Текст книги "Secrets of the Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“Until something ran out in front of you,” Greylen said, climbing off his sled. He walked over to Jack. “So what was it that caused my daughter to leave the trail, Stone?”

Jack took a guzzle of the melted slush and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. If Megan wanted to keep secrets, then she could lie to her father. “I’m not sure, exactly.” He pointed toward shore. “It was headed that way, last I saw it. I was more worried about Megan than it.”

Robbie got off his sled and walked toward the ledge. Greylen followed. Jacked dug another piece of beef jerky out of the package and stuffed it in his mouth, wondering how Megan expected to keep the creature a secret, considering it had left tracks a blind man could follow. He trudged after the two men, washing down the jerky with another gulp of lake water.

“Megan said we have a week to get your sled out before you get fined,” Jack said. “It’s only in about ten feet of water.”

Robbie stopped beside the tracks Jack had made dragging her out. He looked at the frozen rope still lying on the ice, then toward shore, and then at the tracks on the ledge leading into the water. “You pulled her out, but then you went in yourself. Why?”

Yup, the guy definitely knew how to read signs. “For her survival equipment. I knew everything was in a dry sack, and I had hoped to find a radio.”

Megan’s father wasn’t paying attention to their conversation; he was staring at the black ice covering the hole where his daughter’s sled was. He suddenly bent down and picked up her ice-caked helmet, the broken shield falling onto the snowpack with a muted thud. Greylen stared at it in silence for several seconds, then lifted his gaze to Jack. “I would thank ye, Chief, for saving my daughter’s life.”

Jack nodded. “You’re welcome,” he softly returned, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in ten minutes. He started walking to shore. “I was just about to break camp when you arrived. Any chance of my hitching a ride back with you?”

“Your sled isn’t running?” Robbie asked.

Jack shook his head. “I think something burned up in it when I hit the slush. I’ll have to hire Paul Dempsey at Pine Creek PowerSports to tow it home for me.”

“Then how come you didn’t get in the plane with Matt?” Greylen asked.

“I don’t fly unless I’m at the controls. Did you meet Kenzie Gregor on your way up the lake?”

“I thought he was with Matt,” Robbie said.

“He stayed and helped me get my sled out, then decided to walk home. I have the impression he doesn’t much care for anything with an engine, especially if it goes faster than a horse,” he said, heading for shore again.

While packing up camp, Jack watched through the trees as the two men made their way over to the tracks the creature had made, studying them in silence. MacBain looked toward the mountain, then in Jack’s direction, before finally turning to speak to Greylen.

Oh, yeah. MacBain definitely knew about the creature, though it seemed Greylen was only now learning about it. Jack wished someone would tell him what in hell a mythological creature was doing roaming around Pine Creek, Maine, in the twenty-first century. And why none of the men in the three families seemed surprised by that fact?

He snorted as he bent down to pick up the sleeping bag. Because they had two drùidhs on board, that’s why—one of which was Greylen’s youngest daughter. Jack wondered when Megan intended to let him in on that particular little secret.

And she was worried about him being a shaman? Her own sister could probably turn the world inside out at the crook of her finger!

Jack went utterly still. Holy hell. Was the dragon some old boyfriend who had broken a MacKeage girl’s heart?

Chapter Nineteen

J ack threw down his pen and rubbed his face with a frustrated sigh. He glanced at his watch, saw it was nearly midnight, and decided to give himself twenty more minutes before he set out on his rounds.

The snowmobile trip from hell—and a bit of heaven, too—had ended thirty-six hours ago, when Robbie and Greylen had finally dropped Jack off at his house. Megan had been nowhere in sight, but he hadn’t expected her to be. Most likely her parents would be keeping her within arm’s reach for a while, once Greylen told Grace how close they’d come to losing their daughter.

Megan and Camry had to stay at Gù Brath for a couple of days anyway, until Megan’s busted pipes were repaired. It seems both Pine Creek and Frog Cove had experienced a bit of a crime wave while Jack had been away. It would probably take Simon a week of Sundays to recover, and another week to finish writing all the reports. That’s why Jack had given him today and tomorrow off and was pulling double duty tonight. He wondered if he could get the selectmen to ante up for another patrolman.

He eyed the four yellow pads laid out on his desk, on which he’d been adding copious notes. The first pad, LITTLE BASTARDS, had certainly grown; the irony being that he’d been the target of their latest prank. He shook his head with a chuckle. He had to give them credit; they were getting damn creative.

