn the business before going out on his own.”

“Did he say how Trent reacted to his advice?”

“He said he seemed disappointed he wasn’t willing to help him, but he wasn’t angry about it, which was why Sherwood decided not to mention anything about it to Charlotte.” He gestured toward me. “I’ve never said a word to either Louise or Charlotte about it either.”

“Sure, I get it. Since Trent wasn’t upset or didn’t threaten Sherwood, there wouldn’t be any reason to mention it.”

Decker had always been one of those people who took his time explaining his position, so it didn’t surprise me when he continued making his case for me to look into Wade.

“On the other hand,” Decker said, “I don’t know if you’re aware of it or not, but Charlotte will eventually become the CEO of QWave, so Trent definitely had a motive for wanting Sherwood out of the picture, especially if he thought he could convince her to give him money to start his own real estate business after they were married.”

“Charlotte seems to be in love with the guy, so I don’t think it would take much to convince her to give him whatever he wanted.”

Decker nodded. “Exactly. The only time I’ve been around him was at their engagement party, but he seems like a self-confident guy, and I also suspect he can be extremely persuasive.”

Ashley gestured at him. “After Sherwood told Trent he wouldn’t be partners with him, was he still concerned about him?”

“Oh, yeah. I know he still had doubts about the guy because of what happened three days before he was murdered.”

I asked, “Are you saying Sherwood had a confrontation with him?”

“No, nothing like that. It was something Sherwood said when I dropped by his office and noticed a new picture frame on his desk. Since there was a box and some wrapping paper beside it, I asked him if it was a present from someone.”

Decker flipped his hand toward us. “I was surprised at the disgusted look on Sherwood’s face when he turned the frame around and showed me Charlotte and Trent’s official engagement picture. When I asked him if there was something about the picture that bothered him, he said, ‘I don’t trust this man, and the thought of Charlotte marrying him makes me sick, but I can’t decide what to do about it.’ I didn’t have an answer for him, so we dropped the subject, and that was the last time I spoke to Sherwood.”

We were quiet for a moment, and then Ashley said, “I’m sure that must be a difficult memory to carry around with you.”

“You can say that again. It’s haunted me ever since, and now I’m sure you can understand why I have my suspicions about Trent.”

I said, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever voiced your concerns to Louise or Charlotte.”

“No, of course not! I didn’t think that would be appropriate without any actual evidence, and to be honest, I’ve also asked myself if I might just be letting my feelings get the best of me. One thing’s for sure, I know I’ll feel a lot better if you can assure me Trent had nothing to do with Sherwood’s murder. In my way of thinking, I owe it to Sherwood to explore that possibility before Charlotte marries him.”

“And I’m sure if Sherwood were alive, he’d appreciate what you’re trying to do. What I can tell you is that all of us at DCSS are doing our best to find the person who murdered him.”

“I believe that, Silas. Is there any way I can help?”

After I described how each of my division heads was looking at the murder suspect from their own area of expertise, I asked him if Tyler Hudson could contact the CFO at QWave to discuss the possibility that someone at the company was embezzling funds and had murdered Sherwood to cover it up.

Although he expressed disbelief at that suggestion, he gave me his permission, and he also said he would notify QWave’s CFO.

Once I covered that, I asked him if he’d given any thought to the possibility a foreign intelligence agency had decided to remove Sherwood.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmm. No, I haven’t considered it. Are you asking me that because Charlotte told you about the National Security Agency contacting us about our QFP Program?”

“Yes, she told us someone from the NSA had approached Sherwood about QWave’s firewall protection for use on government computers.”

“In reality, I think it would be foolish for a foreign government to think removing Sherwood would affect the existence of our software, but I suppose they might be afraid he’s developing other programs that would make it more difficult to spy on our government, so in that case, taking out Sherwood might make sense.”

“The head of my corporate espionage division, Grant Edman, has some expertise in dealing with threats that foreign entities pose to businesses,” I said, “so could I have your permission for him to call you and discuss this with you?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be happy to talk to him about it.”

“Okay, I’ll let him know. I’m sure he’ll contact you soon.”

Decker shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you this before, but could I have my assistant bring us some coffee or perhaps a soft drink? I was so eager to talk about everything, I forgot my manners.”

After Ashley declined his offer, I shook my head. “I’m good, Wes. We’re about finished here anyway. I just have one more question, and it’s somewhat personal in nature. I understand Sherwood made no secret of the fact he planned for Charlotte to take over as CEO when he retired. Were you surprised when Louise asked you to temporarily take on the responsibilities of CEO instead of having Charlotte assume those duties?”

He shrugged. “Not really. When Louise discussed it with me, she said she thought Charlotte was too preoccupied with her wedding plans to assume the CEO duties right now, and I agreed with her. I told her I thought it would be more beneficial if Charlotte were to take over my duties for a year before becoming the CEO, and she said she thought that was a good suggestion. Charlotte was okay with it too, so Louise recently made that announcement to our employees.”

Ashley said, “Do you think it might be difficult for you to resume the duties of chief operating officer after you’ve been the CEO?”

Although I thought it was a good question, Decker appeared to be a little hesitant as he answered it. “Uh . . . no. I don’t see it as a problem. Not at all. Uh . . . Uh . . . I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He didn’t sound like he was convinced about that, and I had a feeling he recognized it too, because a few seconds later, he let out a nervous laugh and said, “I’ll just remind myself how good it’ll look on my resume that I’ve been the CEO of a major tech company.”

By mentioning his resume, it made me wonder if he was thinking about leaving QWave when he was no longer the CEO, but the question didn’t seem relevant to my investigation, so I decided not to ask it.

Instead, I told him I appreciated his time, and then as we got up to leave, I thought of something I should have asked him earlier. “Since you suspect Trent of murdering Sherwood, does that mean you’re sure he doesn’t have an alibi for that night?”

“I don’t know if he has an alibi or not. When the police arrived at the restaurant, Charlotte told me Louise called her, and while she was driving over there, she called me, but she didn’t say anything about Trent, and he never showed up at the restaurant while I was there.”

“Okay, thanks for that information. If you think of anything that might be helpful to us, just give me a call.”

“I promise I’ll do that. I just hope you find the person who killed Sherwood ASAP, even if it turns out to be Trent Wade.”

As Ashley and I left Decker and were walking down to Charlotte’s office, she said, “I don’t know about you, Silas, but to me it looks like all the arrows are pointing in Trent’s direction.”

“It looks that way, all right, but whenever that happens, I try to remind myself that arrows aren’t always aimed at the right target.”

* * * * * *

When Charlotte led us into her private office, and I saw the expensive-looking Persian rug on the floor as well as the eye-catching posters on the wall, I couldn’t help but think the décor reflected her wealthy upbringing as well as her interest in quantum computing.

One of the posters was a multi-colored drawing of interconnected quantum particles, and hanging next to it was a poster depicting quantum waves, which used blue luminescent lines displayed against a cosmic background.

Once we were seated in her guest chairs, Charlotte responded to a compliment Ashley made about the color scheme in the room.

“Yes, don’t you just love it? My interior designer described it as ‘muted tones of deep blue and cool gray interspersed with splashes of cranberry,’ but I’m sure designers take classes that teach them how to describe their ideas to clients so they always sound unique and exotic.”

“Oh, that’s so true, isn’t it? I know exactly what you mean.”

Since Emma was an interior designer, I was tempted to tell them I’d never heard her mention a class like that, but I figured my comment would put a damper on their conversation, so I kept quiet.

Although I was listening to them as they talked about decorating styles they liked, I was also thinking about Decker’s allegations against Wade, which is why I had to stifle an urge to interrupt them during a brief lull in their conversation so I could ask Charlotte about Wade’s whereabouts the night her father was murdered.

I also wanted to ask her what she knew about Miguel Vargas.

However, since I didn’t want Charlotte to think her fiancé or his friend were on my radar, I knew I had to make sure the questions I asked her didn’t sound like an interrogation.

I still hadn’t figured out how to do that when Charlotte finally looked over at me and said, “Well, Silas, I guess we should talk about why you’re here now. The message you left on my voicemail just said you had some follow-up questions for me. What did you want to ask me?”

“After I left here the other day, I realized I hadn’t given you a chance to tell me where you were and what you were doing when you heard your father had been murdered. I’m sure that must have been a shock to you. Do you mind talking about it?”

“No, of course not, especially if it would help you in your investigation.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “You really think it will help you with your investigation?”

“Yes, I do. As your mother mentioned, the police said it was possible her life was in danger that night, so I think it’s important to figure out if you might have been a target too.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously? You really think Rusty Weidman wanted to kill me too?”

I immediately held up my hand. “Rusty’s on our list of possible suspects, but we don’t have any evidence he’s the shooter yet. The reason I’d like to know what you were doing that night is to help me determine who the shooter might be.”

She nodded. “Okay, I understand. And yes, I see why you’re asking me that. But since Trent and I were having dinner together at my place that night, I don’t believe I was ever in any danger.”

“So Trent was with you that night?”

“Not the whole night. He came over around six o’clock, but since he had a test the next day, he left a little after seven so he could go back to his apartment and study. I got a call from my mother around nine, and I drove over to the restaurant as soon as she called me.”

“Did you call Trent to let him know about the shooting?”

“No, not immediately. I didn’t get in touch with him until after the police said it was okay for me to take my mother home. I called him once we got to her house, which I think was around eleven-thirty. He said he was wide awake because he was still studying, and he offered to come over and stay with us, but her housekeeper was there, so there wasn’t any need for him to do that. I just told him I’d talk to him the next day. Honestly, it never occurred to me I was in any danger that night, and the police certainly didn’t think I was.”

“No, I agree,” I said. “It doesn’t sound like you were.”

What it sounded like was that Trent could have been the shooter.

* * * * * *

After Charlotte talked about the police coming to their house the next day to question them, she admitted she was finding it difficult to relive the circumstances of her father’s death, so when I said I didn’t have any more questions, Ashley immediately changed the subject and asked her to tell us about her wedding plans.

While she was talking about their plans to have the wedding in Cabo, I was trying to figure out how to introduce the subject of Miguel Vargas. I finally saw an opening when Ashley asked her how many bridesmaids she planned to have at the wedding.

“I wanted ten, but since Trent said he couldn’t think of more than four guys in Cabo who’d be willing to be his groomsmen, and he hadn’t stayed in touch with any of his Dayton friends, I decided to have eight. Of course, that means I’ll need to ask some of my guy friends to be his groomsmen, but I still told him he has to choose his own best man.”

“What about the guy we just met?” I asked. “Do you think Trent will ask him to be his best man?”

“Miguel? I hope not.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not even sure what he’s doing here. I never saw them hanging out together in Cabo, so it surprised me when Trent told me he’s staying with him.”

Naturally, I wanted to ask Charlotte some more questions about Vargas, but when Ashley said, “It sounds like you don’t really like Miguel,” I realized her approach was much better.

“No, I don’t. I know you must have noticed how unfriendly he was. Don’t take it personally, though. He treats me the same way, although he sure doesn’t mind if I pick up the check for everything.”

Ashley smiled. “Well, he didn’t have much to say, that’s for sure.”

“At least he won’t be here in Dallas much longer. Trent told me he’s leaving soon. Once he’s gone, I plan to tell Trent he’s the last person I want him to choose as his best man.”

When the topic of our discussion turned back to the investigation, Charlotte wanted to know when I was planning to interview Rusty Weidman, and even though I was tempted to tell her he had a solid alibi for the night her father was killed, I didn’t want to do that until I’d had a chance to discuss it with Louise first.

Thus, as a way of evading her question, I told her the truth.

“I don’t plan to confront any suspect until the evidence against them is overwhelming, and right now, I’m still gathering that evidence.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re being thorough, even if it takes time.”

She was right, although I had a feeling time was running out.

Chapter 16

After we left Charlotte’s office, we stopped by Fenton’s executive suite so I could update Louise on the investigation, and when her assistant told us she’d already left for the day, and I realized I wouldn’t have to give her the news that Rusty Weidman was no longer at the top of my suspect list, I immediately felt relieved.

Although I didn’t share those feelings with Ashley, as we were driving back to the DCSS building, she said, “I bet you’re glad you missed Louise and didn’t have to tell her about Rusty’s alibi for that night. If she’s as convinced that he killed Sherwood as Charlotte is, then I’m not sure she would have accepted it.”

“I assure you, Louise and Charlotte are on the same page about Rusty. And yes, I’m glad I didn’t have to tell her today. It’ll be a whole lot easier when I have the evidence to show her it was someone else.”

We rode along in silence for a couple of minutes, but after we were on the freeway, I said, “When we get back to the office, I need to meet with Mike about what we learned today, so this may be the only chance we have to talk about it. Have you had enough time to process our conversations with Wes and Charlotte yet, or would you rather wait until tomorrow to discuss it?”

“I’m not someone who needs much time to process my thoughts. What I think about something when I first hear it, is usually what I think about it later.” She laughed. “But by asking me that question, you’ve made me wonder if top-notch investigators don’t do that.”

“See what you did? You just became a processor.”

“And I feel a lot smarter already.” She smiled. “Seriously, I’m really anxious to talk about what we learned from our meetings today. I have to say, when Wes told us how Sherwood felt about Trent, my initial reaction was that Sherwood sounded like a worried father who wasn’t excited about seeing his daughter get married.”

“But you’ve changed your mind now?”

“Uh-huh. When I heard Trent wanted Sherwood to help him start his own real estate agency, I revised my thinking. I believe he suspected Trent only wanted to marry Charlotte for her money, and if we determine he killed Sherwood, then I have to believe that was his motivation for taking such drastic measures. What about you? What did you think about our meetings with Wes and Charlotte?”

“Like you, I figured if Trent murdered Sherwood, he did so because he thought Charlotte would finance his real estate venture. But when we met with Charlotte, I suddenly realized her status hasn’t changed all that much, even with her father out of the picture, so if that was Trent’s motivation, he has to be really disappointed now.”

“You mean because she isn’t the CEO, and Louise is the person in charge at QWave?” When I nodded, she asked, “But is that such a big deal since it sounds like Charlotte could be the CEO in a couple of years? I mean, he won’t have to wait that long.”

“That’s true, but since Wes made it sound like Trent has big plans to launch his own agency and start making deals the moment he becomes a licensed agent, I suspect he needs the money immediately.”

“Are you saying that was Trent’s motive for killing Sherwood?” She went on before I could reply. “Yes, I see that as a possibility. I bet he was angry at Sherwood for refusing to go into business with him, and he killed him to get revenge. Is that what you’re thinking?”

I let out a short laugh. “No, that’s not what I’m thinking.” I glanced over at her. “I’m afraid you could be taking this processing thing a little too far.”

We both laughed, and then she said, “Well, I’ve always been an overachiever, but I’ll be quiet now so you can tell me what you think.”

“Okay, so I’m asking myself if what happened the night Sherwood was murdered wasn’t what the shooter intended to happen, and what the police mentioned as a possibility was what the shooter intended.”

“Uh-oh, you’ve lost me. I’m not sure what you mean.”

Our exit was coming up, so I didn’t say anything while I moved into the far-right lane. Once I put my turn signal on, I said, “The police told Louise that if Sherwood hadn’t slammed the car door after the first shot was fired, the second shot might have struck Louise, so now I’m wondering if the shooter’s real intention was to kill both Sherwood and Louise.”

“Okay, I understand, but why did you use ‘shooter’ and not Trent? Are you thinking Trent isn’t the person who killed Sherwood?”

“No, what I’m doing is looking at the murder scene from a different perspective to make sure Trent really is the shooter.”

“Actually, if Trent was the shooter, that scenario makes a lot of sense. I mean, why bother just getting rid of Sherwood if Louise will still be holding the purse strings after he’s gone?”

“Exactly, but if Louise was also out of the picture, then Charlotte would inherit the entire estate and become the company’s CEO.”

“Wait a minute. Isn’t that what happened to Trent’s parents? Weren’t both of them killed in a car accident? Could there be a pattern here?”

“Mike asked me the same question, but until I know for sure Trent murdered Sherwood, I’m not ready to go there.”

“After Charlotte explained what happened that night, I tried to figure out the timing of Trent getting to the steakhouse from her place. To me, it sounded like it wouldn’t be a problem as long as he left her place around seven like she said he did. If that’s true, then he’d easily be able to get over to the restaurant, locate Sherwood’s car in the parking lot, and be ready when they came out around eight-thirty.”

“Yes, I agree there was plenty of time for him to do that, but do you see the problem with that scenario?”

She didn’t say anything immediately, and when I glanced over at her, she appeared to be concentrating. “Uh . . . I suppose the problem is our lack of evidence to prove that’s what he did.”

As I got off the freeway and headed down Preston Road toward the DCSS building, I said, “Yep, that’s it. So if this were your case, and Trent was your number-one suspect, how would you go about getting the evidence to prove he was the shooter?”

“Oh, dear. If this is my final exam, I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”

“I believe you are, and since you’ll be making decisions like this for yourself in a couple of months, you might as well get your feet wet with this one.”

“I’m not worried about getting my feet wet. I’m worried about making so many mistakes, I’ll drown in them.”

I laughed as we drove in the parking lot. “Don’t worry. I’ll jump in and drag you back to shore if that should happen.”

Although she looked amused at my humor, she immediately got serious. “Well . . . to answer your question, if this were my case, I’d start by putting Trent under surveillance to see where he was going, what he was doing, and whether he was meeting with anyone.”

“Are you saying you would personally start tailing him?”

She nodded as she unfastened her seatbelt. “That’s right. Even though it’s my agency, and I’m in charge, I plan to be a hands-on boss.”

“And I commend you for that, but unfortunately, I have to disagree with you about your surveillance plans for Trent.”

She pressed her hand up to her face for a second. “See? I told you I wasn’t ready for primetime yet.”

“Well, potentially, you could have made a big mistake, but like I said, I’m here to save you.”

“So save me. Tell me what I did wrong.”

“If you can avoid it, never tail someone you’ve met before. If they spot you, they’ll start paying attention to you, and attention is the last thing you want when you’re tailing someone.”

“Yes, of course. What was I thinking? I actually knew that.”

I reached over and patted her on the shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, you weren’t wrong about setting up surveillance on Trent. That’s exactly what I plan to have Buck do, except of course, I’ll tell him not to put you on a surveillance crew.”

After we entered the building and got on the elevator, I said, “Go ahead and tell me what other steps you think I should take to get evidence on Trent.”

“For one thing, you should have Mike or Felicia do an in-depth background check on Trent.”

“Uh-huh. Mike’s working on that right now.”

Before she could say anything else, the elevator arrived on the fourth floor where her office was, so when she got off, I promised to call her tomorrow, and then I rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.

After giving Claudia a quick greeting, I went over and knocked on Norwell’s door. “Your timing’s perfect,” he said. “I was just getting ready to send you a text about Trent Wade.”

“That’s exactly the person I need to talk to you about. You go first. What have you got for me?”

“You might wanna sit down to hear this.”

* * * * * *

I immediately took a seat in front of his desk, and as usual, he swiveled one of his monitors around so I could view it.

The screen was displaying what appeared to be the transaction activity report of an account at the Isla Verde Bank in the Cayman Islands. The account holder’s name was Alexander Trent Wade.

“You were able to access Wade’s banking information?”

“Yes, but this isn’t the only bank he uses. I’m just showing you this one because I saw some transactions there I was sure you’d want to see. But don’t worry. Getting into his bank accounts isn’t illegal, at least it isn’t for me. My certification as a federal cybersecurity financial auditor is still valid from my time at the CIA.”

“Good to know.” I stared at the screen a moment. “I think I’ve already spotted the transactions you wanted me to see.”

“You mean the one showing Trent wired ten thousand dollars to an account at the Baja Pacifico Bank in Cabo, and the one that shows he wired fifteen thousand dollars to the same account a month later?”

“Yeah, so would you happen to know the owner of that account?”

“You bet I do. It belongs to a man named Miguel Alvarez Vargas, and I also have an address for him in Cabo, but I haven’t had a chance to run down any information on him yet.”

“Would you believe I just met the guy at QWave Systems when Ashley and I went over there to talk to Wes Decker? I could be mistaken, but I think Miguel Vargas is one of the people I saw in those pictures you showed me of Trent at the resort.”

