Meg’s eyes opened. “I don’t know… Am I just making up what I want to see? I—I think she keeps trying to reach me. I think she’s somewhere in the dark. Like…thrown into a well, a dirt-floor basement, something like that!”
Holding Killer, Matt sat next to her for a moment and she realized she was shaking. “Meg, I believe you did see her, and I believe she’s alive—she’s not coming to you as a ghost. Her mind is connecting with yours, and she’s communicating with you the way you two did as kids. There’ve been lots of experiments with people who have extrasensory perception, and there’s lots of evidence that it exists—which is far more accepted than that we might see the dead. Take a deep breath. We’ll figure it out. We’ll find her.”
She looked at him and was thankful that he gave her strength. What she’d once seen as arrogance really was his stance on life; he always walked forward in confidence, spoke with honesty, maintained a clear vision.
She smiled. “If we find her—when we find her—and this over, I’m going to need a vacation. With you, of course. I may be the new kid on the block, but…”
“You’ll deserve it.” He smiled back, using his free arm to pull her close. “Now, we’re running out of time. We have to check into the MacAndrew farmhouse, look it over and then head to every location on Angela’s list. With any luck I’m right—and someone in Walker’s party owns land and on that land we’ll find Lara.”
They left the park. They’d spent about three hours there, but it was still early, only about one o’clock. By that evening, they’d be on official duty as part of the Walker family security. Matt was anxious to get there.
The MacAndrew farmhouse had been in the Confederate line of fire; while MacAndrew had sympathized with the North, he was also a Quaker and a pacifist. When the Confederates had arrived in need of a field hospital, MacAndrews, his wife and six daughters had set about tending the wounded. They’d welcomed the help of Confederate doctors.
When the Union forces had rolled through, Northern doctors had worked with the Confederate ones and the injured Union and Rebel forces had lain side by side. The Rebels would become prisoners, but many had forged friendships with their Northern doctors and fellow patients that would last all their lives.
The farmhouse was large, with eight bedrooms upstairs and four more on the second level of the old barn, which was now a gathering place. Apparently, Congressman Walker’s people would be in the main house, along with two members of the Capitol police, their own retinue, Matt, Meg, Angela and Jackson Crow. Other security would stay in the barn; there were four guard stations set up around the house itself, one on either side of the road, one in front of the house and one behind it.
It seemed impossible that anyone could get at Congressman Walker—not while he was at the MacAndrew house, at any rate.
They were met there by Larry Mills of the Capitol police, who’d already taken over; Maddie Hubbard had specifically requested that Meg be in the upstairs bedroom that connected to hers.
Matt would be across the hall, and Kendra and Ian Walker would be next to Maddie.
Larry Mills seemed to be a serious and competent man. He had a buzz cut and looked weathered and fit, thanks to eight years as a navy SEAL, he told them.
“They’re not due in until eight,” he said. “As you saw, I have the stations set up, and rooms assigned. They’re bringing their security with them. A few of your unit are in the party, so I’m assuming you’re in communication?”
Matt assured him that they were—and that they’d be back at the house before the congressional party arrived.
“That ain’t much of a dog,” Mills said, pointing at Killer. “He isn’t a security canine of some kind, is he?” he asked dubiously.
Meg didn’t really answer, but said, “You’d be amazed. He’s got a great bark.”
“Does he know the right people to bark at?” Mills asked.
“Oh, I think he does,” Matt replied. “Trust me, he’s an asset.”
Mills grinned. “A German shepherd, a rottweiler—that’s an asset. Him? He’s an accessory.”
They laughed politely and Mills scratched Killer’s head.
Then Matt and Meg left for what remained of their free time.
* * *
Aside from Gettysburg, Adams County offered a number of “stations” on the Underground Railroad. As they got in the car again, Meg reminded Matt that one of them might be where Lara was hidden… Matt saw how anxious she was. Meg was now convinced that Lara was alive, but that she wouldn’t be if they didn’t find her soon.
“It’s not going to be anywhere obvious, Meg,” he told her. “Not a place that’s on a tour. This has to be something very different. Obscure.”
He’d just gotten in the car when Angela called. He immediately put her on speaker.
