Chapter 5
A short time later
“I know it looks like a dump, but that’s only on the outside.” Griff fitted a key into the lock and opened the building’s front door. “That’s why Hank Patterson bought it.”
Elaine stared after the departing vehicle. “Where is Patrick going?”
“Probably running an errand for Hank,” Griff said. “He’ll be back shortly.”
“And this is BP’s safehouse?” Elaine asked. The building’s red-brick fa?ade needed scrubbing. So did the windows. The two other buildings by this one and tucked into this almost hidden corner of Knoxville were every bit as bad, but they looked vaguely familiar. “Wait a moment. Are these the old warehouses belonging to the Taylor Family who owned one of Knoxville’s first coffee roasting companies?”
“You got it,” Griff said unlocking the door. “The warehouse is closer to the river, but the company was left to three maiden sisters by their father sometime after the Civil War. They each wanted their own office, so they had these built so they could keep out of each other’s way but close enough to share the day-to-day business. Their heirs eventually sold the company and the buildings.
“Is Mr. Patterson familiar with Knoxville?” she asked as they stepped into the surprisingly well-lit and clean hallway. “Who told him about this place?”
“Surprise number one.” Griff locked the door behind them. “I did. Or rather my Aunt Sally did. She’s one of the best realtors in Knoxville and was overjoyed to get this property off her hands right before the holidays. Especially for what Hank offered to pay. He’s still trying to buy the other one, but the third one was already sold.”
“Sounds good,” Elaine admitted. “Does BP use this entire building?”
“Not quite,” Griff said, leading them down a long corridor to an elevator. “The first and second floors are just dummy offices to look as if there are other businesses here in case someone manages to break in. BP uses the top three floors. We’re fully wired with cameras, motion detectors and by the first of the year, we’ll have palm print recognition for the doors. Living quarters are on the fifth floor, security and computer labs on the third and fourth.”
The light over the elevator flashed, and its double doors whispered open. Inside, a motor hummed beneath Elaine’s feet and seconds later they stepped out into a small foyer-like area. With another key, Griff opened a door facing the elevator and gestured for Elaine to enter. “Ladies, first.”
“Wow,” Elaine whispered. The understated luxury of the living area, decorated in rich jewel tones of cobalt and plum, gave the room a cool but welcoming vibe. It was big enough to seat many, but still felt inviting and intimate. “Someone has really good taste.”
“It is nice,” Griff agreed. “And this suite takes up the entire fifth floor. Is that your suitcase over by the hallway door?”
“It is. Would Anne have brought it and left it or did someone else bring it up?” Elaine was ashamed of the wobble in her voice. “I mean, can anyone else get in here without you knowing it?”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Griff’s touch on her trembling shoulders was gentle and comforting. “We got real live people downstair, watching the entrances all the time. Ain’t no way anyone can get in here without us knowing about it and having a special key. Either Anne brought it in, or security did.” His slate blue gaze was calming. “This building is so secured the Pentagon is jealous. I promise no one’s going to get in and hurt you.”
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t mean to be so jumpy.”
“For someone who was attacked today, you’re remarkably calm,” Griff said, lowering his hands. “But text Anne if you want to be sure. Do you need help with your suitcase?”
“It’s on wheels,” Elaine said. “And I’ll text Anne. Unless we have something to do, I could use a hot shower and a hotter cup of tea. Which room is mine?”
“Whichever one you chose,” Griff said. “There are five of them, two with their own bathrooms, and two that share one. I’m bunking there. The last one has an actual bathtub if you want to have a good soak.”
Elaine ran a hand over her hair. “A shower will suit me just fine.”
“Then I’ll make the tea,” Griff said. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” Elaine admitted. “Considering everything that’s happened today, does that sound weird?”
“Not at all.” Griff took off his jacket and put it over the back of a nearby chair. “With all the adrenalin that must have been surging through you today, I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed from exhaustion, let alone hunger.”
“Hey, I fought off my attacker with a hatpin,” Elaine scolded. “I’m tougher than I look. Don’t let that lacy dress and fancy hat I was wearing fool you.”
“I stand corrected.” Griff gave her a grin. “Take your time with your shower. I made a casserole this morning and just need to warm it up to go along with the salad I’m going to make. Hank always makes sure the fridge, cabinets and bar are well stocked no matter where BP sets up camp.”
“Sounds good to me,” Elaine agreed. A need for some privacy swept over her. Except for the few moments alone in Mother Winnifred’s office and those in the convent dormitory, she and Griff Tyler had been together since they met.
Pulling the suitcase, she chose the third bedroom for its pale-yellow walls and robin-egg blue accents. The shower box was huge, big enough for two and Elaine’s cheeks burned as an uninvited image of Griff Tyler without his neat trousers, button-down shirt and well-tailored jacket slammed into her imagination. She really needed that cup of tea.