He looked surprised. “Miguel Vargas works at QWave?”

“No, he was in the car with Trent when he was dropping Charlotte off. She introduced him as one of Trent’s friends from Cabo, but she told us later she doesn’t like the guy.”

“Since we know Trent sent Miguel Vargas twenty-five thousand dollars, it’s obvious he doesn’t feel the same way about him.”

I didn’t respond to his comment because I suddenly noticed something about the transactions. However, I didn’t call attention to it until I checked the calendar on my phone.

“Hmm. This is interesting. Trent made the first transaction on January 5 and the second on January 17, the day after Sherwood was murdered.”

“You think there’s a connection between Sherwood’s murder and the money?”

“It might just be a coincidence. On the other hand, I did notice Vargas was carrying a gun, plus I got the impression Trent was eager to get him away from me and Ashley as soon as we met him.”

“Are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking?”

“Probably. What are you thinking?”

“I figure Trent hired Vargas to kill Sherwood and these transfers represent the payments he made to him—ten thousand dollars as a downpayment and fifteen thousand when he completed the job.”

“That’s what I’m thinking too. The more we know about Miguel Vargas, the better, so whatever you have to do to make that a priority, I’m all for it. I’d like to have it before he hops back on a plane to Cabo.”

“I’ll get on it right away. I assume you’ll have Buck start running surveillance on both Wade and Vargas.”

I headed for the door. “Yep, I’m about to call him right now and have him set that up.”

“Since I’ll be doing research on Vargas, is it okay if I ask Luke to check out a social media account for Trent on the ShareLinx network?”

“I thought you already looked at Trent’s social media accounts.”

“I only looked for Trent Wade. I never checked for social media accounts under his first name, and when I did that this morning, I found an account on ShareLinx under Alexander Wade, but I haven’t had time to check it out yet.”

“Sure, feel free to ask Luke to help you with that.”

He grabbed his phone. “I’ll contact him right now.”

“You may have noticed Luke wasn’t enthusiastic when I asked him to monitor the online cybersecurity groups about Sherwood’s murder, but I have no doubt he’ll be thrilled with this assignment.”

When I got to the door, I looked back at him and grinned. “If you really want to make Luke happy, then tell him you’re asking him to do this as a favor to you, and you’d appreciate it if he wouldn’t tell the rest of the staff.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll put a smile on his face.”

As soon as I got to my office, I sent Tyler Hudson a text to let him know I’d cleared everything with Wes Decker for him to contact QWave’s financial officer about the possibility the person who murdered Sherwood had been embezzling funds from the company.

After that, I sent Grant Edman a text telling him Decker was expecting a phone call from him to discuss the possibility that a foreign intelligence service was responsible for Sherwood’s death.

In reality, I didn’t think there was much chance either one of these men would find anything remotely related to Sherwood’s murder by pursuing those possibilities, but since I’d been wrong about such things before, I wasn’t about to tell them to forget it.

My next phone call was to Buck to discuss putting a tail on Wade and Vargas, and since I knew he was using his surveillance teams to get information on the three tattooed skateboarders, I briefly considered telling him he could forget tailing the teenagers until I took Wade off my suspect list.

However, I immediately changed my mind when he answered his phone. “Hi, Silas, I was just about to call you and let you know I have some news about one of the RadRollers that could help us find the person who murdered Sherwood.”

“Okay, you’ve got my attention. Do you wanna tell me over the phone or would you rather come up to my office and tell me in person?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d rather wait until after I’ve spoken to my overnight surveillance crews tomorrow morning so I can verify everything. Could we plan to meet around nine-thirty?”

“That works for me. The reason I was calling you was to have you set up surveillance on a couple of other people.”

“Uh . . . okay. I can manage that.”

“If you think your crews are being stretched too thin, don’t hesitate to call in some extra help.”

“I might have to do that. Are the targets related to the Fenton case?”

After I told him they were, I briefed him on what Mike and I had learned about Trent Wade and Miguel Vargas, and why I wanted him to set up surveillance on them.

When I finished, he said, “I’ll get Trent’s address and vehicle information from Mike and get things set up to follow these two immediately.”

“Now that I’ve told you what’s been going on with Trent, are you sure you don’t want to change your mind and tell me what you’ve learned from tailing those skateboarders?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’ve always enjoyed keeping me in suspense.”

“Well, then, I guess we’ll talk in the morning.”

PART FOUR

Chapter 17

Thursday, February 12

I suspected Guy knew I couldn’t wait to get to the office so I could talk to Buck, because the mischievous pooch did everything he could to delay my departure.

While I was in the shower, he unrolled the toilet paper from the master bathroom and pulled it halfway down the stairs before I discovered what he’d done. After I scolded him for that, he grabbed one of my house slippers, ran downstairs with it, and hid under the dining room table, where it was impossible for me to reach him.

He finally came out when he heard me in the kitchen putting kibble in his food dish. After he finished eating, though, he went in the laundry room, grabbed his leash from off the counter, and brought it back in the kitchen, where he ran around the kitchen table dragging it behind him while I was putting my breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and trying to ignore his antics.

Although I had intended to skip our morning run, I finally decided I couldn’t disappoint him, so I relented, changed into my jogging clothes, put on my running shoes, and off we went.

When we got back, Guy immediately plopped down in his bed, completely exhausted, whereas the two-mile run had energized me, something I desperately needed after spending a restless night going over the details of the Fenton case.

Despite having to take another shower after my run, I managed to arrive at DCSS a little after nine, and fifteen minutes later, Claudia buzzed me on the intercom to let me know Buck was heading down the hallway to my office.

When he walked in, he transferred the insulated coffee mug from his right hand to his left so he could give me a crisp salute. “Good morning, Silas. Are you ready for your briefing?”

“I was ready yesterday.”

He shook his head as he sat down in front of my desk. “Yeah, but all the intel wasn’t in yet. Now it is.”

“I’m glad to hear it. So tell me what you’ve got.”

“As you know, on Tuesday afternoon, I sent three surveillance teams to observe the three members of the RadRollers group who live in the residential area behind Bevy’s Steakhouse. Since these teenagers are in school all day, I warned my crew members it would probably be a boring assignment, and that’s exactly what it turned out to be.”

“But what about—”

“Hold on. I’m getting to that.”

He held up his fingers and ticked off the names of the three skateboarders. “There’s Billy Gibbs, Robert Pickens, and Porter Young, and all three of them have the same tattoo on their left cheek, and they all live within a few blocks of Bevy’s Steakhouse. For the last two nights, they’ve met at Porter’s house on Harrington Road.”

“You mean they just hang out there or do they go somewhere?”

“Since Billy and Robert had their skateboards with them, it looked like they might be going somewhere . . .” he paused as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, “but when they didn’t, I told Jacob Javits to send a drone up and take a look at Porter’s backyard.”

Buck handed me his cell phone. “Here are some pictures of what the drone sent us of Porter’s backyard.”

The photographs showed the three teenagers practicing their craft on a smooth concrete surface that covered an area about the size of a swimming pool and included skateboard ramps, a half-pipe, and two grind boxes. In one of the shots, two of the kids were sitting on a bench while the third kid was performing.

In another photo, all three of them were at various stages of executing a skateboard maneuver, although it was difficult to tell if any of them would be successful when they hit the ground.

“It’s obvious these guys take this seriously,” I said. “Do you know if Billy and Robert also have a setup like this at their house?”

“I had Jacob use the drone to take pictures of their backyards to answer that very question, and the answer is no, which brings me to the interesting part, and the part you’ve been waiting to hear.”

I gave him back his phone. “To be truthful, since I was a skateboarder in junior high school, I thought those pictures were pretty interesting.” I shook my head. “I can assure you, though, my parents would never have paid for a setup like that at my house.”

He smiled as he looked over at me. “Just when I think I know everything about you, you always manage to surprise me. I had no idea you were a skateboarder.”

“I only tried it for a while, but when I broke my arm, my parents made me quit. A year later, they let me play football, so go figure.” I nodded at him. “Okay, tell me what I’ve been waiting to hear.”

He glanced down at his phone, swiped through a screen, and handed it back to me. “First, take a look at this map of the residential streets around the steakhouse. The street to the east of the restaurant is Harrington Road. That’s the street Porter’s house is on, which is a block south of the steakhouse. Robert also lives on Harrington, but his house is a block and a half away from Porter’s.”

Buck pointed at the map. “Here’s Kensington Avenue to the west of the steakhouse. That’s where Billy lives, two streets over from Porter’s house on Harrington. If you were Billy and you were in a hurry to get to Porter’s house, what would you do?”

“That’s easy. I’d cut through the alley behind the steakhouse.”

He nodded. “And that’s exactly what my surveillance team saw Billy do two evenings in a row. I figure he does that all the time.”

“Does Billy ordinarily wear a hooded sweatshirt?”

“Oh, yeah, all three of these guys do.”

“Then I think we need to ask Billy some questions. More than likely, the dishwasher from Bevy’s Steakhouse saw Billy running down the alley the night Sherwood was murdered.”

“Yep, I agree, and if you’re ready to do that, then I’d suggest you do it this afternoon when the bus drops him off here at this convenience store. For the past two days, he’s gone in there and bought himself something to drink before he walks home. If he does that today, you could ask him some questions when he comes out.”

“Although I doubt if Billy is the person who murdered Sherwood, he could have seen the shooter that night, so I definitely have some questions for him. However, I’m not sure I should be the one to ask him. It might be better if someone younger did it. I’m afraid he’d find me intimidating and refuse to talk to me.”

“How about letting Jacob do it? He looks like a college kid, and I’m also confident he could handle asking him some questions.”

“Yeah, let’s have him do it, and I also think it would be a good idea to send Ashley with him. A young guy might be more willing to talk if there was an attractive female there.”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s a good idea.”

After I gave him back his phone, I reached over and opened up my iPad. “Before you leave, let me check on something.”

I quickly scrolled through some notes I’d made about the case, and then I nodded and said, “Okay, we’re good. Billy is eighteen. Before you sent Jacob to question him, I just wanted to make sure of his age. When Mike gave me information on the group, I noticed a couple of them were still seventeen, and if Billy wasn’t eighteen, we’d need to get permission from one of his parents before we could talk to him.”

“Sounds like we’re good then. As soon as I leave here, I’ll get in touch with Jacob and have him call you about what you want him to ask Billy.” As he was getting out of his chair, he suddenly sat back down. “Or maybe you’d rather get in touch with Ashley and go over the questions with her. That way, you’d have an excuse to call her.”

I gave him an exasperated look. “Just have Jacob call me. I don’t need an excuse to call Ashley.”

He grinned. “Okay, I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Aren’t you the person who told me if someone gets upset at you for being helpful, it means you’re being controlling and not helpful?”

“Well, I say a lot of dumb things. Speaking of being helpful, you aren’t forgetting that Saturday is Valentine’s Day, are you?”

“No, I’m aware of what day it is.” I let out a short laugh. “Or rather Marissa reminded me.”

“Does that mean she’s encouraging you to see Ashley?”

“Not really. I think she still has her doubts about whether the two of us are suited for each other.”

As he got out of his chair, he waved his hand at me dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about her. She’ll come around.”

“Right now, all I’m worried about is solving this case.”

He shook his head. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.” As he headed for the door, he said, “By the way, I had to call in some extra people so I’d have enough teams to run twenty-four-hour surveillance on Wade and Vargas. Right now, I have Johnson and Foster, the two retired Special Ops guys, sitting outside Wade’s apartment, and I have the ex-cops, Perez and Walters, scheduled for the late shift.”

“I’m glad you were able to get it covered. As soon as I talk to Jacob, I’ll check in with Mike and see what he’s turned up on Vargas, and if it’s anything that might affect the case, I’ll let you know.”

He nodded as he opened the door. “After what you’ve told me about this Vargas guy, I’m picking him for the shooter.”

“I’m leaning that way myself, so if a member of your surveillance team observes him doing anything that looks even halfway suspicious, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“You can count on that. I know you want to get in touch with the Dallas Police as soon as you have evidence Vargas is a killer.”

Buck was right, but the question of when to call the DPD was a tricky one, and one that was always at the back of my mind, especially during a murder investigation.

The answer wasn’t always obvious, so I usually had to rely on a combination of factors to know when to contact them—what my instincts were telling me, whether the detectives assigned to the case were cooperating with me, and if the suspect or suspects posed any immediate danger to themselves or to the public.

When I couldn’t make up my mind, I often ended up praying about it, and what usually happened afterward was that I knew exactly what I should do. Naturally, that made me feel guilty about trying to do it on my own without praying about it in the first place.

It wasn’t a mystery to me why I left prayer out of the equation until I was desperate. I’d heard enough sermons to know it was my human nature—or more accurately, my sinful nature, the one I inherited from my Garden-of-Eden ancestors. It operated on the mistaken belief I was capable of solving problems on my own without God’s help.

Now, as I tried to make up my mind if it was time to call Detective Aldridge, I prayed and asked God to show me what to do.

However, I never got the chance to finish that prayer because Norwell buzzed me on the intercom to see if it was a good time for him and Woodley to come and talk to me about the Fenton case.

I told him it was, and when I hung up, I figured I had the answer to my prayer.

I needed to wait to call the police.

* * * * * *

Both Woodley and Norwell arrived at my office carrying their laptops, and when they walked in, Woodley headed straight for one of the guest chairs in front of my desk like he always did.

Norwell did the same, although he ordinarily waited until I indicated whether I wanted him to sit at my desk or in the seating area. I usually preferred the seating area, since I felt my desk created a barrier between me and my staff, and it made them less inclined to talk freely.

That didn’t seem to be a problem for Woodley. The moment I sat down behind my desk, he opened up his laptop and said, “So I’ll get us started by telling you what I found out about Wade’s secret social media account, the one he created using his first name.”

He lowered the lid on his laptop slightly so he could look over at me. “Mike said you’d rather me not mention this assignment to the rest of the staff, so I assured him I’d keep it a secret.”

I tried to keep a straight face. “Since this wasn’t your original assignment, that’s probably best.”

He nodded and turned his laptop around so I could see his screen. “If you’re not familiar with the ShareLinx website, here’s what it looks like. You can read their philosophy beneath the title.”

The header photo on the ShareLinx website showed a racially mixed group of thirty-somethings obviously enjoying themselves on a beach at sunset with the waves lapping at their feet. There were several small inset images that spotlighted other activities, such as a rooftop party under twinkling lights, a scenic mountain trail with a group of hikers, and a romantic sailboat ride.

The website’s philosophy was clearly spelled out. “ShareLinx was created to celebrate being single, to share the meaning of personal freedom, and to showcase a carefree lifestyle. Be Free. Be Real. Be You.”

After checking it out, I said, “I’ve heard of this social media platform, but I’ve never been on it before. However, after what I’ve learned about Trent, it doesn’t surprise me he uses it.”

Woodley shook his head as he reached over and clicked a new tab on the website. “No, you won’t find Trent Wade on here, but his lookalike, Alexander Wade, is a member, and you can see his personal ShareLinx page here.”

The ShareLinx member page for Alexander Wade featured Trent’s smiling face, tousled blond hair, and well-toned physique. In his one-sentence bio beneath his photo, he described himself as “a man who’s found the secret of enjoying life—all it takes is money.”

Woodley said, “If you scroll on down the page, you’ll see the Photo Gallery where members are encouraged to post pictures showcasing their carefree lifestyles.”

The Photo Gallery was arranged in squares of four across with each square having enough space for a date and a short caption. The pictures were posted in reverse chronological order.

I immediately understood why Woodley said I would find them interesting. The most recent photographs were taken a week ago and showed Miguel Vargas and Trent Wade having a good time at The Truck Yard, a popular Dallas outdoor night spot for young singles that featured food trucks, live music, and Western backdrops where people were encouraged to take quirky, humorous photographs.

In one of them, Alexander Wade—a.k.a. Trent Wade—had his arm around an attractive redhead who was wearing a white cowboy hat and a fringed jacket. Trent was leaning his head on her shoulder while holding a stuffed dog—a white toy poodle—in his lap.

There were two other photos taken at The Truck Yard and in one of them, Vargas could be seen at a table with a Hispanic-looking woman, who didn’t appear to be having a good time.

The other one showed Wade and the redhead sharing a passionate kiss beneath a backdrop of a starry, moonlit night—a photograph I was sure Charlotte would not find amusing or the least bit humorous.

But that wasn’t the only photograph on the ShareLinx site that showed Wade cheating on his fiancé. There were several posted after their engagement party at Rosewood Mansion in Turtle Creek, and at least a dozen posted after he started dating Charlotte in Cabo.

I closed the lid on Woodley’s laptop and sat back in my chair. “Well, Gentlemen, if we needed proof that Trent Wade has been leading a double life with Charlotte, these photographs certainly prove it.”

“Yeah, the guy’s a real jerk,” Woodley said.

“No doubt about it,” I said, “but being a jerk doesn’t mean you’re a killer. That being said, go ahead and download those photographs from the ShareLinx website to our server just in case Trent decides to delete his account there. Although I’d hate to do it, I may need to make Charlotte aware of what kind of guy she’s about to marry.”

“Not a problem,” Woodley said. “I’m on it.”

I looked over at Norwell. “What about Vargas? Has your research turned up anything on him yet?”

“Oh, yeah, and after what I’ve discovered, I’m more convinced than ever that he’s our shooter.”

“Then convince me so we can get the police involved.”

Chapter 18

When Norwell opened up his laptop, he smiled and said he was sorry, but unlike Woodley, he didn’t have any incriminating photographs to entertain me.

“That’s not a problem,” I said. “As long as you have the goods on Miguel Vargas, I don’t need any pictures.”

“On second thought, since he has a lengthy police record in Mexico City, I do have several mug shots of him. The first one was taken when he was arrested for stealing a car when he was fifteen. He only spent a year in jail at that time, but a few months after he got out, he was arrested for robbing a bank and sentenced to five years in prison.”

“Doesn’t sound like he was very good at his chosen profession,” Woodley said.

Norwell smiled. “Yeah, and he didn’t get any better at it either. Two years later, he was arrested on suspicion of murder, although he was released when his public defender was able to get him off on a technicality. As unbelievable as it sounds, when this lawyer was running for governor of Jalisco six months later, he hired Miguel Vargas to be in charge of his security detail.”

“Are you sure it was the same guy?” I asked. “I have to believe Miguel Vargas is a fairly common name in Mexico.”

“Oh, yeah, it was him, all right. I saw pictures in a Jalisco newspaper where he was standing next to the lawyer. Here’s the kicker: the polls showed this was an extremely close race, but the lawyer won easily when his opponent was murdered a week before the election.”

I shook my head. “Seriously? Was Vargas considered a suspect in the candidate’s murder?”

“No, his name wasn’t in any of the media reports about the murder, but a month after the governor took office, Vargas resigned from his security position on his staff and took up residence in Cabo San Lucas. At the same time, a large deposit of one hundred thousand dollars showed up in Vargas’s bank account.”

“How long did he live there before Trent showed up?”

“A couple of years, and during that time, Vargas didn’t have any apparent means of employment, yet his bank balance kept increasing, even though he was spending a lot of money for the kind of lifestyle he was enjoying in Cabo.”

“He obviously has to have some source of income,” Woodley said.

I nodded. “I think we can safely assume Miguel Vargas is involved in some type of illegal activity. It could be organized crime, street gangs, the drug trade, or any number of illicit things.”

Norwell said, “I plan to keep looking into his background, so I should be able . . .”

He paused when the cell phone on my desk started vibrating. When I glanced down at it and saw it was a text from Buck asking me to call him ASAP, I said, “I have to take care of this, so unless you have something else to tell me, we need to wrap this up.”

Both men said they had gone over everything they had for me, so once they left, I called Buck, who let me know the surveillance team he had assigned to watch Wade and Vargas had followed the two men to a restaurant where they had a very long conversation.

“I appreciate the information, Buck, but when I asked you to keep me informed, I didn’t mean I needed to know every detail.”

“Oh, I think you’ll want to know these details. Come down to my office, and I’ll explain what I mean, or rather, I’ll show you.”

“I’m on my way.”

* * * * * *

When I entered the Surveillance suite, Buck’s assistant simply gave me a smile and pointed in the direction of Buck’s office.

