Finger Prints (38 page)

Carly doubted that. “But we can’t just show up there.”

“Sam’s calling to make the arrangements. They’ll have something. And if they don’t, they’ll make something.”

Carly closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening. After so many false alarms, I really thought I was home free.” She raised a hand to her forehead, only to snap her eyes open on a new thought. “I have to stop at home. I’ll need some things.”

Sheila took her eyes from the road long enough to glance at her watch. “Uh, I don’t know….”

“If I have to be holed up somewhere, at least I can feel like a human being. How long will we be staying in Vermont?”

“Not long.”

“But you can’t be sure. If Sam can’t find that guy, it may be a while longer. The apartment’s right on the way. It’ll only take a minute.” It seemed imperative that she stop. She needed the boost of a familiar place.

“What if someone’s there?”

“Someone?”

“As in dark and dangerous?”

Carly sucked in a breath and shook her head to deny the thought. “Oh, God,” she murmured, shaking. Pressing a fist to her mouth, she chewed on it. Her words were muffled. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

On Memorial Drive now, Sheila halted at a traffic light. One look Carly’s way told her of the woman’s distress. As she watched, Carly grabbed the door handle and looked around as though contemplating escape. It was then that Sheila yielded. Anything to keep Carly from getting hysterical.

“I suppose we can stop at your apartment. If we stick close together, there won’t be any problem. Sam may have already sent someone by the place. But we can’t stay long. Just long enough for you to stick a couple of things into a bag.”

Carly nodded, feeling numb. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Your things. You’re coming to Vermont with me, aren’t you?”

She dismissed the problem with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be all right. If we have to stay there for any length of time, Sam will have someone pick up my things. Come to think of it, that’s what he could do for you. We really shouldn’t stop—”

“I
have
to.” Carly needed things of her own. What with everything she’d given up—and rebuilt—in the past year, she wasn’t about to go anywhere without some familiar trappings of her identity.

Sheila concentrated on driving. When they arrived at Carly’s building, Carly jumped out and ran ahead. She didn’t think of the possible peril; one part of her actually wanted to be a decoy to draw danger away from Ryan.

The apartment was undisturbed, as neat as she’d left it that morning. While Sheila scouted around for anything suspicious, Carly stood in the middle of the living room trying to calm herself, to think clearly.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” she asked when Sheila joined her.

“Because Sam says no.”

“Then I’ll call him,” she suggested, starting for the phone.

But Sheila beat her to it, holding the receiver firmly in place. “Be sensible, Carly. Sam has his hands full trying to get that man.”

“Let me call Ryan—”

“And tip someone off that you’re here? If your cover’s been blown, this line might be tapped.”

“I don’t want to go to Vermont.”

“You have to. And the longer we spend here, the greater the danger will be.” It took every resource Sheila had to project a semblance of composure. She was as nervous as Carly. “Now, go put some things in a bag. But be quick. We have to move.” She watched Carly move slowly off. “Quick!” She glanced at her watch, then back at the retreating figure. Needing a shot of strength, she quickly poured herself a drink, downed it in record time, and was by the door when Carly emerged from the bedroom. “All set?”

“I don’t want to do this.” Dropping the bag on a chair, she wandered to the wall unit and lifted the clay plaque from its hook. “Ryan bought this for me in Vermont. It’s always held special meaning.” Hugging the plaque, she turned, eyes filled with anguish. “I can’t believe all this is in danger.”

“Not if we hurry. Let’s go.” Crossing the room, Sheila grabbed Carly’s bag.

If Carly heard the impatience in her voice, she was too lost in emotion to heed it. She turned around again. “We picked up the driftwood in Rockport. The picture was done at the—”

“Carly! We’re wasting time!” She forced a softness into her tone and spoke more slowly. “We have to leave. Now.” She took Carly’s elbow.

Understanding Sheila’s plight and knowing that her urgings were for the best, Carly didn’t resist. She slid the plaque to the cushion of the chair as she passed and gave a final glance around the place she truly felt was home, before turning her back and leaving with Sheila.

Arriving home shortly after six, Ryan took the steps at a quickened pace. He was uneasy. As he’d walked from his car and glanced up, he hadn’t seen any lights. True, it was barely dark outside, still….

