“Let’s not assume the worst.”
“You know I always assume the worst.”
“What else do you know about Inez that’s bad?” she challenged.
“Nothing,” he said curtly, looking annoyed as he kept driving, but she wasn’t going to apologize for asking her questions. He was the one who had started the conversation.
They rode in silence the rest of the way to her father’s house.
Long ago, Potomac had been the home of big estates, horse riding and fox hunting. Gradually, most of the exclusive acreage had been subdivided into developments, but there were still some big properties left, including the Mitchell estate.
Her anticipation mounted as they turned onto Trotter Hill Road.
“Why are you driving past?” she asked, as Wyatt failed to turn in at the entrance.
“I don’t want anyone to know we’re going to your house, and I don’t want to get trapped.”
“You think someone is watching the property?”
“Again, we need to make the assumption.”
He went an eighth of a mile down the road and turned in at their nearest neighbor’s house, where there was a big for-sale sign at the end of the driveway.
“It belongs to the Butlers,” she said.
“I know. I checked it out. The husband died, and the wife moved to Florida.”
“What, did you check the whole neighborhood?”
“Just the properties on either side of your dad’s. Mrs. Butler is holding out for her asking price. But she was too cheap to hire a security company to keep an eye on the place.”
They parked around the back of the house.
“And I suppose you also figured out the best route to get there from here?” Carrie asked.
“Yeah. Around the bramble patch, not through it.”
They walked past the swimming pool, across the manicured lawn and onto the rougher, unkempt fields beyond, skirting the bramble patch Wyatt had mentioned.
“I used to pick raspberries and blackberries here,” Carrie murmured.
“Enough for a pie?”
“Sometimes. And they were good on my cereal in the morning.”
“Patrick doesn’t exactly seem like nature boy. Did he go berry picking with you?”
“Sometimes.”
“So he’s been out here?”
She nodded, wishing that everything didn’t have a sinister implication.
They walked through a stand of white pines that had been planted long ago to shield the Mitchell property from the neighbors’ view, then paused at the edge while Wyatt pulled a pair of binoculars from a knapsack he’d brought along.
“Where did you get those?”
“The same place we bought the clothes. They’re not the best model around, but they’ll do.”
He scanned the house. “It looks quiet. I haven’t been inside, except that time you stopped to get your clothes on the way to the safe house. The bedrooms are in the wing on the left, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And the breakfast room is in the middle.”
“Overlooking the pool.”
“I don’t suppose the back door is going to be unlocked.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
He scanned the property again. “The garage door is open, and it shouldn’t be, either.”
“I guess Patrick was in a hurry to get to the meeting.”
“We’ll go in that way, but I want you to keep low as we approach. And run as fast as you can to the back wall of the house.”
He went first, bending over so that running looked awkward, but she followed his example, darting around the pool area to the side of the house and then the garage.
There was no sign that anyone had spotted them. Was Inez even here?
Inside the garage, Wyatt asked, “Where is the housekeeper likely to be?”
“Anywhere. She’s either working or resting.”
Wyatt walked quietly to the door that led to the house. It was locked, but he took a credit card from his wallet and inserted it between the door and the jamb. After a few moments, the door opened.
“Not very secure,” Wyatt muttered.
“There’s a dead bolt. Patrick must have left it open.”
As they stepped into the mudroom, Carrie fought a strange sensation of detachment. She’d lived here most of her life, yet now she felt totally divorced from the house. When she got out of this mess, would she even want to come back here?
And why not? she asked herself, knowing that it had something to do with Wyatt. He hadn’t said so, but she sensed that he didn’t approve of her father’s lifestyle.
They were moving quietly down the hall when a door opened and they came face-to-face with Inez, a small, plump woman with graying hair pulled back in a bun. She was wearing a black uniform not unlike the one that Carrie had put on at the Madison house. The housekeeper screamed when she saw intruders in the house and tried to slam the door, but Wyatt caught it with his hand and held it open.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
“Madre de Dios,”
she said when she realized that Carrie was one of the intruders. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to look around here.”