Fifteen minutes later, after a good scrub and shampoo, Elaine dried off with an oversize towel and pulled on jeans and a sweater. The carpet’s soft depth was a pleasure to her feet, and she left off her shoes and socks just to feel the silken fibers against her skin. She finger-combed her hair, too hungry to use the hair dryer. She checked her messages and found Anne had indeed, left her suitcase with the security team. Guess dating a Brotherhood Protector had its advantages.
She found Griff in the kitchen, tossing a salad. The aroma of onions and mushrooms wafted from the oven and Elaine realized just how hungry she was. The table in the dining area was already set with cloth napkins and a lit jar candle. “The table looks nice,” she commented. “And something smells wonderful.”
“My dad always insisted we set down to a well-set table,” Griff told her. “Even if we were only having grilled cheese sandwiches and soup, he said it makes for nice conversation.” He poured a cup of tea from the pot on the counter and handed it to her. “It’s his casserole recipe you’re smelling.”
“I can hardly wait,” Elaine said. She took a long, grateful sip of tea and sighed in contentment. “Tea makes everything seem more civilized; don’t you think?”
“Sounds like something Jane Austen would say.” Griff poured his own cup. “The casserole will take a few more minutes, so let’s touch base with Hank Patterson about today’s events.”
“The table is only set for two,” Elaine commented. “Is Patrick not joining us?”
“He sent me a text while I was in the shower,” Griff told her. “His errand for Hank is taking longer than he thought and isn’t sure how long he’ll be gone. So, it’s just us.”
The office was almost as large as the living room, the computer system breathtaking. Elaine recalled Anne’s praise for Griff’s expertise with all things IT as he slid into a chair and switched on the system. She sat in the chair beside him, putting her cup a safe distance from anything that looked important. The screen flashed and Hank Patterson’s image appeared. “Good evening,” he greeted. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Prescott. Are you settled in?”
“Yes, thank you,” Elaine said. “My room is lovely.”
“Is Griff taking care of you?” Patterson’s eyes held a definite twinkle.
“That depends on how you look at it,” Griff said, and described the day’s events. “Elaine got a good luck at her attacker and was able to describe him to the police sketch artist,” he finished. “But this never would have happened if I’d followed her into Mother Winnifred’s office.”
“Oh, hush,” Elaine scolded. “The church was open to the public so anyone could have slipped in during the service. Like Mother Winnifred said, it’s not your fault.”
But to her amazement, Hank Patterson was laughing. Laughing hard. “I’d give a week’s salary to have seen that,” he gasped. “A woman in a Victorian dress brandishing a hatpin like an Olympic fencer. When word of it gets to the street, that guy won’t be able to show his face for a while, even if you did slice it open.”
“I did mark him pretty well,” Elaine agreed with a laugh. “But don’t blame Griff for this. If I’d thought for a moment Big Daddy would try something at Sister Bernie’s memorial, I would have taken Griff with me.”
“Big Daddy knows no shame,” Hank said. “And no blame to Griff.”
Relieved Hank didn’t think he’d screwed up his first day on this job, Griff said, “Miller is sending the artist’s sketch to all precincts. They’ll be watching for him.”
“He’s probably gone to ground by now,” Hank replied. “Big Daddy will not risk another failure. But we can’t make the mistake of being unaware even for a minute. Which is why I sent Patrick Danton to join you. An extra pair of eyes is going to be needed, like you were for Mac and Anne, and you’ll need a driver.”
“I’ve known about Big Daddy for years.” Hands suddenly cold, Elaine reached for her cup. Appreciating its warmth, she said, “I never thought I’d be going toe to toe with him. But then, I’ve never crossed him, either.”
“He’s a psychopath,” Hank said bluntly. “His answer to your interference is to kill you, simple as that.”
“If interfering with him might help me find my cousin Chelsea, I’ll do just about anything,” Elaine declared. “I’ve no reason to think he knows where she is, but what if he does?”
She watched the men exchange glances. “Your cousin Chelsea?” Griff repeated.
“Yeah,” Elaine said cautiously, the old sorrow threatening to break through her exhausted defenses. “My cousin Chelsea Prescott ran away with her boyfriend Martin Driscoll four years ago when she was fourteen.” She went on to describe her family’s search, her suspicions that the teens were lured away by traffickers, and to receiving postcards from Chelsea from different places over the years, including the one this past Monday. “So even though we never found a trace of them, I know at least Chelsea is alive. Her handwriting is unmistakable.”
“I’m sorry your family had to go through that.” Sympathy laced Griff’s soft reply. “Would Chelsea be eighteen now?”
“Are her parents still looking for her?” Hank added his own question.
Their concern brought tears to Elaine’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “Her birthday is Christmas Eve,” she said. “Her parents-her mom was my maternal aunt-were killed in a car accident when she was six years old. That’s why she came to live with us. Mom’s parents didn’t want anything to do with them or Chelsea because they married after Chelsea was born. My dad’s parents died twenty years ago, so my parents adopted her. We spoiled her, but she was a good kid. Hearing that Big Daddy might be bringing in girls who are underage for any reason, makes this very, very personal.”
