“Thanks. Your car’s right outside the fence.”
As Shane drove into the countryside, Elena watched his hands gripping the wheel.
“Do you want me to drive?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think so.”
“We don’t have far to go,” he answered, and she could tell that he was determined to do things his way.
They turned off onto a secondary road, and he slowed as he came to a long driveway. Again he turned, then stopped at a gate and punched in a code. After driving inside, he waited for the gate to swing closed behind them, then proceeded to a house set well back from the road.
He took the driveway at a slow pace, then pulled up in front of another older house that looked like it had recently been renovated.
The key was under the edge of the front porch. Inside, the first floor was similar to the last safe house, with a comfortably furnished great room, a dining area, and a kitchen along one wall.
Shane crossed the room and sat down heavily on one of the couches. “I guess we made it,” he said in a barely audible voice.
He looked wiped out, and she had the feeling that he’d kept himself going on willpower. Now that he was safe, his energy had suddenly drained away.
When he threw his head back, his jacket fell open, and she saw the red stain that had spread across the side of his shirt. She ran toward him.
Lincoln Kinkead looked up as one of his aides came into the room.
“You find out what happened to Iverson?” Kinkead asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Without giving him any information, the aide stepped aside and a tough-looking man walked into the room.
Kinkead looked up at him, fairly sure that he knew who he was dealing with now. “And you are?”
“Detective Paul Raymond with the Maryland State Police.”
Lincoln had expected that the police might show up at S&D, although he’d been thinking it would be local law enforcement—not the state cops. The introduction immediately put Kinkead on edge. “What’s this about?”
Without answering the question, Raymond asked, “A man named Bert Iverson works for you?”
“He’s my assistant chief of security.”
“Did you send him out on an assignment?” Raymond asked.
Lincoln thought about that. He’d called Bert last night and he’d come in for a few hours. Then he’d disappeared. Like Shane had disappeared.
“He was here last night. Did something happen to him?” Lincoln didn’t say that Iverson had been helping out with an emergency situation. He had learned that the less you volunteered to the cops, the better.
“He turned up dead at an estate on the Eastern Shore, outside St. Stephens.”
Thrown off balance by the terse statement, Lincoln stared at the man. Of all the things the detective could have said, that was the last one he’d expected to hear.
“How? When?” he managed to ask.
“He was found a few hours ago when the owner went down there to spend some time at his vacation house.”
Lincoln waited for more information.
“There was evidence that an intruder had been using some of the facilities at the estate without permission. Someone apparently spent the night on the owner’s cabin cruiser docked there. And food was eaten at the guesthouse.”
“And you think Iverson was responsible?”
“We don’t think so. We searched the property. There’s evidence of a gun battle in the woods. Iverson was shot.”
“By whom?”
“We don’t know, but we’d like some information on your chief of security, Shane Gallagher, the man who’s wanted for questioning about a shooting at his apartment.”
Shane had gotten into trouble at his apartment—with Elena Reyes, who had been in the building after hours the evening before. Now there had been another gun battle today on an Eastern Shore estate. Both incidents had to be connected, but Lincoln couldn’t put it together.
“Gallagher is missing,” Lincoln said.
“And Reyes was with him at the apartment.”
Lincoln sighed. “I called and asked him to come in, and he didn’t show up.”
“We’d appreciate it if you would contact us if you hear from him.”
“Yes. Okay,” Lincoln answered because he felt like he had no choice.
“What’s going on at S&D?” the detective suddenly said.
“What do you mean?”
“Your chief of security is missing. His second-in-command is dead, and Elena Reyes, one of your IT people, is probably with Gallagher.”
Lincoln nodded.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
Lincoln swallowed. “Not at this time. I’m conducting an internal investigation.”
“Of what?”
Wishing he hadn’t given away that last part, Lincoln said, “Elena Reyes was in the building after hours.”
The cop gave him a hard look. After several seconds, when Lincoln said nothing more, the man turned and left.
Lincoln waited for long moments, debating what to do. Finally he picked up the phone and called Rockfort Security.
“Max Lyon here.”
“This is Lincoln Kinkead.”
“Right.”
“Have you heard from Shane Gallagher?”
“No.”
“Are you lying to me?” he snapped.
“We’ve been at the office all night, hoping to hear from him and hoping you might call with information.”
“He was supposed to come in. When I called to find out where he was, he said he was with Elena Reyes and that they’d escaped from thugs at his apartment. But you probably know that from the police report.”
“Yeah.”
“Apparently they went down to the Eastern Shore and got into some trouble again. My assistant head of security is down there—dead.”
Lyon dragged in a quick breath. “Who killed him?”
“The state police are investigating that. Why would Shane go down there?”
“We have a safe house in St. Stephens.”
“Did Shane call Iverson?”
“We don’t have any information on that.”
“Well, if you hear anything, let me know.”
When Lyon was silent, Lincoln said, “I paid Rockfort good money to find out who was trying to steal proprietary information from me. Gallagher hasn’t found out squat. And now it looks like he’s gotten into bad trouble.”
“Or he’s trying to stay out of trouble,” Lyon suggested.
Lincoln snorted. “If you hear from him, I expect a report.”
“Will do,” Lyon said, but Lincoln had the feeling the man was only saying what the client wanted to hear.
Max hung up the receiver, clicked off the speaker, and looked at Jack. “Kinkead’s pissed off.”
“He has a right to be.”
“Which doesn’t help Shane.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“No way to be sure.”
Max stood. “We’re going down there.”
“In the helo. That will be fastest.”
They both checked their weapons, then headed for the safe house near Gaithersburg where the agency kept the helicopter.
Chapter 20
Elena stared at the blood spreading across Shane’s middle. “Shane. Oh Lord, Shane.”
When she reached his side, she pulled the jacket farther back and inspected the bloodstain. It looked fresh, like something that had just happened. But that wasn’t possible, was it?
Carefully she undid the shirt buttons and looked at his chest, then farther down. When he’d been in the airport office, he must have wound a sheet around his middle and tied it tightly in place. It was soaked with dried blood, but more fresh blood had come through onto the shirt.
“When were you were shot?” she breathed.