“But Mr. Patrick was going to meet you.”
“How do you know?”
Inez’s face flushed. When she spoke, her Spanish accent thickened. “I was listening to the conversation. I was worried about you, and I wanted to talk to you, but I knew I couldn’t do it.”
Carrie answered with a tight nod.
“Do you often listen in on private conversations?” Wyatt asked.
“When I’m concerned about Señor Mitchell and Señorita Carrie.”
He kept his gaze fixed on her. “So you know what’s been going on?”
“You mean that Señorita Carrie was attacked when she went downtown. And, of course, I know about Señor Mitchell being kidnapped.”
“Were you here when it happened?”
She shook her head. “No. I was out getting groceries.”
“Convenient,” he answered.
Inez raised her chin. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you might have wanted to be out of the house during the abduction.”
“How would I know there was going to be an abduction?”
“You tell me.”
“I didn’t.” Her voice quavered, and she sounded on the verge of tears.
“It’s okay,” Carrie murmured. “He’s just being cautious.”
“Sí.”
“Did Mr. Mitchell know that you left your husband and child to come here?” Wyatt suddenly asked.
Inez rounded on him. “I did not leave my husband and child. In my country, women have few choices.
Mi esposo
was a man who always got what he wanted. He wanted to marry another woman. He kicked me out of the house, and when I tried to get my son, he told me I’d better stay away from the house or he’d kill me.”
Carrie sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t know any of that.”
“Your father knew my history. I...went through some trouble to get a U.S. work visa.”
Her voice had turned low, and Carrie could only imagine what the woman had done to get out of her country.
“My sister had worked for your father before she got married, and I wrote to him. He helped me make my residency permanent. I owe him a lot. I would never do anything to harm him.”
The way Inez spoke carried conviction.
She gave Wyatt a defiant look. “I have saved my money. My son is grown, and I heard from my sister—the one who is still back home—that my husband died. My son contacted her. He wants to see me, and I was getting ready to go home, but I stayed here because you were in trouble, and I wanted to help, if there was anything I could do.”
“Oh, Inez, I’m so sorry,” Carrie said, reaching out and folding the older woman close. They hugged tightly. “I’m sorry for what happened with your husband and your son. And I’m sorry Mr. Wyatt was...so harsh with you.”
“I understand. It is his job,” the housekeeper said as she stepped away and looked at him.
“Yes,” Wyatt said.
“Why did you take such a chance coming here?” Inez asked again.
“I wanted to pick up my cameras,” Carrie answered, the plausible reason leaping into her head.
“And we were hoping to get some information,” Wyatt added.
Carrie glanced from Inez to him and back again. From the way he’d started off the interrogation, she wondered if Inez would be willing to talk to him.
He must have picked up on the look she gave him, because he said, “I’m sorry I was rough on you, but I have to be suspicious of everyone. Carrie is in extreme danger. Every time we turn around, there’s a new threat.”
“Sí.”
“She asked Patrick to meet her in D.C. so he wouldn’t be home when we got here.”
“You don’t trust him?” Inez asked.
Wyatt shrugged.
The housekeeper turned to Carrie. “There’s something you don’t know, and I don’t like to tell it to you now.”
“But you will,” Carrie said.
Inez nodded. “It’s about your father.”
“Is something wrong with him?” she asked, picking up on the woman’s tone of voice.
“Not something physical. He...” She stopped and spread her hands. “He’s been forgetting things. He doesn’t seem like his old self.”
“I didn’t know.”
Wyatt jumped back into the conversation. “You’re saying you see some...mental deterioration in him?”
The housekeeper answered with a little nod. “
Sí.
He’s not as able as he used to be, and Señor Patrick has been taking over more and more of his business dealings for him.”
“Handling his finances?” Wyatt asked.
“I think so.” She reddened again. “You don’t like it that I listen to things, but I think I have to.”
