| |
No car waited outside the loading dock.
Terror and hope battled each other as Maggie climbed out of Spencer’s van. He beat her to the door, his hand reaching to type in the security code. He froze halfway there.
“Bloody hell.”
“What?”
He turned to her. “The door is open.”
“Oh, God—” She started to push past him, and he caught her arm. “Spencer—”
“We are not going to run in there blindly, not with a desperate man holding Martin. Ring Ian.”
“Spence—”
“Now, Maggie.”
She yanked her mobile out of her pocket and tapped Ian’s number. He answered on the first ring. “Are you in Holmestead, Maggie?”
“How did you—”
“DI Chamberlain rang me just now, with a quick update on Martin. Where are you?”
“The museum.”
“Stay put until I get there.” He ended the call before she could open her mouth to argue.
“Well?” Spencer studied her, his arms crossed. “What did he say?”
“He already knew about Martin, and is on his way.” She grabbed Spencer’s hand. “I know you want to be cautious, but I can’t wait for Ian. Martin could be badly hurt.” She refused to think of the other option. “Please, Spence—please.”
“Fine. But you stay behind me—and if I tell you to leave, you go. No argument.”
She nodded, and he pushed the door open enough to slip through, gesturing for her to stay while he went inside.
“All clear,” he said, his voice quiet. Maggie joined him inside, scanning the loading dock. The door on the far side was closed, but it was the only way into the museum. Spencer took her hand and headed for it. “We’ll check the exhibit first. The Professor may take him there, to stall him.”
“Where is the seal box?”
“In Brent Newcombe’s office.” Spencer opened the door, checking both ways before he stepped into the hallway. “He has a safe for exhibit items, or private donations the owner would like to keep in a secure place.”
“Does Martin know the combination?”
“I would assume so, since Brent knows him, and trusts him.”
Maggie swallowed, knowing that could be good and bad for Martin.
They headed up to the second floor, Spencer keeping her in the lift as he scanned what they could see of the huge room. After endless seconds, he nodded, and led her out. Noise filtered across the room—coming from behind the temporary barriers that she assumed hid Spencer’s latest exhibit.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered. He paused long enough to grab a walking stick from the umbrella stand next to the lift before he led the way across the room—and cursed under his breath at the sound of glass shattering. “That’s it.”
He let go of Maggie’s hand and sprinted forward.
She ran after him, skidding around the freestanding barrier in time to see him standing over a sprawled figure.
Geoffrey Drummond-Doddington held up both hands, fear twisting his face. “Please—I was merely—”
“Destroying my exhibit, after breaking into the museum.” He raised the walking stick. “Where is Martin?”
Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “How did you—” He cut himself off, tilted his chin up. Even lying on the floor, he managed to look like a snob. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I will be more than happy to beat it out of you.”
“No—” This time, when he raised his hand, Maggie saw blood staining his fingers, and the edge of his sleeve.
Cold rage shot through her. She pushed past Spencer and grabbed Geoffrey’s wrist. “What did you do to him?”
The regal attitude disappeared, and he curled his lip. “Only what he deserved. You will not find him in time, if you detain me. Either way, I win.”
Maggie held out her free hand, and the walking stick weighted her palm. She wasn’t surprised that Spencer understood what she wanted without asking. Geoffrey’s mouth opened, any smugness gone.
“What are you—”
“You will tell me where Martin is.”
His gaze jumped between her and the raised walking stick. “Mrs. Martin—surely you do not mean to—”
“Where is he?”
When Geoffrey didn’t answer fast enough, she slammed the walking stick against the floor. Inches from his head.
“I’d tell her if I were you, mate.” Spencer crouched next to her, gently removing the now cracked stick from her hand. “She does have a ginger’s temper.” He didn’t mention how badly her hand shook when he closed his fingers over hers. “Where is Professor Martin?”
“I would start with the storage rooms.” Ian said. He stood next to the barrier, clearly annoyed. “The doors are thick enough to muffle a man’s voice. I told you to wait for me.”
Spencer pulled Maggie to her feet. “We’re worried about the Professor. We found blood at the dig site.”
“Go.” Ian pulled out his cuffs as he hauled Geoffrey to his feet. “I will have an ambulance head our way, in case medical help is needed. Hold still,” he said to Geoffrey, who squirmed in his grip.
“I demand to speak to my solicitor.”
“We’ll get this all sorted. At the station.”
“Come on,” Maggie said. She let go of Spencer and raced to the lift.
Her rage fled, left her trembling—and terrified that they wouldn’t find Martin in time.