Felicia had told him the story during their escape. By that time, he’d heard most of it already. He’d gone on the mission knowing he might have to pose as her husband or fiancé, and it made sense to know as much about her and her family as possible.
“I don’t think Harold ever considered William his son. I know Harold left the entire estate—and it was massive—to Randall.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s what I thought. But Felicia said her uncle was cool about it. He didn’t like Harold and didn’t want his hand-me-downs. She adored him. Which is why I want to let him know some of what’s going on.”
“And try to find out if he has any information on where she is, what she’s up to, or if she was ever even dead.”
“Sharp man,” Ryan said. “And that’s why I hired you.”
Baxter laughed, and they ended the call just as the cab pulled out onto the street. He gave the driver the address, then got back on his phone, this time responding to the text from Gabby or whoever the hell had been contacting him. She hadn’t answered last night, and he didn’t expect an answer now, but he was going to damn well keep trying.
I’m alone and can talk. Worried about you. Why are you running from me?
He closed the app and started checking his emails, relieved to see that there were still no crises brewing and his staff was handling the system upgrade beautifully.
He was responding to a question about a server upgrade when a text flashed over the top of his screen—Does Jamie know?
He frowned. Did she mean did Jamie know that he’d been married? Or did Jamie know that Gabby was Felicia? He didn’t know and settled on a noncommittal response.
She’s worried about you.
He waited, the phone tight in his hand, but no response came. Another block, another turn. Still nothing.
Felicia. Are you there?
A moment. Then…
I’m here.
Ryan drew in a breath, then opened his text thread with Baxter. He quickly tapped out the situation, gave Baxter the new number she was texting from, and mentally crossed his fingers.
Tell me what you need. Tell me why you reached out to me, only to run from me.
I’m scared.
Of me?
I don’t know.
Ryan started to answer, but before he finished, another message popped up.
I want to talk. Public. Your hotel. I’ll sit at the bar. We can move to a table, but only if there are other people near us.
Fine.
Now?
He hesitated. Not there now but can cancel plans and come back.
He waited for her to answer, hoping she hadn’t changed her mind.
Thirty long seconds passed, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. Felicia?
One. I’ll be there at one.
He considered that. He hadn’t intended to leave Jamie that long, but it was still less time than he’d left her in the past. It had started almost as a game—leaving her so she could calm down and get centered. But it had become much more.
Alright. I’ll see you at one.
I’m tossing this phone. I’ll have another new number when you see me.
That didn’t surprise him.
Okay. See you then.
But there was no answer. Apparently, she’d already tossed the phone.
Immediately, he called Baxter. “Did you get her location?”
“You won’t believe it.”
“I think I will. Is she near the hotel?”
“That she is,” Baxter says. “Or was when we pinged her.”
Using a Type-O or “Silent” SMS, Baxter had essentially pinged her phone to capture her location. Then he’d used Stark Security’s various resources to triangulate a location. Unfortunately, it wasn’t exact, which meant it would take some time to find the phone she’d ditched, but Ryan was certain Baxter and his team were up to the task.
“She won’t be there now,” Ryan said. “But she tossed her phone. Get a team to find it.”
“On it,” Baxter said. “We’ll start with the public trashcans near the hotel and work our way out. I doubt she was in the lobby. That would be a little too ballsy.”
“Contact me when you have the phone,” Ryan said. “Let’s see what we can get off her SIM card. And get the IT team to hack her password.”
“Will do. By the way, I did a quick search on William. His first wife died not long after Felicia disappeared. He went on a drinking binge, ended up marrying a woman named Carolyn Grey. Old money family that’s been living on credit for at least a generation. It’s her second marriage, and she’s got a son, Patrick. He’s a doctor who lives in Belgium. But Carolyn and William don’t have any children together.”
“Thanks. I just got to William’s house. I’ll call when I’m free for an update.”
“You got it, boss,” Baxter said, then clicked off.
Ryan paid the driver, then slipped out of the cab and stood for a moment on the sidewalk outside the majestic property. He guessed that the grandiose home had been built in the mid-nineteenth century. It still stood tall and proud, but it had become a bit shabby around the edges. The gardens weren’t quite tended. The paint wasn’t quite fresh. A few weeds peeked up between the stones leading to the front door, and the polish on the wood of the foreboding entrance seemed dull and lackluster.
Still, the grounds were clean, and when the maid ushered him in, he saw that the interior was tidy. But it, too, had an air of neglect, as if the overwhelming home was simply too much for the occupants.
Perhaps Randall hadn’t left the property to William. Maybe he’d left it to someone else, or even to his own corporation, and William was simply a renter. But even so, why not do a better job maintaining such a stunning residence?
An interesting question, but not one he spent much time pondering. How the Cartwright and Atkinson families lived wasn’t his concern. He was there only to update William on the mystery surrounding his niece.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the maid said the moment she opened the door. “Mrs. Atkinson is out.”
“I actually need to speak to Mr. Atkinson, if he’s available. I’m a friend of his late niece.”
“Oh. I see. One moment.” She was the picture of polite efficiency, but Ryan couldn’t help but think that there was something awkward about her manner. As if this wasn’t a request she fielded often, if at all.
She disappeared but returned soon enough, asking him to follow. The rest of the interior bolstered his impression of the exterior. The place was only minimally maintained. The staff kept it clean, but there was still the sense that the mansion was only biding its time. Basically, the place needed some good old-fashioned TLC.
They entered the library, the first room he’d seen that appeared to be regularly cleaned and maintained. But despite the polished floors and dust-free shelves and fixtures, the room had a musty, pungent smell. Old books, Ryan thought. And something else. Something less pleasant than the comfortable scent of paper and glue and ink. Hospital. That was it, he realized. The room had the underlying stench of death.
As he looked toward the far corner of the room, he saw why. An elderly man sat in a dark corner in a huge leather recliner, a heavy walking stick propped within arm’s length. A dark blanket covered most of his body, but the eyes behind his glasses were alert as he lifted a pen and signaled to Ryan.