Chapter Three #2
“I first noticed it late yesterday, and it was here this morning. When I told Detective Lambert about it—during his visit this morning—we checked, and the car was gone. But I think I saw it when we arrived here a little while ago.”
His jaw tightened. “We’ll have a look when we leave, after the officer returns with your bag.”
Thankfully, the officer ducked under the yellow tape just then, Leah’s overnight bag in hand, and made her way toward them.
“Found everything you asked for,” Brant said. “You gave very good directions on where to find what you wanted. I wish my bedroom was so orderly.”
“I’m a little obsessed with organization,” Leah admitted.
Disorganization was a pet peeve of hers.
The first thing she and Isla had agreed upon when she had asked Leah to share the apartment was the necessity of organization.
They were both a little overenthusiastic when it came to everything being in its place.
But living in such a small place essentially demanded it.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Brant said with a smile.
When the officer had gone on her way, Owen said, “I’ll check with Lambert and make sure we’re clear to go.”
While he walked to the other end of the corridor where Lambert and the fire marshal remained in deep conversation, Leah remembered that she’d forgotten her cell phone charging cord.
Oh well, she’d just have to pick one up on the way to the safe house.
She wasn’t asking the officer to go back into the apartment.
A safe house. She would be staying in a safe house. How in the world had this happened? Didn’t matter how many times she asked that question, the answer was always the same: she had no idea.
When Owen returned, he nodded. “We can leave now.”
As grateful as she was to be leaving, the lingering smell of smoke and the realization of what had happened were ramping up her anxiety.
She couldn’t help feeling just a little terrified at the prospect of what might happen next.
She’d seen lots of safe houses in the movies and in television shows, but she’d never expected to be staying in one herself.
How long would she be expected to stay there?
Would there be additional costs? Her budget couldn’t take many more surprises.
Outside, she scanned the street for the black sedan. Like before, when she wanted to show someone she wasn’t imagining things, it was nowhere to be seen. But it had been there when they arrived, she was certain of it.
“I saw it,” she said, suddenly feeling defensive. She realized how she sounded but, damn it, this was ridiculous.
“I’m sure you did,” Owen said. “Unless the driver already saw what he needed to see or found what he needed to find, the one thing you can count on is that he or she will be back. We will catch him.”
His words relaxed her just a little. Her shoulders loosened, and drawing in a breath came easier. “I like that plan.”
He opened the passenger-side door of his sporty silver car and waited for her to settle in. Once he’d closed the door, he moved around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.
“Where is the safe house?” She sank deeply into the luxurious leather seats and relaxed a bit more.
“This one’s on Elm Street. It’s great. You’ll see.”
Colby Agency Safe House
East Elm Street, 6:50 p.m.
HE WASN’T WRONG when he said it was great.
Leah wasn’t sure how she would prevent her jaw from perpetually dropping. The safe house was an 1879 brownstone in the fabled historic area of East Elm. The place was truly gorgeous.
Just walking up the steps was awe inspiring.
The architecture was splendid. Inside, things only got better.
The ceilings soared, and the historic details had been carefully maintained while, at the same time, modernizing as needed.
The windows were large and allowed a tremendous amount of natural light to flood into the rooms. Beautifully maintained hardwoods and a staircase that made you want to climb up to the next floor, your fingers trailing the intricately carved railing as you went.
There were fireplaces in every room, her host explained.
All restored so meticulously. The pièce de résistance was an intimate courtyard in the back that was completely self-contained with trees and shrubs, making it at once welcoming and utterly private.
It was like being in a natural refuge miles from the city, and yet it was right here in the heart of Chicago.
“Wow, this is incredible. Like a vacation in a perfectly splendid VRBO.”
“The agency has safe houses all over. Some in town, some miles away. This one allows us to be close to the ongoing investigation and yet securely away from any trouble. Your privacy and security are our top priority.”
“And I appreciate it more than you can possibly know.” Well, if this investigation was going to test her sanity and her safety as well as decimate her finances, at least she would be living in luxury.