“We’re heading out soon,” Angela said. “We’ll be riding in Walker’s car. I estimate our time of arrival to be somewhere between seven and eight, but I’ll keep you posted along the way. I’m calling you now because I found something you were looking for. Congressman Walker is the majority owner of a corporation called PTP, or Preserve the Past. They’re not nonprofit, but they work closely with historic boards. PTP has bought and restored a number of places in Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia—and Pennsylvania. PTP purchased ruins in Gettysburg about six months ago. The old farmhouse was condemned, and I’m assuming the corporation plans to build a re-creation of the home. There’s also the ruin of an old mill nearby. Thought you might want to check it out. Carefully—and discreetly—of course.”
“That’s it!” Meg cried.
“Can you give me the address?” She did and he rang off, then turned the car around in a handy driveway and veered in the right direction. “Do you know the place?” he asked Meg.
“Not really, but I’m sure I’ve been by. But if it’s just some ruins in a field and it’s privately owned, we might not even have noticed it.”
“Probably not,” Matt agreed. “There’s still a lot of farmland around here. A lot of history and tourism, but a lot of farmland, too.”
As they approached the address Angela had provided, he saw that there were lines of cars parked on the road leading up to another farm, practically next door to it. There were all kinds of tents pitched out in the fields, while paddocks in front of an old farmhouse were filled with horses.
“The camp!” Meg said.
“Yeah, the living-history camp Sylvia mentioned. A Union camp,” Matt said. “That’s where the medical reenactments she was talking about must be taking place.”
He drove slowly, looking across the acreage. Men sat by the tents cleaning rifles. A command tent had been set up, and he could see a group of men in Union officers’ clothing at a table. Spectators milled around, watching them. There was a blacksmith shoeing a large draft horse and cooks worked around campfires.
“Matt, the ruins are beside the encampment, so we can park with these other cars. That way, no one would notice us if they happened to go by.”
She was right. It was perfect, especially since he could see that while an easily scaled wooden fence surrounded the neighboring property, the fence was covered with signs that read Private Property! Keep Out! Violators Will Be Prosecuted to the Full Extent of the Law!
“Well, I guess we’re going to become lawbreakers,” he said.
“We’re investigators!”
“With no legal search warrant,” he reminded her.
“Imminent danger. I heard someone screaming,” Meg improvised.
“That’s a stretch,” Matt said. He found a place near the road, directly beside the fence. They were in the midst of other cars, dozens of them. They could hear the speeches being given and the murmur of conversation from the Union encampment. There was an expanse of long grass before they could reach the remains of the condemned house on the property. And there were overgrown trees not far in, which meant they wouldn’t be obvious for long, if anyone did look over.
“Should we crawl?” Meg asked.
“Nope, walk in like you own the place. No one will pay any attention to you.”
He opened the car door. To his surprise, Killer, who’d been well behaved, hopped onto his lap and then out the door, not giving Meg a chance to grab his leash.
“Hey!” She jumped out her side of the car and went scrambling over the wooden fence and after the dog. Matt followed as quickly as he could.
Well, good excuse for trespassing. “I had to get my dog, Officer… He ran off!”
Meg could run, that was for sure. He could catch up pretty quickly, but by the time he did, they’d passed by the long, overgrown grass and made it to the shelter of the trees. He nearly collided with her as they crashed through the doorway. The door itself was broken and hanging ajar.
She’d stopped—because Killer had stopped. He stood in the hall and whined. He was uncertain of where to go.
“I’ll take the left side of the house,” Meg said.
“Be careful. It’s crumbling, could cave in,” he told her.
“Gotcha.”
The ruins were dark, gray, forlorn. Anything of value had long ago been removed. His route led to a dining room. No dishes or serving implements there; even the chandelier had been taken away. But wooden cabinets showed where china and crystal had once been kept, and a lopsided table and broken chairs paid homage to meals once eaten by a family. Spiderwebs reigned supreme.
He moved on to an empty pantry and then to what had been the kitchen, a room with worktables, a sink with a rusty pump and a giant hearth.
Coming around from the other side of the house, Meg met him there. A narrow stairway went up to the second floor—the servants’ stairs, he assumed. Another door that was also hanging crookedly on its hinges opened out to more broken steps, steps that led down to the basement, he thought.
Killer followed Meg, then stood in the doorway to the second set of stairs and whined.
“We have to go down there,” Meg said.
“The place is condemned. Could be dangerous. We have to be careful,” he told her.