His door was halfway open, and since he raised his voice and told me to come in before I had a chance to knock, I figured he must have heard me coming.

I found him sitting at his desk looking intently at one of his computer monitors, so before I sat down, I angled my chair around to see what he was focused on.

There wasn’t much to see.

It was mostly a black screen with what appeared to be an audio player displayed, and even though the green progress bar was moving, there was absolutely no sound coming from it.

“What’s up, Buck? Please don’t tell me you called me down here to listen to a new country and western singer.”

He scowled at me. “Yeah, like I would do that.”

“What’s got you so riled up?”

“Sorry. I’m just frustrated. This thing was working a few minutes ago, but now that you’re here, it’s not cooperating. I can’t hear a thing.”

I pointed at the bottom of the screen. “It looks like the mute button is on.”

He shook his head at me. “Now how did that happen?”

When he clicked on it, I suddenly heard voices, but he quickly muted it again. “Before you listen to this, I probably need to explain what’s going on.”

“Is this about the long conversation between Wade and Vargas?”

He nodded. “Like I told you earlier, I assigned Johnson and Foster to run surveillance on them, and a couple of minutes after I left your office, Johnson texted me to say they were on the move, so I told him to check back in with me as soon as he found out where they were going. However, before he hung up, he said they’d already pulled in the parking lot of a restaurant that catered to the breakfast crowd, so I gave Johnson and Foster permission to follow them inside and see if they could pick up any intel on them.”

Johnson told Buck that when they went inside, they were able to get a table near Wade and Vargas, or at least close enough so they could use one of our newest surveillance tools, a combination of an advanced directional microphone and an audio recorder, called the Ultra-Directional Audio Recorder or UDAR.

Buck said, “While Johnson was using the UDAR device to monitor the conversation between Wade and Vargas on his earbuds, he had Foster let me know he thought they were getting some good stuff, and he would send it to me as soon as they left the restaurant.”

I pointed at his computer screen. “So is this the recording of the conversation between Wade and Vargas?”

“That’s right.” He held up a yellow legal pad with some numbers on it. “I’ve gone through it once already, so I’ll be able to skip the superfluous stuff and get right to the important parts. I’ll start at the nine-minute mark when they’re discussing what they refer to as ‘the job,’ but what I believe they’re talking about is Sherwood’s murder.”

After Buck moved the green progress bar over to the nine-minute mark, he clicked on the mute button, and seconds later, the heavily accented voice of Miguel Vargas filled the room, followed by Wade’s distinctive Midwestern drawl.

“It’s not my fault the job didn’t meet your expectations, Trent. I warned you when I took it I couldn’t guarantee I’d be able to deliver everything you wanted.”

“The reason it didn’t meet my expectations is because you only delivered half the results. That’s why I only gave you half the money.”

“I get it. Since your girlfriend isn’t in charge of the money, you didn’t get everything you wanted. But that’s only temporary. She’ll be at the top eventually, and then you can carry out the rest of your plans.”

“Eventually is a long way off, and I need to move quickly on this investment opportunity, or it’ll be gone.”

“So have you accepted my offer to finish the job?”

“I’ve been considering it, but only if—”

Buck stopped the recording and looked down at his legal pad. “The waitress came to the table with their food at this point, and then she returned about a minute or so later to refill their coffee cups, so I’m gonna skip ahead to the thirteen-minute mark.”

“This is important stuff, Buck. I hope it’s all there.”

“The UDAR picked up everything they said, but they were clearly guarded when they were talking about the subject in a public place, so I need to warn you, the rest of the details are a little sketchy.”

When Buck started the recording again, it was Wade speaking.

“To answer your question. Yes, I’ve made a decision about your offer. As long as I won’t have to pay more than I originally intended, I want you to finish the job.”

“It will only cost you twenty-five thousand, the same as the other job cost you, but if I can’t complete it by next week, then the deal’s off, and I’m flying back to Cabo.”

“The timing won’t be a problem, but you have to do it the way we discussed. If you can’t make it look different than the other job, you won’t get your money.”

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Just tell me the time and place, and I’ll take care of it.”

“It may be a couple of days before I know that.”

Buck clicked the stop button on the screen.

“The waitress brought them their check then, and they left and headed back to Trent’s apartment. That’s where they are right now.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “So what do you think?”

“Everything I just heard confirms what Mike discovered about Vargas—the guy hires himself out to take dirty jobs. Basically, I believe he’s a contract killer. Since Trent hung out with him in Cabo, there’s a good chance he figured that out, and that’s why he decided to pay him to get rid of Sherwood and probably Louise too.”

“Except he only did half the job. Louise is still alive.”

“But maybe not for long. I suspect what we just heard on the recording was Trent giving Vargas permission to murder Louise so Charlotte can be in charge of the company. Once she’s the CEO, Trent obviously believes she’ll give him the money he needs for his real estate venture.”

“I’d say your analysis is spot on.”

“In my way of thinking, killing Louise is extremely risky, even though Trent made it clear he doesn’t want her to die of a gunshot wound the way her husband did. If she’s also killed, the police will realize Sherwood’s murder wasn’t some random shooting, and they’ll start looking at who benefits the most from their murders.”

“Yeah, and then it won’t take them long to connect the dots and start focusing on Trent the way we did.”

Suddenly, another thought occurred to me. “Wait a second, Buck. We could be assuming too much. Maybe Trent is a lot smarter than we think he is, and instead of sending Vargas after Louise, he has someone else in mind.”

He looked puzzled. “You don’t mean Charlotte, do you? I can’t see how that would make any sense.”

“No, I’m thinking about Wes Decker. If something happened to him, there’s no reason to believe Louise wouldn’t immediately appoint Charlotte as the CEO of QWave Systems, and as soon as that happened, Trent would get what he wanted without having to wait a year.”

“Okay, I see your point, and if Decker had an accident or died unexpectedly, the police probably wouldn’t see it as related to Sherwood’s murder.”

We were both quiet as we thought about that scenario, but a few seconds later, I asked, “The question is, do we really think Trent is that smart? If we’re right, and his original plan was to kill both Sherwood and Louise, it was a terrible plan to begin with. Since his whole life has been one bad decision after another, what reason do we have to believe he’ll make a smart decision now?”

“I agree, but at the same time, there’s still a remote chance he’ll realize eliminating Decker is the better choice, and if we don’t take that into account, we could regret it.”

“You’re right. Although I’m fairly certain Trent will go after Louise, I’m not gonna dismiss Decker. Either way, I have to let both Louise and Decker know what’s going on and assure them we’ll keep them under constant surveillance.”

“Personally, I think it might be time for you to contact the DPD detectives.”

“Yeah, it’s time. I’ll have Claudia put together a package of what we’ve learned about these guys so I can discuss it with the detectives. I’ll also have her include all the research Mike has done on them. I doubt if I’ll include this recording but send it to me anyway.”

Buck pointed to his other monitor. “Johnson sent me a couple of pictures of them. Do you want me to send those to you too?”

I stood up so I could see his other screen, which showed Wade and Vargas sitting across from each other in a booth at the restaurant.

Both men were dressed alike in jeans and an untucked shirt, although Wade had on a pair of expensive leather loafers, and Vargas was wearing athletic shoes.

Since Wade had his back to the camera, I couldn’t see his expression, but Vargas had the same solemn look on his face that I’d seen on him when I met him in front of the QWave’s building the day before.

Strangely enough, despite the fact I felt sure the discussion they had in the restaurant involved the unthinkable subject of taking another person’s life, Vargas looked completely relaxed—his left arm was draped across the back of the booth, his right hand was holding a coffee cup, and his right leg was propped on his left knee.

I leaned in a little closer to the monitor. “Enlarge that photo on the right for me. The one where Vargas has his legs crossed.”

Buck did what I asked.

“What are you looking at?”

“The shoes Vargas is wearing. I’ve never seen that logo before. It looks like the letters C. F.”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like to me too. Just a second, and I’ll see what I can find out about that brand.”

Buck put the two letters in his internet browser window and less than a minute later, he said, “C. F. stands for Corredor Fantasma, which means Ghost Runner in English. It’s the brand of a running shoe manufactured by a small company in Mexico City that caters exclusively to elite athletes and isn’t available in retail markets.”

Buck had a smile on his face after reading the description. “Have we found our smoking gun?”

I gave him a quick nod. “If the tread pattern on those shoes matches the shoe prints found at the crime scene, there’s no doubt about it. When I show the detectives that picture, along with everything else we have on Wade and Vargas, at the very least, it could be enough for a judge to issue a warrant to search Wade’s apartment.”

“I hope you can convince the detectives to act quickly, because Wade said he’d let Vargas know about the timing of when the job can be done in a couple of days, but we have no guarantee he’ll adhere to that time schedule.”

“Whether the detectives act quickly or not, we have to make sure Vargas isn’t able to carry out his plans to harm Louise or Decker, and the only way to do that is for us to put them under twenty-four-hour surveillance. That means I need to talk to Louise and Decker right away and explain why we have to do that.”

“I don’t envy you having to tell Louise what we’ve turned up on Trent.”

“It’s hard to say how she’ll feel about it, but I’m sure she’ll appreciate having one of our surveillance teams watching over her, and I have no doubt Decker will feel the same way.”

“Once Jacob and Ashley question Billy Gibbs this afternoon, I should be able to pull the surveillance teams I have on the other two skateboarders and reassign them to keep an eye on Louise and Decker. Both of those teams have experienced people on them, so they’ll be in good hands.”

“Sounds good.” I gestured toward the monitor with the recording on it. “You don’t have any more surprises for me, do you? If not, I’ll go back upstairs and start making some phone calls.”

“No, no more surprises, but the day’s still young.”

Chapter 19

As I was heading down the hallway to the reception area after leaving Buck’s office, I noticed the door to Suite C was open—the room where the interns had their cubicles—and I couldn’t resist stepping inside to see if Ashley was there.

I spotted her at the end of the first row staring at something on her computer. Her back was to me, but when the other intern in the room—a young college kid named Cole—said hi to me, she immediately turned toward the door and gave me a smile.

I spoke to Cole for a few minutes, and when he left the room, I walked back to Ashley’s cubicle—a modular unit consisting of an L-shaped desk, a couple of overhead bins, and a two-drawer filing cabinet.

Since she was usually out on an assignment, I knew she didn’t have to spend much time in the small space, but even so, I had to believe she wouldn’t miss her DCSS accommodations when she moved into her executive office suite at her new building in a couple of months.

However, I’d never heard her complain about the tiny space, despite the fact I knew she had a study in her house that was at least as large as my office and included an antique desk and a wall of ornate custom-built bookcases.

I pointed over at her computer screen where a video of a skateboarder was playing and asked, “Are you prepping for your encounter with Billy Gibbs this afternoon?”

She nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“I’ve already given Jacob the questions I want him to ask Billy, but I told him he could ask any follow-up questions he wanted, and I also told him you might have some questions of your own.”

“I admit I’m anxious to talk to him. Since he was in the alley around the time of the shooting, it’s hard to believe he didn’t see someone in the parking lot who might be the shooter, and if that person fits Trent Wade’s description, then it could be the evidence we need.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to explain everything right now, but I just found out some details about Trent that might indicate he wasn’t the shooter, so if Billy did see someone that night, don’t be surprised if the person doesn’t fit Trent’s description.”

“Seriously?” When I nodded, she said, “I can hardly wait to hear what you found out.”

“I promise I’ll tell you everything later.”

“Okay, I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Although I wanted to lean over and give her a kiss, I resisted that temptation, and since Cole came back in the room a few seconds later, I was glad I did.

He was holding a Styrofoam cup and seemed surprised to see me. “Oh, hi, Mr. McKay. I didn’t realize you’d still be here, or I would have offered to bring you something from the break room.”

“That’s nice of you, Cole, but I’m leaving now.”

Ashley gave me a brief wave. “Thanks for stopping by, Silas.”

The moment Ashley said my name, Cole immediately glanced over at her, and then when he looked back at me, a smile slowly crept across his face—a knowing smile.

I quickly left the room.

* * * * * *

When I got back up to my office suite, I went over everything with Claudia about the Fenton case—or rather SF-556—and then I told her what information I wanted her to include in the SF-556 Evidence Dossier that I planned to share with Detective Aldridge.

The Evidence Dossier was the name Claudia gave to any materials we copied to law enforcement from our DCSS files.

As I walked away, she said, “It sounds like you’re too busy to go out to lunch today, so why don’t I order you a sandwich from Herb’s Deli?”

“That sounds good. I’ll take a chicken salad sandwich.”

“You don’t want a Reuben sandwich?”

“No, chicken salad sounds better to me today.”

“What if they don’t have chicken salad?”

“Well, in that case, yeah, I’ll take a Reuben.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

For some reason, I had a feeling I might not get my chicken salad sandwich today.

* * * * * *

When I finally sat down at my desk, it was almost twelve o’clock, and since I was getting hungry, I decided to put off making any phone calls until after I’d eaten lunch.

I told myself I wasn’t procrastinating, that the phone calls I had to make would be difficult, and I needed to be at my best when I made them. Even so, I didn’t think it would be that hard to explain to Decker why he needed to be under twenty-four-hour surveillance. In fact, because of the way he felt about Wade, I felt sure he’d welcome what I had to tell him.

On the other hand, I had no idea what kind of reaction I would get from Louise.

As I debated whether it would be better to tell her in person rather than over the phone, I suddenly realized I shouldn’t be having that conversation without Charlotte present.

Although I knew telling Louise about Wade would be difficult, I figured divulging those details to Charlotte about her future husband—especially the role he played in her father’s death—could be excruciatingly painful for both of us.

As these thoughts were going through my head, I got up from my desk and walked over to the picture window where I looked up at the cloudless sky and breathed a short prayer asking for guidance about the best way to handle the situation. By the time Claudia knocked on my door twenty minutes later, I had a plan of action.

After she placed the sack from Herb’s Deli on the coffee table, I asked, “Do you know if Austin’s available to see me this afternoon?”

“When I talked to Beverly this morning, she said he had an appointment with a new client, and she wasn’t expecting him until after two o’clock. Do you want me to ask her if he can see you sometime after two?”

“Yes, please do. Just tell her it’s about Sherwood Fenton’s murder, and I won’t take more than thirty minutes of his time.”

“Thirty minutes. Okay, I’ll call her right now.” As she was about to close the door, she gestured at the paper sack on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to settle for a Reuben sandwich today. I asked them if their chicken salad was fresh, and they said it was made yesterday, so I didn’t want to take a chance it wasn’t good.”

“Okay, thanks for looking out for me, Claudia.”

“Of course, that’s my job.”

How could I argue with that?

* * * * * *

After I finished lunch, which included potato salad and two dill pickles, Claudia let me know I could see Tomlin at two-fifteen, so I decided I had enough time to call Wes Decker.

As I anticipated, he wasn’t all that surprised when I told him our investigation had led us to believe that Trent Wade was behind Sherwood’s murder, although he sounded a little concerned when I told him Buck was sending a surveillance team to keep an eye on him until we could convince the police to consider Wade a suspect.

When I asked him not to say anything to Louise or Charlotte until I met with them, he assured me he wouldn’t, but he warned me they might ask to see evidence of Wade’s involvement before they believed me, and even then, it might be difficult to persuade them.

I was pretty sure they’d be persuaded when they heard the conversation between Wade and Vargas, but I wasn’t ready to share any of those details with Decker yet, nor did I think it was appropriate to tell him about Wade’s secret social media account, so I simply thanked him for the warning and told him I’d be in touch.

Not long after I hung up, Claudia sent me an email with the SF-556 Evidence Dossier attached, but after looking over the materials, I decided not to call Detective Aldridge until after I’d heard from Jacob about their encounter with Billy Gibbs.

I figured if Billy admitted to being in the alley that night, then Detective Aldridge would immediately rethink her theory about Sherwood’s murder being a gang-related shooting, and if Billy actually remembered seeing someone in the parking lot, then I had a feeling she would be more than willing to listen to what I had to tell her about Trent Wade and Miguel Vargas.

However, before I shared the Evidence Dossier with Detective Aldridge, I had another use for it, which was why I took my laptop with me when I left for my appointment with Tomlin.

After Beverly greeted me, she asked me how Marissa was enjoying college, and I reciprocated by asking her how her oldest grandson was getting along in medical school. Once we covered these courtesies, she tapped on Tomlin’s door a couple of times and ushered me inside.

He immediately motioned me over to where he was sitting in an upholstered armchair next to a leather couch. “Hi, Silas. Come on in. Shall I have Beverly bring you some coffee? I’ve just finished having lunch with a new client, so I don’t care for anything myself.”

I took a seat on the couch. “No, I’m good. Thanks anyway.”

After Beverly left the room, Tomlin pointed at my laptop. “It looks like you’re ready to give me a briefing. Does that mean you know who killed Sherwood?”

“Yes, I believe I do, and later this afternoon, I plan to tell Detective Aldridge what I’m about to tell you.”

“You don’t usually brief me on a case until after you’ve contacted law enforcement. Is there some reason you decided to do things differently this time?”

I nodded. “I need to make an appointment this afternoon to speak to Louise and Charlotte about the identity of the killer, and since you’ve been good friends with the family for several years, I believe it might be beneficial to them if you went with me.”

He looked confused. “How would it be beneficial to them? Is it because they were right, and Rusty Weidman murdered Sherwood?”

“No, the police detectives verified that Rusty has an airtight alibi for that night. He didn’t murder Sherwood.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure that will surprise them. So tell me who killed him, and why you think it’s a good idea for me to be with you when you tell them.”

“I believe Charlotte’s fiancé, Trent Wade, hired a man named Miguel Vargas to murder Sherwood.”

He looked stunned for a moment, and then he leaned in towards me and shook his head. “No, I can’t believe that. You’re telling me Charlotte’s fiancé hired a hitman to kill his future father-in-law? How did you ever come to that conclusion?”

I opened my laptop and placed it on the coffee table so we could both see it. “It was a slow process that began when I asked Mike to check out the gang activity in the area around Bevy’s Steakhouse, and when he couldn’t find any, I asked myself that age-old question that any investigator asks when looking at a murder victim—who would benefit the most from the victim’s death?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “And that’s how you concluded it was Trent?”

“Not exactly. I came to that conclusion after the evidence against him started piling up. What I’d like to show you are the highlights of what I discovered about Trent, and then have you listen to a recording of a conversation that took place between him and Miguel Vargas—he’s someone Trent became friends with in Cabo—and once I do that, I’d like to hear your thoughts about the evidence.”

Tomlin only interrupted me twice when I went through the evidence I’d accumulated on Wade. The first time was to express his shock that Wade had asked Sherwood to invest a million dollars in his real estate venture, and the second time was when I pulled up the two bank transactions showing Wade had paid Vargas a total of twenty-five thousand dollars, with the second payment coming the day after Sherwood was murdered.

By the time I went over the documentation Norwell had discovered about Vargas’s criminal record, and the images Woodley found on Wade’s secret social media account, I felt sure Tomlin was not only convinced of Wade’s guilt, he was extremely disturbed by it.

He finally expressed what he was feeling after hearing the recording between Wade and Vargas. “This is absolutely incredible, Silas. It just makes Sherwood’s murder even more heartbreaking, and I can’t begin to imagine how Louise and Charlotte will react when you go over this evidence with them.”

“Naturally, I’ll assure them we’ll be providing Louise with twenty-four-hour surveillance to make sure Vargas isn’t able to get near her.”

“Yes, we have to do that, no doubt about it. And now that I’ve seen the evidence you plan to show them, I understand why you thought it would be beneficial if I were with you when you give them this news.”

I nodded. “Okay, so as soon as I get back to my office, I’ll give Louise a call and make the appointment. Are you available if she can see us later this afternoon?”

“Yes, and I’m also free tomorrow, but if she says she can’t meet with you tomorrow, then be sure and tell her it’s an emergency.”

“I definitely will.”

“When do you plan to share this information with the police?”

“As soon as I hear from Jacob Javits. He and Ashley Davenport are supposed to have a chat with a teenager who could be the person seen in the alley behind the steakhouse that night. This kid has a lightning tattoo on his cheek which identifies him as a member of a skateboard group. We believe that’s why the police concluded it was a gang-related shooting.”

