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He answered. “Yes.”
“We have another job. It’s urgent.”
“Send me the details.”
The call ended. Seconds later the details came through.
Two photos.
A man and a woman. He knew them both.
After the photo was a list of addresses, prioritized. Schedules for the next twenty-four hours.
He was surprised at the targets, and little surprised him anymore. But perhaps he had expected this turn of events. Things had gotten out of hand of late, and no one liked the unpredictable.
The phone rang again. “We need this done right away. Twenty-four hours, double your fee. Murder-suicide would be ideal, but it has to be airtight.”
Twenty-four hours meant Nelson should be back in time for the farmer’s market on Saturday.
“Agreed,” he said and ended the call.
Twenty-Two
Regan tried calling Jenna Johns again Thursday morning; again, she didn’t answer. She didn’t leave a message this time. She might have to drive out to Bethesda and track her down. But at this point, her best bet for information was Grant, followed by Peter Grey—provided that Charlie could get them a meeting.
She pulled into the parking garage attached to the building that housed Archer Warwick Bachman Law Offices, grabbing a ticket on the way in and tossing it on her dashboard.
She’d been here many times over the years. It was an open building and if you knew where you were going, you could go right up because the elevators were open to the public from 7:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m. Two guards monitored the lobby and a reception desk managed package deliveries and general information. Since it was already eight in the morning, she went straight up to the top floor. Grant’s law office took up the entire penthouse suite of offices.
The elevator opened into a small lobby surrounded by glass. Potted plants—real—stood sentry in each corner. Double doors straight ahead were etched in gold. Regan opened them, approaching the receptionist.
Regan recognized the thirty-something blonde. It took her just a few seconds searching her memory before saying, “Hello, Barbara. I’m here to see Grant.”
If it was someone she didn’t know, she would have given her first and last name. But Barbara clearly recognized her.
“Mrs. Warwick—I mean, Ms. Merritt. You’re looking well. Do you have an appointment?”
“Not on the schedule, but he knows I’m coming.”
Not exactly true, but heshouldhave known after he didn’t show at the restaurant last night.
“Of course. Let me buzz him and see if he’s free.”
She picked up the phone, spoke briefly and quietly. A few seconds later, she said, “Mr. Warwick’s assistant will be out momentarily to escort you back.”
She would have preferred to surprise Grant, but this was the second-best option.
It didn’t take long before Jeff Lange, Grant’s legal secretary and admin, came out and smiled. “Ms. Merritt, it is so good to see you.”
She took his extended hand, shook it. Jeff had been with Grant for several years, had been over to the house when she and Grant were married. He was in his late thirties and had a wife who did something in biotechnology for a university, no kids.
“Jeff. As always, call me Regan.”
“I didn’t know you were in town. Grant didn’t mention it.”
“It was a last-minute trip.”
Jeff escorted her through the maze of cubicles to the last office in the row. Grant, as one of the partners, rated a large office with two dedicated staff—Jeff and a junior legal assistant—and an office full of windows. Jeff knocked on the door but opened it without waiting for an answer. Grant knew she was here, it wasn’t like she needed to be announced.
