“Shit,” Will muttered. “Did the owner tip him off?”
“Could be. Nico is getting close. We’ll get him. Are you at Cresson’s house?”
“Yes. We found the missing case files and other incriminating evidence.”
“I just spoke with Dillon Kincaid and he said she’ll probably have a journal or diary that will be a justification of all her actions.”
“There are deleted files on her computer they are retrieving right now. Are you going to meet me downtown later?”
“I wish I could stay for a couple more days, but I’m driving to the airport as we speak.”
“Heading back to D.C.?”
“Not yet. Three fugitives were spotted north of Salt Lake City, possibly heading to Idaho, Montana, or even crossing the border into Canada. I’m meeting up with another agent who specializes in fugitive apprehension and hopefully we’ll catch their trail.”
“I heard on the wire that there’s a major storm coming in.”
“That’s why I have to jump on the next flight. With Glenn out of the country and Cresson behind bars, I don’t know how much help I’ll be to you.”
“Who do I contact to find out how to extradite Glenn when your guy Nico finds him?”
Hans paused. “There won’t be any extradition issues. Nico will bring him back. I didn’t go through LEGAT on this. If I went through the bureaucracy, they’d still be negotiating with the local authorities and Glenn would be long gone. Trust me.”
Will understood exactly what Hans was doing, and he owed him a big one. “I appreciate it, Hans. But I’m worried about Robin. I can’t expect her to lock herself in her loft for the rest of her life.”
“I gave Nico your contact information. He’ll be in touch as soon as he has information on Glenn. The local FBI office is working with your D.A. regarding a plea agreement with Cresson.”
“It was good working with you, Hans.”
“Likewise, Detective. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Catch the other bastards.”
“You got it.”
Robin went to the art gallery Saturday after lunch to talk to Isabelle about the showing the following day. She was still running high after her night with Will. Finally, her personal and professional lives were going well. She had a man she loved-who she believed with her whole heart loved her right back-and her dream of being a professional artist was within her grasp. Her club was reopening tonight and she was offering half-price drinks to bring people in. If this night went well, the two nights she’d lost because of Theodore wouldn’t hurt her business at all.
Isabelle greeted her with a hug. She was a petite version of Snow White, Robin had always thought, with dark hair and milk white skin. Her brown eyes practically glowed, and she wore her designer clothes with flair and confidence.
“I am
“You’ve been busy,” Robin said, outwardly calm but inwardly jumping up and down.
Isabelle laughed. “Let me show you what we’ve done.”
For the next hour, Isabelle walked through the gallery and showed how they were highlighting Robin’s work with special lights and dramatic black backdrops that made the bold colors on white canvas really pop.
“I can’t thank you enough.”
“Thank me? You’re going to help me make a name for myself as a keen eye for new talent. At least that’s what I’m hoping the art critic will say when he views your work tomorrow.”
“Oh, God, I’m going to panic.” For months, this date had been so far off. But, it was actually happening tomorrow and Robin hadn’t had time to think about it because of the hell Theodore had put her through since his escape.
“You’ll be fine,” Isabelle said. “You already have fan mail.” She reached into her desk drawer and handed Robin an ivory envelope. “This came in today’s mail. You did see that big feature in the arts section of the paper on Thursday, right? I’m expecting a fantastic showing.”
“Wow. Thanks.” Robin hesitated opening it.
“Come on, don’t I get to share in the praise, too?”
She smiled. “I’m just not used to this.”
“Get used to it.”
Robin ripped open the envelope and slid out the heavy note card.
Her stomach turned sour when she recognized the handwriting.
Robin read the letter as if she were in a tunnel, everything in the periphery black. Fading.
He wasn’t gone. He knew where she lived, where she worked, where her art was shown. He would come back and hurt her, hurt people she cared about.
Dear God, why? Hadn’t she been through enough?
“Robin?” Isabelle sounded as if she were speaking from far away.
Was she supposed to be scared for the rest of her life, thinking that Glenn could come back at any time? Certainly after a few weeks the police would have more important crimes to focus on. Glenn had money and brains. He could disappear for months, years, until he felt like tormenting her. Send her a card now and again. Keep her scared. Keep her on edge. She’d never live in peace with that bastard free.
Before she realized what she’d done, she’d torn the card up in small pieces.
“No!” she shouted. “I’m not going to live in fear for the rest of my life!”
She looked at the pieces of paper in her hands and realized she’d destroyed evidence. She wasn’t thinking straight. “Do you have a manila envelope?” she asked Isabelle, her voice tight.
With a frown, Isabelle found one in her desk. Robin dropped the pieces into it, then said, “I’m sorry. It’s him. Just trying to hurt me.”
Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she called Will. “Theodore Glenn sent me a letter. Dammit, Will, when is it going to stop?”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Leaving Robin at the club, even with Mario and his team keeping an eye on her, was the hardest thing Will had done, but D.A. Stanton had called him personally to come down to the station.
