When had money become more important than the lives of others?
Anger beat in her veins, keeping time with the thud of her heart. She was sick to death of the lies…at the end of her rope with worry about Janey. She needed answers, and by God she intended to have them.
Ben pressed the doorbell. This one had an intricately carved brass piece surrounding the lit button, but not the sort that provided a live feed of who was at the door or the ability to communicate with them. She supposed such a high-tech device didn’t fit with the character of the home.
The door opened and seven-year-old Trek stood there.
“Don’t open the door!” The seemingly disembodied words floated from somewhere deeper in the house. Brenda recognized the voice as Lena’s.
“Hi, Trek.” Brenda barged past him.
The boy stared up at her. “Mom’s in the kitchen.” His dark eyes were wide and uncertain as if it was past his bedtime, but something kept him awake. He also probably understood, too late, that his mother would be angry that he’d opened the door.
“This is my friend Ben,” Brenda said as she continued forward, Ben beside her now.
The door closed and Trek rushed past them and shot up the stairs. Smart kid. He didn’t want to be down here when the proverbial poop hit the fan.
The entry hall cut through the center of the house from the front door to the kitchen. The rooms on either side were enormous. A grand living room, dining room and picturesque library. But it was the kitchen that focused on entertaining. It ran the full width of the house…opened onto an equally large terrace with a pool and all manner of small, luxurious seating and entertaining niches tucked into the landscape beyond it.
On the right side of the kitchen, far from all else, were two doors. One led to a pantry—the word was etched into the glass—and the other to the triple-car garage. The door to the garagestood open, and Lena had just walked through and reached for a suitcase. Two more of a matching luggage set stood next to the door. Her long blond hair tucked up in a claw clasp, she wore jeans and a T-shirt. So un-Lena-like. Brenda couldn’t help scrutinizing the pink tee for blood splatter or smears.
Lena was preparing to disappear.
She and Ben were just in time. Brenda had expected as much. “Hi, Lena. Going somewhere?”
The other woman allowed a moment of shock to flash across her face, but it quickly shifted to indignation. “What are you doing here?”
The emotions that charged through Brenda then almost undid her, but she snatched back control. “I guess you haven’t heard. My daughter is missing?”
Lena blinked but not quickly enough to hide her obvious surprise. “I had no idea…”
Barely able to hold back the rush of outrage, Brenda decided to give her something to think about. “I’m certainly glad your child is safe and sound at home with you. When this happens, it’s the not knowing that’s the most terrifying.”
Lena’s chin went up. “Whatever happened to your child is not my fault. I was smart enough not to get involved in the mess our husbands left behind.”
Brenda laughed long and loud. When she finally regained her composure, she said simply, “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Well, you have no one but Scott to blame for that.” She reached for one of the suitcases on the floor. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my son and I are preparing for our annual trip to Miami.”
“Funny,” Brenda countered, “I’ve never heard of those annual trips. I thought you preferred Barbados. Did your attorney approve your travel? Oh.” Brenda made a knowing face. “Were you aware he’s also representing the cartel thug who broke intomy house? Sounds like you might be more involved than you realize.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She glanced at Ben. “Who is this?”
“Ben Clark,” he answered. “I’m with the Colby Agency of Chicago. I’m investigating this case.”
She looked taken aback by the news. Had she not heard? Cummings wasn’t keeping her informed?
“How dare you bring a stranger into my home,” she snapped. “How do you know this man is who he says he is? It’s exactly this sort of naivete that has you in trouble, Brenda.”
“Because I confirmed who he is.” Brenda took a step in her direction. “He is the only person in all of this who’s helping me find the truth—everyone else is either lying to me or hiding the truth.”
“Why would I believeyou?”
“I don’t care what you believe.” Brenda was done with trying to explain. “But did you know that someone from the cartel shot your husbandbeforethe explosion? That one of the people at the office when that explosion happened was an FBI agent? At least we think he was. Considering what we know about Agent Cummings, we can’t be sure.”
Lena froze, that paralyzed-by-terror expression on her face. “What do you mean?”
Brenda turned to Ben. “Should we tell her?”
