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“Out of town,” she said bluntly. “How far out of town?”
Isabelle didn’t know everything about his clients, but she knew enough.
“Switzerland. Head to New York tonight and stay in a nice hotel. I will join you there tomorrow if I can. If I can’t, then I’ll meet you in Switzerland.”
“We have to leave that quickly?”
“I think it would be best.”
“What happened?” she whispered. “Does this have anything to do with Grant’s visit last night? With Madeline’s murder? What is going on?”
“We’ll talk later,” he said emphatically. “Just do what I say, Isabelle. I love you.”
“You had better be safe, Franklin. I’m not going to lose you over this...this unfortunate business.”
He ended the call because Isabelle wasn’t stupid. She would figure out that everything had gone off the rails, and if he couldn’t put the pieces back together, he didn’t want her to suffer. She had access to enough money and resources to take care of the girls for the rest of their lives. That was all that mattered to him. And she didn’t know anything specific about his dealings, so if she was questioned, she had nothing that would incriminate him—or her.
All she knew was that some of his clients were not quite...ethical. That was a tame word for criminal.
His other cell phone rang and he jumped, as if the caller was going to tell him he’d heard everything.
But it was Bruce Rockford with Brock Marsh.
A man who Franklin was beginning to believe was playing both sides.
“Report?” Franklin answered crisply.
“Jenna Johns is in the wind. Hasn’t used her credit cards, no toll roads. Our inside man in the FBI may be compromised if she talks to anyone.”
“He doesn’t know anything substantive, does he?”
“He won’t talk.”
Rockford’s specialty was gathering dirt. Gathering dirt on federal agents was difficult, but very lucrative.
“I pulled the team from her house, the hospital. We have another problem. Regan Merritt.”
“I’m aware.”
“I have orders.”
“Not from me.”
“I don’t take orders from you, Archer. I never have. You just never realized it until now.”
His blood ran cold. “Bruce, ImadeBrock Marsh. I took you from a small two-bit security company babysitting spoiled brats like Hank Burgess into a state-of-the-art security and surveillance company.”
“I appreciate the boost, but I know what side my bread is buttered, and I know when the ship is going down. Your ship. I’ve been ordered to take care of all loose ends, starting with Ms. Merritt. I suggest you get your affairs in order.”
Bruce hung up on him.
Franklin stared at his phone. His hand was shaking. What aboutmutually assured destructiondidn’t they understand?
Everything had gotten out of hand over the last three weeks. When Regan Merritt left Virginia, everyone breathed easier—no one was looking too closely at Adam Hannigan’s death. Until Thomas Granger started stirring the pot.
Franklin hadn’t wanted to have Tom Granger killed; killing a federal agent was dangerous. But he had compiled far too much evidence and Franklin panicked. They acquired Granger’s evidence and destroyed it. No one else should be able to figure anything out because Granger pulled together facts from multiple sources. And Grant? Well, now Grant was suspected of murder, so he wasn’t exactly trustworthy.
Killing Madeline was not Franklin’s idea. He hadn’t even known, but he should have. He should have known that his clients had recalled Nelson Lee to handle it.