“Yes, so I should go. I’m way lighter than you are. If the stairs are on the verge of collapsing, I have a far better chance of not falling through.”
“We both go or no one goes,” he said firmly.
“But me first. I can warn you of faulty steps.” Killer solved the problem for them. He barked, and started down the stairs.
“Flashlight?” Matt asked her.
“Yes, of course. I know about being prepared. I just graduated—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a smile, “from the academy. All right, I’m shining my light down there, too. Use one hand for the railing. It may hold if the steps don’t.”
“I know,” she muttered. He could tell that she was a bit annoyed, but he couldn’t help it—he was a protector by nature.
Killer was down there now—and barking. Matt stood in the doorway and tested the first step; it seemed sound. He shifted aside to allow Meg to take the lead.
She moved carefully, but a moment later he heard a loud creak.
“Fourth step!” she called up to him.
“Okay,” he said. Tension flooded his body. He found himself thinking of childhood fears—of monsters that lived in the darkness of basements. Any monsters here would be human. He was pretty sure there was no one down there with a knife or gun, but he didn’t know. And Meg couldn’t hold on to a rail, plus her flashlight—and reach for her gun with the necessary speed if something did raise its ugly head down there. Something or someone…
“I’m down!” she shouted. “The rest of the steps seem solid enough.”
He followed her, still moving cautiously. Together, they beamed their flashlights around the place. It was typical of abandoned basements. A slanted shelf held lanterns; candles were piled in another box, half-melted into one another. A rope was strung across the space, hung with old clothes as if they’d been put there to dry in winter. Barrels, staves and crates sat in one corner; here, too, spiderwebs seemed to hold court.
“Watch it. Nice nesting place for a brown recluse,” he said. “Nothing like getting your man, and then dying of a spider bite.”
“There’s nothing down here,” Meg said, her tone disheartened. “I thought… I thought we’d find her. But this isn’t even like the floor I saw. I mean, I thought I saw. She was on the ground, alone, passed out from hunger or dehydration or…”
Her voice trailed off. Matt suddenly wondered if he’d been wrong about Lara and wrong in making Meg believe that Lara might be alive.
He hated to lose faith like this, but she was probably dead. The killer must have taken greater care with her corpse, weighting it so well that she wouldn’t float back to the surface. One day, someone fishing or diving in the river would come across her decomposed remains, her bones part of the riverbed.
He realized, though, that he had faith in Meg, if not in himself.
“We’re going to find her. Let’s keep looking down here,” he said.
They did. They searched for a good hour, tapping the walls, hoping for a secret exit, the kind of thing that might have been used in slave days.
“We have to give it up now,” Matt said at last. “We’re almost out of time.”
Meg nodded, and they headed back to the stairs. But before they reached them, Meg paused, easing back against him and turning around.
“Killer, come,” she ordered the dog.
He didn’t seem to hear her. He stayed where he was, whining again. Meg walked back over to where he stood and stooped down to pick him up.
“We’ve searched, boy. We’ve searched all over. We can’t find anything,” Meg told him.
“Take him and go on up first,” Matt suggested. “I can catch both of you if you fall—better than you catch me.”
Meg almost smiled. “I’m just not sure about hauling you back up if another step does go,” she said.
“I tested them all. Only the fourth one was really bad.” When they emerged into the kitchen, he turned to her and laughed. “You’re covered in spiderwebs. You look like hell.”
“As I noted before, you have a talent with words—you always know the right thing to say,” she told him sardonically. “You should see yourself. And Killer!”
The dog looked like a ghost dog; he, too, was shrouded in gray webbing.
“We’ve got to get this off before we return to the MacAndrew house!” he said. “You help me, and I’ll help you.”
“Don’t you dare try to turn spiderwebs into something erotic!”
“I’ll contain myself—as long as you exercise control, as well,” he teased.
It took some time before they were both presentable.
“We didn’t go upstairs yet,” Meg said.
“No. She’s not going to be upstairs.” If she was there, he thought, they would’ve heard something. Unless she was dead.
And then, he knew, they would have smelled the odor of decomposition.
He didn’t say that to Meg. And what she said next did make sense.
“I agree we won’t find Lara, but we can tell if someone’s been here recently.”
