"All right," Ellison replied. "As a favor to you and because Caroline is Preston Shaw's stepdaughter, I'll run a check on Mr. Wolfe." Ellison realized that he would have to pacify Oliver with a fake report on David Wolfe; otherwise his old friend was bound to become suspicious. And that was something he couldn't allow to happen.
Oliver rose to his feet. "You'll let me know the minute you get the information on him?"
"It could take a few days."
Oliver stepped forward and clasped Ellison's hand. "A few days would be perfect. We can discuss your findings at the dinner we're having this weekend to raise funds for Fletcher's political campaign. You are planning to attend, aren't you?"
"Didn't receive an invitation." Ellison pulled his hand from Oliver's grip.
"Consider yourself invited." Oliver grinned. "I'll see that Eileen adds your name to the guest list. She'll be delighted to see you again. It's been what—five years or more since you two saw each other?"
"Give or take a year," Ellison said.
"Caroline will be at the dinner, escorted by her bodyguard. If there's any reason Fletcher needs to dismiss Mr. Wolfe, then we can present a united front and I can immediately call in a man from the agency I use.
Eastbrook
, Inc., out of Richmond. We've used their bodyguards for years, whenever there was any need."
Ellison followed Oliver into the outer office, past his secretary and all the way down the corridor to the private elevator. The door to Gavin Robbins's office, directly across the hall from the elevators, stood wide open and Gavin's assistant, Mike Latham, glanced up from his desk to make eye contact with Ellison. Gavin had hand-picked his assistant, just as Ellison had, and with his legal background, Latham had proved himself an invaluable asset to the Peacekeepers. The minute the elevator doors closed, Ellison reversed directions and headed straight back to his office. He paused momentarily at his secretary's desk. Barry
Vanderpool
, whose father had been a Peacekeepers agent until his untimely death, was the most efficient secretary Ellison had ever had. The young man had a knack for anticipating Ellison's every need. He was quite proud of the fact that he had handpicked Barry from a long list of applicants and his instincts had proved him right.
"I don't want to be disturbed for the next half hour."
"Yes, sir," Barry replied.
Ellison closed and locked his office door, then removed
hi
s cellular phone, w
hi
ch worked off a scrambled security frequency, thus preventing interception. He dialed the number that he had memorized and waited, tapping Ms foot on the floor, while the phone rang.
When the familiar voice answered, Ellison said, "We've got a big problem."
"I can't believe we didn't find anyt
hi
ng, not even a
hi
nt of a clue in all these t
hi
ngs." Caroline dropped the handful of old, yellowed letters back into the ornately carved wooden box lying in the middle of Fletcher Shaw's attic.
"I felt certain when we finally unearthed this box that the key would fit it," Fletcher said. "But the thing wasn't even locked."
Brooke leaned over the back of the dilapidated chair in which Fletcher sat, among the array of stored antique furniture and boxed family items. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his right temple.
"
I'm so sorry, dear. I know how disappointed you and Caroline must be."
"Is there anything else that you can think of?" Wolfe asked. "Something that your father could have left somewhere else?"
"Lenore cleared out his safety deposit box," Fletcher said. "So that's ruled out. And the key doesn't fit any locks in the Sheffield Street house that he shared with Lenore, nor does it fit any locks in this house, where he once lived with Mother."
"What about his office at Peacekeepers International?" Brooke asked.
"I'd already thought of that," Fletcher said. "I phoned Ellison Penn and he assured me that every key issued to Father by the Peacekeepers was accounted for shortly after Father's death. Besides, none of the old keys fit any of the new locks in the Peacekeepers building."
"There has to be something we're overlooking." Caroline paced the unfinished wood floor, trying her best to avoid eye contact with Wolfe. Ever since what had occurred between them in the wee hours of the night, she'd felt a keen sense of embarrassment. When he didn't mention the incident this morning, she felt relieved and thankful that his demeanor toward her had returned to robotic efficiency. Their breakfast conversation had consisted of nothing more than the plans for the day. Then at the studio, while she'd photographed four different clients before noon, Wolfe had stood guard quietly, his gaze only occasionally meeting hers and then moving on quickly.
"Everything that belonged to Father is stored right here," Fletcher said. "And as far as I know, when Lenore left for Europe, she didn't take any of Father's personal items, just his money and her jewels."
"By any chance, did your father have an apartment in D.C.?" Wolfe asked.
"No." Fletcher shook his head.
"What about cars? Did Lenore sell his cars or did you get them?" Wolfe glanced first at Fletcher and then at Caroline.
"I have no idea," Caroline admitted. "Mother left for Europe only a few weeks after Preston's funeral and she'd already shipped me off to Aunt Dixie's by then."
"She sold her Mercedes and Father's BMW," Fletcher said. "But I still have the '39 Alfa Romeo coupe. He willed the thing to me."