His key turned easily in the lock. He pushed the door open. “Carly?” He flipped on the light. “Carly?”

There was no answer.

He searched the apartment. She wasn’t there. He tried to think of where she might be. She hadn’t said anything to him about having late appointments or meetings, and she was always careful to let him know, especially now that she knew he would panic at any misunderstanding.

For a minute he wondered if he was simply uneasy about the strange meeting he’d had that afternoon. A potential client. An arsonist. Of course, given Carly’s experiences and the emotions that now were his, he wouldn’t accept the case. But somehow he sensed that his visitor had expected that all along. And it wasn’t the arsonist himself who lingered in his mind as much as the man who had brought him in. Something about the way he talked….

Lifting the phone, he dialed Sam’s number. When the phone rang for an inordinately long time, he feared Sam had left. Then a man answered breathlessly.

“Is Sam Loomis there?”

“I think he just left. This is Greg Reilly, his assistant.”

“I have to talk to him. It’s Ryan Cornell.”

Greg was instantly alert. “Hold on,” he said. “Let me see if I can catch him.”

Ryan held on for what seemed forever. Finally Sam came on the line. “Ryan. Any problem?”

“I don’t know. I just walked in and Carly’s not here. She’s usually so good about telling me if she’s going to be late. Do you know if she’s with Sheila?”

Sam muffled the phone against his chest as he spoke to Greg. “Do you know where Sheila is?”

Greg shrugged. “With Carly, I assume. Or she may be done for the day.”

“Try her number,” Sam ordered, then returned to Ryan. “Greg’s trying Sheila. Hold on.”

There was no answer at Sheila’s. Greg shook his head and put down his receiver.

“Sheila’s not answering either,” Sam told Ryan. “Maybe the two of them went somewhere?”

“It’s not like Carly. She’s almost always here to meet me. Besides, I had a weird meeting this afternoon.”

“What meeting—wait. Let me come over. In the meantime you call the school and anyone else who might know where she is.”

Ryan’s hand was tense on the phone. “Bring your key. If the switchboard at Rand is closed I may drive over there. If I’m not here, let yourself in. I’ll be back.”

The switchboard was indeed closed. He called Bryna Moore, who hadn’t seen Carly since that morning. He called Dennis Sharpe, who hadn’t seen her since lunch. He paced the floor, wondering if he was making something out of nothing. Throat parched, he went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then was reaching for his car keys when the phone rang.

“Ryan? This is Sheila.”

“Sheila! I’ve been worried. Is Carly with you?”

“No. That’s why I’m calling. I went to pick her up at school and she wasn’t there. She left a note saying that she had to get away. I’ve been driving around trying to spot her car, but I don’t know where to look.”

“Oh, my God.” At least there was a note. But why would she have to get away? “Christ, Sheila. Where have you looked?”

“I’ve been all over the school and in and out of Boston. She talked about Rockport, but I’ve been driving around here for an hour and I don’t see any sign of her.”

“You’re in Rockport now?”

“I’m at a pay phone on the highway. I’m wondering, she talked so much about that place in Vermont. Do you think she might have gone there?”

“Maybe. I’ll call there. I can’t believe she’d take off….”

There was a click. “My three minutes are up. Listen, I’ll keep looking. I’m sure nothing’s wrong. The tension may have just gotten to her. She may be mortified if you follow her.”

“Damn it, I don’t care.” The phone clicked again. “Okay, Sheila. Call back if you hear anything.” At least Sam would be there.

But Sheila didn’t know that. She diligently wiped the smug expression from her face before she returned to the car where Carly waited.

“Ryan’s on his way,” she announced. “And Sam has an APB out for that fellow we saw.”

“Then Ryan’s all right?” Carly asked, needing that one bit of reassurance to counter her fears.

“Fine. He’ll meet us at the inn.”

Five minutes later, they crossed the border into Vermont.

Sam arrived at Carly’s apartment to find it deserted. He and Greg waited five minutes, ten, fifteen. When Ryan didn’t reappear, Sam called Tom.

“You haven’t by chance seen Sheila Montgomery, have you?” he asked with more nonchalance than he felt.

“Sheila?” Tom echoed cautiously. “No. She said she had to work tonight.”