“It sounds like the police just went for the easy answer.”

After I closed the lid on my laptop, Tomlin and I both stood to our feet, and as he walked me over to the door, he said, “We haven’t had a chance to talk about Ashley giving me her two weeks’ notice and resigning her internship. Were you surprised when you heard that?”

“Uh . . . no, not really. To be truthful, she discussed it with me before she made the decision.”

He appeared to be taken aback by my comment. “I suppose she felt obligated to discuss it with you since you’ve been her mentor while she’s been here. You do realize that was her father’s request, don’t you? It wasn’t my idea. In fact, I felt badly about asking you to accept that responsibility.”

“I assure you it wasn’t a hardship. I’ve enjoyed helping her.”

He raised his index finger and winked at me. “Now watch out, Silas. She’ll probably try to recruit you for her agency before she leaves. Or she may wait a month, and then one day out of the blue, you’ll get a phone call from her.”

“No, I doubt that. Besides, I have no plans to leave DCSS.”

After he opened the door for me, he slapped me on the back and said, “I certainly hope not. You do a great job of handling your staff, as well as running the investigations, and you’re a man of integrity. I couldn’t ask for a better head of operations, which is exactly the reason I believe Ashley will do everything she can to get you to come to work for her.”

Suddenly, I regretted not telling Tomlin weeks ago that I’d developed feelings for Ashley. If I had, perhaps I wouldn’t have been tempted to lash out at him for accusing her of wanting to steal his employees, and he wouldn’t have upset her with his accusations.

Even though I managed to control my emotions by reminding myself we were in the middle of a murder investigation, and I didn’t have time to discuss personal matters with him, I knew I would need to have that discussion as soon as we closed the investigation.

For now, I ignored his statement about Ashley and told him I’d let him know when Louise would be able to see us, and then I went back to my office and called her.

When she answered her phone, I knew something was wrong.

She sounded furious.

Chapter 20

Louise immediately wanted to know why I hadn’t contacted her for the past twenty-four hours, and why I hadn’t been the one to give her the news about Rusty Weidman.

“What news have you heard about Rusty?” I asked.

“Detective Aldridge called me this morning to let me know Rusty has an alibi for the night Sherwood was killed. Don’t act like you don’t know it. The detective said she informed you about his alibi when you spoke to her on Tuesday.”

“Yes, she did, and I had planned to discuss it with you yesterday, but you weren’t in your office when I came by to see you.”

“Well, I’ve been here all morning, and I haven’t heard from you.”

I considered telling her I was tied up listening to a conversation between her future son-in-law and the contract killer he’d hired to murder her husband, but instead I said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get back with you, Louise, but I’ve been dealing with some new developments regarding your husband’s case, and if you’re free to discuss them with Austin and me this afternoon, then we’d like to have an appointment with you and Charlotte.”

“This afternoon? Oh, no, I can’t do that. I have an appointment with my hair stylist in an hour and my manicurist after that, and then I have to attend my garden club dinner this evening. We’ll have to schedule an appointment for tomorrow.”

“Okay, that’s not a problem. Austin and I are both free tomorrow. What’s a good time for you?”

“It has to be after three o’clock. Charlotte and I will be attending an awards luncheon for the Anthony George Foundation at the Madison Hotel, which starts at eleven-thirty. QWave Systems has a table at the event, and we can’t miss it.”

I questioned whether she was just putting me off to show her displeasure with me for not making the effort to talk to her sooner, or if she genuinely needed to attend the luncheon, so I decided to probe a little further. “I’m not familiar with the Anthony George Foundation. What exactly do they do?”

“Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. I’m sure Austin knows about it. It’s a philanthropic foundation honoring individuals and organizations who’ve made significant contributions to the community.” She paused for a moment and cleared her throat. “Sherwood was one of the award presenters at last year’s luncheon.”

“I’m sorry, Louise. I’m sure that’s a painful memory for you.”

Since her voice softened, I figured my sympathetic words tamped down her anger a little. “Thank you for recognizing that. I suppose that’s why Charlotte invited Trent to meet us there. At least, he’ll be able to help her focus on something besides her father’s absence.”

I couldn’t believe Wade would want to be around Louise or Charlotte if he was planning to have Vargas carry out his plans at the luncheon, so I decided not to discourage her from attending, and I suggested we meet her and Charlotte at her office at three-thirty.

Once she agreed, she said, “I hope you’ve come up with a suspect. The police certainly don’t have one yet. They’re looking at Sherwood’s murder like it’s some random shooting by a gang member.”

“Yes, I have a suspect in mind, and I’ll explain everything tomorrow afternoon.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

I had my doubts she’d feel that way tomorrow afternoon.

* * * * * *

As soon as I got off the phone with Louise, I buzzed Claudia to let her know about the appointment Tomlin and I had with Louise Fenton, and twenty minutes later, I got a text from Jacob Javits.

“Are you available to talk now? Let me know, and I’ll call you.”

Instead of texting him back, I gave him a call. “Hi, Jacob. I got your text, and yes, I’m available to talk. How did it go with Billy Gibbs?”

“Really good. In fact, Ashley and I both agree, it couldn’t have gone any better. If it’s okay with you, I’ll put Ashley on speakerphone with us. We’re sitting here in my car across the street from the convenience store where we talked to Billy.”

“Sure, that’s fine. Hi, Ashley.”

“Hi, Silas.”

I couldn’t tell how Ashley felt, but the situation seemed awkward to me. However, I put that out of my mind as Jacob began describing their encounter with Billy.

“We were parked outside the convenience store when Billy went inside, but when he came out, Ashley and I were standing next to my car, so when he walked past us, I asked him if he was a member of the RadRollers. Even though he seemed surprised at the question, he told us he was, and when he asked us why we wanted to know, Ashley told him we wanted to ask him some questions.”

Ashley said, “I had a feeling he thought we might be reporters, and we’d heard about the RadRollers and wanted to ask him some questions about skateboarding, so he told us he was happy to talk to us about what he called his ‘awesome RadRollers.’ ”

Jacob let out a short laugh. “Of course, I was standing there with my iPad in my hand like I was making notes for a story.”

“Well, as long as you got some answers, I’m not concerned about what disguise you had to use. You did get some answers, didn’t you?”

Jacob said, “Yes, we got some answers. However, when I told him I wanted to ask him about the shooting that took place at Bevy’s Steakhouse, he got a little nervous, so I immediately assured him we weren’t cops. I told him we were investigators with a corporate security firm, and he didn’t seem as anxious after that.”

Ashley spoke up. “The first thing I asked him was why he looked worried when we mentioned the shooting, and when he denied it, I said if he was nervous, that was understandable because we happen to know he was taking a shortcut through the alley that night, and he may have seen the shooter.”

“I bet that got his attention.”

“It definitely scared him,” Jacob said.

“He wanted to know how we knew that,” Ashley said, “and I told him we got this information from a restaurant employee who said they saw someone with a tattoo like his, and that we’d been watching him for a couple of days, and we knew he used the alley as a shortcut to his friend’s house.”

“When he heard that, he got angry,” Jacob said, “but once Ashley got him settled down, he asked us if he did see someone that night, if he would have to go to court to testify about it.”

“That sounds like he probably saw someone.”

“Yes, I thought the same thing, and I believe he realized he’d tipped his hand, but before he could say anything, Ashley followed up on it.”

“I told him if he would tell us what he saw that night, we would take the responsibility of contacting the police in charge of the investigation, and they would probably just get a statement from him, and he wouldn’t have to go to court.”

Even though it was highly unlikely he wouldn’t have to testify in court, especially if he could identify the shooter, I didn’t correct her, plus I had no idea if she had just said that to get the kid to talk to them.

Jacob said, “When Billy said he was willing to tell us what he saw, he actually looked relieved he could talk to someone about what happened that night, and when I suggested we go over and sit in my car where he’d be more comfortable, he immediately got in the passenger seat and started jabbering away.”

Billy told them that he was taking the shortcut through the alley over to Porter’s house so they could work on a homework assignment together, and when he got to the parking lot next to the steakhouse, he saw a man running into the alley with a gun in his hand. When the guy saw Billy, he stuffed the gun in his waistband, but Billy said he was afraid the guy might shoot him, so he took off running down the alley.

Ashley said, “Of course we asked him for a description of the guy he saw, but all he could tell us was that he looked Hispanic, that he had a gold chain around his neck, and that he wasn’t very tall.”

“Did he say why he didn’t call the police? It’s hard to believe he didn’t hear about the shooting at the steakhouse.”

“We asked him that,” Jacob said, “and he said he thought if the police wanted to talk to him, they’d come and see him. He told us that’s the way it always happens on TV.”

I let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess he’s right about that. Is there anything else he told you about the guy?”

Ashley said, “Well, I asked him if he thought he would recognize him again, and he said he wasn’t sure, so of course, that was a little disappointing.”

“Don’t worry about that. At least he was able to give you a fairly detailed description of him.”

Jacob said, “Before he got out of the car, I gave him my DCSS card with my cell phone number on it and told him to call me if he remembered anything else.”

Ashley said, “Jacob was really the person who got Billy to talk to us. It wasn’t me. The two of them connected right away.”

He let out a short burst of laughter. “Well, thanks, Ashley. I appreciate that.”

I wasn’t sure if Ashley complimented Jacob so I would give him kudos, or if she just wanted to make him feel good. Whichever it was, I had a feeling her praise could make a difference if he was thinking about going to work for her.

Was that her motivation for doing it?

Maybe so.

Did it matter to me? Not really.

* * * * * *

As soon as I got off the phone, I made myself some coffee and took it over to the sofa, where I sat down and began making some notes on my iPad about what to tell Detective Aldridge.

About twenty minutes later, Claudia buzzed me on the intercom, and when I picked up, she was using her I’m-in-charge-of-this-office tone of voice. “Mr. McKay,” she said, “Detectives Aldridge and Monte are here in the reception room, and they would like to speak to you. They apologized for not making an appointment, but they said they happened to be in the neighborhood and—”

“That’s not a problem, Claudia. I can see them now, so please send them back to my office.”

Less than a minute later, I met the detectives at my door and invited them inside. After we introduced ourselves, I directed them over to my seating area, where they both sat down on the couch.

Detective Aldridge said, “I was serious when I told your secretary we were in the neighborhood, but I don’t think she believed me.”

Nancy Aldridge, who had shoulder-length auburn hair, hazel eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, was a lot more attractive than I imagined she would be from speaking to her on the phone.

Her partner, Kevin Monte, who had a full head of jet-black hair, dark-framed glasses, and protruding ears, had a scowl on his face and looked unhappy.

For a brief moment, I considered telling the detective that if she had called Claudia a “secretary” to her face, she probably wouldn’t have been able to see me at all. Instead I said, “I’m sorry, Detective, my assistant can be a little overzealous when it comes to guarding my time. However, since I was planning to call you in a few minutes, I’m glad you stopped by.” I pointed down at my iPad. “I was just making some notes about the case so I wouldn’t forget anything.”

Detective Monte said, “Seriously? You really expect us to believe you were about to call us about your investigation?”

I wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not, but I decided to err on the side of caution. “Yes, seriously.” I picked up my iPad. “Here’s the first thing I wrote down: ‘Discuss findings on gangs in the area.’ ”

Detective Aldridge removed a mobile tablet from her handbag and said, “It sounds like we’re on the same page. That’s the first thing I wanted to discuss with you, but if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to hear what your investigation found, and then we can compare notes.”

“Sure, I don’t mind going first, but I might as well tell you up front that we haven’t found any evidence that Sherwood Fenton’s murder was gang-related, and we believe the shooting was carried out by a hitman who was hired to take out both Sherwood and Louise.”

Both detectives stared at me for what seemed like a long moment. “Well, Silas,” Detective Aldridge finally said, “if your intention was to surprise us, then you’ve succeeded.”

“I sure hope you can back up that statement,” Monte said.

“I believe I can, and I will.”

For the next ten minutes—beginning with the research Norwell did on gangs and ending with the discovery of the RadRollers and their use of a lightning bolt tattoo—I outlined why I didn’t believe Sherwood’s murder was a random killing by a gang member.

Following that, I told them about interviewing an employee at QWave Systems—I didn’t say it was Wes Decker—who told us that Sherwood became suspicious of Charlotte’s fiancé, Trent Wade, after he tried to convince Sherwood to give him a million dollars to invest in a risky real estate venture.

After I answered some questions Aldridge had about that, I described what a member of my staff had discovered about Wade’s finances—specifically, that he’d recently paid a large sum of money to a Mexican national named Miguel Vargas, who had a criminal record, and who was once arrested on suspicion of murder.

When I excused myself a moment to retrieve my laptop from my desk, I suddenly remembered I hadn’t offered the detectives something to drink, but when I did so, both of them immediately declined.

Aldridge added, “I think we’re more interested in hearing what else your investigation turned up on this person.”

When I took my seat again, I opened up my laptop and said, “I failed to mention that at this very moment Vargas is here in Dallas, and that he’s been staying with Wade for several weeks now, which brings me to a conversation that took place between him and Wade at a restaurant this morning. Here’s a photograph that one of the members of my surveillance team took of the two men while they were sitting at the restaurant. That’s Wade on the left and Vargas on the right.”

As I observed them studying the photo, I wondered if either one of them would mention the athletic shoes that Vargas was wearing, but when neither of them said anything, I said, “The last thing I have to share with you is a conversation my surveillance team overheard between the two men.”

Monte said, “You don’t really expect us to believe they were talking about the shooting in public, do you?”

I’d already decided not to include the recording of the conversation in the Evidence Dosser. Although Texas was a one-party-consent state—which allowed a conversation to be recorded by anyone who was a party to the conversation without the consent of the others involved—there was pending litigation in the state court system to decide if this law applied to persons not directly participating in the conversation, so I decided it was best to describe it as a conversation my team members overheard.

“No, neither Wade nor Vargas mentioned the shooting by name. Vargas only referred to a job he’d done for Wade, although he did say Wade paid him twenty-five thousand dollars. The alarming part of the conversation was when Wade told him he’d pay him another twenty-five thousand to complete the job, and Vargas agreed to do it.”

“What do you think he meant by complete the job?” Aldridge asked.

“I suspect Wade hired Vargas to get rid of both Sherwood and Louise so that Charlotte would inherit her parents’ estate and become the CEO of the company. Since Vargas failed the first time, I believe Wade was giving him permission to find another way to kill Louise.”

The two detectives looked at each other a second, and then Detective Aldridge asked, “Do you still have people watching both of these men?”

“Yes, we’re keeping them under twenty-four-hour surveillance, and we also have a team on Louise and her new CEO, Wes Decker. She doesn’t know about our findings yet, but I made an appointment to update her on the investigation tomorrow afternoon. I tried to do it this afternoon, but her schedule was already full.”

“Can I assume you’re prepared to share any files you have that back up what you’ve just told us?” Aldridge asked.

“Yes, everything that supports what I’ve just explained is available to you, and I can email you the file as soon as we’re finished here. However, there’s one more thing I’d like to go over with you.”

Detective Aldridge smiled. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

After I reminded them about the skateboarders I’d mentioned earlier, I summarized the encounter Jacob and Ashley had with Billy Gibbs, and the description he gave them of the man he saw in the alley the night of the murder.

When I finished, Detective Monte said, “You better believe we wanna talk to this kid about what he saw.”

I said, “Now that you’ve heard about my investigation, what about yours? Do you know anything about those shoe prints yet?”

Aldridge said, “Our investigation is at a standstill. We’ve been hoping to connect the shooting to one of the gangs on the east side, but so far, we haven’t come up with any leads, and there’s nothing new on the shoe prints either.”

I pointed down at my laptop where the picture of Vargas and Wade was still on display. “When I saw this picture, I happened to notice the shoes Vargas was wearing. I hadn’t seen this logo before, and when one of my investigators looked it up, it turned out to be a special kind of running shoe that’s not sold in retail stores.”

Both detectives leaned in toward the screen and examined the shoes when I enlarged the picture.

Monte shook his head. “That logo isn’t familiar to me either.”

“The C. F. on the shoe stands for Corredor Fantasma,” I said. “In English it means Ghost Runner, and it’s produced exclusively in Mexico City for elite athletes.”

Aldridge couldn’t hide her excitement when she pointed at the screen. “Be sure and include that photograph in the file you’re sending me. Once we’ve discussed your findings with my lieutenant, more than likely, he’ll give us permission to prepare an affidavit for probable cause which we’ll submit to a judge for approval. If the judge approves it, he’ll issue a search warrant for Wade’s place of residence, and we’ll be able to search for further evidence, particularly those shoes or any other shoes Vargas has in his belongings.”

“How long do you think it’ll take before you have the warrant?”

“If everything checks out in the dossier you’re sending me, then it shouldn’t be more than forty-eight hours. Whatever Wade was planning, it didn’t sound imminent, did it?”

“He said a couple of days.”

“We’ll probably have time then.”

Probably wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

PART FIVE

Chapter 21

Friday, February 13

After Guy and I got home from our early morning run, and I was heading upstairs to take a shower, I got a call from Buck.

Although I felt sure he was in his car, he sounded a little out of breath. “I was just calling to give you a heads-up about Wade and Vargas. They’re already on the move this morning.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Johnson called me ten minutes ago to let me know he and Foster had arrived to relieve the night shift, and while we were talking, Wade and Vargas came out of Wade’s apartment and got in his BMW. Now, they’re heading east on Campbell Road. He said Vargas had a suitcase with him, so I—”

“You don’t suppose they’re heading for the airport, do you?”

“No, they’re not going to the airport, at least not right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Johnson just called me back and said they’re at a car rental place on Royal Lane. Wade is inside the building, but Vargas is still sitting outside in the BMW.”

“That’s interesting. If they’re about to split up, I’m gonna want you to track both men.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s the reason Johnson alerted me. He knew I’d wanna send another surveillance team to follow Vargas.”

“Wade is probably renting a car for Vargas since he may not have a valid driver’s license. The question is, why does Vargas need a car right now?”

“That’s what I’m about to find out. When Johnson called, I was just leaving my house, so now I’m on my way over to start tailing Vargas. I told Johnson I wanted him and Foster to stay with Wade.”

“I was just about to get dressed and head to the office, but I don’t have any appointments until late this afternoon, so as soon as you find out what’s going on, let me know, and I’ll join you.”

“Okay. Well, right now, I’m across the street from the car rental place, and Vargas is still sitting in Wade’s BMW, so I think we’re good for now. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

I quickly showered and got dressed, and since I had the appointment with Louise and Charlotte later in the day, I went ahead and put on a suit and tie. As I was slipping my gun in my holster, Buck called me back.

“As we suspected, they’ve split up, and they’re in separate cars now. Vargas is driving a silver Toyota Camry, and Wade is in his BMW. I’m following Vargas, and he’s heading south on I-35.”

“I’m leaving now, so I shouldn’t be but fifteen minutes behind you.”

“You do realize I could call Javits and have him meet up with me so he could be my backup, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

* * * * * *

Shortly after I got on I-35, Buck called me back and said that Vargas had exited the freeway a few miles from downtown Dallas, and it looked like he was heading over to the Fair Park area in east Dallas.

“I wonder if he knows what a rough neighborhood that is,” I said.

“He sure looks like he knows where he’s going. I’m on Haskell Avenue now, and I’m about four car lengths behind him. He’s slowing down. Okay, he just drove into the parking lot of a convenience store at the corner of Haskell and Sunset. I’m gonna drive on down the block, circle back, and park across the street.”

Five minutes later, I exited I-35 and headed over to Haskell Avenue.

Buck directed me to where he was parked at the side of a Mexican restaurant, which allowed us to keep our eye on the Toyota Camry parked across the street at the convenience store.

When I drove in and parked a few spaces away from Buck’s pickup, I spotted Vargas sitting inside the Toyota. There were other vehicles parked nearby, plus several small groups of young people, mostly males, who were standing at the entrance of the building or milling around the parked cars.

“What do you think, Silas?” Buck asked. “What’s he doing here?”

“It looks like he’s come to the neighborhood drug market to score some drugs. Mike didn’t find anything in Vargas’s background that indicated he was a drug user, but I suppose he could have missed that.”