“It’s likely that if the PTP corporation bought the place, they’ve had people here, including local real estate agents,” he said. “But you’re right. We’ve come this far. Let’s go up.”
The upstairs of the house was as sadly haunting as the rest. The few pieces of furniture were broken and falling apart. Drapes were ragged and drooping from the windows. In one bedroom, Meg paused.
“What?” he asked her.
She was standing by a window and motioned him to come over. “Look, but don’t touch. There are prints in the dust on the windowsill. Someone’s been here. And there in the distance…”
Across the fields and roads, up on another hill, was the MacAndrew farmhouse.
“Well, whoever was here was certainly checking the view,” Matt said. “That might’ve been a security precaution by Larry Mills or one of the other cops. Maybe they’d thought about stationing someone here to keep watch. It’s hard to say, Meg.”
“Lara’s somewhere nearby,” she said passionately. “I just know it!”
“We’ll figure it out—and we’ll get to her in time,” he promised. He prayed he could keep that promise. But somehow, he felt that something was going to break soon.
Congressman Walker’s speech was the next day. That was a catalyst, he thought. He wasn’t sure how he knew or why, but that would be the catalyst.
“We’d better go.”
When they were outside the house, Matt looked across the overgrown field and to the Union encampment. “Let’s pay our new friend a quick visit,” he said.
“Our new friend? You mean Sylvia Avery?”
“Yes. She should be at that encampment, in the vicinity of the medical tent.”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, but started across the field. Meg was behind him; Killer was not. He went back and picked up the little dog. Crawling through the fence, Matt was greeted by a man in a Union uniform. “Sir! Living history that way!” he said, and pointed.
“Thanks, thanks so much,” Matt said, and the soldier tipped his hat. They walked past scores of people, some in casual summer dress, many in uniform—or in their daily clothes with Union or Confederate hats or other paraphernalia. But no matter what people were wearing, they were friendly and courteous as they walked around. Most seemed to be talking about what they’d seen or learned.
He supposed that people probably didn’t come to these events if they weren’t interested, if they didn’t care about history—and if they didn’t honor the fields of battle that had taken more lives than other wars.
He caught Meg’s hand. She was wearing a pantsuit that was dignified and proper but didn’t scream FBI agent. He hoped they looked like a couple of tourists fervent about Civil War history.
They passed an officer explaining the use of the Enfield rifle to a crowd, and then an infirmary. At last they came to a surgical tent. A man in a Union doctor’s uniform was describing field surgery, saying that even the federal forces had been low on ether, the anesthesia of the day. Most of the time, the men were dosed with whiskey. Limbs were removed, flesh cut, a bone saw used. Tourniquets were employed to stop the bleeding. Good doctors, he told his audience, disinfected the wounds with some of the alcohol the injured were drinking; these doctors had discovered that they lost more men to infection after surgery than they did to the surgery itself.
He poked Meg; he could see that Sylvia Avery was assisting in the mock surgery.
The doctor finished his speech, announcing that he was Dr. Collin Ferber of Philadelphia, a fifth-generation surgeon, following in the wake of his ancestor, who had worked on the Gettysburg battlefield. The crowd responded with applause, then began to disperse. Matt took Meg’s hand again and moved through the milling people to find Sylvia Avery.
“Well, hello, you did come by!” she said, obviously glad to see them both.
“It was an excellent lecture and show,” Meg told her.
Sylvia beamed. “Thank you. We pride ourselves on historical accuracy.”
“Do many of the reenactors actually stay here at the camp?” Matt asked.
“Oh, yes, most do. We used to stay, except I have to admit, the more years that go by, the more I long for my creature comforts. Showers, soft beds and softer pillows and finding an excellent cup of coffee ready for me when I get up,” Sylvia said. “Frankly, Jordan and I are too old these days to enjoy too much authenticity.”
Meg smiled. “Not to worry. I know many younger people who like to camp at nice hotels.”
“I was wondering, Sylvia, how do you feel about being on the battlefield? Men trooped all over these fields during the war. You’re here at night sometimes, right?” Matt grinned. “At least until you return to the B and B.”
“Do I see the ghost troops refighting the battle? Is that what you mean? Or limping away, weary and bloodied?” she asked shrewdly.
“Exactly.”