Sam darted a glance at Greg, who had checked the assignment schedule just before they left the office. Sheila was not working. “Then Ryan?”

“Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. Ryan called me a little while ago saying that Carly hadn’t come home. I’m at their place now. And Ryan’s nowhere either.”

Ryan, Carly, and Sheila. Three people who meant a lot to Tom. “I’m coming over,” he said, promptly hung up the phone and was on his way.

Neither Sam nor Greg had learned anything more by the time he arrived. Ryan still hadn’t shown.

“Okay,” Sam said, walking slowly around the living room as he tried to organize his thoughts. “Ryan said that Carly hadn’t come home. He thought she might be with Sheila. But she’s not. And we can’t locate Sheila either.” He faced Tom. “You two didn’t have plans?”

“For tomorrow. Not tonight.”

Sam turned to Greg. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Abundantly aware of Tom, Greg was uncomfortable. “Uh, this morning. She stopped in at the office before meeting Carly at Rand.” With fresh sweet rolls and coffee, no less. Sheila had been at her most enchanting.

“And she was to have stuck around there until Carly was done for the day,” Sam said, stroking his jaw, deep in thought. “Damn it, I had a feeling….”

“What feeling?” Tom asked, suddenly aware that there was more to Sam’s concern for Sheila than might have appeared at first.

But Sam only shook his head. “And Carly. Where in the hell could she be?” He paused, trying to recall every word Ryan had said. “He said something about a meeting this afternoon. ‘Weird’ was the word he used. Know anything about it, Tom?”

“Hell, no. I don’t keep track of Ryan’s clients.”

Sam turned to Greg. “See if you can get someone in his office. Find out who that meeting was with.”

As Greg headed for the kitchen, Tom lifted the small clay plaque and sank into the chair, studying the piece. “This is crazy. Carly wouldn’t up and run off. She and Ryan were closer than ever since he returned from Chicago.”

“Then you know everything?”

“They both told me. I thought they had things straightened out. Even if Carly was terrified by something, she would have gone to Ryan first.” He rubbed a small stone on the plaque, then stood and, as though he’d done it any number of times, returned the piece to its hook on the wall. “They bought this when they were in Vermont. They’re collectors.” He gestured toward the shelf. “Mementos of their life together.” He eyed Sam. “This whole thing is weird. Do you think someone got to Carly?”

Before he could answer, Greg returned, the page of his small notebook filled with jottings. “Ryan had a whole
afternoon
of meetings. Smythe and Reading at twelve-thirty, Frazier at one-fifteen, Dunn at two, Walsh and Thiess at two-thirty—”

“Walsh and Thiess?”

Greg checked his notes. “The guy who gave me this stuff said that the last was scribbled in. The names may be off. A last-minute thing, I guess.”

“Thiess,” Sam repeated, reaching for something he couldn’t quite grasp. “That name sounds famil—uh-oh….”

Tom was on his feet in an instant. “What is it?”

But Sam held up a hand and took his turn at the phone. When he returned, his expression was grim. “That was Meade in Chicago. Thiess is an alias used by a guy named Theakos. Horace Theakos. He’s served time more than once. A reputed arson expert.”

“Geeeeez,” Tom breathed, running a hand through his blond hair, disheveling it all the more. “What does that mean?”

“That means that either your brother is on the take—”

“No way! He wouldn’t harm Carly for the world.”

“And he did call that meeting weird,” Sam said, then raised his eyes and spoke with deadly gravity. “I think he’s being set up. He may be in as much danger as Carly.” On his way back to the kitchen, he shot a glance at Greg. “I’m calling out the troops.”

He made one call, then a second and a third. Tom and Greg stared at one another. Finally Tom spoke.

“Where does Sheila fit into all this?”

Greg shrugged and avoided his gaze. “Beats me. She may just be shopping somewhere. Likes to buy new things lately….” His voice trailed off, his thoughts taking a twist. The eyes he raised to Tom were more wary. “She does like to buy things. Where’s she getting the money?”

“
I’m
not bankrolling her.” Not that he wouldn’t, given the chance.

“So where does she get it?”

“She saves,” Tom replied defensively.

“On an agent’s salary? I know what
I
make and there’s precious little left over after taxes and the rent and food and gas. That new car of hers….”

Tom’s features were rigid. “What are you getting at?”