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Regan now recognized the difference between walking into a hostage situation, assessing the best action for the best outcome, and planning a dinner party. But she was so used toknowingwhat to do that playing a polite game of this or that or what-if grated on her. It struck her as a waste of time. She didn’t fret; she wasn’t indecisive.
At least she hadn’t been until now when she was no longer a marshal and had no idea what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
She glanced at her watch. Grant was twenty minutes late, and she suspected he wasn’t coming at all. No text, no message.
She called him, and he didn’t answer. She left a message.
“Grant, I’ll wait here for ten more minutes unless you let me know you’re on your way.”
Almost immediately, he texted her—too quickly for him to have listened to her message.
Sorry, I can’t make it, I’m stuck at the office. I’ll call you tomorrow.
She almost got up right then and drove to his office to confront him. Instead, she responded to his text, finding it suspicious, or at least odd, that he’d texted her instead of calling.
We need to talk in person. Tonight, your place.
He answered:I’ll be late. I promise I’ll call you tomorrow morning. I’m really sorry.
Regan didn’t know what was going on, but Grant was irritating her.
Hungry, she ordered dinner. The Mexican food in Virginia was nowhere as good as the Mexican food in the Southwest, but the tacos at this little hole-in-the-wall that she and Grant had discovered early in their marriage could almost compete.
Alone at her table, Regan pulled out her notes that she’d planned to discuss with Grant—a timeline of his calls with Tommy, the empty Franklin Archer file, the questions about Brock Marsh Security, and of course the big one: What were he and Tommy working on together?
She’d planned to show Grant the three businesses and ask if any of them were familiar. She needed to know what Tommy had shared with Grant—Grant might know what information Tommy’s killer had stolen. Maybe Grant knew what Peter Grey had told Tommy that led him down the rabbit hole.
That led to his murder.
Grant may, at least, get Regan to the point where Tommy had been so she could solve this...or he, too, may be in danger.
That gave her pause. Was Grant scared that he was next? If so, why wouldn’t he immediately seek protection? From her...from someone else? He was a white-collar professional, hardly someone who was well versed in personal security.
But Regan’s biggest question remained: Why had Tommy contacted Grant in the first place?
She finished her meal, still irritated and suspicious over Grant’s cancelation. She decided to pay him a visit.
Grant didn’t want to see her tonight? Tough. Regan drove straight to Alexandria—forty-five minutes from Buenos Gatos at this time of night. She was going to ask him questions. Too many facts were missing, she thought as she drove. Tommy had taken everything relevant from his files, leaving her with disconnected notes.
Her head hurt thinking about everything. Lack of sleep, grief, frustration, anger. Grant had answers, and he would damn well tell her.
When she arrived, she knocked on the door; rang the bell. She looked in his garage: his sporty Mercedes wasn’t there. Maybe he’d told her the truth about working late.
She doubted it. He’d texted her because a call would mean speaking, voice inflections, stress levels. She would know whether he was lying if she heard him, and he knew that.
Could someone have responded to the text for him? That seemed unlikely, but she didn’t completely discount it. She would find out tomorrow.
She almost drove by his law firm, but if he was there, she wouldn’t know unless he allowed her to come up to their suites. She wouldn’t be able to access the parking garage after hours, and since it was after hours, she wouldn’t be allowed up without being cleared.
Frustrated, she drove back to Tommy’s.
As Regan turned into Tommy’s rural neighborhood, she saw bright lights in the direction of his house. She sped up, rounded the corner, and spotted two police cars and Terri’s car in the driveway. Regan pulled up and slammed the car into Park, turning the ignition off at the same time. She jumped out and hurried to the front door, where a deputy stood sentry.
“I’m Regan Merritt. I’m staying here. Where’s Terri?”
The deputy called into the house. “Ms. Merritt is here.”
“Let her in,” a male voice called.