“I think at one time or other, any of us who are out in the fields at night believe that we see soldiers, Yankees or Rebels, marching. Some people think they see the actual battles as they’re being fought, men screaming and dying, bullets and black powder—the whole nine yards. Me? Yes, I guess in the darkness and the moonlight I believe I’ve seen soldiers,” Sylvia said.
“What about strange noises?” Matt asked.
“Well, yes. A friend of mine who was out here a few days ago heard something. First she thought it might be one of the advance people, so to speak, the ‘sutlers’ or shopkeepers who sell reenactment clothing or weapons or antique items. They come and set up pretty early. During the anniversary of the actual battle, things get pretty hectic here, and they like to be prepared. Anyway, my friend told me she had a horrible night. She was sure she heard someone screaming, crying out through the night. In the morning, however, she felt like a fool. She’d gotten up several times during the night and walked around, but couldn’t find anyone in distress. Another friend told her that she was hearing echoes of the past, the cries of men who died on the field, waiting for their own troops to find them among the dead.” She smiled at them curiously. “Why? Are you seeing soldiers walking in the mist?”
“Oh, yes, I believe I see them, too,” Meg said. “Is your friend here now?”
“I’m sorry, she’s not. But she’ll be here tomorrow if you want to come by. Oh, I forgot! That speech Congressman Walker is giving is tomorrow, isn’t it? Anyway, if you get a chance, she’ll be here most of the next week. And,” she added with a wink, “when it’s late at night, you’ll know where to find me. A comfy bed at Peter’s place.”
“Thank you, Sylvia. I’m sure we’ll see you again,” Meg said.
Sylvia scratched Killer’s head. “Love this dog!” she cooed. “Truly one of God’s creatures, so damned ugly he’s beautiful! Sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive.”
“It’s okay,” Meg assured her. “He gets that a lot.”
Matt felt his phone vibrating and excused himself to answer it. Angela.
“We’ll be in soon,” she said. “Anything? Any luck?”
“No, but we feel we’re on the right track. We’ll head back to the MacAndrew farmhouse now. See you there.”
Meg was still chatting with Sylvia. He glanced at his watch, signaling that they had to leave. They said their goodbyes and returned to the car, but when they reached it, Meg paused, looking back at the ruins of the house in the neighboring acreage.
“I know she’s not there. But she’s somewhere nearby.”
“I believe you. And I believe that we will find her,” he vowed.
Time, he thought.
Time was everything now.
* * *
“I really think this is far too much fuss for one congressman,” Ian Walker said.
Meg agreed—except that, one way or another, the answer to Lara’s disappearance lay with this man. They were seated in the massive family dining room at the farmhouse; some of the agents and security people were outside, others were stationed around the house, and everyone had come in at some point for dinner, which had been catered by a local restaurant.
“Oh, darling, after everything that’s happened?” Kendra responded. “And you’re not just any congressman, you know.”
“Well, I should have planned better,” Ian said. “It was all this bizarre trouble with Ellery Manheim. I couldn’t believe that he was guilty of anything, and that turned out to be true. He was as much a victim of this maniac as I was. And yet he resigned. He said he wouldn’t mar my good name with any hint of scandal. I told him I was willing to stand up to anyone, that he’s an innocent man. False accusations cause so many problems, and I didn’t want Ellery to be a victim of anything like that. But I couldn’t convince him to stay.”
“He made the only logical stand,” Maddie said. She clasped Ian’s hand. “I know what you mean, but he did do the right thing. Not to mention the fact that he’s already gotten a huge offer to write a book. Ellery is going to be fine.”
Ian Walker stood suddenly. “Well, it’s late, but no help for it. I want to see the site where I’ll be speaking. I won’t be in the cemetery, but I’ll still be close to where Lincoln gave his Gettysburg address!”
“Incredible, isn’t it? Lincoln never knew what an impression he’d make with his words that day,” Matt said. “He’d intended to be brief—Edward Everett had already given a lengthy oration, and Lincoln didn’t think the crowd could abide another long speech. He was also ill when he delivered it. Physicians later thought he might have had the beginnings of a mild case of smallpox. Also interesting—there are at least five slightly different versions of the speech.”