“Yep. Looks like that’s what’s going on, all right. See the guy in the brown shirt with the baggy jeans and the black bandana? He’s walking toward his car now.”

We watched as Vargas rolled down his window and spoke to the guy in the brown shirt.

Seconds later, Brown Shirt Guy handed Vargas something, and then Vargas handed the guy some cash, and the deal was done.

Vargas didn’t stick around the neighborhood to enjoy the ambience. Within five minutes of him making the transaction, all three of us were heading up the freeway toward North Dallas again.

Since Vargas kept strictly to the speed limit and was careful to observe all the rules of the road—from using his turn signal when he moved into the next lane, to slowing down as he exited the freeway—I figured he was being extra cautious to avoid being pulled over by the cops and being arrested if he didn’t have a license or they found drugs.

Shortly after he got off I-35 on Markville Drive, he put his right turn signal on as if he were about to stop at a mid-price motel, but instead of turning in there, he drove on down the road to a cheaper-looking motel—the Metro Motor Inn—and pulled in there.

I followed Buck into the gas station next door, and we parked facing the motel so we could observe Vargas as he went inside.

“My guess is that he’s getting a room for the day so he can chill out with his drugs,” Buck said. “What do you think?”

“Sounds about right. Has Johnson contacted you about where Wade went after leaving the rental place?”

“Yeah, he texted me about ten minutes ago with an update. He said they followed Wade back to his apartment, and that’s where he is right now. Maybe he told Vargas he couldn’t do drugs in his apartment, and that’s why he was willing to rent him the car.”

“Yeah, that’s a possibility.”

We watched as Vargas came out of the motel’s office, got back in his car, and drove around to the side, where he parked in front of Room 105. After grabbing his suitcase out of the trunk, he went inside and closed the door.

A few seconds later, we saw him draw the drapes.

“It looks like we might be stuck here awhile,” Buck said. “Don’t feel obligated to stay with me, Silas. I was serious when I said I could call Javits to join me.”

“I think I’ll stick around for an hour, and if it doesn’t look like Vargas is going anywhere, then I’ll head to the office. Right now, I need to check in with Claudia, so I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

When I called Claudia, she said the only thing she had to tell me was that Beverly confirmed with Tomlin that he’d be available to go with me to my three-thirty appointment with Louise and Charlotte to update them on the investigation.

However, just as I was about to hang up, she said, “Oh, wait a second, Silas, there’s one more thing. When Mike came in, he told me to be sure and let him know when you got here. I asked him if it was urgent, but he said it wasn’t.”

“Okay, I’ll see him when I get there.”

“I also asked him if he felt okay because I thought he sounded a little cranky, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. I really think something’s bothering him.”

“Did he say something was bothering him?”

“No, but I didn’t want him to think I was being nosy, so I didn’t ask him about it specifically.”

Although I was pretty sure Norwell already knew Claudia was being nosy, I said, “Well, thanks for letting me know, Claudia. I’ll talk to him when I get in, which will probably be in about an hour.”

Except it wasn’t an hour.

Ten minutes after I hung up from talking to Claudia, the door to Room 105 opened, and Vargas walked out wheeling his suitcase behind him.

Once he put it in the trunk of the Toyota, he got behind the wheel, drove out of the parking lot, and headed west on Markville Drive.

Buck gave me a call as we started following him again.

“What do you think, Silas?”

“I think Vargas looks like he’s on his way to a business meeting.”

* * * * * *

When Vargas came out of his motel room, he was dressed differently than when he went in. Now he had on black slacks, a white shirt, and a black tie, and he was wearing a pair of black loafers.

He definitely didn’t look like he’d been in the room doing drugs.

“He’s not getting on the freeway again,” Buck said, as we followed Vargas past the exit to I-35, “but wherever he’s going, it’s obvious he needs to be dressed up when he gets there.”

“I don’t have a clue what he’s doing or where he’s going.”

“Johnson’s calling me, so I need to put you on hold.”

Buck came back on the line in less than a minute.

“Johnson said Wade just left his apartment, and he thought I’d be interested to know he was dressed in a suit and tie like he had an important appointment. I asked him what direction he was going, and he said he was heading west on Royal Lane.”

“I have a good idea where Wade is going, so it may not mean anything that both men are dressed up. Louise told me she and Charlotte are meeting Wade at the Madison Hotel for a luncheon given by the Anthony George Foundation. It starts at eleven-thirty, so I assume that’s why Wade put on a suit.”

“Vargas couldn’t possibly be going there too, could he?”

“I figured Wade wouldn’t want to be near Louise when Vargas fulfills his contract. On the other hand, maybe he does want to be there. That way, no one will suspect him of being involved.”

“What about Wes Decker? Is he attending the luncheon?”

“I don’t know. Louise didn’t mention him.”

“If Decker’s attending the luncheon at the Madison, then the team I’ve assigned to watch his back should know that. Just a second while I check in with them.”

It didn’t take him but a few seconds to find out. “Yeah, there’s a good possibility Decker is also on his way to the luncheon. He just left the QWave parking lot and is heading east.”

We were both quiet for several seconds as we continued tailing Vargas on Markville Drive, and then Buck asked, “The Madison Hotel is on Dartmouth Avenue, right?”

“That’s right. I actually went there with Emma several years ago to attend an interior designers awards banquet.”

“The next intersection coming up is Dartmouth Avenue, so I guess we’ll know for sure if he’s going to the Madison if he turns left. If that happens, you’re gonna need to come up with a plan ASAP.”

We came to the intersection a minute later.

Vargas turned left.

* * * * * *

When the two of us drove our vehicles into the parking lot at the side of the Madison Hotel shortly after Vargas did, I told Buck the only plan I had was to make sure we didn’t lose sight of him.

Since I figured Vargas would recognize me after seeing me with Charlotte the other day, I instructed Buck to park his pickup in the row next to where Vargas was parking the Toyota. “If he goes into the hotel, then you follow him and let me know when I can come inside without him seeing me. If you don’t think it’s safe, then I’ll find another way to get inside. We need to stay in touch with each other at all times, so let’s keep this line open and use our earbuds.”

“Copy that. Right now, Vargas is still in his vehicle, and he’s staring at something on his phone. I can’t tell if he’s going inside or not.”

“He could have just shown up here today to get a visual of his intended target—whether it’s Louise or Decker—and he’s not here to take out either one of them. That makes sense to me, because let’s face it, murdering someone in broad daylight at this venue is pretty risky.”

“I guess we don’t need to worry about him shooting anyone since Wade told him this murder has to look different than the way Sherwood was killed.”

“No, what I suspect he plans to do is to give one of them a fatal dose of the drugs he purchased this morning.”

“I’m with you on that. My guess is it’ll be fentanyl.”

Buck and I were quiet as we watched Vargas emerge from the Toyota. “Okay, he’s on the move now, and so am I.”

“Yeah, I see you.”

For a couple of minutes, all I could hear was the low murmur of voices, and then Buck finally said, “It’s safe for you to come in now. He’s walking down a long hallway on the right side of the lobby.”

As I got out of my car and headed over to the entrance of the hotel, I asked, “Can you tell where he’s going yet?”

“No, but I saw a sign that indicated that’s where the banquet rooms were located, so I assume that’s where he’s going.”

When I entered the lobby, I saw the same sign Buck saw, but I also noticed a pedestal sign informing guests that the Anthony George Foundation Luncheon was taking place in Banquet Room A.

“I’m inside the lobby now,” I told Buck. “Does it look like he’s entering Banquet Room A?”

“No, he just walked past it. He did glance inside, though.”

“That’s where the luncheon is taking place. Are you sure Vargas doesn’t suspect you’re following him?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty far behind him, plus there’s people standing around in the hallway waiting to get inside the banquet rooms, so even if he looks behind him, I doubt if he would be able to see me.”

“Okay, Buck, here’s my plan. I’m headed down to Banquet Room A, and when I get there, I’ll go inside and see if I can find Louise. I’ll make up some story about what I’m doing there, and then I’ll stick around until we know what Vargas is up to.”

“All I can tell you is that he just walked past Banquet Room F, and when he came to the end of the hallway, he turned the corner. If I had to guess, though, I’d say he knows where he’s going, so he might have downloaded a map of the hotel before he got here.”

“Are you okay about following him around the corner?”

“I just did, and now I’m looking at a door with a sign on it that says, ‘Employees Only.’ Okay, it’s not locked, so I’m opening it.”

“Are you sure it’s—”

“This is where the hotel’s laundry facilities are located, and I believe the kitchen must be at the end of the hallway because I can see waitstaff coming out of a door down there carrying food trays. There’s no sign of Vargas, but I’m about to check out the laundry room.”

Although Buck had good instincts about the people he followed, I was starting to wonder if Vargas had spotted him and was trying to lose him or perhaps lead him into a trap.

Despite the fact I’d arrived outside the room where the luncheon was to take place, I decided to tell Buck I was coming to help him search for Vargas.

However, before I had a chance to do that, Wes Decker suddenly appeared in the doorway of the banquet room. “Well, hi, Silas. I’m surprised to see you here. Did Louise invite you?”

“Uh . . . no. Louise doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Then why did you—”

“Well, uh . . . like I told you yesterday, my staff and I are keeping an eye on you and Louise until the police have enough evidence to arrest Trent, so when I heard that he was attending the luncheon with Charlotte, I decided it might be a good idea for me to be here too.”

“You’re kidding. I had no idea Trent was coming.” He looked around the room. “I have to admit that makes me a little nervous.”

“I really don’t think you have anything to worry about, but since I haven’t told Louise about Trent yet, could I ask you to do me a favor?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Would you mind telling Louise that you invited me to the luncheon?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t mind.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “The AG Foundation honors businesses that contribute to the community, so I could tell her I wanted to get DCSS involved in the foundation, and I invited you to be my guest.”

“That should work. Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“And I appreciate your being here to watch out for our safety.”

He gestured toward the far side of the room. “Our table is located over there by where that waiter is standing near the speaker’s podium. Can you see Louise? She’s talking to the lady in the red dress.”

“Yes, I see her. I’ll follow you.”

As we made our way through the maze of tables covered in cream-colored linen tablecloths and decorated with elaborate centerpieces, I checked my phone to see if I was still connected to Buck, and when it showed I was, I said, “Buck, can you hear me?”

He didn’t say a word.

Even though I was concerned when he didn’t respond, I knew I couldn’t be talking on the phone when I got to the QWave table, so I disconnected the call with the intention of making an excuse to leave the table and go check on him as soon as I could.

To say Louise was surprised to see me would be an understatement. “Silas, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

Decker responded before I could say anything, but I couldn’t tell if she believed him, or if she just decided not to question it, because as he was explaining my presence, Charlotte and Wade showed up, and it was obvious she was more interested in introducing Wade to her friends who hadn’t met Charlotte’s fiancé than she was in hearing why I was at the luncheon.

As soon as Decker saw where Wade and Charlotte were sitting, he quickly took a seat on the other side of the table. I admit I was afraid Wade might get suspicious of him because of the way he kept fidgeting in his chair and rubbing his hands together nervously, while looking everywhere in the room except at Wade.

A short time later, I realized I had no reason to worry about him noticing Decker, because Wade appeared to be more concerned about my presence at the luncheon than he was about how Decker was acting, especially after Charlotte brought up the subject of my investigation into Sherwood’s murder.

“My mother and I are looking forward to hearing about the progress you’ve made finding out who murdered my father. She mentioned you might have a suspect. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s a possibility.”

Wade shook his head. “But you’re just a private investigator. You can’t make an arrest, can you?”

“No, only the police can do that. Of course, we always share any evidence we have with the police.”

“Have you done that yet?”

I nodded. “We’re in the process of it.”

Louise looked distraught as she motioned toward Wade. “This really isn’t the place to talk about such things, Trent. I’m already having difficulty dealing with my feelings about being at this luncheon as it is. This foundation was one of Sherwood’s favorite charities, and he always looked forward to being here.”

Charlotte leaned over and gave her mother’s arm a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I’m sure Trent didn’t realize being here at the luncheon would be hard on you.”

When Charlotte looked over at Wade as if she expected him to apologize, he murmured, “Uh . . . yeah, I’m . . . uh . . . really sorry, Louise.”

As soon as he made his half-hearted apology, he looked away as if he might be embarrassed.

At least, I thought that was the reason he looked away.

I changed my mind when I glanced over at where he was staring and immediately recognized the waiter who was heading toward our table with a tray of water glasses in his hands.

The waiter was Miguel Vargas.

Chapter 22

The moment I noticed him, I realized I should have known he was planning to impersonate a waiter when I saw all the waitstaff in the banquet room wearing black slacks, white shirts, and black ties.

However, I didn’t have time to lecture myself about that failure because I could think of only one reason he was in the room disguised as a waiter—he’d added a fatal dose of the drugs he’d purchased in Fair Park to the water he planned to serve Louise or Decker—which meant not only did I need to prevent them from drinking the water, I couldn’t allow them to even touch the water glasses.

Since Charlotte knew Vargas, I wondered if she might also recognize him, but when I saw Wade pull her close to him so he could whisper something in her ear, I realized his part in the plan was to make sure she didn’t notice anything.

My suspicions about what Vargas was doing were further confirmed when he stopped at the table next to ours, and I noticed he was wearing plastic gloves. Plus, he was paying careful attention to each glass before he set it on the table in front of the guest.

As I tried to figure out how to handle the situation without making a scene, I quickly scanned through the faces in the banquet room searching for any sign of Buck.

Since I didn’t spot him, and I couldn’t figure out a way to discreetly stop Vargas from serving the water at our table, I abandoned any thought of not making a scene, and I pushed my chair away from the table and stood to my feet.

As I did so, Vargas turned and began moving toward our table.

The moment he saw me he froze.

His eyes locked onto mine.

A look of panic appeared on his face.

When I started reaching for my weapon, I could almost hear the synapses in his brain firing off as he sought a way to escape.

Apparently, this burst of mental activity helped him overcome his momentary paralysis, and he immediately fled toward an exit door, thrusting the tray he was carrying into the hands of another waiter who had just entered the room.

The man looked stunned when he suddenly found himself with a tray of water glasses in his hands, but he appeared even more surprised when I walked up and sternly warned him, “Don’t touch any of those glasses. Take them to a safe place where you can watch over them until the police arrive.”

Whether it was the mention of the police or the sight of my gun, the young man simply nodded and said, “I . . . I . . . will, sir.”

Once I heard that, I followed Vargas out the door.

The door opened into a service corridor that ran behind the banquet rooms, and when I noticed the only people in the hallway were members of the waitstaff, and most of them were pushing food carts, I figured the hallway led down to the kitchen.

I didn’t spot Vargas, though.

I’d lost sight of him when I stopped to speak to the waiter, so now, I had no way of knowing if he’d entered one of the other rooms, or if he’d fled down to the kitchen.

I decided to check out Banquet Room B first.

I quickly holstered my gun before stepping inside, which I discovered was full of at least a hundred ladies who were all wearing red dresses and red hats.

However, there was no sign of Vargas.

At that point, I decided it made more sense for him to try and get out of the hotel through the kitchen, where I figured there had to be a door that led out to the parking lot.

I hurried down the hallway in that direction, but just before I got there, my attention was drawn to a door marked “Kitchen Storage.”

I noticed it because it wasn’t completely closed, and even though I told myself it was probably just my imagination, it looked like it was moving a little, as if someone had just gone through it.

Since there were no hotel employees in the area, I slipped my Sig from my gun holster again and cautiously approached the door, using my free hand to slowly open it and scan for any threats—particularly a Mexican hitman in a waiter’s uniform.

There was no one inside—at least there was no one standing near the door—but since the room was a lot larger than I thought it would be, I couldn’t say for sure that Vargas wasn’t hiding somewhere inside.

On my right were rows of metal storage shelves filled with tablecloths, napkins, and paper products.

On my left were wooden shelves full of glassware, dinner plates, serving bowls, and a variety of other china.

At first, I couldn’t tell how far the center aisle between the rows extended, but as I made my way forward, sweeping the room from left to right with my gun in the high ready position, I entered a section where tables and chairs were stored.

That’s when I realized the storage room probably had as much square footage as one of the banquet rooms, and there were dozens of places for Vargas to hide.

When I got to the end of this section, the center aisle veered off to the right where large kitchen equipment was stored, including a walk-in freezer, two industrial-grade stoves, dishwashers, and several serving tables.

When I entered this section, I paused and tried to identify the noises I was hearing—muffled voices, clanging metal, and occasional pounding.

It took me a moment, but I finally decided the sounds were coming from the hotel’s kitchen, which probably meant a door from the storage room led directly into the kitchen itself.

If that were true, and Vargas had entered the storage room ahead of me, then I figured he could have discovered that already, and at this very moment, he was making his escape from the hotel.

I wasn’t about to let that happen, so I quickened my pace as I made my way past the appliances.

Whether I wasn’t being as cautious as I should have been, or the kitchen noises had masked the sound of someone approaching me from behind, the moment I walked past the walk-in freezer, I suddenly felt the cold metal of a gun barrel being pressed against the center of my back.

“Drop your gun.”

Although I couldn’t see him, I had no doubt the voice belonged to Miguel Vargas.

I lowered my gun, but I didn’t drop it.

He jabbed me with the barrel of his gun again.

“I said drop it.”

This time I dropped it.

“Now push the gun away.”

I kicked the gun down the aisle a couple of feet, and then I said, “I really thought you were a lot smarter than this, Miguel.”

“Take four steps to the side and turn around.”

He didn’t say which direction, so I took four steps to my right, which meant I was near some shelves with a variety of kitchen utensils on them. I didn’t see any knives, but I figured if nothing else, I might be able to grab something to throw at him.

Of course, that would never work if he was planning to shoot me.

Granted, at one time, I could throw a good fastball, but even on my best day, I was never fast enough to compete with the velocity of a bullet being fired from a handgun.

That feat required divine intervention, something I’d been praying for ever since I felt the gun at my back.

When I turned around and faced him, he asked, “What did you mean by that? What do you know about me?”

“I meant I thought you were smart enough not to take unnecessary risks. Killing me is an unnecessary risk. You’d be much better off leaving the hotel right now and catching a plane to Cabo.”

I moved a little closer to the metal shelves. “You asked me what I know about you. Actually, Miguel, I know quite a bit about you. For instance, I know you killed Sherwood Fenton, and you intended to kill Louise at the same time, but since you botched that, you came here today to finish the job by killing her with a fatal drug overdose.”

“If you know all that, then it probably means you told the cops, and if I went to the airport now, I wouldn’t be able to make it up to a gate without being arrested, much less get on a plane.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. I haven’t told the cops anything yet, not even about Trent hiring you to kill Sherwood.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“If I’d told the cops, don’t you think they’d be here by now?”

“For all I know, they’ve already arrested Trent, and they’re getting ready to burst in this room right now, so if you’re wondering why I didn’t rush out to my car and get out of here, that’s the reason. I’m not worried, though.” He took a step towards me. “When the cops come for me, you’re gonna be my ticket out of here.”

“No, I’m not. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

That statement set him off.

In one swift motion, he covered the ground between us, put his gun up to my head, and said, “Then you’re gonna die right here.”

Time suddenly stopped for me, and I experienced a flashback—although it wasn’t a flash; it was more like a slow-motion recall—of sitting at Emma’s bedside holding her hand as she took her last breath.

When I realized she was gone, I laid my head on the edge of her hospital bed, and with tears streaming down my face, I begged God to let me go with her. “Take me to heaven too,” I cried.

God didn’t take me then, but when Vargas put the gun to my head, I was sure my time had finally come.

And I was okay with that.

I closed my eyes in perfect peace.

Then I heard a voice.

* * * * * *

The voice I heard wasn’t God’s voice. Even though I’d never heard the audible voice of God, I didn’t think it would have an Alabama accent with a touch of Texas twang in it.

“If anyone’s gonna die here today,” Buck said, “it’s gonna be you. It’s your choice. Either put the gun down, or I’ll shoot you.”

When I heard Buck’s voice, my eyes immediately popped open.

When they did, I saw Buck standing behind Vargas pointing his Glock 17 directly at his head.

Vargas continued holding his gun at my temple for a couple of seconds, but when he finally lowered it to his side, I immediately gripped his wrist with one hand, twisted his forearm with the other, and forced him to drop the gun.

