“Yes, he is. But something is not making sense.”
“What?”
“Underground poker gamerunners don’t murder, not even those connected to organized crime. Garrity worked major crimes for ten years, and saw only one assault due to unpaid debt. There are better ways to coerce people into paying.”
“But you saw the video in the valet lot. Those car thieves came out guns blazing.”
“And hitting no one, not even Oliver, who did not present a difficult target. They weren’t interested in hurting people. They were interested in stealing cars, nothing more.”
I looked back at Oliver. Still nervous, chewing his lip now, his foot jostling as he stared at the window with the blinds drawn. He’d been a sitting duck and had managed against all odds, through zero skill on his part, to still be alive. He’d bought Quint’s story about the homicidal loan sharks, believed it with his whole devious heart. But the pieces weren’t adding up. I started to go back into the room, but Trey put his hand on my elbow.
“No. We’ve asked enough questions for now. We have to wait for the authorities. Everything he says to us is hearsay and not admissible in court. He needs to be Mirandized and properly processed.”
I cursed under my breath, but I knew Trey was right. Oliver was a valuable witness, and considering what had gone down at the previous grand jury trial, every bit of evidence and testimony needed to be as pristine as possible. But damn did I ache to interrogate him.
Trey’s radio crackled. It was the valet, the real valet, not one of the covert operatives. He was breathing hard, practically panting. “Quint Talbot is gone. His wife too.”
Trey pushed past me into the bedroom. “They weren’t in the cabin?”
“Jonathon went to get them, but it was too late, and then they showed up here five minutes ago and stole a car and took off. He’s sending me your way right now. He said to tell you it’s a possible hostage situation, that he needs you back up front.”
Trey yanked open the front door. “Which way did they go?”
“Toward the golf course.”
Beyond the golf course was the main road—they were making a run for it. The valet hit the porch at a dead run, radio clutched in hand. He was young, barely out of his teens, wholly out of his element.
His eyes were wide. “Jonathon said I’m supposed to watch Mr. James while you handle the station. He said—”
“Were both of them in the car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who was driving?”
“I don’t know.” He was getting his breath back, but his nerves remained shot. “Jonathon’s alerted the authorities. They’ve scrambled State Patrol on I-75.” And then the valet looked at me. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but…it was your Ferrari they took.”
Trey’s eyes flashed fire. “What?”
Chapter Fifty-one
The valet’s eyes widened. “Their Jaguar was stolen, sir. So they took Ms. Randolph’s car.”
Trey reached for keys in a pocket that wasn’t there because his jacket wasn’t there. He took a deep breath and let it out. The valet took a step back, but he didn’t drop his eyes.
“All the other keys were locked up, sir. But you left your jacket on the chair when you went to intercept Mr. James, and they tried to get into the key podium, but couldn’t, and then they must have seen your jacket on the chair and—”
“Yes, I understand.” Trey’s expression was unnaturally calm. “Thank you.”
The valet sent a look my way. No dummy, this guy. He’d figured out we were sitting on a powder keg, and not just because Quint and Portia were making like the Adairsville version of Bonnie and Clyde. Trey was dealing with a mess of his own making. He’d come running to my cabin in knight-in-shining-armor mode. Of course he’d left the jacket behind. He hated the jacket. Of course he had the keys to the Ferrari in his pocket. That was where he always kept them.
And now he was…I wasn’t sure.
I examined his features. He turned away and addressed the valet.
“Is the resort on lockdown?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Stay here with Mr. James, locks and alarms engaged. Do not answer the door under any circumstance until I have called in the all-clear, understood?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
Trey took off at a run for the check-in station. I cursed and took off after him. To my astonishment, it felt good to be running. I could feel the stress hormones feeding exertion instead of anxiety, my heart pumping fresh blood, my lungs pumping fresh air. I picked up the pace, surprised at how easily my body moved into the next gear. I felt animal. Alive. Ready for anything.
I hit the station door. He’d left it wide open, which meant he knew I was on his heels.
“Trey?”
“In here.”
I followed his voice. He stood at the bank of security monitors, scanning them. He handed me his phone without taking his eyes off the monitors.
“The Ferrari is still on the property. I activated the tracking signal.”
The red dot that was the Ferrari moved across the screen very slowly and erratically, two states I never associated with it.
“They’re definitely headed for the golf course,” I said.
“Yes, but they can’t get off the property that way. Two creeks and the lake border that end of the course. Their only exit point is through here.”
He pointed to the map of the resort. The ruins. They looked impenetrable, but beyond them lay the barn and the stables. A cut between those would take Quint and Portia through a flimsy picket fence and onto the road leading back to the interstate. And once they hit the
