Vicki Hinze - Survive the Night

“Is that it, then?” Madison asked, her expression guarded and closed.

Della had no idea how she or any of the others felt about all that they’d heard. If nothing else, this group knew how to mask their reactions. “I think that’s everything.”

Madison looked down the long table between Della and Paul. “So you two knew about this—that you were being stalked for six weeks, Della—and you didn’t tell me?”

“I was seeking evidence.”

Mrs. Renault lifted her chin. “Which is why you’ve reviewed all your past cases.”

“Not all of them.”

“All you’ve worked on in the last six months,” Mrs. Renault guessed. “Gauging by the misshapen stacks of files in your office.”

Jimmy grunted. “That’s what the wreck in there is all about.”

“Back to the matter of nondisclosure.” Madison’s tone made it evident she wasn’t happy. “Not only have you put yourself in more jeopardy than is necessary, but you made the rest of us vulnerable. That’s what secrets like this one do. I can almost understand, but I don’t like it, and I don’t expect it to happen again. Understood?” When Della nodded, Madison continued. “Paul, you being a party to this stuns me—especially if you think Gary Crawford is the stalker.”

He made no move to defend himself.

“Wait.” Della held up her hand. “Paul didn’t know.” Kind of him to be willing to take being chewed out for her, but it was wrong. “I just told him tonight.”

From his expression, Grant Deaver found that interesting. Mrs. Renault hiked her left brow, a sign she wasn’t at all surprised, and Madison uttered her infamous “I see,” which meant, unfortunately, she really did.

“Understood.” Madison addressed Della. “We’ve got a grip on the problem. Let’s focus on a plan. You will work with a partner until the case is resolved. That’s not a recommendation, it’s a requirement.”

“That’ll be me.” Paul spoke up. “I know most about Crawford and she knows most about Dawson.”

And he wanted her close, to protect her. Della withheld a groan. Caring, touching and predictable, but he would be protective and that would slow her down.

“He’s been in her cottage, Madison,” Mrs. Renault reminded her.

Madison rocked in her seat. “You’ll stay with me.”

“No.” Della refused. “You’re on the water. It’s easier to attack and harder to defend.”

Deaver rubbed his jaw. “She’s right.”

“The ranch is safest,” Paul said.

“Totally inappropriate.” Mrs. Renault frowned.

“Not if I move into the barn apartment with Warny.” Everyone knew his uncle, so there was no need to explain he helped Paul at the ranch.

Madison glanced between the two, then landed on Mrs. Renault. “With the security upgrades Paul did after Utah, his ranch is the safest place in the state.”

Did everyone know about Paul and Maggie’s incident last year except Della? Apparently, since no one asked any questions—including Grant Deaver. He shared a very personal look with Madison that drew sparks. What was going on there? “Do you think this is necessary?”

Madison looked at Della. Her bright blue eyes were laced with regret. “Yes. You move into Paul’s, he moves in with Warny and you two work together at all times.”

“I want to run down the shipper on that package,” Della said.

“Fine.” Madison nodded, Mrs. Renault wrote and Jimmy frowned. “Jimmy, you canvass the neighborhood and see if anyone’s seen anything. Mrs. Renault, run Della’s ex, Jeff, and let’s rule him in or out. Grant, dig up whatever you can find on Leo Dawson and, Paul, you check with Maggie and see what her sources consider the latest on Gary Crawford. Let’s see if we can’t locate both men or at least see what they’ve been up to. Doc, for the time being, I’m reassigning Della’s active cases to you. Mrs. Renault, assist him, as you’re able. Review the files in case someone’s gone rogue and turned stalker.”

Della couldn’t believe it. “You’re yanking my cases?” She was the agency’s lead investigator. Routinely, she solved three times the cases anyone else did. “But I’m at a critical stage on Horner—the missing teen, and Panedia is—”

“Critical. They’re all critical, Della. But I am reassigning them for now. It’s best for the clients and for you.” Madison’s tone signaled she wouldn’t waver. “I want you focused a hundred percent on this situation until it’s resolved.”

“But I’ve already reviewed the cases. There’s nothing there.”

“Indulge us, Della,” Mrs. Renault said. “You’re a wonderful investigator, but unfamiliar eyes can be an asset. We’ll work them as hard as you do.”

Mrs. Renault wasn’t being sarcastic but diplomatic. It’d taken Della a while to figure that out about her. Her husband had been the base commander, which was one thing all the employees at Lost, Inc., had in common with Paul. At some point in their military careers, all of them had been stationed at the base, in some capacity. Mrs. Renault’s husband died at his desk and then General Talbot had taken over. She knew how to get things done quietly and efficiently, and she didn’t tolerate being thwarted.

Seeing the proverbial writing on the wall, Della nodded and admitted, if only to herself, that this was all good. Things were working out for the best. Just the thought of spending the night alone in the cottage, knowing her stalker had been there, touching her things...it gave her the creeps and scared her out of her skin.

“Good,” Madison said, seemingly as fresh as she’d been when the long night had started. She glanced at her watch. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but we do have one more urgent matter to discuss.”

Della had sensed it, and now she knew something wasn’t just off, but way off.

“There’s more?” Jimmy asked.

“I’m afraid so.” Madison touched a hand lightly to Mrs. Renault’s poised pen. “No notes on this one.”

Della cast Paul a worried look and saw it reflected back in his eyes. Never before had Madison told Mrs. Renault not to take notes. Typically she’d stop intermittently during a discussion and ask if she’d gotten everything.

Madison stood up and paced a short path between her chair and the window, covered in heavy green-velvet drapes. “As you know, General Talbot and Colonel Dayton were here tonight for the open house.”

The base commander and vice commander.

Doc rubbed at his neck. “Nothing odd in that.”

“Nothing at all, Ian,” Madison said. She rarely called him Doc. No one knew why, and no one else called him Ian. “But they weren’t here tonight as guests or for the festival. They were here on official business.”

“What official business?” Jimmy’s hand on the table curled into a fist. He still harbored a lot of anger against the military. If he and his buddy in Afghanistan had had the proper equipment, they both would have walked away alive. Instead, his friend had died.

“To quiz me about myself and all of you.” Madison glanced at Deaver, then at Jimmy, and settled her gaze on Paul. “Let me preface this by saying if you know anything at all, the time to tell me is now.”

“Anything at all about what?” Mrs. Renault asked.

Madison stilled. “There’s been a security breach at the Nest.”

* * *

He cut the wires to the security light that had flooded Lost, Inc.’s rear parking lot. Now the cars stood in shadows silhouetted by slivers of moonlight that penetrated the darkness through the trees. Pausing, he listened, but only music from the street festival muted by the brick building filled the air. He stabbed the tires of all the other vehicles in the lot, then quickly finished up his work on the one that most mattered, gathered his tools and hid behind an ancient oak and waited.