Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 34

Devon choked down each morsel, grateful that Ca.s.sidy was there to offset the deafening silence. Other than the snippets of conversation the two of them shared, the dinner consisted of clinking china and blatant noncommunication. Edward's contribution to the meal was an occasional instruction barked at the kitchen staff. Anne sliced her food deliberately, chewing small mouthfuls and darting censuring looks at Devon. James drank more than he ate, toying with his food while lost in moody introspection. Louise slanted a.s.sessing glances from Devon to Blake and back again. As for Blake, he was seething. He'd been that way since he'd walked out of his grandfather's office. Devon was dying to hear what he'd found out. But that had to wait till they were alone.

She was beyond relieved when they finally said their good nights and drove to her mother's house.

"Tell me what happened," she said, turning to him in the car.

"Not what I expected." Succinctly, Blake laid out what his grandfather had told him.

Devon frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"You're right. It doesn't. I'm just not sure how much culpability lies directly with my grandfather, and how much lies in some cover-up for James. I keep remembering how extreme Vista's reaction was when I brought James up."

"He sounded too personally invested in James's career, that's for sure. As for what your grandfather said, it doesn't explain why Vista's trailer is so weighted down. Or why he's so paranoid. Plus, I don't buy the whole biopsies for genetic a.s.sessment. They're mating horses, not cloning them." Mentally, Devon consolidated everything Blake had said with what they'd learned from their showdown with Vista. "We've got a slew of question marks. I'd be willing to bet our answers lie behind that curtain in Vista's trailer."

"Maybe." Blake pulled into the driveway leading to Sally's house. "But you're not going to be the one finding out. My grandfather made it crystal clear that any further involvement on your part wouldn't be in your best interests."

Devon heard the hard note in Blake's tone. Her head snapped around, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized his profile. Even in the dimly lit car, she could see the muscle working in his jaw. "Did he threaten me?" she asked quietly.

"Not in so many words." Blake eased the Jag to a stop. He cut the motor and turned to face Devon. "When it comes to protecting his family, particularly James, my grandfather knows no bounds. So it's time for you to a.s.sume a low profile. I'll take it from here."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe contact the horse farm in Uruguay. Maybe go see Vista alone, and try to smooth things over. I'm a Pierson. Ultimately, my family loyalty won't be questioned. Whoever I contact will be more apt to give me information."

Devon gave a hard shake of her head. "That tactic's too pa.s.sive. We need to do something drastic, before Vista gets rid of the evidence."

"We can't beat it out of him."

"I know." Devon dragged a frustrated hand through her hair. "But we're at a dead end. I'm not getting another word out of James. Any leverage I had with him is gone. I've exhausted all my avenues. At the same time, I feel like we're this close." She held up her gloved hand, her thumb and forefinger extended with just an inch of s.p.a.ce separating them.

"So do I. Which is why I'm calling your father in the morning - as per his instructions. We'll tell him what happened. Let him call the shots."

"Fair enough." Devon blew out her breath. "Sorry if I'm short-fused. I just feel like we're in limbo. And I want this to be over."

"I know." Blake's knuckles brushed her cheek. "You're wound up. We both are." Deliberately, he shifted emotional gears. "As luck would have it, that's one problem I know how to fix."

"Really." Devon understood what he was trying to do, and she welcomed the reprieve. "What's your solution?" she asked, her lips curving slightly.

"Come inside and I'll show you."

"You're on."

MONTY s.n.a.t.c.hED UP the Bat Phone when it rang. "You're late."

"A minute and a half," Sally clarified. "That's not late."

"For you it is. Especially under these circ.u.mstances. Listen, Sal, with what's going on, I prefer your busting my chops to making me sweat."

A heartbeat of silence.

"Sorry." Monty realized how sharp he'd sounded. "I didn't mean to bite your head off. I'm just in a lousy mood." He pulled open his kitchen cabinet, banging around until he'd found a clean mug. Then he poured himself some day-old coffee and took a gulp. "I probably need some sleep."

