Pirate

A good question, Sam thought. They’d stopped the leak. Archer had assured him that Bree had not contacted her cousin since they confirmed she’d been the source. And still they were constantly behind with every step they took. “They did have several days’ head start.”

“Maybe Selma has some news for us.”

“You want to call or should I?”

When Remi didn’t answer, he looked over at her. She was fast asleep. He watched her for several moments, thinking about the mixed emotions of that night’s events. He knew Fisk never intended to let them walk out of there, and while Sam wasn’t about to simply give up and die without a fight, he’d been okay knowing that Remi was outside and safe. At least until Ivan dragged her into the room.

His lovely wife had risked her own life to rescue him. And she’d had the brains to grab a weapon in the process.

He listened to the sound of her even breathing as she slept next to him and he smiled in the dark, thinking about the way she’d insisted that she be allowed to put on her shoes.

“Good one, Remi,” he whispered.

She stirred slightly but didn’t waken.

When he woke, it was to the sound of the phone ringing. He opened his eyes, surprised to see sunlight through the window, his fog-filled brain trying to remember where they even were. Hotel, he realized as Remi blindly reached for her cell phone, then put it to her ear, her voice hoarse as she said, “Hello…? Wait… What?”

“Who is it?” Sam asked.

“Miss Walsh.” She propped herself on one elbow listening, then turned to Sam. “She knows where to find that circle with the symbols.”

Thirty-five

How could we have been so blind?” Remi asked.

“Easy,” Sam said, hitting the gas harder. The long stretch of country road before them was empty, which made the getting there that much faster. He checked his mirrors, even though he was fairly confident that they weren’t being followed. Why would they be? Fisk had gotten what he came for. “It was hidden in plain sight, and we weren’t looking in the right place.”

Or, rather, when they were looking, they didn’t know what they were looking at. They did now, and he only hoped that they hadn’t made a grave mistake by chasing after the false lead at the museum.

They made good time, and Sam relaxed slightly as he turned onto the dirt road that led to Grace Herbert-Miller’s farm. As before, the chickens scattered as they pulled up in front, the geese honked, and the few goats that had wandered up to the split-rail fence bleated their arrival.

Sam and Remi walked across the graveled drive to the cottage, their footsteps crunching beneath them. No one was approaching this farm without being noticed, Sam thought as he knocked on the front door.

There was no answer.

He stepped back, glanced up at the chimney. No smoke. “Maybe we should have a look around. Make sure everything’s okay.”

Remi nodded but didn’t comment. He knew she was thinking the same thing he was. Something had happened to the Herbert-Millers.

They walked around to the side, the brick path thick with moss, making it slippery in some areas. Diamond-paned windows reflected the sunlight as they passed, the white lace curtains inside preventing Sam from seeing in. Around back, a well-tended vegetable garden was fenced off, but a few chickens had found their way in, pecking for grubs between rows of carrots and celery.

Two steps led up to the back door, painted forest green, and Sam noticed fresh gouges in the wood near the lock as though someone had recently tried — or managed — to gain entry. “Not what I was hoping to see.”

“Definitely not,” Remi replied.

He was just reaching for the handle when he heard the loud chorus of chickens, geese, and goats out front, followed by the sound of a car’s tires on the gravel drive.

“That,” Remi said, “is one heck of an alarm. Maybe we should look into getting one ourselves.”

“I’m not sure Zoltán could resist the temptation of fresh chicken for lunch.”

“Good point.”

They retraced their steps, Sam taking the lead. At the front of the house, he signaled for Remi to wait as he peaked around the corner. Grace Herbert-Miller was getting out of the front passenger seat of a late-model blue Fiat that had pulled up behind their rental car. Judging from her red and black flowered dress, black wool coat, and the small black hat with red buds decorating one side, she’d just returned from church.

What he didn’t see was her husband.

Not wanting to alarm the woman, he waved Remi forward, and together they walked out to greet her as she said good-bye to the driver.

She saw them and smiled. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. I certainly wasn’t expecting you today…”

“Mrs. Herbert-Miller,” Sam said, smiling in return. “Sorry to drop in unexpectedly. I was hoping to have a word with you and your husband. Is he home?”

“Unfortunately, no. He left early this morning to visit his brother, who’s been quite under the weather. But do come in.”