Chapter 37
Ace
"Fuck," I snap when I get her voicemail for the fifth time.
"Still having trouble getting a hold of her?" Hemlock asks, from behind the wheel of the SUV.
"I need you to find William Preston," I snap.
"I'm looking," Wren says, his voice coming through the speakers in the SUV.
Although we pulled Elliot Hockley from his bed in the Columbia, South Carolina hotel he was staying in, our little field trip of “tell us what you know” carried us over an hour outside of the city, something that seemed like a good idea at the time, but has done nothing but fucking stress me out since.
"His name shows up on a manifest for a flight to Washington, DC this morning," Wren says.
"So he isn't in town?" I confirm.
"Wait," Wren says, the sound of clicking keys filling the SUV.
"That's not good," Jericho mutters from the back seat as if he can predict Wren is about to give us bad news.
"It looks like he missed the flight," Wren mutters. "Motherfucker."
"Are you sure?" I growl, wishing I was behind the wheel because this vehicle would be fucking flying.
"I'm checking other means," Wren says. "It's possible he missed one flight but got on another."
"Check private, also," I urge, knowing that the family sometimes travels with other people that way.
I recall reading that and thinking how uppity it was to take private planes, although I know Cerberus has their own they use often.
"Can you get into the Preston Estate security system?"
"Sure," Wren says. "Give me a minute."
"I thought they had a closed system," Hemlock says, never taking his eyes off the road. "Did I read that in the file?"
I tilt my head, wondering how much he knows about this case. I know Kincaid wouldn't keep information from him, but I find it a little weird that he might be reading up on a case I'm working on because he feels the need to check up on me.
I shove that down. Hemlock has never treated me like he was better than me, not even after being named president of the Gatlinburg chapter of Cerberus. He has welcomed me at the cabin and treated me like an equal, and I need to get over the bias I have against him for falling in love with Zara because look where I am now.
"They do have a system," I say, "And we were told before it was closed, that it was impenetrable, but I figured if anyone could get in, it would be Wren."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, man," Wren says and I can hear the smile in his voice. "No system is really closed these days. If the system was installed ten or fifteen years ago and ran to an in-house server and recording device, then it would be, but modern technology means it goes to an app somewhere, and that means it can be hacked. I doubt they have a system that you have to go get video off a recorder. The access is clunky, and doesn't really help."
"Hurry," I urge, having changed my stance on Wren and the way he goes about finding information the second it occurred to me that Cora could possibly be in danger. "Can you drive faster?"
"I can," Hemlock says. "But I figured you'd want to make it alive."
"I'm in," Wren says, a sense of relief washing over me with the news, but my blood is still heated, an urgency rushing through my veins making me helpless having to just sit here and do nothing.
"That's it! Give Daddy the sloppy toppy!"
"That fucking bird," Jericho mutters.
"Sorry," Wren mutters.
"What have you found?" I ask, unwilling to give the fucking parrot any more attention.
"They have cameras on the front and back of the house," Wren says. "I'll have to go through the video to see what I can find, but I do have a live feed running also so I'll know if anyone shows up at the house."
"How long will it take?"
"Longer than I like," he mutters. "They have motion-activated cameras, but they also have fucking bushes in the camera's view, so it looks like it is recording continuously. Motherfucker, what's that?"
"What's what?" I growl my level of inadequacy growing by the second.
"It looks like blood on the front porch."
"What the fuck did you just say?"
I lean in closer to the audio system in the SUV as if it'll help me understand better.
"Blood," Wren says. "Give me a second. Shit."
"Shit, what?"
"Calm down," Jericho says. "Hockley is no longer an issue. She's safe."
"Why is there blood, Wren?" I ask, ignoring the man in the backseat.
"William Preston caught another flight an hour after his original one. He's in DC," Wren says .
"Why is there blood on the fucking front porch!" I scream, wanting to punch Jericho when I feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder.
I shrug it off, incapable of staying calm the way he's urging me to.
"She left with Christopher Preston. She was covered in blood."
"What happened?" I prod.
"I can't tell if she's hurt. She seems to be walking stiffly. She's terrified," Wren says, making my gut clench with worry.
"Hemlock," I say, my throat threatening to seize.
"I'm on it," the man says, the SUV growling as he presses down harder on the accelerator.
"I've already contacted local police and they're sending units to the house," Wren says. "They left in her car. There are no reports of them going to the police. It's been an hour since they left the house."
"That doesn't make sense," Jericho says, always fucking helpful.
"It does if you've been involved in something terrible and you have to worry about the media as much as you do the police," Wren says. "I can't count the number of times we get a call for Quinten's help before they ever think to call the police."
"Quinten's your fixer, right?" Jericho asks.
"That's right. I can mobilize him to South Carolina if you need him," Wren offers.
"We'll handle this," Hemlock says before I can get the words out of my mouth.
"Kincaid says he's sending a chopper in case we need it," Jericho says. "He just texted."
I don't know how much time we're wasting by heading to the Preston Estate, but we have no further recourse until we get additional information .
The miles seem to grow longer as we all sit in silence for some of the longest moments of my life.
"Units are three minutes out," Wren says. "Entry will be slow because they don't know what they're going to be facing."
Three minutes seem to take days.
"Do you think William went after her and she had to kill him?" Jericho asks.
"Did you miss the part where Wren said he was in DC?" Hemlock says, only lifting his eyes to the rearview mirror for a second to glare at the man. "This isn't a time for fucking speculation."
From the corner of my eye, I see Jericho lift his hands as if apologizing.
"No," Wren says. "He's got a point. William has had enough time since the flight landed to drive back to South Carolina or even catch another mode of transportation. His phone is pinging DC, but he could've left it there to try and create an alibi."
"Men who hire hitmen aren't exactly known for having the guts to kill someone themselves," I say, knowing from experience that it takes a fit of rage for most people to follow through with murder. It's a special person who can think about doing it and plan it out and then take care of business. As much murder as there is in the world, most people just don't have it in them if they aren't threatened or protecting someone they love.
"That's true," Wren agrees. "But I'm still checking. From my end, it looks like he'sstill on Capitol Hill but all I can track is his phone."
"Any updates on the police?"
"I'm watching their body cam feeds right now," Wren says.
"They gave you access to their feeds?" Jericho asks, his voice filled with disbelief .
"I have access to their feeds," Wren counters, and that part of me that should argue it's against the law stays silent because legality is no longer a concern for me, but I am aware enough for my brain to remind me that this is exactly why it's so fucking dangerous to get tangled up with someone on such an emotional level.
"They're going through the front door. Blood in the foyer, footprints, not pools of blood like from an active wound. From seeing Cora leave the front door, I'm guessing it's hers."
"Her blood?" I snap.
"Her footprints," he corrects. "There's a deceased elderly woman in the kitchen with an apparent knife wound to the chest."
"Faye," I whisper.
Several more minutes go by before Wren confirms that the house is clear, but police are working on checking all the rest of the property.
"Fuck," he mutters a few minutes later.
"What?" I growl.
Why does this motherfucker always lead with that sort of shit instead of just giving us information when he finds it?
"Christopher Preston was there before she got home carrying her groceries inside. He arrived ten minutes after she left the house."
"Faye was found in the kitchen," I mutter.
"No way she would've missed that before leaving the house," Jericho says, speaking my thoughts out loud.
"Motherfucker," Hemlock growls. "We were thinking of the wrong fucking brother."