They’d had the nerve, and apparently the tools, time, and stamina, to trick out his police cruiser with enough accessories to make a hot-rodder jealous. His brand-new SUV now sported a brush guard, air horns mounted on the roof, oversize mud flaps with chrome reclining lady emblems, a bug shield that had CHIEF written in bold letters across it, and a sun visor and rear roof spoiler. None of the additions were store-bought new, which meant either a local salvage yard or several personal vehicles had also been victimized. Jack was leaning toward the salvage yard, as no private citizens had reported anything missing yet.

And that was just the visible stuff. When he’d started his cruiser to come to work this morning, he’d nearly been deafened by the tuned exhaust pipes they’d installed. Heads had turned when he’d idled through town, and his ears were still ringing.

The hoodlums must have frozen their little brass balls, as they’d done the work right in Jack’s driveway on a night the temperature had dropped to minus two degrees. They sure seemed determined to thumb their noses at him, didn’t they?

He had six days left before he—or Kenzie Gregor—closed the book on the break-ins, so Jack figured he should able to finally burn his LITTLE BASTARDS pad by then, too. He’d made a few phone calls and quietly done some checking around this afternoon, and was pretty sure who the culprits were.

The solution he’d come up with involved his beautiful new sled, but he simply didn’t have the heart to see those kids taken from their single mother and placed in a foster home or detention hall. They were intelligent—at least the older boy was—and Jack wanted to redirect their creativity before the juvenile courts bled it out of them.

Now all he had to do was to talk Paul Dempsey into coming on board when he went to see him tomorrow morning.

So LITTLE BASTARDS was being dealt with, and hopefully THE BREAK-INS pad could also be burned at the end of the week—unless he had to hunt down the beast himself.

Which left MEGAN’s pad and the one titled MARK COLLINS.

And that’s where things started getting complicated. The reason Megan was having to get her pipes repaired was that someone had broken into her house the night they’d been stranded up the lake. Camry had been at Gù Brath with her worried mother, thank God, while Greylen had been out searching. With no one else living out on Frog Point in the winter, the burglar had had the entire place to himself.

Or he did until the little bastards had shown up to decorate their police chief’s cruiser. That’s what Jack speculated had happened; whoever had been searching Megan’s house had been forced to beat a hasty retreat out her bedroom door that led onto the deck facing the lake. Unfortunately, he hadn’t closed the door behind himself, and the bedroom heating pipes had frozen, burst, and spewed water everywhere.

This break-in had definitely been a professional job; the guy hadn’t made a blatant mess, and he’d been methodical in his search before he’d been interrupted. Jack’s gut tightened at the memory of walking through her house with Greylen and Robbie MacBain yesterday afternoon. The three of them had agreed Mark Collins had likely hired someone to look for what Jack had explained were DNA samples Megan had taken in Canada. Which meant the man had been lurking in town all this time, waiting for an opening.

The three of them had also agreed that he would probably try again, since he hadn’t completed the job. They had not agreed, however, on how to deal with the threat he posed. Greylen wanted to use the samples for bait and Robbie wanted to send them to the Canadian lab but not announce that fact so the man would try again. Jack wanted to send the samples in, then call Mark Collins directly and tell him what was going on so the bastard would redirect his energy to saving his sorry ass.

The samples had been overnighted to Canada this morning, and tonight MacBain was sleeping in Megan’s cold house. Jack had finally agreed to wait until he got word back from the lab as to what had killed those animals before he decided how to handle Collins.

These Scots were hands-on people who were in the habit of dealing with trouble their way, rather than waiting for someone—even law enforcement—to deal with it for them. Wanting to show he could fit into their little clans, Jack had decided to let them play cops and robbers if it made them feel better. All he cared about was that Megan was safe—which she certainly was, now that everyone was up to speed and she was sleeping in a fortress. If her family wanted to deal with Collins, that freed Jack up to deal with the hoodlums and Puff the Magic Dragon.

Jack gathered up his yellow pads and locked them in the bottom drawer of his desk, then stood up. He stretched out the kinks in his muscles and shut off his desk lamp, plunging his office into darkness. He had no compunction about killing a creature that shouldn’t exist, because he sure as hell knew it couldn’t be the results of good magic or anything else that served mankind.

His only reservation had to do with his future clansmen, and why they were protecting it.

