Page 40 of Wild Escape

Shelby returned to her table and took a seat, minus the backpack.

A minute later, Daphne returned to hers, the pink backpack slung over her shoulder.

The waitress delivered Shelby's cup of coffee, and she paid the tab. Without taking a sip, Shelby left and strutted outside. She walked back to the SUV, climbed in, and drove away.

Daphne left her table a moment later. When she stepped outside, Jack said, "You want to pick her up?"

"No. I want to see where she goes. She might lead us right to the dagger. Maybe to Dane."

That's when my phone buzzed with a call from the sheriff. His name flashed on the screen, and I groaned. At this hour, it couldn't be good. There was no way he knew Daphne had escaped, was there?

Either way, we had eyes on the target now.

I swiped the screen and took the call.

"I need you and numbnuts to get over to the Platinum Dunes ASAP.”

I groaned. "What happened now?”

He gave me the bad news.

“I’m on my way.“

I ended the call and said to Jack, “Keep tabs on her. See where she goes. I’ll handle this thing with the sheriff.“

Daphne walked away from the diner.

“Take my car,” Jack said. “I’ll follow her on foot.”

Jack pulled his hair into a ponytail and put on a ball cap. He hopped out of the Porsche and tried to look inconspicuous as he strolled across the parking lot.

I climbed behind the wheel, fired up the engine, and headed to the Platinum Dunes.

20

Red and blue lights flickered, painting the mansion in a wash of colors.

A crowd of curious neighbors had gathered, even though it was the wee hours of the morning. Deputies kept onlookers at bay. The forensic team had arrived.

Paris Delaney and her news crew pulled up to the scene right after I did.

I parked at the curb across the street and hopped out of the Porsche. I strolled across the well-manicured lawn, pushed through the gate, and stepped into the courtyard. A water wall trickled, and lush foliage adorned the space. I followed the trail of chaos that led up the grand staircase and down the hall to the master bedroom.

A distinguished-looking gentleman in his early 60s lay on the floor halfway out of the walk-in closet. The top of his head was slick and hairless. Tufts of silver on the sides extended into a trimmed beard that framed his rugged face. Reasonably fit for his age, the man probably would have had a long life if it hadn’t been for the bullets in his chest. Now his life hung in the balance.

Crimson stained the hardwoods in the closet.

EMTs frantically triaged the patient.

A woman in her mid-50s looked on in horror, biting her lip as tears streamed down her cheeks.

I figured that had to be Mrs. Caldwell.

EMTs had started Mr. Caldwell on an IV. They stabilized him enough for transfer. With a gentle lift, they hefted him onto a gurney and wheeled him out of the bedroom.

Mrs. Caldwell followed.

Camera flashes bounced off the walls as Dietrich captured the scene for posterity.