A flash of color swept through Caroline's mind. Wind blowing her hair. She and Fletcher giggling. Preston smiling happily. Caroline remembered how she'd loved taking rides out to the Maryland countryside with Fletch and Preston in that fabulous old car. Preston had adored antique cars and had bought and sold several over the years, but he'd always kept the Alfa Romeo—the 8C 2900 Sport Spider. Odd that she would remember that tidbit of information. But then whenever Preston had taken them out in the old car, which he'd had repainted a brilliant red, he had raved on and on about it to them. "Where is the Alfa Romeo now?" she asked.
"I stored it in the garage at my grandparents' cottage in Windhaven." Fletch sighed. "I'm afraid I haven't even seen the old car in years. I didn't inherit Father's love for antique vehicles."
Fletch's
eyes widened as a suspicion came to mind.
"
I say, you don't think the key fits the Alfa Romeo, do you?"
"I doubt it," Wolfe said. "But there's a possibility that your father could have stored something in the trunk or the glove compartment that requires a key to unlock."
Caroline focused her gaze on Fletcher. "Would it be all right with you if Wolfe and I drive down to Windhaven and have a look at the car?" She glanced at Wolfe, anticipation glowing in her eyes. "I can call Roz and have her reschedule my afternoon appointments and we could leave right away."
Wolfe looked to Fletcher for approval. "Do we have your
permission to check the car over and remove anything we find?"
Fletch disengaged himself from Brooke's clinging embrace and stood. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks and paced across the attic. "I'd drive down with you, but I have a meeting with Senator Marshall and Congressman Williams at three today." He paused, looked directly at Caroline and then reached out to grasp her by the shoulders. "I want to find out the truth about Father's murder as much as you do, but not at the cost of your life. I'd rather never know than to risk your getting hurt. But if you're determined to continue with the search, then—''
"I am determined." She laid her hands over his where he held her shoulders securely. "I have no intention of letting someone get away with murder, not if there's the remotest possibility that I can bring Preston's killer to justice."
"Very well." Fletcher kissed Caroline's cheek, then released his hold on her. "I'll call up Teddy Richards, the caretaker there at the cottage, so he'll be expecting you. I'll explain to him why you're driving down.'' Fletch turned to Wolfe. "You have my permission to tear the damn car apart if you think you can find anything. And whatever you find, by all means bring it back with you."
"Then we can leave from here?" Caroline asked Wolfe
.
He nodded.
"I'll call Roz right away." When Caroline headed toward the attic stairs, Brooke followed her.
When the women were out of earshot, Fletch said, "I'm holding you personally responsible if anything happens to her."
"I can promise you that nothing is going to happen to her as long as there's breath in my body." Wolfe glared at Fletcher, his gaze and stance vowing as surely as his words that he was completely and wholeheartedly dedicated to protecting Caroline.
Fletcher narrowed his gaze and stared at Wolfe oddly, as
if he couldn't quite figure out what motivated his stepsister's bodyguard. Wolfe didn't give a damn. Let Fletcher Shaw think what he would. David Wolfe was in Caroline's life now, her constant companion, and until she was safe from all danger, only an act of God could sever him from her side.
Chapter 9
Interstate
97 took them to Annapolis. Then Caroline stayed on Highway 2, heading south, until they reached their turnoff onto a county road that would take them to the coast and the tiny village of Windhaven, which wasn't even a speck on the map. Wolfe sat on the passenger side, riding shotgun, while Caroline drove. He read aloud
Fletch's
directions that would lead them to his maternal grandparents' waterfront cottage— and hopefully to a discovery inside Preston Shaw's antique car stored there in the garage. Nothing would suit Wolfe better than to learn what the mysterious key opened. Not only would that disclosure put an end to the threat on Caroline's life, but it would enable Wolfe to hand over, to Ellison Penn, the unquestionable proof of Preston Shaw's guilt as well as the evidence against Shaw's cohorts. The Peacekeepers had had enough proof of Shaw
's
guilt to order his death and Wolfe had simply been following orders when he executed Caroline's stepfather. But having recently seen a new perspective of Preston Shaw through Caroline's and
Fletch's
eyes made him wonder if there was even the slightest possibility that the Peacekeepers had made a mistake. Wolfe's conscience would rest easier when even the tiniest glimmer of doubt was removed from his mind.
The truth would no doubt break Caroline's heart. She still thought of Preston Shaw as not only an honorable person, but as a good and kind man. Wolfe regretted that it would be necessary to ruin her cherished memories of the man she'd thought of as a father. But now that she had found the mysterious key and had become obsessed with locating the hidden evidence, there was no other way to protect her. As much as he would like to see the other members of the highly secret, traitorous group of which Shaw had been a leader revealed and punished, Wolfe would prefer Caroline never know the complete truth about her stepfather. If they found the evidence Shaw had professed to have in his possession, then Wolfe decided that he would do his best to keep her from being exposed to all the ugly details.