“Nice ride,” Paul Dempsey drawled, looking out his showroom window at Jack’s cruiser.

“It’s sort of growing on me,” Jack said. “In fact, it’s the reason I’m here.”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t work on trucks. You need to take it to the dealer in Greenville. They have the equipment to fix that noisy exhaust.”

“But you have the equipment to fix my snowmobile. Since you’re swamped with work, I just want to borrow your shop and your tools in the evening, when you’re not open.”

Paul look surprised. “You’re going to fix it yourself? I had to explain the difference between a four– and two-stroke to you, the first time you came in here.”

“I have my own mechanic.”

“Who?” Paul asked with eager interest. “Is he for hire? If he knows four-strokes, I’ll put him to work immediately and put your sled first in line.”

This was turning out even better than he’d hoped. “I’d have to speak with him first, but I can almost guarantee he’d go to work for you. The problem is, he can only work afternoons. But he could stay after you close and help get you caught up.”

Paul shook his head. “I’m not hiring a high school kid.” He pointed at Jack. “And if you’re smart, you won’t let one of them anywhere near your sled, especially with a wrench in his hand. We’re talking about cutting-edge technology here.”

“Which they’re teaching at the tech school in Greenville,” Jack countered. “Those kids are more knowledgeable about today’s engines than you probably are. It’s no longer simple high school shop, it’s vocational-technical schooling.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Who are we talking about? What’s the kid’s name?”

“Tommy Cleary.”

“No way! I’m not letting that brat anywhere near my shop!” His face reddened and he pointed at Jack again. “And you expect…you’re asking me to leave Tommy Cleary in my shop after-hours?” he sputtered. “Alone?” He shook his head. “I’d be robbed blind!”

“Or you’d find yourself with the best damn mechanic you’ve had in years,” Jack calmly returned. “From all accounts, Tommy’s a genius when it comes to anything mechanical.”

“Says who?”

“Say his tech teachers,” Jack told him, stepping closer and lowering his voice when a man and woman walked into the showroom. “He did a damn good job on my cruiser. And his teachers tell me Tommy can troubleshoot problems better than a mechanic with twenty years of experience. The boy’s got a gift, Dempsey, and it’s being wasted.”

“No,” Paul growled, his attention going to the young couple eyeing the sporty racing sled in the front window. The man was sitting on it while the woman was studying the price tag. Paul looked back at Jack. “No. No. No!”

“Do you have any idea what it would do to Joan Cleary to have her boys taken away from her?” Jack asked, moving to block Paul’s view of his customers.

“Goddammit, Stone, that’s not fair. Tommy’s been in trouble before, you know. All of the Cleary kids have. I know Joan Cleary’s had a rough go of it, but I will not hire that juvenile delinquent son of hers.”

“Why not?” Jack asked calmly, again moving to block Paul’s view.

Paul glared at him. “Why not? Dammit, because…because he’s just a kid!”

“He turned eighteen last week. He graduates in three months, and you’ll be able to have him full time after that. Can you imagine how much his paycheck would help out his mother?”

“No. No. No!”

“And when word gets out that you’ve got a gifted mechanic, you’ll be booked a month of Sundays ahead.”

“What I’ll be is bankrupt. Because the minute word gets out that Tommy Cleary is working here, everyone will start taking their repairs to my competition in Greenville.”

“That would depend,” Jack drawled, moving directly in front of Paul again, “on what sort of spin you put on it. If you make a huge deal over the fact that you stole Cleary right out from under your competition’s nose, your customers will think you’re a genius and that Tommy’s the only one they want working on their engines.”

Paul eyed Jack speculatively. “You’ve already spoken to my competition? Before talking to me?”

Jack shook his head. “I’m giving you first shot at Tommy. If you don’t snatch him up, I’m headed to Greenville from here.” He lowered his voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “I tell you what: I’ll give you until noon today to decide. Sell that guy over there a sled, then give the tech school a call and ask them what kind of mechanic Tommy is. But come noon, I’m offering him to your competition.”

Paul caught Jack’s sleeve when he turned to leave. “Joan Cleary used to be one hell of a fine-looking woman before Eric Cleary wore her down, may the bastard’s soul rot in hell. She really could use Tommy’s paycheck, couldn’t she?”

“About as much as you could use a good mechanic. And Tommy could use some direction and purpose in life, and his little brothers could use a better role model. It’s a win-win opportunity for everyone, Paul.”