“I’ll take your bag to your room, and then we can see what’s in the kitchen.”
He’d insisted on carrying her bag from her building to the car and then into the brownstone. She imagined he was a real gentleman even when he wasn’t on the job. Owen Walker gave every impression of being a really nice man.
“Should I come along?”
He smiled and indicated that she should go first. “Of course. You can pick your room instead of me selecting it for you, if you’d like.”
“I imagine all the rooms are lovely,” she said as they climbed the stairs.
“They are. You’ll only need to decide if you want a street view or a lake view.”
“I think I’ll go with the lake view.” Maybe the water would calm her nerves. She could use a little serenity right now.
“Very good choice.” He flashed her another one of those smiles that made her smile back without thinking.
A new worry nudged her. This part of her current reality was suddenly feeling far too good to be true. When would the other shoe drop? She banished the thought. Clearing those haunting what-ifs from her head was the only way to hang on to some semblance of peace of mind.
The room with the best lake view was on the third floor, according to her host. The large window turned out to be French doors that opened onto a small balcony. And like he said, the view from that balcony was utterly breathtaking.
“What about you?” She turned to her host. “Where will you be sleeping?”
The notion that she would love to hear him say “with you” flashed through her sleep-deprived mind.
Not smart, Leah.
“I’ll be on the second floor, just below you. No one is getting to you without going through me first.”
If he’d meant to make her feel safe, he’d done a fantastic job. “That definitely makes me feel better.”
He deposited her bag onto the four-poster bed. “Now, let’s see what we can scrounge up for dinner.”
She didn’t mention that ramen noodles were a mainstay at her place. Owen didn’t look like an instant-meal kind of guy.
Leah loved how the staircase spiraled through the brownstone from the first floor to the top.
She could glance over the railing and see all the way to the entry hall.
It was so lovely. It really was like taking a vacation without ever leaving the city.
Isla would be jealous. They often talked about getaways in some beautiful European city.
Isla was likely the one who would eventually be able to afford an international vacation.
But this was pretty close…sort of.
The kitchen appeared to have original cabinetry—or at least something similar.
But after opening a few doors and a few drawers, Leah recognized they were new, state of the art.
The appliances were as well, but somehow the designer had found a way to bring it all together, as if every aspect was original and belonged exactly where it was, even though the house was more than a century old.
There was even a hidden microwave and pantry.
An island that looked like an old butcher’s table from a shop that once sold select meats hand-carved right in front of the customer stood in the middle of the generous room.
Though the island looked vintage, it was complete with at least one electrical outlet and a beautiful light fixture hanging above it.
“As you can see—” Owen pointed to the interior of the massive fridge “—the menu is quite extensive. We can throw together any number of entrees.”
He was right about that. Someone had stocked the fridge with a wide variety of goodies. She spotted the ready-to-bake pizza from her favorite local artisan shop. The pizzas were prepared fresh every day.
“Someone must have known I love Giovanni’s pizza.” She didn’t even care if it was veggie or meat lovers; the crust was to die for. Everything else was just icing on the cake.
“Pizza it is, then.” He reached for the package.
She scanned the contents of the fridge once more. “I can put together a salad.”
“Perfect.” Another heart-stopping smile flashed at her.
As he headed for the range, another worry poked into her head. This spending 24/7 together might not be as simple as she’d first thought. At least not until she got her mind off his smile and his…other assets. The primary problem was, she’d been dateless for far too long.
Salad, she told herself. Focus on prepping the salad.
She moved the ingredients to the island and then searched for bowls. “There is a variety of dressings. Which would you prefer?” Small talk was good. Kept her from overthinking.
“Surprise me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Truth is, I like them all.”
Handsome and easy to please. “You got it.”
The next few minutes were filled with sounds of the flames in the gas oven roaring to life and the chopping or tearing of veggies until the two bowls she had selected were brimming with lush salad. She took two plates to the dining table, then the necessary silverware and the bowls of salad.
“Wine?” she asked as she reentered the kitchen.