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No matter what hours he kept, Mark had an annoying inner alarm clock.
He woke at six.
He dressed quickly, glad he kept a clean shirt in his car, ran out and got it, ran Red out quickly, and then ran back in to shower and dress again with his clean shirt.
He didn’t wake Colleen until then. She was far too angelic-looking, lean, shapely body curled against the tangle of the sheets, the fire of her hair spilled wildly out on a pillow.
How had they been together so long without...?
So long? He mocked himself.
Sex was sex, a friend had told him once. Another football player, a friend who had meant to go all the way to the big leagues, if he could. And he had excelled at the game.
But for him, that had also meant he’d excelled at life. Women weren’t expendable, but there were so many of them, and his friend had thought so many were worthy of him.
But while sex might be a biological function, his friend had been so wrong.
Even throwing basic chemistry into the mix didn’t make sex—sex.
He didn’t ever want to leave. It was crazy. They hadn’t been together a week. But he wanted to continue to sleep in the comfort that had claimed him last night, to wake up to see her face...
“Colleen,” he said, shaking her gently.
Her eyes opened. She stared at him for a minute and then jumped up.
“No, oh, no! I’m sorry! Did I oversleep?”
“Nope. Everything is good. I’m going to go down and make coffee now, while you get ready.”
“You just have to press the button—I always have it ready to go. I—I’m quick, really.”
“I believe you and we’re fine. We can take some time to determine all our best moves, then head out.”
“Say we find Carver’s cabin—his hidden place to build coffins and torture victims—we still have to figure out who kidnapped Dierdre.”
He smiled grimly. “I’m on it,” he promised her.
“Then there’s the matter of clothing,” she said gravely. “We need to get you some over here.”
“And vice versa,” he said. “I think you’ll like my place too.”
He hurried downstairs to push the button on the coffee maker. The machine made a little whooshing sound and ticked into action.
His phone rang and he answered it quickly, seeing it was Angela.
“Anything on Brant Pickering yet?” he asked.
“We went through his financials. He bought a ticket for a train ride back to New York. But none of our people—locally or in NYC—have eyes on him yet. Sally is at her house; we’ve had our own agents watching. They’ve been able to see her moving around in the dining room. Ragnar is going to head out there to speak with her.”
“This early?”
“Our observers know she’s awake.”
“All right. Strange, isn’t it—he was so loyal at the hospital. Now he’s gone. And without a word to us. I’d have expected a heads-up, since he seemed like a good guy at the hospital.”
“This doesn’t mean he isn’t a good guy.”
“He left her alone. Without a word to law enforcement.”
“He may feel she’s safe, Mark. He may even know we’re watching the house. Until we know more, we can’t judge him to be a killer.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re coming in. I have a plan for today—though I want to get out to the Front Royal area quickly.”
“Want to let me in on the plan?” Angela asked.
He described what he wanted to do and then asked, “Any word from law enforcement in the Front Royal area?”
“Yes—acres and acres of woods. Dozens of old cabins out there. But they’re starting a search.”
“Thanks. We’ll be in shortly.”
“I’ll be here to help with your plan in any way. And Jackson is in the office today too.”
He thanked her and hung up.
It was early—probably still too early to call a musician.
Screw it. He asked Vince to come in, promising him he’d get him into a conference room. He wouldn’t have to see Rory Ayers, and it could help if he and Dierdre put their heads together.
“But there is no one currently missing that we know of?” Vince asked him.
“We’d really like to get this guy before there is another woman in trouble,” Mark told him.