Paul thought furiously for several seconds, then suddenly puffed up with importance. “Have him stop in after school today, and I’ll see if we can’t work out a deal about hours and wages until he graduates.”

“How about tomorrow afternoon instead?”

“Why not today?”

“I couldn’t very well offer Tommy anything without speaking with you first, could I?” he said, turning and walking away.

“Dammit, Stone. Did you just set me up?” Paul called out as Jack reached the door.

He turned to the suspicious store owner. “No, Dempsey, I believe I just shored up your bottom line.” He looked over at the young couple now in a heated discussion over the snowmobile the guy obviously thought he needed. “If I might make a suggestion?” Jack said, drawing their attention. He nodded toward the workhorse Paul had talked him out of three weeks ago. “It might not look as sporty as this one, but it would make a great family sled. Take my word for it, there’s nothing like riding the trails together.”

That said, Jack walked out to his cruiser, whistling a happy tune. He climbed in, then checked his watch. He should leave for Greenville by two-thirty to be at the tech school when it let out at three. His mood heightened even more when he thought of Tom Cleary riding home in the police chief’s beautifully tricked-out cruiser.

Jack had no idea what the Cleary boy looked like, other than Ethel’s description of a gangly teenager with over-long blond hair and likely tattered clothes. Which meant he could be any one of the thirty or so young males pouring out of the tech school, as tattered appeared to be the newest thing. Since he’d arrived too late to go inside and have Tommy paged, Jack stopped his cruiser directly in front of the main entrance, hoping one of the boys would give himself away when he saw his latest prank in broad daylight.

One boy did suddenly stop dead in his tracks and gape, though most everyone—male and female—stopped and stared. But this particular boy seemed more disconcerted than awestruck. He looked around nervously, then suddenly bolted.

Jack muttered a curse. Of course he’d run. Didn’t they always? He climbed out of his cruiser and chased after him. “Tommy, wait!” he called to the kid. “I need your help.”

Apparently Tommy wasn’t the helpful sort, since he continued sprinting around the corner of the building, then zigzagged through a parking lot filled with every imaginable make and year of vehicle. The boy scaled the thirty-foot-high snowbank at the end of the lot in three easy strides, then disappeared down the other side. Jack followed at a flat-out run, acutely aware of the shouts of encouragement cheering Tommy on, as well as the small assembly of students joining the chase.

Jack also scaled the snowbank, crested the top, and saw his quarry disappear into the woods. “Big mistake, Tommy boy. You’re on my turf now.” He turned to look at the parade of students preparing to scramble up the snowbank behind him. “Sorry, people, this is as far as you go,” he told them.

He was answered by a barrage of questions, several muttered curses, and sounds of general disappointment.

“What’d Tommy do?”

“Are you going to arrest him?”

“Leave him alone, he didn’t do anything!”

“He’s getting away, cop. What’s the matter, you out of shape from eating too many doughnuts?”

“Do I look out of shape?” Jack asked with a laugh. “Come on people, go home. Tommy’s not in trouble, I just want to ask a favor of him. So please be upstanding citizens and go home and do your homework.”

He then turned and scrambled down the back side of the snowbank, stepped into the woods where Tommy had, and studied his tracks a few seconds before heading off at a forty-five degree angle to the left.

Within ten minutes Jack was standing behind a tree watching a huffing and puffing Tommy heading straight toward him. The boy kept looking over his shoulder and had started stumbling a bit in his panic, and when he looked forward Jack could see the hunted look in his eyes.

Jack stepped out directly in front of him. “Whoa, there,” he said, steadying the kid when he yelped in surprise and nearly fell. “Easy, Tommy. I just want to talk to you.”

“I didn’t do nothing,” the boy said, panting heavily.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say the improvements to my cruiser are nothing. They turned my poor little wannabe into a real truck.”

Tommy’s eyes widened in surprise, and he suddenly plopped down in the snow to catch his breath. “How come you ain’t winded?” he asked.

“I don’t even work up a sweat running through the woods.” Jack hunched down in front of him. “I have a proposition for you, Tom, and you only have tonight to think about it, because I want your answer tomorrow morning before you head off to school.”

“What sort of proposition?”

“I burned up the engine in my new snowmobile, and I want you to fix it.”

“You do? Me? Why?”

“Because you can. And if you get it purring like a kitten again, I can get you a mechanic’s job at Pine Creek PowerSports.”