Carrie tried to take all that in as she thought back over her recent dealings with her father. He’d been more brusque recently. Quicker to get angry, but she’d put that down to the physical frustrations of old age. Maybe there was more going on than she’d thought. She felt sad and worried. How would being kidnapped affect him now?
Wyatt put a hand on her arm. “We’ll get him back.”
“You knew what I was thinking?”
“Yes.”
She looked up to find Inez watching them and knew from the look on the housekeeper’s face that she noted the relationship that had developed between Carrie and her bodyguard. Apparently, Inez was right. She didn’t miss much.
* * *
P
ATRICK
H
ARRISON
GOT
up from the wooden picnic table where he’d been sitting and paced back to the street.
He’d been at the playground for twenty minutes, and he didn’t like the way this was shaping up. Carrie had said she’d be here, but so far, she was nowhere in sight. Neither was her damn bodyguard.
He made his hand into a fist and punched the chain-link fence that surrounded the play area. It looked as though he’d driven all the way into town for nothing.
There couldn’t be any mistake about where they were supposed to meet, could there?
He walked outside the fence and looked up and down the street. Still no Carrie. He pulled his phone out of its holster and held it in his hand. He’d tried to call back and found that Carrie had contacted him from a phone that could only make outgoing calls, so there was no use trying to find out where she was. He wanted to tell her how worried he was about her. He wanted to beg her to show up, but he simply couldn’t do it—not even in this age of instant communications.
How long should he wait before giving up and going home? Or maybe she’d gotten in touch with Inez? Maybe he should call her and find out if she’d heard anything.
* * *
T
HE
PHONE
RANG
and all three people in the Mitchell house went stock-still.
Hope and pain laced through Carrie as she looked at Wyatt. “It could be the kidnappers.”
“I’ll get it,” Inez said.
Wyatt didn’t have time to give her instructions before she picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
Wyatt and Carrie both moved close to her so they could hear who was on the other end of the line.
“Have you heard from Carrie?” a voice asked. It was Patrick, and he sounded upset.
Inez clenched the receiver more tightly and glanced from Carrie to Wyatt. “No. Should I have?”
“She was supposed to meet me,” Patrick said. “But she hasn’t shown up, and I’m worried about her.”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“You sound strange.”
“I’m just, you know, on edge. I’m worried about Señorita Carrie, too. And her father.”
“There’s no use waiting here. I’m coming home.”
“Maybe she’ll show up where you are. What if she comes and you’re not there?”
“I’m coming home.”
The line clicked off, leaving the three of them staring at each other.
“We don’t have much time,” Wyatt said. “He could be right around the corner.”
“It sounded as if he’s still down there,” Carrie said.
“Unless he was calling to test Inez.” Wyatt turned to the housekeeper. “You keep watch. If you see him coming up the drive, let me know. I’m going to search his room.” He turned to Carrie. “You get your cameras. Well, maybe not all of them. Anything we take might have to be abandoned.”
She winced. “Okay.”
“While I search Patrick’s room, you see if you can get into your father’s computer.”
“It’s password protected.”
“Do your best.” Wyatt charged off down the hall to Patrick’s room, then stopped at the door. Would the guy have some warning system or a camera in there?
He examined the closed door and the floor around it to make sure Patrick hadn’t used any device to indicate an unwanted visitor.
Wyatt opened the door and stepped into the room. The shades were drawn, and he flicked the light switch so that he could look around. His first thought was that Patrick was a neat freak. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was sitting around. It could almost have been a room in a luxury hotel where people came and went without leaving their personal belongings. Scanning the bookshelves, he saw some volumes of popular fiction, separated from books on business. He ran his hands along the volumes, intent on finding out if one of them was really a hidden camera.
There were no cameras in the bookshelves, and he couldn’t identify anything on the walls that was taking his picture, either. He went into the bathroom and checked the medicine cabinet, finding only the usual toiletries. Patrick didn’t seem to be on any kind of medication, or nothing that he kept where a visitor could find it.