She gripped the cup’s handle. “That was another reason why I called you. Knowing BP helped Anne Hamilton find Katie and the other kids, what did I have to lose? Maybe you can help me find Chelsea and bring her home.”
A sudden weariness and the old guilt threatened to release the tears she’d been holding back all day and she put her cup aside. “Excuse me, please.”
She managed to exit the room without running, but in the living room, her legs gave way, and she sank onto one of the loveseats, propped her elbows on its arms and wept into her hands. For Bernie. For Chelsea and Martin and all the missing, broken kids out there.
So silent was his approach, she didn’t hear Griff enter the room. His scent, something clean and strong along with that of soap enveloped her, and she felt him sit beside her. Like a lost creature seeking warmth, she turned and buried her face against his shoulder, weeping into the soft fabric of his sweater, while the slow, steady beat of his heart sang in her ears.
He didn’t say anything, just let her cry until she sat back and wiped her face with her hand. “Sorry,” she gulped.
“For crying? Don’t be silly.” He went to the kitchen, returning with a napkin. “If you ever meet my mother, please don’t tell her I didn’t have a handkerchief with me.”
His rueful expression bordered on the comic, and Eliane laughed as she put the napkin to good use. “I promise,” she said. “Moms don’t need to know everything.”
“You’ve got that right,” he agreed. “And I swear, mine always knows everything.”
“I didn’t hear you coming,” she said, tucking the napkin into her pocket.
“No shoes,” he said, pointing at his bare feet. “That carpet is the softest thing I’ve ever walked on.”
“Me too,” she whispered, enjoying the warmth flowing off him. “Are we done with our meeting?”
“Yep. Dinner any second now.”
The oven timer chimed in confirmation, and he offered her his arm. “Dinner at last. Shall we eat?”
They strolled to the kitchen, his strength pulsing through her hand, a strength that suggested this was a man who could and would keep her safe. Some of the tension she’d carried since Bernie’s death dissolved and it was with some reluctance she released his arm to sit at the table.
Over a stroganoff casserole, salad, breadsticks, and wine, Griff entertained her with stories of his family and their summer vacations in Europe. His mother was in much demand to direct theater productions and always insisted on bringing her family with her. He had an easy, relaxed charm, obviously comfortable in his skin. Elaine would bet he was that way with everyone and wondered what had led him to join Brotherhood Protectors. How odd to think they’d only met that morning.
“Something wrong?” he asked, re-filling her wine glass.
“I was just thinking,” she said slowly. “We just met this morning and so much has happened.”
His eyebrows danced up and down. “Tired of me already?”
“Don’t be silly,” she laughed. “But I am tired.”
“As you should be,” he agreed. “Why don’t you go to bed, and I’ll clear up. Is there anything you need to do tomorrow?”
“I need to meet with my supervisor,” Elaine said. “I’m not going to tell him what happened today but I’m going to ask for some more time off.”
“Do a Zoom meeting,” and she was startled by his insistent tone. “Does he know about the note on your desk?”
Elaine’s earlier apprehension returned. “No. Why?”
Concern darkened his eyes. “I’ve no doubts Big Daddy had it left there,” he answered. “And now knows the second attempt on your life failed, so he’s going to be watching you even more closely and is counting on you going to work.”
“Well-”
“And we don’t want to put anyone in your office in unnecessary danger,” he continued, his gaze pining her to her chair. “Your co-workers, or anyone with appointments scheduled for tomorrow.”
“You’re right,” she said slowly. “I’m so tired, I hadn’t thought of that. Is this your first mission for BP?”
He blinked, as if her change of subject caught him off guard. After a moment he said, “In this capacity, yes. But you know I helped Anne Hamilton and Mac last month.”
“I do,” she said. “And I thank you for your attention to detail. I’ll text Monty-he’s my boss-right now.”
She took her phone from her jean pocket and texted her request. The reply came immediately, as if he’d been waiting for it. “Done,” she said. “He’s not happy about it but agreed to meet by Zoom 8:30 tomorrow.”
“That’s that, then,” Griff said.
“That’s that,” she echoed, finishing her wine. “Up at seven?”
“Breakfast will be waiting,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile. “But in the kitchen, not in bed.”
“Of course not,” she agreed, hoping that suggestion didn’t raise any color in her cheeks. “Good night, Griff. Thanks.”
“Good night, Elaine. Sleep well.”
But it was over an hour before the day’s images stopped dancing in her head. Especially those of Griffin A. Tyler taking her gloved hand and holding her while she cried. And now wondering how it would feel to kiss him.
You’re way too tired, girlfriend. A man like that is bound to have a girlfriend somewhere. Probably more than one.
So, with that in mind, she turned off the bedside lamp and slept.