But what if they didn't find what the key unlocked? What if weeks went by, even months, without unearthing the damaging evidence? Would Caroline give up the quest? Dear God, he hoped she would. If not, she would live in constant danger from an unknown enemy.
Wolfe would have felt more at ease right now if fewer people knew their whereabouts. Fletcher and Brooke had taken part in making the plans to go to Windhaven, so it was only reasonable to assume that Brooke might tell her parents, despite his warnings to tell no one. Roz knew, too, and it was possible that she had disregarded instructions and had by now told Gavin and/or Lyle. If Gavin knew, then he might have informed Ellison, or if the boss had been unavailable, then Ellison's trusted secretary. It wasn't that Wolfe suspected anyone in particular, but he had learned the hard way that a cautious man trusted no one. Sometimes even the closest friend might prove to be a person's most deadly enemy.
Wolfe spread his right hand and, using his thumb and middle finger, clasped the side of the frames and repositioned his tinted glasses to rest more securely on the bridge of his nose. Without moving an inch and alerting Caroline, Wolfe scanned their surroundings. She slowed her Lincoln LS when a forty-five mile-per-hour speed limit sign appeared along the side of the road. The area in which they had been traveling was definitely rural and was now becoming more coastal with each passing mile.
They had spoken very little on the long ride from Fletcher's home in Baltimore. No idle chitchat. No heart-to-heart conversation. He read the directions whenever necessary. She commented occasionally on this or that roadway scene. He suspected she felt every bit as awkward as he did after their middle-of-the-night sensual exchange in his bedroom. Try as he might, he couldn't get the sight of her, the scent of her, the feel of her out of his mind. It had taken a great deal of willpower to release her, to reject the offer he'd seen in her lavender-blue eyes. She had wanted him as surely as he had wanted her. How was he going to continue guarding her night and day and resist the sweetest temptation on earth?
"Directions, please." She glanced his way hurriedly, then refocused on the road. "Is our turnoff close?"
Wolfe looked over the directions again, then gazed out the window. "Harcourt Road should be about two miles from here. Fletch says we can smell the sea from that point on."
Caroline grinned, then sighed. "I'm desperately trying not to get my hopes up about finding anything in the Alfa Romeo. But it would be just like Preston to have hidden something important in the car he dearly loved. I keep wondering that if he wanted Mother to find the evidence, why would he leave the car to Fletch?"
"Good question."
They remained silent until Wolfe spotted the turn. "There's Harcourt Road."
She whipped the Lincoln off onto the rough, uneven course, slowing almost to a standstill after hitting a rather large pothole. She grumbled under her breath. The narrow two-lane local roadway was in bad need of repair. If they hadn't been traveling at such a slow speed, they would have probably missed the town of Windhaven, which consisted of a gas station-minimart and little else. A row of empty buildings and a few boats docked in the small harbor comprised what had no doubt been a small, active seacoast village years ago. As they wound their way through the remnants of the old town, Wolfe noted a few signs of new life on the outskirts and wondered what group of wealthy investors had gobbled up the place, probably intending to turn it into a tourist
mecca
.
"We go half a mile and then turn off onto a gravel road that leads to a dirt road that will take us straight to the cottage," Wolfe said.
She nodded. "Looks like Windhaven will be another tourist destination in a year or two. Pity."
In less than five minutes, they found the cottage, located on a dirt road close to the bay and within walking distance of five other old waterfront houses, built decades ago as summer homes. Standing outside the cottage, his hand raised in greeting, stood a man Wolfe guessed to be at least seventy-five, his bald head gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight.
"That must be Teddy Richards." Caroline pulled the Lincoln to a stop in the overgrown driveway.
"And there's the Alfa Romeo." Wolfe pointed toward the garage, which was the exact shade of yellow as the house. On both the paint was faded and peeling. The rather rickety-looking open garage door hung precariously on rusted hinges.
Caroline removed her seat belt, flung open the door and jumped out and onto the ground. Wolfe hurried so that she got only a few steps ahead of him on her way toward the garage.
"Hey there, you Caroline McGuire?" the elderly man asked.
Caroline held out her hand as she approached him. Wolfe barely restrained himself from halting her friendly greeting. What were the odds that this old codger was a hit man? Slim to none. But pure instinct guided Wolfe as he slipped his hand beneath the edge of his lightweight sports coat to undo the snap on his hip holster. His hand hovered close to the weapon as Caroline shook hands with the man who identified himself as Teddy.
"Mr. Fletcher said to let y'all do whatever you wanted with the car," Teddy said. "So there she is. Like to take a closer look?"
