'Just now,' Howell said. 'He wanted to know if anyone had been asking about the case.'
'How recently is 'just now'?' Rodgers asked.
'Right before you called,' Howell said. 'I hung up on him to talk to you.'
Rodgers felt a chill. It was not fear. It was like an electrical current flowing along his neck as his brain started making connections.
He wished that he had a firearm. Or an EM bomb, something that would shut everything down until he could have a thorough look around.
'Detective, did you tell the man that we were on the other line?'
Rodgers asked.
'Yes,' Howell replied. 'He asked.'
'All right. I need two favors, Detective,' Rodgers said. 'I need you to release the McCaskeys.'
'I cannot do that without the proper documents,' Howell said. 'I will fax them to Ms. Lockley '
'There is no time for that,' Rodgers protested. 'Come on, Detective.
You know they are not criminals. Call it a false arrest and let them go. Say they had permission to be on the premises.'
'They did,' Kat said impulsively. 'I said it was okay.'
'All right,' Howell said. 'What is the second favor?'
'If your guy calls back, try to find out who he is,' Rodgers said. He started moving toward the door. 'Let Darrell know.'
'I will,' Howell said.
'Thanks. Talk to you later.'
Kat terminated the call as Rodgers jogged along the short entranceway.
He stopped by the front door and listened. He heard nothing. Kat had followed. She stood at the other end of the small hallway.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
'I'm not sure. I want you to stay here,' Rodgers said.
'Why?'
'Because I'm going out, and there may be trouble,' Rodgers said. 'If there is, I need someone who can bail me out.'
'What kind of trouble?'
'I have no idea,' Rodgers said as he cracked the door. 'But there is one thing I do know. What happened in Washington was just the preliminary. The big show is going to be here.'
FORTY-SIX
Washington, D.C. Wednesday, 4:42 p.m.
There is an impunity that comes with being once-removed from danger. A lock on the door. A police officer on the beat. A man of influence standing between you and those who want to hurt you.
In each case, it is an illusion. Darrell McCaskey knew that from his years at the FBI. He was betting that the young and inexperienced Lucy O'Connor did not. Before the afternoon was over, she would.