When it clattered to the floor, I kicked it away, and while Buck kept his gun trained on him, I picked up my Sig and ordered Vargas to step over to the walk-in freezer, where I had him face the door with his hands raised above his head.

After he followed my instructions, I looked over at Buck and gave him a nod. “That was a close call. Glad you finally showed up.”

“I would have been here sooner, but I got delayed.”

“I can’t wait to hear about it, but let’s get this guy taken care of first. I don’t suppose you’ve called the police yet, have you?”

“As a matter of fact, I called Detective Aldridge about ten minutes ago. I’ll keep an eye on Miguel, if you wanna go see if she’s here yet.”

“Yeah, I’ll go check on it.”

As I headed toward the exit, Buck said, “In case you’re wondering about Wade, I left Johnson and Foster down in the banquet room with him, so he’s not going anywhere.”

I shook my head. “You’ve had a busy morning, and all this time I thought you were just goofing off somewhere.”

“That’s funny, because that’s what I thought you were doing.”

* * * * * *

I put my gun back in my holster before I stepped out in the hallway, and when I encountered Detective Aldridge, along with several uniformed officers coming down the hall toward me with their weapons drawn, I was glad I did.

“Where’s Miguel Vargas?” she asked. “From what your colleague told me over the phone, it sounds like he was planning to give Louise Fenton an overdose of fentanyl.”

“That’s right, and I believe you’ll find evidence of that in some water glasses down in Banquet Room A.”

She nodded. “I’ll have them checked out. So where’s Vargas now?”

I pointed over to the storage room. “When he realized I knew what he was about to do, he ran out of the banquet room and into that storage room. When I went after him, he surprised me, but fortunately, Buck showed up as he was threatening to kill me, and he disarmed him. Buck’s holding him at gunpoint inside.”

After the detective directed the officers to take Vargas into custody, she told me Detective Monte was questioning Trent Wade, and when I asked her if I could go speak with Louise and Charlotte Fenton, she denied my request—although she was polite about it—and said she wanted to ask Buck and me some questions first.

When Buck joined us a few minutes later, the three of us walked down to the hotel lobby, where Detective Aldridge spoke to the hotel manager, who showed us to a small conference room behind his office.

After the three of us took a seat, Aldridge got a phone call, and when she hung up, she apologized and said she had to leave for a few minutes, but she assured us she wouldn’t be gone long.

The moment she walked out, I gestured at Buck. “So tell me what happened when you were checking out the laundry room. Why didn’t you answer me when I asked you what was going on?”

“I never went inside the laundry room. Just as I started to open the door, I spotted Vargas entering the kitchen down at the end of the hallway, so once I saw him go inside, I walked down and looked through the window in the door to see if I could tell what he was doing. As soon as I realized he was dressed exactly like all the other waitstaff, I knew what he was planning to do.”

“I was sorry I didn’t recognize that sooner. When I went inside the banquet room, I saw a couple of waiters standing around, but I didn’t make the connection with how Vargas was dressed.”

“You weren’t answering me by the time I got inside the kitchen, so I figured you had to hang up your phone. I tried to call you back when I saw Vargas leaving the kitchen with a tray of water glasses, but when I couldn’t get you, I decided I would just follow him.” He stopped for a second and grinned at me. “Don’t laugh, but I sorta got caught by a security guard and was escorted out of the hotel.”

“You sorta got caught?”

“Well, okay, I did get caught.”

I let out a short laugh. “So what happened?”

He ran his hand over his face. “Okay, so while I was watching Vargas, I didn’t realize it, but one of the cooks noticed me hanging around and called hotel security on me. I tried to tell them I had just gotten lost and ended up there, but the guy didn’t believe me.”

“You’re not losing your touch, are you, Buck? Didn’t you once convince a border guard in Pakistan you were a member of the President’s security detail?”

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago in a galaxy far far away.”

I chuckled. “So finish your story. What happened then?”

“The security officer escorted me down to the lobby and out of the building, and when I still couldn’t get you on the phone, I called Detective Aldridge and explained what was happening with Vargas, and then I texted Johnson—he and Foster were sitting in the parking lot waiting for Trent to come out of the Madison—and asked them to help me sneak back into the hotel. When we got down to the room where the lunch was taking place, Decker told me he just saw you following one of the waiters out of the room. That’s when I—”

“Could you tell if Trent knew what was going on with Vargas?”

“Oh, yeah, he knew. He immediately got out of his seat like he was gonna follow you, but I told him he needed to stay right where he was, and then I left Johnson in charge of him while I went looking for you.”

“What about Louise and Charlotte?”

“I didn’t talk to them, but when I told Trent the police were on their way, I saw Decker walk over and speak to Louise.”

“I can just imagine what’s happening in there right now.”

“It was pretty chaotic when I left, so I’m sure—”

Detective Aldridge interrupted him when she came in and sat down again. “I’m sorry I had to step out for a moment. As soon as I ask you a few questions, you’ll be free to leave.”

It took twenty minutes to answer her questions, and when we finished, she said, “You’ll be interested to know we got the search warrant for Wade’s apartment, so we’ll know soon enough if we have a match on those shoe prints, and now that we have the gun Vargas was carrying today, we can also have it checked out.”

“I’ll be surprised if he didn’t use it to kill Sherwood,” I said. “What about those water glasses Vargas was carrying? Were you able to field test them for drugs?”

“Yes, we did a quick test, and the results were positive for fentanyl. If you hadn’t stopped him, there’s a good possibility someone would be dead right now, and I’m pretty sure it would be Louise.”

“When I accused Vargas of planning to kill her, he didn’t deny it, so I’m convinced she was his target. Are Louise and Charlotte still in the banquet room? I’d like to go speak to them now.”

“No. Detective Monte took them down to one of the empty banquet rooms to question them. If you follow me, I’ll show you where it is.”

Before I left with Detective Aldridge, Buck told me he needed to go speak with Johnson and Foster, so I told him I’d see him back at the office later.

“As soon as I get there,” I said, “I’ll update the rest of the staff about what happened today, but if you want, you can go ahead and tell your surveillance teams about what went down. Oh, and don’t forget to mention how you arrived just in the nick of time to save my life today.”

“Are you kidding? I always make myself the hero of my stories.”

“Yeah, Buck, I know.”

Chapter 23

When Detective Aldridge and I left the conference room, she teasingly reprimanded me for not telling her that Vargas was about to shoot me when Buck showed up.

“You just said he threatened you; you didn’t say he was about to pull the trigger. Is that really true, or were you just joking with Buck?”

“Yes, it’s true, and it’s not the first time Buck has saved my life. We both served in the Middle East together in the Defense Intelligence Agency. When he resigned, he came to work at DCSS, and then he recommended me for a position. We go back a long way.”

“Are all the investigators at DCSS former intelligence officers?”

“No, not all of them. The owner, Austin Tomlin, is a retired Army colonel, so naturally, he’s partial to those who’ve been in the military or served in one of our intelligence agencies, but we have several men and women at DCSS who’ve also been with law enforcement. Why do you ask, Detective? Are you considering applying?”

She laughed. “Well, maybe. I love detective work, but I get frustrated at not having quick access to what I need to solve a crime, and from what I’ve observed during this investigation, you have some unique tools available to you as a private investigator.”

“If you’re seriously thinking about leaving the police department, then I’d encourage you to apply at DCSS. I don’t know of any openings right now, but . . .” I paused when I suddenly realized something, “but I do know someone who’s about to open their own detective agency, and if you want, I’ll give her your number.”

“Sure, I don’t mind. I’d like to talk to her.”

“The woman’s name is Ashley Davenport. I think you’d enjoy working with her, and I’ll be glad to recommend you.”

She gave me a smile. “Thanks, Silas, I appreciate it, but I might also apply at DCSS. I’ve really enjoyed working with you on this case.”

I wondered if the detective was flirting with me, but by then, we were outside the room where Louise and Charlotte were talking to Detective Monte, so I didn’t have to respond to her comment.

The two women were sitting across the table from the detective, who was taking notes on a mobile tablet, and although I was expecting both women to be upset when they learned it was Wade who was responsible for Sherwood’s murder, Louise didn’t look as distressed about it as Charlotte did.

Aldridge said, “Detective Monte, are you about finished? I told Silas he could speak with his clients for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, I’m done here.” He looked across the table. “If I have any further questions for you, I’ll give you a call.”

The ladies nodded but didn’t say anything.

After the detectives left, I sat down in the chair Monte had just vacated, and then I gestured toward the ladies with both hands and said, “I’m so sorry about what happened here today, Ladies. I can’t imagine how traumatic this has been for you.”

“Yes,” Louise said, nodding her head, “it’s been very stressful, but I’m glad to finally have some answers. I’ve been so upset not knowing if Sherwood’s killer would ever be found, much less brought to justice, that it’s been hard for me to concentrate on my responsibilities.”

Charlotte looked as if she’d been crying and might be on the verge of tears again. “I’m still in shock,” she said. “The idea that Trent planned my father’s murder is something that never even crossed my mind, and according to what Wes told us, he did it for the money.” She shook her head as she pressed her hands to her forehead. “How could I have been so blind? Or even worse, how could I have been so stupid?”

Louise patted her arm. “It’s okay, Charlotte. He fooled me too, and I guess he fooled everyone. Well, maybe not Sherwood. After what Wes told me, I guess Sherwood was referring to Trent when he said, ‘He actually did it.’ Is that what you think, Silas?”

“We’ll never know for sure, Louise, but that certainly makes sense to me. I was going to bring that up when I made the appointment to see you this afternoon.” I quickly went over the rest of what I’d planned to tell them about the investigation, and then I asked if they had any questions for me.

“I don’t have any questions,” Charlotte said, “but I want you to know how grateful I am that you prevented Miguel from getting anywhere near my mother today. I’m sure I also speak for my mother when I say thank you, Silas.”

Louise gestured toward me. “Oh, of course, Silas. I should have said something earlier. Thank you for all you’ve done, and be sure and tell Austin thanks too. While you’re at it, tell him I’ll be in touch with him about the Luminaries of Hope Gala very soon. I know he’ll want to make a donation.”

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised—although I was—that even though Louise had almost lost her life today, her charity fund-raising events were still at the forefront of her mind.

But after I left them, and I was walking out to my car, I realized what was true of Louise was also true of me.

Although I’d also faced death today, the only thing I could think about at the moment was seeing Ashley.

* * * * * *

When I arrived back at DCSS headquarters, I asked both Norwell and Claudia to join me in my office, and after I went over the events of the morning with them, I told Claudia to see if all the division heads could meet with me for a brief staff meeting at four o’clock in the conference room so I could update them on the Fenton case.

“What about Austin?” she asked. “Should I see if he’s available?”

“No, I’d prefer to update him in private, so check with Beverly to see if I can visit with him before the staff meeting.”

When Claudia got up to leave, I asked Norwell to remain behind, and once she closed the door behind her, I said, “What did you want to see me about this morning? Claudia told me she thought it sounded urgent.”

“I specifically told her it wasn’t anything urgent, but I don’t think she believed me.”

“No, she said she thought something was bothering you.”

He smiled. “She was right. Something was bothering me, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s about the conversation you and I had about my dad, and the struggles I’ve been having about whether I really believe in God. Like my dad said, I’ve been in a dark tunnel, but I think I’ve resolved those doubts now, and I can see the light at the end of that tunnel, as corny as that sounds.”

“I don’t think it sounds corny, especially since I suspect I know what you’re about to tell me. Was it the light you saw at the end of that tunnel? If so, that’s actually very Biblical.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’ve actually seen the light, but what I can tell you is that when I woke up in the middle of the night last night, I felt this overwhelming need to pray, and when I did, I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt, that God’s presence was there with me. At that moment, my doubts about him were completely gone.”

“That’s great news, Mike. I’m really happy for you.”

“You’re gonna laugh, but all I wanted to do at that moment was to read something from the Bible. I didn’t care what it was. I just wanted to find a verse and see if it spoke to me.”

“I get it. You wanted to test the waters, so to speak.”

He nodded. “Of course, I haven’t owned a Bible for several years, so I had to download an app on my cell phone, and when I was trying to decide what book of the Bible to choose, I clicked on the next to the last book in the Bible.”

“The book of Jude? Why would you do that?”

“Because I remembered hearing a pastor say it was one of the weirdest books in the Bible, and I figured if a verse in that book touched me in some way, then my doubts were really resolved.”

He pulled his phone out and said, “When I read this to you, you’ll understand why I ended up crying like a baby. These are the last two verses in the book of Jude. ‘Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy, to the only God our Savior, be all glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ ”

“Watch it, Mike, you’re about to make me cry too, and I have to tell you, my emotional budget is already overspent after what Vargas put me through today.”

He let out a short laugh. “Yes, it sounds like things got a little hairy between the two of you.”

I leaned forward and said, “Seriously, Mike, if I’m hearing you correctly, those verses spoke to you because they assured you that anyone who is truly a believer—even those of us who have questioned God’s goodness or have experienced seasons of doubt—will stand in his presence without shame one day.”

“Yeah, that’s it. That was the light I saw at the end of the tunnel, so I guess my dad was right, and something good did come from his cancer.”

I was about to comment on his statement when Claudia buzzed me to let me know everyone could be at the staff meeting at four, but that Tomlin was tied up on the phone right now, and she didn’t have confirmation when I could see him.

When I hung up, Norwell asked, “When you update the staff about the Fenton case, do you want me to bring up the research I did on the accident that killed Trent Wade’s parents? After looking into it, I don’t believe Trent could have been responsible for their deaths. Their car was hit by another vehicle in a head-on collision, and the driver was also killed, so for what it’s worth, Trent’s decision to kill Sherwood wasn’t part of a pattern.”

“Yeah, go ahead and talk about it. After all, you did the research.”

“Well, it was mainly for my benefit.” As he got up and headed for the door, he said, “I just kept wondering if the guy could be a psychopath, but since he’s been arrested, I guess it doesn’t make any difference. You know me. I’m always asking the odd questions.”

When I walked with him over to the door, I said, “Don’t ever apologize for asking questions, Mike. If you stopped doing that, we wouldn’t be able to solve nearly as many cases.”

He pointed his finger at me. “You’re not fooling me. I know you’re just trying to make me feel good so I won’t quit and go to work for Ashley.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I’m doing, all right.”

After I opened the door for him, I pretended to shove him out, but when he started walking down the hallway, he looked back at me with a big grin on his face and gave me a thumbs up.

I knew exactly why he did it.

Ashley had just walked into the reception area.

* * * * * *

I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t go over to Claudia’s desk and check in with her. I figured she wasn’t about to bother with protocol when she was leaving in a few days. But when I saw her face, I wasn’t sure that was the only reason she was heading straight to my office.

She appeared to be worried about something.

Really worried.

“Hi, Ashley,” I said, gesturing for her to come inside, “it’s nice to see you. Thanks for coming by.”

I said this strictly for Claudia’s benefit, because as soon as she saw Ashley making a beeline for my office, it looked like she was about to prevent her from seeing me.

However, when Claudia heard my voice, she stopped in her tracks.

The moment I closed the door, Ashley walked over and put her arms around me. As we embraced, she said, “I couldn’t believe it when Buck told the interns you were almost killed today. I hope you don’t mind, but I had to come and make sure you were okay.”

I leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “I’m really okay. And thanks for being concerned about me.”

“I was more than concerned. I was worried sick.”

“Yes, I can see that.” I traced my finger across her forehead. “You can just erase those worries from your mind. I’m perfectly fine.”

She leaned her head against my shoulder. “Had I known you were going to be confronting Vargas today, I would have been praying for you.” She looked up at me and smiled. “I meant praying for you more than I usually do.”

“I was probably praying enough for both of us, and I’m sure Buck didn’t spin it this way, but God used him to spare my life today, that’s for sure.”

I gave her a long, slow kiss, and then I said, “I’d love for you to stay for a while, but as soon as Austin is free, I need to go brief him before the staff meeting.”

“No, that’s fine. I understand.” As we drew apart, she said, “I wish we could have dinner tonight, but my mother couldn’t make it to see Dylan today, so I promised her I’d stop by tonight. I’m taking him a box of candy for a Valentine’s Day present.”

“Speaking of Valentine’s Day,” I said, “would you be available to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

She smiled. “Yes, I believe I can manage that. Do you have a place in mind?”

“Yes, I’ve made reservations for us at Marcella’s for seven o’clock.”

“Oh, wow. I’m impressed.”

“A special place for a special lady.”

“You continue to surprise me, Silas. I never—”

She stopped in midsentence when someone knocked on my door.

I figured it was Claudia, but when I opened it, I found Tomlin standing there. He looked flustered when he saw Ashley.

If she noticed the look on his face, she didn’t act like it, and after they acknowledged each other, she told me she was glad I was okay and immediately left.

When she did, he asked, “Why did Ashley say she was glad you were okay? Did something happen to you?”

I nodded. “A few hours ago, I had an encounter with the person who shot Sherwood Fenton, and she was glad I lived to tell about it.”

“Well, she’s not the only one.” He walked over and sat down on the couch. “Tell me what happened.”

After I went over the Fenton case with him and told him how the events unfolded when we got to the Madison Hotel, he appeared to be in such good spirits with the outcome, that I decided I might as well talk to him about my feelings for Ashley.

Since I had already survived one harrowing experience today, I figured one more wouldn’t matter.

Chapter 24

As a way of transitioning to a more personal topic, I asked him if I could offer him a cup of coffee, and if he had time to discuss something else with me.

He assured me he had plenty of time, and he’d love some coffee, and when I got up to fix us both a cup, he said, “When you get finished, I also have something I need to discuss with you. I’ve been on the phone with Donnie Burgess at Vanguard Energy Resources for the past hour. It sounds like he’s got a real problem.” He shook his head. “But I’ll tell you about that in a minute.”

In a way, I was glad to hear Tomlin had something else on his mind, since I figured there’d be less chance he’d want to dwell on what I was about to tell him.

“So you were on the phone with Donnie,” I said after handing him his coffee. “Well, you know I’m anxious to hear about it, and I promise what I have to tell you won’t take long.”

“No, no, take your time. There’s no rush.”

Strangely enough, when I sat down across from him, I suddenly found myself at a loss of where to begin, and for a brief moment, I experienced a sense of panic.

However, I immediately realized how ridiculous my anxiety was, especially after remembering how calm I felt when Vargas was about to take my life, so I breathed a short prayer and said, “I know this may come as a surprise to you, Austin, but what I want to discuss with you is my relationship with Ashley Davenport.”

He frowned a little as he took a sip of his coffee. “Really? I admit I’m surprised to hear that. What about your relationship with her? I hope you’re not about to tell me you’ve offended her, and her father’s cancelled his contract with us. You know Precept Healthcare is one of our top-tier accounts.”

“No, nothing like that. In fact, it’s just the opposite. After working with Ashley for the past several months, I’ve developed a close, personal relationship with her, and just recently, it’s become a romantic relationship. I’m not sure where it’s going, but I know I have strong feelings for her, and she feels the same way about me.”

Tomlin looked shocked. “I had no idea you were attracted to her.”

“I’m aware of that, and it’s one of the reasons I wanted to discuss our relationship with you. Ashley and I both agreed it wouldn’t be appropriate for us to be dating each other while she was working here, so that’s why she decided to leave her internship early.”

He gestured toward me with his open palm. “So she lied to me about why she was leaving?”

“No, I don’t believe she lied to you, because she told you the truth when she said she needed to devote the next two months to staffing her agency and moving into her building.”

“Well, obviously, she didn’t tell me the full story.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“And what about you? Were you being truthful the other day when you told me you had no plans to leave and join her agency?”

“Absolutely. I would never lie to you, Austin. I thought you knew me better than that.”

He looked a little embarrassed, which is probably the reason he didn’t say anything for a moment while he took a drink of his coffee.

“Well, yeah,” he finally said, “I thought I knew you pretty well, which is why I’m surprised you’re dating Ashley. I hope you won’t be offended by this, but frankly, she doesn’t seem like your type.”

“If you mean she’s nothing like Emma, I agree with you.”

