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Suddenly, the doors were closed and Ashley stood before him.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Weldon,” she said, dripping sarcasm as the guards shoved him into an elevator.
They held onto him for the long ride down, and when the elevator reached the ground floor, they marched him toward the building’s entrance. Chase didn’t resist. It would have only made a spectacle, and being flanked by two muscle-bound guards in the airy, brightly lit lobby was humiliating enough as it was.
The pair shoved him out of Avalon Headquarters and onto the Arlington sidewalk, with $100 million even further out of reach and the clock still ticking.
CHAPTER 14
CHASE HEADED WEST on Route 66, trying to make sense of the last forty-eight hours.
Three days ago, his biggest concern was how Luke would do in next weekend’s travel soccer tournament. Two days ago, a dangerous hoax at Avalon Park sent 30,000 patrons screaming for the exits. Yesterday, an explosion ripped through a manufacturing plant, killing three and injuring more.
And the cherry on top? Whoever was behind it all saw Miles Gillen as their personal $100 million piggy bank… and Chase as the hammer.
Though not for long. Chase was certain his little stunt had just cost him FIRST’s biggest client and his professional reputation. He imagined Gillen picking up a golden phone and convening an emergency meeting of the Billionaire CEO Club, where the only item on the agenda would be blackballing Chase out of future business.
Thinking about his own problems in the midst of a campaign of terror felt selfish, but also oddly comforting, like touching a sore tooth. But Chase had more probing to do.
The evening commute will be a real gas.
Plan A hadn’t worked, so now it was time for Plan B.
He took the Dulles Toll Road, then Route 7, speeding toward rural Virginia. The dense environs of the DC metro area gradually yielded to farmland. In Loudon County, he stopped for supplies at a Sheetz convenience store, then continued west toward Bluemont. Near the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains, he pulled onto an unmarked dirt road. After a few dusty miles he stopped before a low, secured gate. He exited his Acura to inspect the sheet-metal sign that readNO TRESPASSINGin orange, reflective lettering.
Neighborly, thought Chase, then vaulted over the gate.
He walked several hundred yards before the trees on either side of the dirt road receded, revealing a ranch in the distance. Chase continued toward it. As he drew near to the main house, the dirt road became gravel. Suddenly, a large dog bounded from behind the house, alerted by the rustling sounds of Chase’s footsteps. The dog rocketed toward him, teeth bared. Chase braced, narrowing his profile, and reached into his jacket pocket as a high-pitched whistle sliced the air.
The dog halted. An older man, tall and rigid, his face deeply lined, stepped forward from the shadows of the house’s porch. He held a shotgun. It was pointed at the ground, but it was there.
“I never had much of an opinion of you, Weldon,” said Captain Townsend Wade, “but at the very least I thought you could read.”
“You know,” said Chase, jerking his head toward the road, “you’d get a lot more visitors without that sign.”
“You hear me complaining?”
Chase nodded toward the dog, now sitting a few feet in front of him and emitting a low, steady growl. “What is he?”
“Cane corso. Italian guard dog.”
“Can I pet him?”
“Depends. How attached are you to your fingers?”
“That’s not very sporting. I can tell you’ve already poisoned him against me.”
“Maybe he’s just a good judge of character.”
“Well then, let’s see,” said Chase. He reached slowly into his jacket pocket and produced a six-inch braided bully stick. “An old man, living alone in the woods… of course there’d be a dog. Probably a very mean dog.Or is he?Maybe he’s just misunderstood. Maybe he just doesn’t have any friends beside the grumpy old man. I bet he’s not getting enough affection. Regardless, I’d be foolish to come empty-handed. How am I doing so far, pooch?”
The dog’s ears were up, and he was no longer growling. A long stream of drool touched the ground.
“That’s what I thought. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Chase pitched the bully stick at the dog, who snatched it from the air.
“Titus,” said the captain. His tone brooked no dissent, just as Chase remembered. The dog slowly lowered the bully stick to the ground and looked back at his master.
“That’s cold,” said Chase.