"Don't expect to get any," Sally responded mildly. "Not unless the brew you're chugging down is decaf."

"It is. How'd you know I was drinking coffee?"

"I recognize the sounds - and the mood. So instead of apologizing, why don't you tell me why you're so riled up. Is it Devon? Did she call in with something that threw you?"

"Nope. She's still with the Piersons."

"Are you worried about her?"

"Not really. Blake's with her. Plus, no one's going to pull something stupid or reckless right out in the open. Still, I have this niggling feeling in my gut. I'm not sure why - which puts me even more on edge."

Sally didn't argue. She trusted Pete's instincts. They were rarely wrong. "So what are you going to do?"

"Stick around in case I'm needed. Distract myself by working. Review my notes. Double-check a few people on the Pierson enemy list. The usual."

"Which includes waiting for Devon to call."

"If she calls," Monty corrected. "Like I said, she's with Blake. I don't expect to hear from them till tomorrow."

"Right." Sally's tone was troubled.

"Hey, don't let that vivid imagination of yours take over." Monty berated himself for opening up his big mouth. "You know very well that I always go into overdrive when I see the end in sight."

"Is that what you see this time?"

"Yes. So take a deep breath and leave the worrying to me."

"Easier said than done."

"Maybe. But try."

"Only if you - "

"I'll call you if there's anything to tell," Monty a.s.sured her.

"Okay." Sally didn't sound convinced. "Good night, Pete."

"Sweet dreams." Monty punched off the Bat Phone and shoved it in his jeans pocket. He took another belt of coffee, staring off into s.p.a.ce and frowning.

No matter how he sugarcoated things to Sally, he was uneasy. Something was wrong.

He'd stay put until he knew what it was.

SOMETHING JARRED DEVON out of a fitful sleep.

Her eyes snapped open. For a second, she couldn't get her bearings. Then she realized she was in her mother's house, in her old bedroom. Blake's arm was draped across her, his naked body wrapped around hers.

What had awakened her?

She squirmed into a sitting position, whisking her hair off her face and groping around the nightstand until she found the lamp and switched it on.

Soft light filtered through the room, illuminating the digits on the alarm clock. Two forty.

She scanned the room. Nothing. No one.

She slipped out of bed, shrugged into her robe, and padded out of the bedroom. The hall was quiet. So were the stairs. From the landing, she could see that the front door was shut, the dead bolt thrown.

She was about to turn around and return to bed, chalking the whole thing up to her imagination, when she spied the white business envelope lying on the hardwood floor just inside the front door. Heart thumping, she made her way downstairs and over to the door to pick it up.

Inside was a single folded sheet, its message two laser-printed lines: Mind your own business. Stay away from the Piersons - all of them. Or your mother won't be the only Montgomery in danger.

Clutching the note, Devon marched forward, unlocked the front door, and threw it open.

There was no sign of anyone.

She went outside, arms wrapped around herself for warmth. She shivered, her breath coming in cold misty puffs as she scrutinized the grounds.

Deserted.

For a long moment, she stood motionless, waiting to see if there was any movement in the woods surrounding her mother's property.

The night was still.

Slowly, she made her way back inside, rereading the note as she locked the door.

"Devon?" Blake was halfway downstairs. "What's wrong?"

"This." Devon ascended the steps and handed him the page, continuing on her way to the bedroom.

"s.h.i.t," Blake muttered, reading as he followed behind her.

"Exactly." Devon sat down on the bed, drawing up her knees, resting her chin on them. "Either your grandfather's not wasting any time, or I made someone else feel cornered."

Blake gave a tight nod. "Whoever it was knows you're here. Which narrows it down to my entire family, Dr. Vista, and a chunk of the staff at Pierson & Company." He strode over, picked up the telephone, and thrust it into Devon's hand. "Call your father. Now."