Meg noted that he spoke casually, just making conversation, which they’d been doing since dinner. Before that, the place had been bustling with activity, as everyone went to their assigned rooms, police and security and FBI were all introduced to one another and luggage was brought in. She’d had a few minutes to spend with Maddie, who was delighted that her room actually connected with Meg’s. “I’ll feel so safe with you next to me,” she’d told her. Meg just wished she could feel as confident. She wasn’t afraid of an unknown situation; she was afraid of treachery.
Someone in that house was to be feared. She knew it.
“Lincoln was truly such a great man,” Kendra said with enthusiasm.
“Garth Hubbard was the closest living politician to him I’ve ever seen,” Ian Walker said, squeezing Maddie’s hand in return.
“Well, you’ll have to carry on in his stead, Ian, that’s all there is to it,” Maddie said, tears in her eyes.
“I plan to at least deliver a good speech. So, ladies and gentlemen, I understand that a number of you will accompany me? As I said, I want to see the platform where I’ll be speaking. It isn’t where Lincoln dedicated the Soldiers’ National Cemetery, but I’m here to talk about our country getting together. About how we should stop with the bipartisan bull that’s tearing us apart. Gettysburg is a fitting place for it, but…I’m trying to follow in giant footsteps. I have to speak well.”
Jackson, standing quietly in one corner of the room, came forward. “Sir, you do realize that it’s late and dark.”
“And I have all of you,” Ian said. “Special Agent Crow, I’ll be bringing members of your unit and the Capitol police and my own people. We’ll be fine.”
Jackson nodded, but he clearly wasn’t pleased.
“And ladies…” Walker went on, turning to Maddie and his wife. “You feel free to go to bed and get some sleep. We won’t be long. I just need a feel for where we’ll be. I announced earlier that I was planning to see the venue today. If it hadn’t been for the current situation, which I will address, I would’ve been here hours ago, and we’d all be on our way to bed by now. I won’t ask for much of your time, I promise,” he said.
There was a scramble as people rose and the security forces split up; Angela and Meg were staying, while Jackson and Matt would be accompanying the congressman. Matt had a moment to speak with Meg before they left.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “Walker should stay in the house, which is surrounded by security.”
“What can really go wrong? Who knows that he’s going out there except the people who are here now? Walker himself is probably not at risk,” she added.
“Cell phones. That information could’ve been shared with anyone by now,” Matt said. Although they were alone in her room, he spoke softly, since Maddie had asked that the door between Meg’s room and hers be kept open. She and Kendra were playing gin rummy in Maddie’s room.
“But like I said, I don’t think the congressman is in danger.” She hesitated. “I know forensic units and our people and various police forces are investigating how those tongues could have shown up at the Walkers’ house and at Ellery’s. I have to assume that Ellery Manheim was set up by someone else, someone close to Walker. Whoever did this has been smart—but not smart enough. Eventually he’s going to get caught.”
“I don’t like it, not one bit,” Matt said again. “A sharpshooter in the right place…”
“I wish I could leave the house tonight,” Meg told him. “Slip out while they’re sleeping and you’re gone. Lara’s nearby, Matt, and I’m afraid she’s close to death.”
“Don’t think that Jackson doesn’t have people out there looking for her. The local police have also been advised. People are searching for her right now, people who know the area. Meanwhile, we’ll keep our eyes on everyone in Walker’s retinue. You’ll be here, and I’ll be with Walker and whoever he brings. No one, at least no one in that group, will have a chance to get to Lara tonight—wherever she may be. And the minute this situation is clear, we’ll do nothing else until we do find her.”
He didn’t add the words dead or alive, which lay silently between them.
He gave her a kiss on the head. “I guess no fooling around tonight,” he said. “Considering that there isn’t much privacy.”
“I suspect that’s a good thing,” she said. “Older people need their rest. All of them.”
“Ouch. I’m only thirty-six,” he said.
“An age of vast experience, as you frequently remind me.”
He grinned and left her. “Don’t wait up. Walker says he’ll be quick, but I doubt it. And get some sleep. There’ll be plenty of security throughout the night, but keep the Glock by your side.”
“First thing I learned,” she assured him.
Killer barked and wagged his tail as the two of them looked down at him.
“Take Killer with you, Matt,” Meg said. “A dog has instincts people don’t. He might be the deciding factor if something does go wrong, if someone is out there.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll take the dog.”
“It does.”
