For the lateness of the hour, the family room TV showed a surprising number of investigators still at work in the company’s conference room in Gatlinburg. A few others had joined the video conference from their homes, their pictures displayed in squares on the screen. Ivy was wrapped in a pink blanket in a recliner, covering her mouth as she yawned. Faith was in her home office, her hair and makeup perfect as usual. She was still wearing the suit she’d likely worn to work today.
A manila folder Trent had brought from the office was on the coffee table in front of Skylar and him on the couch. The TV displayed a dark square in the top middle where his and Skylar’s picture would appear once he pressed the remote control to unmute them and turn on the camera above the TV.
He glanced at her, finger poised over the remote. “Ready to go live?”
“Can’t you tell me now who wants to kill me, and why? I don’t need a team meeting.”
He grinned. “Don’t steal my moment. I’ve been working my butt off trying to figure this out. If I tell you it’s Colonel Mustard in the library with a candlestick without explaining how I got to that point, that’ll ruin the fun.”
“This isn’t fun. It’s nerve-wracking. I’ve been waiting five years to find out why my life was turned upside down.”
He sobered and gently feathered her bangs back from her eyes. “I know it’s hard. But this isn’t something I can drop on you without putting some context around it. You wouldn’t even believe me. Just as important, I could have tunnel vision since I’ve been working this particular angle mostly on my own. There may be something I haven’t thought of that’s a better explanation for what I’ve found out. Walking through it with the rest of the team members, who’ve been digging into your case too, means they may spot flaws in my conclusions. They may tell me I got it all wrong.”
“I can’t imagine you getting it wrong. But I see what you’re saying. I’ll try to be patient. I wouldn’t mind following the breadcrumbs too, so I can better understand what’s going on.”
Unable to stop himself, he leaned in and gave her a kiss. But when he would have pulled back, she grasped the suit jacket he’d shrugged back on for the meeting and pulled him closer, moving her lips against his. He groaned and reached for her.
All the frustration, the fears about her at Mattly’s earlier today, the excitement about potentially solving the case, and the sudden realization that she meant more to him than anyone had...in a very, very long time, came crashing in on him. He wanted to kiss her forever. He wanted to push her back against the cushions and love her the way he’d secretly wanted to from the moment he’d first admired her shooting skills. She was a drug that he could never get enough of. And he’d only had a very small dose. If he ever made love to her, he’d probably OD. But what a way to go.
“Trent,” Callum called out. “Your audio and video aren’t on yet. Is there a problem with the link? Can you see us and hear us?”
“Tell him to go away,” Skylar grumbled.
He laughed and straightened her hair. “Come on, beautiful. This is what you’ve been waiting for.”
Her face flushed with pleasure. “That’s not all I’ve been waiting for.” She gave him a saucy leer that had him laughing again.
“Trent?” Callum called out. “Maybe we should re-join the link. Something’s wrong.”
“Go ahead.” Skylar tugged her shirt and cleared her throat.
He clicked the remote and the dark square on the TV was replaced with a picture of him and Skylar sitting beside each other on the couch. “Can you see us now? Do you hear us?”
“There they are.” Callum gave him a thumbs-up. “You’re getting just as bad with electronics as I am.”
Trent chuckled at his friend’s mistaken belief that the delay was caused by a glitch. “It’ll take a lot more than one problem to put me on your level of electronic ineptitude.”
Callum laughed. “The gang’s all here, minus Grayson, Willow and Ryland, of course. Still on their respective vacations.”
Ivy tapped her computer camera. “Let’s get this meeting going. I need my beauty sleep.”
“No, you don’t,” Skylar assured her. “You’re always gorgeous.”
Ivy flashed her a big smile. “I knew I liked you.”
Everyone quieted down as Trent launched into his explanation of why he’d been focusing on the Lancaster brother angle for the attempts on Skylar’s life. He reminded them about the day at the hospice center, after he’d discovered the shooter could have walked through the woods from the Lancaster home to where Martha was staying at the center. He pointed out that the brothers were suspected of being in organized crime and the FBI was investigating them. The fact that Skylar’s troubles had started after Martha’s death and that the first shooter could have come from the Lancaster property seemed too coincidental for his liking. He’d been looking for a way to prove, or disprove, a link ever since.
After discovering that the lawyer who’d worked on Martha’s will had been murdered shortly after her death, and that he’d actually met earlier with Skylar at the hospice center, he decided to delve into that angle too. He brought them up to speed about their visit with the dead lawyer’s partner. He explained that Mattly believed Richard and Scott Lancaster had killed his partner over Martha’s will.