Devon punched in Monty's home number.

"Yeah?" Her father answered on the second ring. His voice was rough with sleep, but his mind was already alert. Years in the Seventy-fifth had done that.

"Monty, it's me."

"I had a feeling I'd hear from you. What's up?"

She told him everything, starting with the threatening note.

"You ruffled somebody's feathers pretty bad," Monty commented. "That means you're close."

"I know. Which is why I've got to get inside Vista's trailer. We can't play this one safe. Time is against us."

"I agree. About everything except you getting into Vista's trailer. That's not happening. Have a stiff drink and go to sleep."

Devon bristled. "Don't get all paternal on me, Monty. You're the one who made me your partner in this case. Well, I'm doing my job. We don't have any evidence, so we can forget getting a warrant. And Vista's scared enough to get rid of whatever he's hiding behind that curtain."

"Yeah, but there are other considerations. My guess is whatever's back there cost a bundle and is at a critical point in development, or experimentation, or whatever the h.e.l.l Vista's doing for Edward. I agree that it's shady. That's why Edward doesn't want the workstation set up in his stables. But the research obviously means a h.e.l.luva lot to him. So Vista can't just toss his secret goodies out, not without Edward's okay. As for a warrant, you're right. It's not happening. Not without something more than instinct. So I'm moving on this now. Tonight. I'll get into the trailer before dawn, while it's deserted. Find out where Vista's staying. Ask Blake."

Devon complied. "Is Vista here in Dutchess County?" she murmured to Blake.

He nodded. "My grandfather puts him up at the Best Western."

"Did you hear that?" Devon asked into the phone.

"Yup." Monty was pulling on his clothes. "That's all I need. Go back to sleep. I'll call you later."

IT WAS FOUR thirty when Monty pulled into the dark parking lot of the Best Western motel.

He drove around to the section designated for trucks. There. Vista's trailer. Devon's description made it impossible to miss. And the rear end was definitely low to the ground.

Monty parked to a side, turned off his lights and his motor. The lot was deserted. Still, he gave it a minute or two, just to be on the safe side. When he was sure no one was around, he got out, taking his tools with him.

Collar turned up, he made his way to the trailer. He flicked on his penlight, gripping it between his teeth so the beam was aimed directly on the lock. Grabbing his tension wrench, he slid it into the keyhole and turned. Next came the pick. He yanked it out of his pocket, inserted it into the keyhole, and began lifting each pin in sequence until the last pin had fallen into position. When they were all lined up, he used the tension wrench to turn the lock.

It slid open.

He braced himself for the blare of the alarm. Once that siren started blasting, he'd have a prescribed amount of time to get in and out.

In one fluid motion, he yanked open the door.

Silence.

A wry grin tugged at Monty's lips. That was the nice thing about rural life. Everyone was so d.a.m.ned trusting.

He hopped into the trailer and shut the door.

Quickly, he darted his penlight around, orienting himself and getting a feel for the s.p.a.ce. Then he focused the light directly in front of him, keeping it low and steady as he went straight for gold.

He shoved aside the curtain, marching into the back of the trailer and peering around.

The place looked like something out of Scientific American - a compact but comprehensive molecular physiology lab. There was a variety of high-tech equipment on the counters, most of which was Greek to Monty, and a lineup of test tubes arranged near a serious-looking microscope.

Monty examined the rest of the area. It didn't take a genius to figure out why the trailer was so weighted down. Two heavy-duty freezers stood in the back corner. Beside them was a whopping uninterruptible power supply and a hefty generator thrumming rhythmically to keep the freezers running. And on the opposite wall was a thick steel file cabinet.

First, Monty went to the freezers, opening the doors and checking out what was inside. Small gla.s.s dishes, all neatly labeled and containing samples the size of pencil erasers. Puzzled, he crossed over to the file cabinet, sliding open the drawers and rifling through the manila folders, one by one.

It didn't take him long to see the pattern.