Tommy snorted. “Dempsey won’t hire me. I already tried to get a job from him last summer. I offered to sweep floors and wash windows, but he wouldn’t even talk to me. He sure as hell won’t let me near any of his sleds or ATVs.”

“He will now, if you can get my snowmobile running smoothly. And if you do right by him all spring, you’ll have a full-time position once you graduate.”

A spark of interest blossomed in Tommy’s eyes. “Why would he hire me now, when he wouldn’t before?”

“Because I have more pull than you do. Being chief of police has its perks, and I’m not above using my badge to my advantage.”

“Then why are you doing this for me?”

“Because I can.”

He shook his head. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because you have only two choices. One way gets you a weekly paycheck and respectability; the other gets you room and board at the county jail. You’re not a juvenile anymore, Tom. If you get caught for your crimes, not matter how harmless they are, you’ll pay adult consequences. Then who’s going to help your mom deal with your brothers?”

“You’ve talked to my mom?” he squeaked.

“No. And I don’t intend to unless you force my hand.” Jack stood up. “This will stay just between us, providing the pranks stop. Be in my office at seven tomorrow morning with your answer.”

“Wait!” Tommy said, also standing up. “I need to know why you’re doing this!” He ran to catch up with Jack. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yes, I do,” Jack told him. “I was you, except my stunts weren’t nearly as creative.”

“What stunts?” Tommy asked, back to being suspicious.

“The Fart Gallery?” Jack said with a chuckle. “Let me ask you something, Tom,” he said, turning serious. “When you and your brothers were working on my cruiser, did you see anyone nosing around, three camps down from my house? Or did you see or hear anything unusual? A snowmobile on the lake, maybe a car driving away?”

Tommy stepped over a fallen log, then gave Jack a sidelong glance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“This is important,” Jack told him, veering onto a game trail so the walking was easier. “Somebody broke into Megan MacKeage’s house, and there was a lot of damage.”

“It wasn’t us!” Tommy yelped.

“I know it wasn’t. But I sure could use your help finding out who it was.”

Tommy walked beside him in silence for several hundred yards. “We did see a car parked at the end of the camp road. It had New York plates on it, and the windows had iced up, so we knew it had only been sitting there a short while, because they wouldn’t have fogged up if it had been there all day. But we didn’t see anyone around or hear anything.”

“What make and model was it?” Jack asked, heading down the lane toward the school.

“Lincoln Town Car, 2006. White. It had a rental sticker on the bumper,” he told Jack, just as the school bus passed them. “Damn, I missed my bus.”

“Not a problem,” Jack said, giving him a friendly slap on the back. “I’ll give you a ride home in my cruiser.”

Chapter Twenty

A fter dropping Tom off, Jack drove to TarStone Mountain Ski Resort. He slowly rumbled up and down the parking lot looking for a white Lincoln, then drove up to the entrance of the three-story hotel. He asked the horrified doorman to leave his cruiser where it was parked, stepped inside the bustling lobby, and walked past the line of patrons at the registry desk.

“Is Greylen MacKeage available?” he asked the clerk who spotted his badge and came over.

“No, sir, he’s not. But Callum MacKeage is available. Or I could page his brother, Morgan, if you prefer.”

Jack didn’t want to go to Gù Brath and chance running into Megan. “I’ll speak with Callum, thank you. Would you please call Greylen and ask him to come over here? And also give me a printout of your guest list that would include what they’re driving?”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to do that, sir.”

“I’ll handle this, Derek. Thank you,” a gentleman said as he appeared in a doorway behind the counter. “Chief Stone, if you would come this way,” he offered. “And bring me that printout he requested, would you, Derek?”

Jack strode around the counter and walked past what could only be another giant MacKeage, though this one appeared to be several years Greylen’s senior. He looked as if he should have retired fifteen or twenty years ago, but here he was in a suit and tie, his physique that of a much younger man, his eyes sharp with intelligence.

What in hell was in the water around here?

“Chief,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Greylen’s cousin, Callum MacKeage.”

Jack shook his hand. “Call me Jack, please. It’s good to meet yet another member of Megan’s family. I asked your clerk to call Greylen to come here.”

“I already called him when Derek told me you were here. Grey’s on his way, and so is Morgan, his brother. Do ye have some news for us about Megan’s burglar?”

“I have a description of the car he was driving, and I’d like to see if he’s registered here.”

