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Finally he turned his attention to her and Randall. “The team’s okay. The pastor, too. There was an explosive device, but they disarmed it. There’s no sign of Vangie or Peckham. Bridger’s on his way over.”
Randall looked like he was about to throw up. “Was she there? Was Vangie there?”
Mason shook his head. “No sign of her. The only life sign they detected was Myles, and they got him out.”
Randall put his head in his hands. “It was Peckham. He’s crazy. We all know it. But what about Vangie? What did he do with her?”
“No idea yet. Looks like the pastor’s been heavily drugged. They won’t get anything out of him for a while.”
“Maybe Peckham kidnapped her,” Randall said.
Mason dismissed the idea with a quick gesture. “She’s not the one he’s been threatening.”
“Not true,” Jane said. “This started with the extortion attempts, and threats to Vangie.”
Paige looked up. “That’s right. Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place. At the wrong people. Why blackmail a pastor?” She wondered out loud. “It’s not like there’s a lot of money in it.”
“If this Peckham guy’s mentally ill, he might not have a good reason,” Mason pointed out.
Billy wasn’t stupid. She could picture him becoming obsessed with the idea that the man who “stole” the position he thought was rightfully his was an adulterer, but then the blackmail angle made no sense.
While Mason paced and Randall fidgeted, Paige continued her research. Jane had just given up on the fridge when Paige backed from the table, shaking her head. “I’ve been over Myles’s financials ten times. There’s no hidden money. No Swiss Bank account. No way the pastor has the money for a big payment. He’s got nothing of value but that life insurance policy.”
Jane’s stomach lurched. The puzzle pieces suddenly clicked together. The realization made her lightheaded. None of this benefited Billy Peckham, but Vangie Myles stood to make a fortune.
Mason stiffened like a bird dog on a scent, confirming the horrible feeling in Jane’s gut. Could the woman actually be trying to murder her spouse?
Mason leaned over the back of Paige’s chair, staring at the screen over her shoulder. “How much is the policy worth?”
“A million dollars.”
He whistled through his teeth. “Well there we go.”
“But it wouldn’t go to Billy.”
“No,” Paige said. “It wouldn’t.”
Jane looked at Randall.
He had stilled, looking strained and frightened, but not shocked. “No,” he protested. “Vangie would never… It’s impossible.”
“Not necessarily.” Mason touched his comlink. “Hey, guys, heads up—”
But before he could finish the sentence, the window in the dining room shattered.
The sound followed an instant later. A gunshot.
Mason rushed her, shoving her to the floor. Her shoulder bit into the carpet. She braced herself for his weight, but he held himself over her, careful to keep his body off her. “You okay?”
“I think so.” Her forearm stung. The side of her face, too, close to her hairline. But as far as she could tell, that was it.
Somewhere behind her, Randall cried out. “She cut me. The crazy woman cut me.”
Mason squeezed Jane’s shoulder. “Stay down,” he whispered, and peeled himself off her.
Two more shots rang out. One blew out the window over the kitchen sink, showering Paige’s back with broken glass.
Randall clapped a hand to the side of his face. Blood gushed between his fingers, running down his neck and staining his crisp white shirt.