“Well, yeah, that’s partly it. But there’s also her social status, not to mention the kind of lifestyle she’s used to. And let’s face it, Silas, the two of you have led entirely different lives, which makes it inevitable there’ll be some conflicts down the road.”

“I’ve considered all of that, and all I know is that I have feelings for her, and I’ve prayed about whether I should pursue those feelings, and as of right now, I’m not getting a negative answer. In fact, it’s a positive one.”

He threw up his hands and smiled. “Well, then, that’s good enough for me. Yes, I admit I have doubts you have a future with Ashley, but I really appreciate your telling me about this. I had no idea.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I probably should have told you sooner.”

He nodded. “Probably so. Has Ashley told her parents she’s dating you yet? Since you have a good relationship with Duncan, I’m sure he’ll be pleased, but I’ve met Marjorie, and you might have to do some work to win her over.”

“I just met Marjorie the other day, and I’m sure you’re right.” I shook my head. “No, Ashley hasn’t told her parents about us yet. She wants the four of us to have dinner together soon, so I have a feeling she plans to talk to them in the very near future.”

Tomlin leaned over and placed his empty cup on the coffee table, and as he sat back, he slapped his knees and said, “Well, Silas, now that we’ve covered the personal stuff, let me tell you about the phone call I just had with Donnie Burgess at Vanguard Energy.”

“You said he had a big problem, and since he called you, it sounds like it involves DCSS.”

“He wants us to be involved, but whether we can or not will depend on a number of factors. One of them is whether he can convince the State Department our agency has the personnel and the resources to help him.”

“The State Department? Has something happened at their Saudi Arabia facility?”

“Yes, five members of the Vanguard management staff were kidnapped by a group of terrorists a week ago and are being held for ransom. He wants DCSS to organize a hostage rescue team to go in and get them out.”

The look on Tomlin’s face told me he was seriously considering mounting a rescue attempt, and with his military background, I didn’t find that surprising. Nor did I find it surprising that I suddenly felt my heart rate go up at the thought of organizing such a team.

“Is he sure all five of them are still alive?” I asked.

“Yes, he got proof-of-life photographs this morning, and they’re all alive. So what do you think, Silas? Shall I tell him we’ll do it?”

“Definitely. Let’s do it.”

Never The End, Always A Beginning

* * * * * *

EXTRA BONUS: On the following pages, you’ll find an excerpt from One Night in Tehran, Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series.

A NOTE TO MY READERS

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading Four Doubt, Book IV in the Silas McKay Suspense Series. If you enjoyed it, you might also enjoy One Wonders, Two Believe, and Three Confess. Five Alive is due for release in Summer 2025. You can find the Silas McKay Suspense Series on Amazon here.

In addition, I invite you to check out my other series of mystery/suspense/thrillers: The Mylas Grey Mystery Series, which features private investigator, Mylas Grey, and The Titus Ray Thriller Series, which features CIA intelligence officer, Titus Ray. There’s also a three-book spinoff, the Ben Mitchell/Titus Ray Thriller Series, which puts the spotlight on Titus Ray’s protégé in the CIA, Ben Mitchell.

You’ll find an excerpt from One Night in Tehran, Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series, on the pages following my author bio. All Silas McKay Suspense, Mylas Grey Mysteries, and Titus Ray Thrillers are available in print, eBook, and audiobook on Amazon here.

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Enjoy the excerpt from One Night in Tehran, Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series, on the pages following my author bio.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Although many people have given me support and encouragement in the process of writing Four Doubt, first and foremost, I want to thank my husband, James, and my daughter, Karis, who have never failed to uplift me with their prayers, strengthen me with their love, and bolster me with their confidence.

Although it seems inadequate, I also want to express a special word of gratitude to Kim Kemery, my editor, and Melissa Troutman, my proofreader, and to all my beta readers, whose eye for detail continues to provide me with invaluable insight. You’re the best!

And to those experts out there who have given me advice, made suggestions, offered comments, and answered my questions, thank you! You know who you are, and I trust you know how much I appreciate you.

Last, but not least, I’m delighted to thank all my faithful readers who have never stopped asking, “When is your next book coming out?”

You’re my inspiration and the reason I stay up writing past midnight.

Enjoy the excerpt from One Night in Tehran, Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series, on the pages following my author bio.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA Today Bestselling Author, Luana Ehrlich, developed her passion for spy thrillers and mystery novels at an early age, but she didn’t begin writing her Christian mystery/suspense/thrillers until her husband retired from the ministry. Now, she writes from an undisclosed location, trying to avoid the torture of mundane housework, grocery shopping, and golf stories. However, she occasionally comes out of hiding to visit with her two grandsons or to enjoy a Starbucks caramel macchiato.

Luana is an avid reader, as well as a freelance writer, minister's wife, and a former missionary to Costa Rica and Venezuela. She is also a news junkie, following events around the world on a daily basis, particularly the Middle East, plus she’s an NFL fan and a bit of a fanatic about the Dallas Cowboys.

She and her husband are long-time residents of Norman, Oklahoma. She loves to hear from her readers! Email her at author@luanaehrlich.com.

Enjoy the excerpt from One Night in Tehran, Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series, on the pages that follow.

BONUS EXCERPT

One Night in Tehran

Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series

PROLOGUE

In far northwest Iran, a few minutes after clearing the city limits of Tabriz, Rahim maneuvered his vehicle onto a rutted side road. When he popped open the trunk of the car to let me out, I saw the car was hidden from the main highway by a small grove of trees. In spite of our seclusion, Rahim said he was still anxious about being seen by a military convoy from the nearby Tabriz missile base.

For the first time in several hours, I uncurled from my fetal position and climbed out of the vehicle, grateful to breathe some fresh air and feel the sunshine on my face. As my feet landed on the rocky terrain, Rahim handed me a black wooden cane. I wanted to wave it off, but, regrettably, I still needed some help getting around on my bum leg.

Rahim slammed the trunk lid down hard.

“You can stretch for a few minutes,” he said, “but then we must get back on the road immediately. Our timing must be perfect at the border.”

Rahim and I were headed for the Iranian/Turkish border, specifically the border crossing at Bazargan, Iran. He was absolutely confident he could get me out of Iran without any problems. However, during the last twenty years, I’d had a couple of incidents at other border crossings—Pakistan and Syria to be precise—so I wasn’t as optimistic.

While Rahim was tinkering with the car’s engine, I exercised my legs and worked out the stiffness in my arms. As usual, I was running through several “what ifs” in my mind. What if the border guards searched the trunk? What if the car broke down? What if we were driving right into a trap?

I might have felt better about any of these scenarios had either of us been armed. However, Rahim had refused to bring along a weapon. Carrying a gun in Iran without a special permit meant certain imprisonment. Imprisonment in Iran meant certain torture, so I certainly understood his reasons for leaving the weaponry back in Tehran.

Still, a gun might have helped my nerves.

I was surprised to hear Rahim say I could ride in the front passenger seat for the next hour. He explained the road ahead was usually deserted, except for a farm truck or two, so it seemed the perfect time to give me a brief respite from my cramped quarters.

I didn’t argue with him.

However, I thought Rahim was being overly cautious having me ride in the trunk in the first place—at least until we got nearer the Turkish border. I’d been passing myself off as an Iranian of mixed ancestry back in Tehran, and now, having grown out my beard, I didn’t believe a passing motorist would give me a second look.

When I climbed in the front seat, the cloying smell of ripe apples emanating from the back seat of Rahim’s vehicle was especially pungent. Flat boxes of golden apples were piled almost as high as the back window, and the sweet-smelling fruit permeated the stuffy interior of the car. On the floorboard, there were several packages wrapped in colorful wedding paper. I was sure they reeked of ripe apples.

We had been back on the road for about twenty minutes when Rahim said, “Hand me one of those apples and take one for yourself, Hammid.”

Although Rahim knew my true identity, he continued to address me by the name on my Swiss passport, Hammid Salimi, the passport I’d used to enter Iran two years ago. Unfortunately, it was now a name quite familiar to VEVAK, the Iranian secret police, who had already prepared a cell for me at Evin Prison in northwest Tehran.

After we had both devoured the apples, Rahim rolled down his window and threw the cores down a steep embankment.

“When you get back inside the trunk,” he said, “you’ll have to share your space with some of those.” He gestured toward the apple boxes in the backseat.

I glanced over at him to see if he was joking, but, as usual, his brown, weather-beaten face remained impassive. Although I’d spent the last three months living with Rahim’s nephew, Javad, and learning to discern Javad’s emotional temperature simply by the set of his mouth or the squint of his eyes, I’d barely spent any time with Rahim. During the last two days together, he’d never made any attempt at humor, and it didn’t appear he was about to start now.

I protested. “There’s barely enough room for me back there.”

“It will be snug with the boxes, but you will fit,” he said. “If the guards open the trunk, I want them to see apples.”

I felt a sudden flash of anger. “Before we left Tehran, you told me they wouldn’t open the trunk at the border. You said they wouldn’t even search the car.”

My voice sounded harsh and loud in the small confines of the car.

However, Rahim calmly replied, “They will not search the car, Hammid. They have never searched inside. They have never searched the trunk. It is only a precaution.”

He turned and looked directly at me, his penetrating black eyes willing me to trust him. It was a look I instantly recognized. I had used that same look on any number of assets, urging them to ferret out some significant nugget of intel and pass it on to me, even though I knew the odds of their being caught were high.

He returned his eyes to the road. “Surely you’re acquainted with making minor changes as a plan evolves.”

I took a deep breath. “You’re right, of course.” I suddenly felt foolish at my amateur reaction. “Planning for the unexpected is always smart. The more precautions you want to take, the better it will be for both of us. I’m sorry for questioning you.”

For the first time, I saw a brief smile on his face. “There’s no need to apologize,” he said quietly. “The last three months have been difficult for you. Your paranoia is understandable.”

Rahim shifted into a lower gear as we approached a steep incline. When we finally rounded a curve on the mountainous road, our attention was immediately drawn to two military vehicles parked on the opposite side of the road about one-half mile ahead of us. Several men were standing beside two trucks. They were smoking cigarettes and looking bored.

“It’s not a roadblock,” I said.

“No, we’re fine.”

Suddenly a man in uniform, leaning against the front bumper of the lead truck, noticed our approach and quickly took a couple of steps onto the highway. He signaled for us to pull over.

“Say nothing unless they speak to you first,” Rahim said. “My papers are inside the glove box. Do not open it unless I say, ‘Show them our papers.’”

“I have no papers, Rahim.”

He eased the car onto the side of the road. “I put them inside the glove box,” he said, “but don’t open it unless I tell you to do so.”

As the military officer crossed over the highway toward our car, I watched the reaction of the men standing outside the two vehicles. Although the insignia on the officer’s uniform indicated he was a captain in the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), the men traveling with him were not in uniform. However, that didn’t mean they weren’t soldiers.

In fact, as I studied them, I knew they had to be affiliated with some aspect of Iran’s vast military organization. They wore nearly identical Western clothing, had short military haircuts, and all their beards were regulation trim.

No longer bored, the men appeared alert now as their captain approached our car.

To my surprise, Rahim was opening the door and getting out of the car before the captain spoke one word to him. His behavior went against one of my favorite tenets of tradecraft: never draw attention to yourself.

The soft-spoken man I had been traveling with for two days suddenly disappeared. Instead, a loud, fast-talking stranger took his place.

“Captain,” Rahim asked, “how may I assist you today? Did you have a breakdown? What a lonely stretch of road on which to be stranded.”

Within seconds of greeting the captain, Rahim threw his arm around his shoulders and walked him away from our car and back across the road. There, Rahim engaged in conversation with some of the men, and at one point, they all broke into laughter at something he said.

After a minute or two, I saw the captain draw Rahim away from the group and speak to him privately. Although I could hear none of their conversation, I tensed up when the captain gestured across the highway toward me. As Rahim continued an animated conversation with him, they began walking back across the road together.

Arriving at the car, Rahim opened the back door and pulled out two boxes of the apples we were transporting.

“Here you are, Captain. Take two of these. I’ll bring two more for your men. You will not find finer apples in all of Iran.”

As the captain leaned down to take the apples from Rahim, he glanced inside the interior of the car, quickly taking note of the apples, the wedding presents, and the black cane I’d placed between my legs. Lastly, his scrutiny fell on my face.

I smiled and deferentially lowered my head toward him, greeting him in Farsi. He didn’t respond, but Rahim was speaking to him at the same time, so I wasn’t sure he’d heard me.

The captain was already walking back to the transport trucks when Rahim stuck his head back inside the car and removed two other boxes.

Our eyes met.

He nodded at me. I nodded back.

Everything was fine.

While Rahim was distributing the apples among the men, I took the opportunity to look inside the glove box. I found three items: Rahim’s passport, his travel documentation, and a small handgun.

Presumably, the handgun was my documentation had the captain demanded it.

There was something about having a fighting chance that did wonders for my morale, and I found myself smiling.

I shut the glove box before Rahim returned.

I decided not to say anything to him about my discovery.

Without a word, Rahim got back inside the car and started the engine. As we drove past the captain and his men, several of them raised their apples to us in a goodbye salute.

“That was quite a performance, Rahim.”

He continued to glance at his rear-view mirror until the group disappeared from sight.

Finally, he said, “The captain only wanted information on road conditions. He said he’d heard there were some rockslides in the area. One of the drivers was complaining about his brakes, and he was worried about the safety of his men as they made the descent.”

“Who were those men? What unit did they belong to?”

“The captain didn’t say, but their cigarettes came from Azerbaijan. That should tell you something.”

Azerbaijan bordered Iran and was about six hours north of our location. Although it had once been a part of the Soviet Union, it was now an independent republic with close ties to Iran. Like most Iranians, the majority of the people were Shia Muslims. Tehran wanted to keep it that way. I’d heard rumors there was a unit of Iran’s military specifically assigned to make sure the Sunni minority in Azerbaijan remained the minority. The unit in charge of such an operation was the al Quds force.

“Members of al Quds, then?”

“That’s my guess. We’ve been hearing reports the Sunnis are growing in popularity. Tehran won’t sit still while that happens. But that’s good. Mossad likes it when Tehran is distracted.”

“Why wasn’t the captain interested in me?”

“I told him you were my father, plus you look harmless, Hammid.”

It was true. I’d lost weight during my three-month ordeal, and since I’d spent the time indoors, my skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor. However, I doubted I looked old enough to be his father.

“I also told him you’d fallen in the orchard and injured your leg. He wasn’t surprised at your reluctance to get out of the car, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I remembered the way the captain had inspected the contents of our car and his lingering look at my cane. He may have believed Rahim, but he had checked out his story anyway.

“You said you were on your way to your cousin’s wedding in Dogubayazit?”

“Yes, and if I hadn’t given him the apples, he might have inquired further about the gifts.” He flicked his hand toward the wedding presents on the backseat floorboard. “Then, I would have insisted he take one or two of those gifts for his sister.”

As in most Middle Eastern countries, bribes and “gifts” were a way of life among the people, especially with military and government officials. Nothing got done without them. If you made inquiries or requested help from any bureaucrat, they expected something in return.

“You were very generous with the apples back there. Will you have enough for your friends at the border now?”

I tried not to sound worried, but whenever I found myself involved in someone else’s operation, I got nervous.

He was dismissive. “Yes, there will be plenty. Now help me find the turnoff road. It leads over to a lake, but the sign is hard to see. We’ll make the switch there.”

He slowed down, and we both concentrated on the passing landscape. The trees were dense, and the late afternoon shadows made finding the lake road difficult.

“I think it’s coming up,” Rahim said.

I pointed off to my right. “There it is.”

He made a sharp right turn onto a dirt road leading through a canopy of trees. One-half mile down the road, a secondary road branched off, and Rahim was able to make a U-turn at the fork in the road. Then, he pointed the car back toward the main highway.

Rahim killed the engine, and after glancing down at his watch, he looked over at me. At that point, I knew I was about to be given The Speech, a last-minute review an operations officer usually gave to a subordinate before a critical phase commenced.

Technically, I wasn’t a subordinate of Rahim’s organization.

Still, I listened carefully.

“Remember the traffic at the border will move very slowly, and once I’m pulled over, I expect there will be a long wait. At times, you will hear loud voices. That’s not a cause for worry. If you hear angry voices, especially my angry voice, you should start to worry.”

He paused for a long moment. Then, he opened the glove box and removed the handgun I’d seen earlier.

He handed it over to me with an understanding smile. “I’m assuming you found this already.”

I checked the chamber.

It was loaded.

“Thanks, Rahim.”

“Any questions?”

“No. I’m confident you’ve thought of everything.”

We both got out of the car, and I helped him remove some of the apple boxes so he could stack them in the trunk after I was inside.

Before climbing in, I said, “Rahim, please hear me when I say I’m grateful for everything you and Javad have done for me. Perhaps, someday, I can repay you.”

Rahim placed his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “That will never be necessary, Hammid,” he said. “It has been God’s will for us to help you.”

As I tucked myself into the trunk again, I found myself hoping it was also God’s will for me to make it out of Iran alive.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Bill Lerner looked like a worried grandfather when he patted me on my knee in the backseat of the Lincoln Town Car and asked, “What’s your state of mind, son?”

Our driver, Jamerson, gave me a quick glance in the rearview mirror.

I knew Jamerson had probably heard Lerner ask other intelligence officers that same question whenever he escorted them from Andrews AFB to one of the Agency safe houses in the quiet residential neighborhoods around McLean, Virginia.

I could hear the uncertainty in my voice as I responded, “I’m not sure, Bill, but it’s good to be home.”

Lerner ran his hand over his military-style haircut and shot back enthusiastically. “You bet. We’ll get you debriefed, fix you up with some good grub, and then you’ll be ready for some R & R.”

Lerner’s conversations never varied much.

His job consisted of making sure I felt safe—both he and the driver were armed—providing a listening ear if I needed to talk, and being the first in a long line of people who would bring me, a Level 1 covert operative, back to some sense of normalcy.

Lerner gestured toward my left leg, which I’d been massaging as we drove along. “That giving you trouble?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

Once again, Jamerson stole a glance at me in the mirror. What was up with this guy? Was it just curiosity or something else?

I tried to dismiss my paranoia as nerves, pure and simple.

For the past several months, I’d been living on the edge in Tehran. However, three days ago, with Rahim’s help, I’d made my escape from Iran, crossing the border into Turkey without incident.

Nevertheless, because I couldn’t just turn my instincts on and off like a water spigot, I continued to mull over Jamerson’s interest in me.

Lerner pointed to a large house at the top of a winding lane. “Well, in these new digs,” he said, “you’ll have some state-of-the-art rehab equipment for that leg. Support purchased this little casa for a song during the housing bust.” He laughed. “It’s been remodeled to our specifications, of course.”

I didn’t laugh.

I was too numb.

We pulled in front of the “casa,” which was at least a 10,000-square-foot house. It was surrounded by gigantic oak trees, and in the distance, at the back of the house, I spotted a large lake with a boat dock. As we pulled into the circle drive, I half-expected to see a butler and several uniformed maids appear at the front door to welcome the master of the castle home.

The house was well situated on several acres of forested land and located within a gated neighborhood of similar residences. I imagined most of the well-to-do owners had their own security systems. We had entered the safe house property through a remote-controlled sliding gate, and I suspected security cameras had been tracking us ever since.

“This one is called The Gray,” Lerner said.

The name made sense. Instead of addresses or numbers, the Agency used color-coded names for their safe houses, and while the exterior of the house was blindingly white, the window shutters and the front door were painted a muted shade of bluish gray.

Previously, I had been debriefed in The Red. It was at least half the size of this one and had a red-tiled roof. There was no butler, just a slightly plump Italian cook named Angelina who had helped me gain back the weight I'd lost on a mission into Pakistan. The neighbors thought I was her son. The complexion I’d inherited from my father made it easy for me to pass myself off as an Italian, or even an Iranian of mixed ancestry.

Lerner got out of the car and headed for the front door. “Jamerson, get his kit from the trunk and meet us inside.”

I took my time getting out of the car.

I paused to zip up the jacket of the tracksuit I’d been issued at the air base in Turkey, and then I leaned back inside the car and picked up the cane from the back seat. All the while, I was keeping an eye on Jamerson. He grabbed the duffel bag given to me on the flight over from Turkey, and when he closed the trunk, our eyes met.