“Did you get a copy of the will?” someone asked.
“I did, earlier today from our Chattanooga PD liaison. It’s dense reading, a ton of legal language to wade through. My first pass I found where Martha had bequeathed two hundred thousand dollars to Skylar Montgomery.”
“Hardly a motive for murder,” Callum said. “The Lancaster estate is worth a ton more than that.”
“Plus, dozens of other beneficiaries are listed in the will with similar monetary amounts,” Trent said. “That proved to me that the money Martha gave to Skylar wasn’t substantial to her estate. It didn’t raise any red flags.”
“So you’re keeping us up late to tell us you’ve basically got nothing?” Callum complained.
Brice frowned at the camera. “When did you get so grumpy, old man? Let Trent talk. He’s got a lot more than nothing. You’ll see.”
“Hold it.” Callum straightened. “Brice, you’ve got an inside scoop you didn’t share with me? We’ve both been working together on this.”
“Didn’t have time.”
“Children,” Ivy called out. “Be quiet and let Trent get on with this.”
“Herding cats,” Skylar whispered.
Trent smiled. “Skylar’s name wasn’t the only one I saw in Martha’s will that gave me pause. There was one in the section where she bequeathed money to members of her staff. She gave a generous sum to her head housekeeper who’s been working in the mansion for over fifty years.” He glanced at Skylar as he continued. “Her name is Abigail Flores.”
The name didn’t register with her. She showed no reaction.
“Something you all don’t know,” he continued, “is that Skylar’s mother was named Abigail too, Abby for short. And Skylar believes she came from Chattanooga.”
That got Skylar’s attention.
She frowned. “What are you saying? My mom died years ago. And even if she hadn’t, it’s not like she’d hide out at the Lancaster mansion. Besides, this Abigail Flores is old enough to be my grandmother.” Her eyes widened.
“You’re right. Didn’t you tell me once that your mother was named after her mother? Both of them were Abigail.”
“Hold it, hold it.” This time it was Ivy who interrupted. “Trent, you’re really reaching. So there’s a woman working for the Lancasters named Abigail. How does that shed light on anything? I don’t see how this matters one way or the other. Do you have proof she’s related to Skylar, DNA?”
“No hard proof. No DNA. But I strongly believe that Abigail Flores is Skylar’s grandmother. Why I believe that will become clear soon, and it goes to motive.” He glanced at Skylar. “How are you holding up? Are you okay?”
She slowly nodded. “I’m with Ivy on this, unconvinced. Confused, but fine.”
“All right. I’m going to hold a picture up toward the camera. You all might have to zoom in on the screen to get a good look at it. This is one from the FBI’s investigation into the Lancaster brothers. It’s a recent surveillance photo of some staff members coming to the mansion to start work. The woman in the middle with dark eyes and dark hair, that’s Flores.” He held it up for the others and it displayed on the TV.
“May I see that?” Skylar held out her hand.
He gave her the picture. She held it close, her eyes widening. “Honestly, she does favor how I remember my mom. A lot. Same hair and eyes. Same nose, mouth. Do you really think she’s my grandmother?”
It was funny how people often didn’t see the similarities between someone else and themselves. When he’d first seen a picture of the housekeeper, he’d seen Skylar.
“I do.”
She swallowed and continued to stare at the picture.
“At the risk of sounding like Callum,” Ivy said, “Relevance? You said it goes to motive.”
He told them his first theory about Flores, that maybe her daughter—Abby—had stolen something or maybe even saw something she shouldn’t have and went on the run.
“But when I found this picture, it sent me down another path entirely.” He pulled out the second photo he’d brought to the family room and held it up toward the camera.
Skylar was still looking at the picture of Abigail Flores.
“This new photo is from decades ago, showing the Lancasters posing in front of a fireplace, presumably at the mansion here in Chattanooga. Not an FBI surveillance photo, obviously. I’m not sure how they got hold of this one. It appears to be an old family picture.”
Callum leaned close to his monitor. “Not exclusively. There are six people. I see Martha, her deceased husband, John, their two sons—Richard and Scott. I’m guessing the woman on the right is part of the staff since she’s wearing an apron. Who’s the guy on the far left? I doubt he’s the hired help, not in that expensive-looking suit.”
“That would be Brandon Lancaster. Martha’s oldest son.”