Wolfe grabbed Caroline's arm as she headed straight for the garage. "Wait a minute."
She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a puzzled stare. "We can hardly check the trunk and the glove compartment or whatever else from this distance."
Wolfe looked at the garage. Nestled inside the small structure's belly was a magnificent antique car, its sides and fenders a single molded unit that tapered to a teardrop rear end. The long curved roofline swooped forward to a split and curved windshield. Like an ageless lady of great style and beauty,
Pinin
Farina's classic automobile outshone any present-day models. Wolfe owned several vintage vehicles himself, having begun his collection shortly after his resurrection from the dead and his move to Atlanta. He kept his '59 Corvette and his Ferrari 250
swb
garaged at his home in Tennessee.
"I
'll bring her out so you can get a good look at her," Teddy said. "Not much room to maneuver in the garage and no electricity out there, so no lights."
While Teddy made his way, rather briskly for an old man, toward the garage, Caroline turned to Wolfe. "Are you suspicious of Mr. Richards?" A closemouthed smile spread across her face. "My heavens, he's probably eighty years old."
"A professional weakness," Wolfe admitted. "Not trusting anyone. Suspecting even the most innocent-looking person."
He placed his hand in the small of her back. She stiffened instantly. He assumed that Caroline had been as curious as he to know how they both would react when they touched again. For him it was a blend of pleasure and agony. His instincts told him that for her it was the same.
"Move over to the side of the house," Wolfe suggested. "I'm not sure I trust Teddy's driving skills."
Caroline laughed softly as she allowed Wolfe to guide her to what he considered a safer location. They both watched as Teddy opened the driver's side door of the antique car and slipped behind the wheel. Suddenly a pure gut reaction prompted Wolfe to call out to the old man. He had allowed the physical contact with Caroline to momentarily distract him and that distraction had sidetracked his normally astute instincts.
"Wait! Don't start the engine," Wolfe cried.
Caroline looked at Wolfe, her eyes widening in surprise, as if questioning his sanity. But within seconds, her look changed to one of shock and then of horror. A loud, ear-splitting blast rocked the ground on which they stood as the Alfa Romeo, the garage and Teddy Richards were blown to kingdom come.
"Son of a bitch!" As the sound of the explosion reverberated in their ears, Wolfe shoved Caroline to the ground and covered her with his body.
Debris sailed high into the sky—pieces of yellow wood, fragments of red metal, gravel, grass, dirt and the minuscule particles that had once comprised a human body. Bits and pieces of the remains rained down on them, peppering Wolfe's body and showering across the yard and the cottage. Fire singed the earth where the garage had once stood and little outbreaks flamed up all around them. Wolfe prayed that Caroline's Lincoln was far enough way from the blast to have survived intact. It was their only means of escape. His guess was that the explosives had been wired to the ignition, set to activate the moment the car was started. Maybe the person who had placed the bomb in the Alfa Romeo was long gone. But what if he or she had waited around to make sure the blast had done its job? Caroline had been the target, not Teddy Richards.
As soon as the dust settled, Wolfe rose to his knees and closely surveyed the destruction all around them. His tinted glasses, which had fallen off when he'd hit the ground, lay broken only a couple of inches from his right foot. His gaze moved to settle on the Lincoln, which was covered with dust and particles from the blast. Flying debris had smashed in the back window and pockmarked the side of the vehicle. Wolfe rose to his feet, then jerked Caroline to a standing position. She shivered uncontrollably. He ran his hands up and down her arms, then shook her gently.
"We've got to get out of here. Do you understand?"
She nodded and obediently let him lead her hurriedly toward the car. He opened the passenger door and shoved her inside, then closed and locked the door and rounded the hood. The minute he slid behind the wheel, she held out the car keys, which she had earlier slipped into the pocket of her slacks. Her hand shook uncontrollably.
"Poor old Teddy Richards," Caroline said, tears in her voice.
Wolfe reached over, caressed her dirty cheek, then inserted the key in the ignition and started the Lincoln. With only one thought in mind—to protect Caroline—he reversed the car, whipped it out onto the road and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.
When Wolfe pulled the battered Lincoln into the driveway at Caroline's home at fifteen past eleven that night, four people came rushing off the well-tit front porch where they had been waiting. Roz was the first to reach Caroline, with Brooke a close second. Wolfe allowed the two women to push him aside as they rushed to smother their friend with hugs and dampen her with their tears of relief and joy.
"Oh, God, Caroline, when you phoned Lyle from the Calvert County sheriffs office and told him what happened, he called me immediately." Roz brushed strands of Caroline's disheveled hair out of her eyes. "We've been worried sick."
"Lyle called Fletch, too, and the four of us have been out of our minds with worry," Brooke said. "My poor Fletch has been blaming himself for Teddy Richards's death. And he's been frantic about you."