He motioned toward the front entrance with a slight nod of his head. “After you, sir.”

I was almost six feet tall, and he was about my height, but, unlike me, he had a beefy body. I wondered how many hours he spent in the gym each day.

I hadn't seen the inside of a gym for years.

I hobbled toward the door, thankful Jamerson hadn’t offered to help me.

In fact, if he had, I might have marshaled whatever strength I had left and slugged him.

Pride was a great energizer for me.

Lerner was already standing inside the giant foyer of the mansion, having keyed in the front door’s security code beyond the range of my prying eyes. He was speaking in hushed tones to a middle-aged couple. I presumed they were the homeowners—at least to the other residents in the neighborhood.

After Jamerson had deposited my duffel bag on the floor, I asked him, “Ex-Marine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You served at the American Embassy in Iraq in 2008?”

There was no mistaking the pride in his voice. “Yes, sir. I’m surprised you even remembered me. You weren’t in very good shape that day.”

“How could I forget—?”

“Greg and Martha,” Lerner said, interrupting our conversation, “let me introduce you to your newest houseguest.”

As Lerner steered them in my direction, Jamerson gave me an understanding nod, and I turned my attention to the couple in charge of the safe house.

Greg was in his late fifties with a slight paunch around his middle and close-cropped gray hair. He smiled at me with a lopsided grin. His wife was petite, had short black hair and piercing blue eyes.

I shook their outstretched hands.

“Titus Ray,” I said.

Martha’s smile was warm. “Welcome home, Titus.”

* * * *

Martha immediately took me on a “tour” of the house. It lasted almost thirty minutes. On the first floor, besides the huge eat-in kitchen, dining room, living room, and den, there was also a study, a library, and a media room.

I was sure the basement level was like no other house in the area. Three rooms made up a mini-hospital with an operating table, x-ray apparatus, laboratory facilities, and a pharmacy. There were also fully equipped physical therapy rooms and a soundproof conference room, wired with state-of-the-art audio and video equipment.

Upstairs, along with the master suite occupied by Greg and Martha, there were six bedrooms. Security officers were in two of the bedrooms, but I was the only guest of The Gray at the moment.

As Martha escorted me to my room, she casually mentioned other facilities, so I suspected there had to be a safe room somewhere, plus a room for all the security and communications equipment. Those rooms were either located on the basement level, or in a part of the house I would have to discover for myself.

My bedroom was at the end of the upstairs hallway, the furthest from the master suite and next door to one of the security officers’ rooms. As soon as Martha left me alone, I opened the wooden shutters and spent a few minutes appreciating the view.

The manicured landscape included a large boulder waterfall with a cobblestone path running alongside it. I assumed the path led down to the lake. I suspected there might even be a tunnel from the basement right down to the dock and boathouse. Most safe houses remodeled by Support had secret exits somewhere.

Within an hour of my arrival, Greg appeared at my bedroom door. He informed me I was scheduled to see Dr. Terry Howard in the basement “hospital” for a physical.

It would not be my first encounter with Terry Howard.

Howard and I had met when I was recruited by the CIA in 1980 in the middle of the Iran hostage crisis. My time at The Farm, the CIA’s training facility at Camp Peary in Williamsburg, Virginia, had been full of surprises, one of which had been a case of appendicitis.

About two hours into a three-day training exercise, I had noticed a slight pain in my right side. Howard, who had just completed his residency at Massachusetts General Hospital in emergency medicine, was a member of our four-person squad, and when I popped a couple of aspirin, he started to suspect something was wrong with me. However, our team had come in last in our previous exercise, and as the team leader, I was determined it wasn’t going to happen again, so I kept ignoring my discomfort.

The task took place in and around Raleigh, North Carolina, and involved locating a human target, eliminating the hostiles—another squad of trainees—and delivering the target across a “border.” The border in this case was the Virginia state line.

By midnight of the first night, as my team and I were meeting together in a cheap motel on the outskirts of Raleigh, I started vomiting. After one such trip to the bathroom, Howard ignored my feeble objections and pushed on my belly. He ended his exam by asking me some ridiculous questions. Finally, he announced I was having an appendicitis attack and wanted me to check into a hospital.

I angrily disagreed and insisted on completing the task first, so Howard backed off for a couple of hours. However, after the four of us determined the location of our target, my pain became noticeably more intense.

At that point, Howard started hammering me with the facts of a burst appendix.

His lecture convinced me to work out a compromise with him. Without informing anyone at The Farm, Howard took me to the ER at Duke Raleigh Hospital and made arrangements with a surgeon to remove my diseased organ. From my hospital bed the next day, I continued to direct our mission, using one of the team members as my messenger. On the third day, our target was secured, so the team picked me up from the hospital, and we made our run for the border.

Unfortunately, we came in second.

However, none of our trainers ever found out about my emergency appendectomy. The only time they questioned me was before my initial overseas assignment. Then, the examining physician noticed my scar and remarked that someone had failed to enter my appendectomy on my medical records. At that point, I backdated the operation’s date, and that was the end of it.

After our training, Dr. Terry Howard had been assigned to the Middle Eastern desk. I’d seen him a few times since then, twice for debrief exams and once in Kuwait when he was called in to examine some high-value targets before we started interrogating them. Now, since he was the attending physician at The Gray, I assumed he was assigned to Support Services permanently.

After Greg escorted me to the elevator, I told him I could make it the rest of the way on my own. Even though Greg’s assignment included keeping an eye on me, he didn’t voice any real objection to my small gesture of rebellion. However, as the elevator doors began to close, I noticed he hadn’t moved. To reassure him, I gave him a small wave goodbye before the doors completely shut.

When I entered the exam room, Terry Howard was fussing over a set of empty vials used to draw blood; his head was bent low, trying to read the labels with a pair of bifocals perched precariously over his nose.

“Hey, Doc, how are—”

He juggled two of the vials, almost dropping one of them. “Aaagh! Titus, you startled me.”

“Sorry. I thought you heard me.” I waved my cane in his direction. “This thing makes a lot of noise.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he grumbled. “And don’t bother apologizing. I remember how you used to like sneaking up on people.”

Terry Howard had reached his late fifties with a full head of hair, no wrinkles—except for a few lines across his forehead—and he still had the slim physique he’d had when I first met him.

His grumpy demeanor remained unchanged also.

“You don’t look good at all,” he groused, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around my arm.

“Well, I need a haircut.”

He grunted and continued taking my vitals, making meticulous notes as he probed and prodded. Lastly, he examined what had been my busted left leg.

“It was bad, huh?”

“They said I shattered my femur and tore all the knee ligaments. It wasn’t pretty.”

He shook his head. “With that much damage, you were either in a car accident or playing in the NFL.”

“I jumped off a very high roof. Forgot to tuck and roll.”

“That would do it.”

Even though he had the security clearance to do so, Howard didn’t question me about the particulars of my injury—that would be the job of my debriefers. He inquired relentlessly, however, about the functioning of every part of my body.

Finally, he put his hand on my knee and gave it a twist. “Did that hurt?”

The pain was excruciating.

“Ouch. Yeah!”

“Good. Maybe the surgery didn’t damage your nerves too badly.”

I tried massaging the pain away. “What kind of test was that?”

He ignored me and pointed to my cane. “You’ll need a few weeks of rehab to get rid of your little crutch there,” he said. “After that, I can’t guarantee you won’t continue to have some pain, but, as I recall, pain was never a big deal to you anyway.”

He reached over and touched my appendix scar.

“I’ll never forget how infuriated you were with me during that training run in Raleigh when I told you your appendix was about to burst. I’ve never seen anyone so enraged before.”

Before I could protest his recollection of events, he asked me, “Have you learned to control that temper of yours yet?”

I wanted to give him a flippant answer, but in light of the decision I’d made one night in a tiny living room in Tehran, I decided to reply with the truth.

“I'm really trying, Doc, really trying.”

Chapter 2

They left me alone for three days.

At first, I figured it was because I’d arrived on Friday, and all my debriefers wanted to have a long weekend.

Later, I found out it was because Gordan Bolton—the Agency’s chief of station in Turkey and the first person to greet me when Rahim released me from the trunk of his car in Dogubayazit—had suggested my bosses give me a few days off to decompress before starting my debrief.

I did nothing on Saturday except eat, sleep, and become familiar with the house. Every time I showed up in the kitchen, Martha fixed me a huge meal. For his part, Greg stayed as close to me as possible, moseying with me through the kitchen, the media room, the library, just keeping an eye on me, but willing to engage in conversation if I felt like talking.

I didn't.

I met Jim and Alex, the security officers.

Jim was an outgoing type of guy, and like me, he was in his late forties, although his thick brown hair was already turning gray. The left side of Jim’s face was disfigured by a two-inch scar running from his eye socket to his ear. However, he exuded self-confidence.

His attitude reassured me because I felt shrouded in a blanket of uncertainty.

Alex, who appeared to be in his early thirties, had curly blond hair, an acne-scarred face, and deep-set blue eyes. He barely spoke to me when we were introduced, and I had the distinct impression my presence made him nervous.

His reaction was understandable.

Covert operatives coming in from a failed mission tended to make Agency people skittish.

* * * *

After waking up on Sunday morning, I took my mug of thick black coffee outside, stared at the pool and gardens, and finally started asking myself some serious questions about my future.

Did I want to stay covert? Would I even be allowed to do so? After what happened in Tehran, were they going to offer me a desk job—analyst or such?

I thought about that for several minutes.

I decided I’d go crazy if I wasn’t allowed out in the field.

The night before I’d left Tehran, Javad had asked me a question. I had answered him truthfully. However, what did that mean for my career now?

I was surprised by my feelings of helplessness and insecurity.

My emotional tenor reminded me of a time, ages ago, when Laura had left me for another man. I felt just as vulnerable then. Our divorce was one of the driving forces behind my accepting an offer to come to work for the CIA in the first place.

Did my life need to take a different turn now? Was it time to leave the Agency?

Praying about these questions felt like something I ought to do.

I bowed my head.

Nothing came.

Prayer wasn’t a familiar practice in my life.

* * * *

By midmorning, I was getting antsy, and even though I was officially quarantined at The Gray until my debrief was over, I briefly considered leaving the house for a couple of hours.

I knew that the Agency’s quarantine restrictions—no outside communication, television, or internet—were in place to preserve the integrity of the debrief. However, as much as I agreed with this concept in principle, trying to obey such rules always proved to be an entirely different matter altogether.

Despite my restlessness, though, I discarded my escape plans.

Instead, I wandered into the library, where I found a variety of reading choices on the shelves. There were the classics, lots of “how to” books—so I could learn about installing a toilet or making a PowerPoint presentation—and some contemporary fiction. I also found a whole shelf of religious books and different versions of the Bible.

I finally selected A Tale of Two Cities, The Cambridge Guide to Astronomical Discovery, and a Bible.

Then, I slipped off to my room.

Greg knocked on my door around one o’clock and asked me if I wanted some lunch. I followed him downstairs and into the kitchen where Martha was slicing up some roast beef.

When she saw me, she immediately picked up a remote control and turned off the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall in the breakfast nook.

Fox News Sunday was playing.

After putting down the remote, she looked over at Greg and silently mouthed an apology, “Sorry.”

He waved her off.

He must have thought I hadn’t heard anything.

Chris Wallace had been asking someone about Iran’s nuclear program.

Alex was perched on a stool at the kitchen island wolfing down a sandwich. He gave me the once-over, nodded his head, and left the room.

Greg grabbed the vacant stool, and I sat down next to him.

Martha placed a big roast beef sandwich in front of me, along with a small bowl of potato salad. “Thanks. This looks great.”

She acknowledged my compliment with a smile. “You want lemonade again?”

My mouth was full, so I just nodded. A few minutes later, she placed a large icy glass in front of me.

“Greg, can I get you something?” she asked her husband.

“I’ll take a cup of coffee.”

After she handed him a mug, a knowing look passed between them, and seconds later, she made an excuse and left the room.

A few minutes after she left, Greg removed a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. “Here’s the schedule for your debrief tomorrow,” he said. “It looks pretty straightforward. I know you’ve been through this drill several times.”

I took the schedule and stuffed it inside my jeans pocket without looking at it.

“You like working for the Agency, Greg?”

I wasn't sure whether it was my question or the fact I was beginning to talk, but Greg smiled when he gave me his answer. “Yes, yes, I do.”

He took a sip of his coffee then gestured at his surroundings. “Obviously, this is a pretty cushy job.”

“Did you ever go operational, work in the field?”

His eyes shifted slightly to the left, and he hesitated a moment before answering. I had no doubt he was weighing whether it was more important to keep me talking or follow Agency rules. He decided on the former.

However, he sounded apologetic when he answered me. “Only Level 4 action, but Martha was Level 2. We met at an Agency in-house party and got married six months later.”

“So you had to transfer to Support services after you were married?”

“Yeah. There were some options, but . . .” he looked over at me, then up at a camera mounted in the ceiling, “you know how difficult it would have been to live any kind of normal life, much less see each other, if either of us had stayed in Operations.”

I agreed. “It wouldn’t have worked.”

He nodded his head, drained the last of his coffee, and walked over to the sink, carefully rinsing out his cup.

“Did Martha have a hard time adjusting?”

Looking perplexed, he asked, “Adjusting?”

“You know. Did she miss . . .” I struggled to find the right words, “her sense of purpose about what she was doing?”

He thought about my question for a moment. “I don’t think she missed the ops at first. We couldn’t really talk about it, of course, but I suspected her last assignment had gotten a bit ugly. I’m sure that made the change easier.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Look, Titus, you know we aren’t supposed to—”

“Did she stop believing?”

There was no mistaking the anger in his voice. “Believing? You mean did she stop believing her actions were helping her country?”

“No, of course not. I’m talking about that inner calling that—”

An alarm went off—a steady beep, beep, beep.

Suddenly, at that moment, Jim burst through a door off the kitchen.

I had just assumed the door led to the pantry.

Assumptions can get you killed.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Jim motioned toward me. “Follow me.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

As I headed in his direction, Martha and Alex rushed into the room.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Alex quickly walked over to a wall console and entered some numbers on a keypad.

The beeping stopped.

Seconds later, the intercom from the security gate squawked. Greg started to answer it, but Jim motioned for Martha to take it.

She took a deep breath and pressed the button.

Calmly she said, “Yes.”

The female voice on the other end was high-pitched and had a Boston accent. “Oh, Martha, it’s me, Teresa. I just need to drive up and have you sign this petition. It won’t take a minute. I hope I’m not bothering you and Greg.”

Before hearing Martha’s reply, Jim ushered me past the pantry door, through a false wall at the back of the pantry and into a large room. It contained a wall of security monitors, computers, and several different kinds of communications equipment.

On one of the monitors, I saw a very thin woman dressed in a pair of black slacks and a yellow blouse. She was standing outside the security gate speaking into the intercom. As I watched, she got back inside her Mercedes and waited for the gate to slide open.

Jim was watching the other video feeds from around the grounds, while also keeping an eye on a nearby computer screen as it rapidly scanned through thousands of images using the Agency’s facial recognition software. As soon as a match for Teresa came up on the computer screen, he hit the button for the gate to open.

Speaking into his wrist mike, he said, “We have benign contact. Repeat. Benign contact.”

Alex keyed back, “Copy. Benign contact.”

Jim looked over at me. “She’s just a neighbor. She called Martha earlier in the week to see if she would sign a petition to keep the city from cutting down a tree on the right-of-way. It’s creating a traffic hazard.” He shook his head. “Teresa’s a champion of lost causes.”

I took the chance to look around.

I felt sure the door on the opposite wall led to a safe room. Once a person was inside, the room could not be breached—at least not easily.

Jim glanced up at me. “Yeah, that’s the safe room, but we’re good right here. Martha knows how to deal with this situation.”

We watched as Martha opened the front door and invited Teresa inside the foyer. They were smiling and chatting like actors in a silent movie.

Everything seemed fine, but I found myself wishing I were armed.

Along with Jim, I scanned the monitors showing the video from the grounds.

“Where’s the feed from the pool house?” I asked, nervously.

He pointed to a split screen. “It’s this one. It’s shared with the feed from the garage.”

We went back to watching the action on the screen, and I asked him to turn the audio on.

Martha and Teresa moved into the living room where Greg joined them. He was carrying a book, trying to look as if Teresa’s arrival had interrupted his reading. He and Martha sat down on the sofa, and using Greg’s book for a hard surface, they signed Teresa’s petition.

As they played out their deceptive scenario, I could see the differences in their operational styles firsthand.

Greg’s face was stiff, devoid of any expression; his hand movements were jerky and nervous, and his voice was just a bit too loud. However, Martha appeared relaxed, even comfortable, as if she were enjoying herself. Her body posture mirrored Teresa’s movements, and she stayed in sync with Teresa’s conversational pattern.

After a few minutes, Jim and I watched as the three of them walked toward the front door together.

“She’s consistently good,” Jim said. “Greg’s always twitchy, though.”

My nerves eased up, and I turned away from the security console and walked around the room, poking my nose into a wall cabinet, running my hand over some books on a bookshelf.

“The gun safe is downstairs.”

I turned and smiled at him. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

“I’ve been in your shoes, that’s all.”

He opened the door to a cabinet and took out a pistol.

“I keep an extra firearm in here. It would have been yours if our security had been breached.”

“Good to know.”

He quickly put the gun back in its hiding place.

“You didn’t hear it from me, though.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Of course, no one hears anything in here.”

I made a mental note of that information. Since everything was being monitored throughout the safe house, at least the communications room was one place I could have a frank conversation without fear of blowback.

I turned my attention back to the monitors and watched Teresa pull her car into the street. When the gates closed behind her, Jim gave Alex the all clear.

I looked around the room one last time.

I said, “Well, I guess I’d better get back out there.”

Jim flipped a switch to unlock the door leading through the pantry to the kitchen.

As I walked past him, he put his hand out to stop me.

“Look, Titus, I know I’m not supposed to know as much about you as I do, but there’s always talk, you know that. Well . . .  I want you to know, I’m here if you need anything or if you’d just like to talk to someone.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

I started toward the door, but then I turned back and said, “Could I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What’s the most important thing in the world to you?”

At first, he seemed taken aback by my question.

Then, he quickly recovered and said, “I’d have to say it’s my family. My wife and two kids mean everything to me.”

I nodded.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“An asset asked me that question just before he was murdered.”

He gave me a look of understanding.

“So, how did you answer him?”

“I never got the chance.”

END OF CHAPTER 2

If you enjoyed this excerpt from One Night in Tehran, Book I in the Titus Ray Thriller Series, you can download a Kindle copy from Amazon and continue reading. Available on Amazon here.

A list of books by Luana Ehrlich is on the following page.

Books by Luana Ehrlich

USA Today bestselling author

Available on Amazon

Each book can be read as a standalone novel, but to have the series experience, the following order is suggested.

Order of Titus Ray Thriller Series:

One Step Back, the prequel to One Night in Tehran

One Night in Tehran, Book I

Two Days in Caracas, Book II

Three Weeks in Washington, Book III

Four Months in Cuba, Book IV

Five Years in Yemen, Book V

Two Steps Forward, Book VI

Three Steps Away, Book VII

Four Steps Missed, Book VIII

Five Steps Beyond, Book IX

One Good Time, Book X

Two Good Deeds, Book XI (Coming 2025)

Order of Ben Mitchell/Titus Ray Thriller Series:

(These novels are in the voice of Titus Ray, but Ben Mitchell is also featured.)

Ben in Love, Book I—chronologically, this book follows Two Steps Forward

Ben in Charge, Book II—chronologically, this book follows Three Steps Away

Ben in Trouble, Book III—chronologically, this book follows Four Steps Missed

Order of the Mylas Grey Mystery Series:

A Day Ago, the prequel to One Day Gone

One Day Gone, Book I

Two Days Taken, Book II

Three Days Clueless, Book III

Four Days Famous, Book IV

Five Days Lost, Book V

Six Days Spent, Book VI

Seven Days Off, Book VII (Coming  2024)

Order of the Silas McKay Suspense Series:

One Wonders, Book I

Two Believe, Book II

Three Confess, Book III

Four Doubt, Book IV

Five Alive, Book V (Coming 2025)