“Wait,” Ivy said. “There’s another son?”
Skylar glanced up at the TV. Trent knew the moment recognition hit. Her face went pale.
He took her hand in his. “There was a third son, the oldest son. He disappeared years ago after having a falling out with the family and was never seen again. One of the names he was known by over the years after he left was Ryan Montgomery. Skylar’s father.”
There was a collective gasp from the other investigators.
Skylar started slowly shaking her head, her gaze riveted to the screen. “No. It can’t be. It doesn’t... I don’t believe it.” The look on her face told him that part of her did. But she didn’t want to believe it.
He threaded his fingers through hers. “I have proof for this part of my theory. Brice used his military intelligence contact to confirm that Brandon Lancaster was an Army Ranger stationed in Germany for the time frame we were interested in. His commanding officer verified that Brandon had family troubles, that he had two brothers named Richard and Scott. He also confirmed that Brandon married a young woman while there, a woman he’d flown into Germany from Tennessee shortly after he arrived. Her name was Abigail Flores. Everyone called her Abby.”
Her hand tightened on his. “You’re saying my mother was the daughter of the head housekeeper?”
“Yes. I believe she and the eldest son were in love and the family disapproved. He joined the military to make it on his own, then sent back for Abby. Later, when his family tried to find him, he quit the military as soon as his contract was up, changed their names and started moving on a regular basis so his family wouldn’t find them.”
She shook her head. “Even if that’s true.” She cleared her throat, looking mildly stunned. “Even if you’re right, that can’t possibly be a motive for them wanting to kill me all these years later, could it? Because they hate that I exist, as proof that their son, their brother, what, married beneath them?” She tugged her hand free. “You’re wrong.” She glanced up at the screen, then looked away. “You have to be wrong.”
“Skylar, I have DNA.”
“DNA? From my dad? How?”
“Not your dad. You. You gave Ranger McKenzie a DNA sample for his investigation into the death of the Gatlinburg shooter. The FBI gathered DNA samples from Richard and Scott from discarded fast-food drink cups long ago without them knowing. I had McKenzie send your sample to our lab because his lab was too backed up to even take it yet. Our lab has an experimental procedure that provides DNA preliminary results really quickly. Plus, there were two reports in the Chattanooga police folder I got, DNA profiles the FBI had already done on the brothers to use for comparison. The lab texted me earlier tonight. Richard and Scott Lancaster are conclusively your uncles. By default, Brandon Lancaster was your father.”
Probably without even realizing she was doing it, she pressed her hand against the compass necklace that her father had given her. The outline of the compass was barely visible through her shirt.
He desperately wanted to hold her, regardless of how it might look to his fellow investigators. She seemed so lost and confused. But she’d scooted farther away from him and he doubted she’d let him touch her right now if he tried.
“Trent,” Callum called out. “These are startling revelations. But I’m still not sure I follow why it’s a motive for murder.”
“Remember when I mentioned the will was full of legalese and sixty pages long? It took me a while to get through the whole thing. I stopped and started several times in between calls. When I finally read the whole thing, the motive was right there in black and white, like someone hitting me over the head with a hammer.”
“Inheritance,” Ivy offered. “The brothers are worried that Skylar could claim her father’s share if she takes them to court.”
Skylar looked up at the TV, her brows furrowed. “Why would they worry about me trying to get their money? I didn’t even know I was related to them.” She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Just knowing their blood runs through my veins makes me sick.”
“It’s your father’s blood too,” Trent reminded her. “And he was a good man. Brice said your dad spoke to his commanding officer about his home life. They were close friends. Your father didn’t approve of the family’s criminal side of their business ventures. And his family didn’t approve of Abby. Brandon left to get away from them and pursue a life on his own terms, with the woman he loved. He cut the family off, not the other way around.”
She clutched the compass again through her shirt but didn’t say anything.
“So that’s it?” Callum asked. “The oldest son disowned the family and went into hiding to avoid them. And then the younger sons somehow discovered that Skylar existed—”
“From Martha,” Trent said. “I believe Martha recognized that Skylar looked like her son, and the housekeeper, and believed she might be her granddaughter. She and Skylar spoke about her past. I imagine Martha got enough information to feel certain that Skylar was the daughter of Brandon and Abby. Martha loved Brandon very much, seemed to have favored him over her other sons. I believe she tried to find him over the years and came close a few times. That’s why Skylar’s dad kept moving the family around. As for trying to kill you, Skylar, I believe that’s all on the younger brothers. The FBI reports paint the picture of sons who didn’t get along with their mother. Her will backs that up and provides the motive.”