The door to the office opened and another giant walked in, this one a few years younger than Greylen. Jack decided he was bottling up the water from his well and selling it as a growth elixir.

“Chief,” the man said, extending his hand. “Morgan MacKeage, Megan’s uncle. Have you caught my niece’s burglar?”

Jack shook his hand. “Please call me Jack. As I was just explaining to Callum, I found out what the guy is driving, and I’m assuming he’s staying here.”

“Why?” Callum asked. “There are other hotels in town.”

“Because this is where I would stay if my target’s family conveniently owned a hotel.”

Both men narrowed their eyes at him. Jack sat down without waiting for an invitation, and looked around. He realized Callum had brought him to Grey’s office when he saw the pictures of all the girls when they were young. He stood up and walked over to look at one in particular.

“This is Megan. How old is she here?”

“Nine,” Morgan said, coming to stand beside him. “She’s sitting on Lancelot.” He waved at the wall of seven individual pictures of Grey’s seven daughters on horseback. “Each girl was given a draft horse for her fifth birthday. Their uncle Ian had a passion for the big, docile beasts.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met Ian,” he said, studying the other photos, immediately picking out Camry. Even as a kid, Jack could see she was a hellion.

“No, you haven’t. Ian left us nearly three years ago.”

“Sorry,” he murmured.

The door opened and Greylen walked in, carrying a computer printout. “What’s up, Stone?” he asked, walking around his desk and sitting down. “Ye have some good news for us?”

“No, I’m hoping you do,” Jack said, sitting across from him. “I’m looking for a guest of yours who would be driving a late-model, white Lincoln Town Car with New York plates.”

Greylen pulled a set of glasses out of his shirt pocket and studied the printout. A minute later he set the pages down on his desk and pointed to a spot on one of them. “Peter Trump, room 316.” He hit the intercom button. “Derek, could you please print out Peter Trump’s history for me, and also tell me when he’d scheduled to check out,” he asked, releasing the button.

“Trump has a history here? How do you know?”

Grey tapped his finger on the page. “We have a code for repeat guests, so we can reward their patronage.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Peter Trump is likely an alias. What did you take for an ID? Does it say?”

“Credit card,” Greylen read. “Which would be viable, or we’d have known it was fake when he checked in. We always run them through first thing, to hold the funds.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s easy to get a card under a false name. The good thing is, Trump doesn’t realize we know who he is or where he’s staying. It’s just a matter of my knocking on door 316 and asking him to come down to the station for questioning.”

To a man, the three MacKeages gave Jack scowls that would have made a bear tremble.

He immediately shook his head. “We’re doing this my way this time, gentlemen, and we’re doing it by the book. I have to show the selectmen I’m doing something to earn my paycheck. So far, it looks as if I’ve been running around chasing my tail. What’s Megan up to today?” he asked, standing up and heading to the door. “Has her mother let her out of her sight yet?”

“Megan was locked in the lab with Kenzie when I left Gù Brath,” Grey said, following him.

Jack pulled open the door, then turned and held up his hand to the three men following him. “I’m going up alone,” he said, checking his gun tucked in the back of his belt, under his jacket. “Just give me a master key card and point me to the stairs.”

He turned and nearly ran over Derek.

“Um…here are the printouts,” Derek said, handing them to Greylen. “And Mr. Trump left his departure date open-ended.”

“Thank you. Would you also get Chief Stone a master key?” Grey said, looking down at the printouts he’d just received. “Peter Trump has been here five times in the last six months. First time was August 23.” He looked at Jack. “Not a week after Megan got home.” He looked back at the printout in his hand. “He stayed two weeks. Then he was here again in early October, when he stayed one week. Then November and December. He arrived this last time on January 10.” He looked at Jack again. “That would be shortly after Megan went to work for Mark Collins.”

Jack took the key card from Derek, walked into the lobby, then turned back to the men. “The stairs?”

Morgan pointed to the left. Jack pushed through the heavy fire door, walked up two of the steps, then turned and bent down to peek through the tiny window in the door. Yup, the three Scots were scrambling in three different directions, apparently intending to cover his ass.

Jack turned and headed upstairs with a smile. Nothing like having a few giant Highlanders watching his back.

He made it partway down the hall of the third floor, then stopped with a muttered curse. His jacket was police issue. When Trump checked the peephole and saw Jack’s badge, he would likely start shooting through the door. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it on the floor next to the wall, pulling his gun from the back of his belt and holding it down by this thigh.