The party assembled downstairs. Meg stayed upstairs, watching, gazing out her window as they all got into cars. Walker would ride with Nathan Oliver, and Joe Brighton would remain at the house. Two members of the Capitol police were on guard in the house. Two would accompany Walker and Nathan Oliver, with Jackson and Matt following in their own vehicle. Two local police officers would lead the procession.
It really was a lot for one man, who was still no more than a possible blip on the presidential radar…
Meg watched the campaign manager, Nathan Oliver, leave with Walker.
The man was scary. Who the hell had a campaign manager who looked like he could take down an MMA fighter with a single move?
She wanted to call Matt back; she wanted to tell him she felt uneasy, that she sensed something was going to happen. She told herself that she shouldn’t be afraid for him; he’d been through the military and he’d worked as an agent in the field for over a decade.
Angela walked up the stairs and met her out on the landing when the others had departed. “You all right?” she asked Meg.
“Doing fine. Maddie’s playing cards. I promised I’d keep the door open between the rooms.”
“I meant about Lara,” Angela said. “Matt may have told you that we have agents here now, searching for Lara. They’re not you, of course. After the speech tomorrow, you’ll be free to join that search. We don’t give up, Meg. We’ve never yet given up on a case, especially when a life is at risk.”
“Thank you, and you’re right—I feel I should be out there, too. But…I know I have to have faith in others. Maddie asked for me specifically, and I’m fine. As long as one of us is around at all times with a view on every member of Walker’s party, I can manage.”
“On a different but related subject… I hear from Matt that you bent a few rules today.”
“Bent rules? Don’t be silly! We had to chase after our dog. Well, whatever we did, it was to no avail, I’m afraid.”
Angela shook her head. “It just means that we now know where Lara isn’t. And that’s a step forward.”
I’m afraid we’ll find her tomorrow, after the speech, so no one will hear about her body being discovered and connect her with Congressman Walker.
Meg didn’t say the words out loud. Instead, she told Angela, “I was close to her today. I know it. But we went through every inch of that basement. We looked for tunnels. We looked everywhere.”
“Try to get some rest tonight,” Angela said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Meg hurried back to her own room, smiling at the officer from the Capitol police who was on guard in the hall.
“’Night, Special Agent Murray.”
“Good night.” She smiled, waving at him. She realized she liked the sound of her title. She hadn’t had time to think about it yet.
In her room, she walked over to the half-open door. The card game was still going on.
“Everything okay?” she asked the two women.
“She cheats,” Kendra Walker said, pointing her finger.
“I do not! She’s a con artist!” Maddie joked in return.
Kendra laughed. “Well, I’m off to bed. Have a good night, ladies.” As she left the room, Maddie yawned.
“You all right?” Meg asked.
“I’m happy as a lark.” Looking at Meg, she suddenly frowned. “You’ve got something gray stuck in your hair.”
“Gray?” Meg touched her head. Spiderweb.
“Hmm. I must’ve, uh, leaned against a wall somewhere. Anyway, if you’re okay and going to sleep, I’ll take a shower. Sleep well. Don’t forget, I’ll be just over there, with a Glock by my side—and I scored higher than the boys at the shooting range.”
“Good night. And thanks.”
“No problem.” She was glad she’d so recently come from the academy. She was used to sharing accommodations, and the open door didn’t bother her at all.
Still, she walked into the bathroom fully dressed in the sweats she’d be wearing to bed. She grabbed a hanger for her shirt and jacket and, undressing, pulled her Glock and its small holster from her waistband. She set them on the back of the commode, then hung up her clothing. After that, she brushed her teeth and stepped into the shower, armed with soap, shampoo and conditioner.
The water pressure was strong, the water nice and hot. She let it pour over her as she contemplated the day. It seemed almost impossible that she hadn’t found Lara; she’d been so certain that the ruined house was going to hold some kind of dank, dark prison.
But it hadn’t.
She washed her hair and put conditioner on it, closing her eyes as she rinsed.
And in that moment she was attacked.
Her eyes were closed; the water had drowned out any sound. She’d never known that someone was coming; she would never have believed anyone would come after her in this house.
She didn’t have time to chastise herself for her stupidity. She never even heard the shower curtain open. Hands went around her head and a rag soaked with chloroform was over her face before she could inhale to scream, before she could begin to fight.
There was an instant of fury at herself, but no time to fear, not even time to know she was going to die.
There was just nothing.