Skylar wrapped her arms around her waist. “If you’re going to say she left me everything, that doesn’t make sense. You said my name was only listed once, when she bequeathed two hundred thousand dollars to me.”
“True. Your name wasn’t mentioned anywhere else, not explicitly. But once I finally read to the end of the will, I found the Brandon Lancaster name. And that of course led me to discover he was your father. Martha Lancaster left generous annual stipends for Richard and Scott, and they reap the benefits of the family’s businesses, for now. But Martha left the bulk of her liquid assets—hundreds of millions of dollars—and ownership of the family businesses in an unbreakable trust that Albert Capone set up for her. All of those assets, far more than Richard and Scott received, is held for her son if he’s found alive. If not, then the estate passes to any children he had, again, if proven. And if there are no children, everything reverts to the brothers.”
Brice let out a low whistle. “That’s a heck of a motive for murder.”
“It gets worse,” Trent said. “There’s a deadline, extra incentive for them to find her now. The clause giving the estate to Skylar expires exactly five years after Martha’s death, which is in just a few days. The brothers have hundreds of millions of reasons why they need to find her and prevent her from claiming their fortune. They’ve known about her for years and have tried numerous times to eliminate her. They have no way of knowing whether or not she knows she’s a Lancaster, and whether she’s planning on dropping in right before the deadline to claim her inheritance. By now they have to be getting desperate to make sure that doesn’t happen. Because of that five-year deadline coming up soon, they probably have an army of people hunting for her everywhere they’ve ever gotten a lead about her—including Gatlinburg. Their goal is to find her in the next forty-eight hours and kill her.”
Skylar wrung her hands together. “What do we do? We should leave, right? Go someplace I’ve never been before.”
Trent and everyone on the screen shook their heads no.
Ivy volunteered the information before anyone else spoke up. “Your alleged grandmother lives here. You used to live here. If you know about the will and want the money, it would make sense you’d lie low in Chattanooga until you can safely contact the trustees of the will. You can bet the brothers are watching the trustees and have people all over town on the alert for any sightings of you. With incentive like that, they’re watching the highways in and out of Chattanooga in particular, checking rest stops, gas and food exits. They can afford it, and they won’t scrimp. They want you found.”
“I agree,” another investigator volunteered. “Being on the road is more dangerous at this point than staying put. As long as no one can make the connections and figure out where you’re staying, you’re safer where you are. Unless you did something to connect your Montgomery identity to the alias that was used at the hospice facility. What about the lawyer you talked to? Mattly?”
Skylar started shaking again. “I screwed up. I flat-out told him I knew Martha, that she’d left me money in the will.”
“No, I screwed up,” Trent said. “I shouldn’t have let you go there in the first place. But Mattly seems like a decent guy. And he hates the Lancaster brothers. I don’t think he’d say anything.”
“Uh, guys?” Brice looked up from his phone. “I just did a quick search on that Mattly fellow. He’s all over the Chattanooga news. He was found murdered in his law office about an hour ago.”
Skylar sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, no. Poor Mr. Mattly. You don’t think the Lancaster brothers found him, do you?”
Trent jumped to his feet. “I think that’s exactly what happened. They probably tortured him, confirmed you’re here in town. By now, their contacts are looking into recent rentals to a couple that meets our description. The meeting’s over. We’re leaving. Now.”
He grabbed Skylar’s hand.
“Wait. My purse, our things—”
“We’ll send someone back for them later. I’ll call 911, tell the police to meet us a few miles away from here.” He motioned toward the TV while still looking at her. “The team will follow protocol for when one of us is in danger. They’ll hit the road, head straight here. We’ll call them again once we’re away from the house and I can map out an escape route. Is that clear everyone?” He looked up at the TV. The screen was dark. Had the connection been lost? There wasn’t time to worry about it. “Come on.”
He pulled out his cell phone and punched 911 as they crossed the room toward the door to the garage. He suddenly stopped and looked at his phone. Frowning, he pressed the buttons again, then held it to his ear.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Signal’s not going through.”
“Have you had a problem like that before in this house?”
“No. It’s almost like the signals being jam—” He jerked his head up and looked through the dining room archway toward the front windows. “Skylar! Get down!”
He threw himself on top of her as automatic gunfire ripped through the walls.