CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The urgency in Callahan’s voice on the phone matched the tension Riley was feeling. Thomas Veach—or Kilkenny, as he’d once been known—had already claimed three lives in his quest for vengeance. They couldn’t let Evelyn Caldwell become the fourth.
Callahan spoke up again, “While we’ve been talking, I looked up Caldwell & Sons Construction on my office computer. Their corporate headquarters is on West Jackson Boulevard, in a high-rise her family built thirty years ago. I’ll text the direct number for their executive offices.”
“Good,” Riley replied, already moving toward their car. “We’ll call there immediately.”
“I’ll coordinate with local units,” Callahan continued, “get patrol cars heading toward her office and residence. But if she’s at neither location—”
“Then we’ll need to find her quickly,” Riley finished for him. “Send that number now.”
Ann Marie already had her phone out, thumbs hovering over the screen. “Ready when you are, Detective.”
“Sending it through,” Callahan said. “I’ll keep working the Veach angle, see if there’s anything in his background that might tell us where he’d go if he’s targeting Caldwell.”
Riley’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. “Got it. We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”
“Be careful,” Callahan warned. “If Veach is escalating, he’s becoming more dangerous.”
The call ended, and Riley met Ann Marie’s gaze over the roof of their rental car.
“Let’s go,” Riley said simply.
They slid into the vehicle, doors closing with twin thuds that seemed to punctuate the gravity of their situation.
Riley immediately dialed the number Callahan had sent, putting the call on speaker as the phone rang.
She could feel seconds ticking away until a woman’s polished and professional voice answered on the third ring, “Caldwell & Sons executive offices, Chantal Teague speaking.”
“Ms. Teague, this is Special Agent Riley Paige with the FBI,” Riley said, dispensing with pleasantries. “I need to speak with Evelyn Caldwell immediately on an urgent matter.”
There was a brief pause, then Chantal’s voice returned, slightly more cautious. “I’m afraid Ms. Caldwell isn’t available at the moment. I’m her personal assistant. May I ask what this is regarding?”
Ann Marie leaned closer to the phone. “This is Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer, also with the FBI. We have reason to believe Ms. Caldwell may be in imminent danger. It’s crucial we speak with her as soon as possible.”
The silence that followed lasted longer this time, laden with an unspoken assessment. When Chantal spoke again, her voice had lost some of its smoothness.
“Ms. Caldwell is currently on a personal retreat. She’s not reachable by phone or email.”
Riley felt her pulse quicken. “What do you mean by ‘personal retreat’?”
“Ms. Caldwell occasionally takes what she calls ‘getaways’ to disconnect completely,” Chantal explained, choosing her words carefully. “No electronics, no communications. Just her and nature. She’s very strict about it—total isolation.”
“When did she leave for this getaway?” Riley asked, exchanging a glance with Ann Marie.
“Just short while ago.” Chantal replied, “But she scheduled this ‘getaway’ a couple of weeks ago.”
Riley pressed her fingers against her temple.
“Ms. Teague, we need to know exactly where Ms. Caldwell has gone,” Riley said with all the authority she could muster. “This is not a request. Her life might be at stake.”
The line went quiet, save for the soft sound of Chantal’s breathing. When she finally responded, suspicion had crept into her tone.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t simply give out that information. The location of Ms. Caldwell’s retreat is known to only a handful of people. It’s her private sanctuary.”
“Ms. Teague—Chantal,” Riley tried again, fighting to keep frustration from her voice. “Three women have been murdered in the past three days. We have evidence suggesting Evelyn Caldwell is the killer’s next target.”
“I—” Chantal faltered. “How do I know you’re really FBI agents? You could be the very people trying to harm her.”
The question was perfectly reasonable and yet maddening in the face of their urgent need for information. Riley opened her mouth to respond, then paused, recognizing that her growing impatience might only reinforce Chantal’s suspicions.
Instead, she turned to Ann Marie. “Agent Esmer, perhaps you could address Ms. Teague’s concerns?”
Ann Marie understood what Riley needed.
“Chantal,” she began, her voice softer, gentler than Riley’s had been. “Your question is absolutely reasonable. In your position, I’d be asking the same thing. You’re trying to protect your employer, and that’s commendable.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Chantal said, sounding marginally less defensive. “But I still need some verification.”
“Of course,” Ann Marie agreed. “I’d be happy to text you a photo of my FBI credentials right now. Would that help?”
“Yes,” Chantal said after a moment’s consideration. “That would be a start.”
“What’s your mobile number?” Ann Marie asked, her tone conversational, as if they were simply colleagues working through a minor logistical issue rather than racing against a potential killer.
Chantal provided her number, and Ann Marie quickly took a photo of her badge, holding it next to her face for added verification, then sent the image. She and Riley waited in tense silence.
“I received it,” Chantal confirmed after a moment. “The credentials look authentic.”
“They are,” Ann Marie assured her. “And I understand that even with that verification, sharing Ms. Caldwell’s location feels like a violation of trust. But imagine how you would feel if something happened to her because we couldn’t reach her in time.”
The line went quiet again, the only sound the soft hum of the car’s air conditioning. Riley found herself holding her breath, willing Chantal to trust them.
“I suppose you could also call Detective Lieutenant Callahan at the Chicago Police Department,” Ann Marie suggested when the silence stretched too long. “He’s working with us on this case and can confirm our identities.”
“No,” Chantal said finally, resignation in her voice. “No, that won’t be necessary. I believe you. And if Ms. Caldwell is truly in danger...” She took a deep breath. “She’s gone to a place called Whispering Spirits Cabin. It’s been in her family a long time.”
Riley felt a surge of relief, followed by a renewed sense of urgency. “Can you tell us where this cabin is located?”
“It’s about two hours outside Chicago, in a wooded area near Lake Cartwright,” Chantal explained. “The family acquired it during Prohibition. From what Ms. Caldwell has told me, it was used for illicit parties back then—a place where Chicago’s elite could drink freely away from prying eyes.”
The connection to Prohibition sent a chill through Riley. Given Thomas Veach’s family history with bootlegging, such a place would likely be known to him. Striking someone there could hold a particular significance—perhaps even a poetic justice in his twisted mind.
“Does the cabin have security systems?” Ann Marie asked.
“No,” Chantal admitted. “That’s part of its appeal for Ms. Caldwell. It’s completely off-grid—no internet, minimal electricity from a generator, no electronic security. She values the privacy, the disconnection from modern life.”
“And who knows about this cabin?” Riley pressed.
“Very few people,” Chantal said. “Myself, obviously. A handful of people in Ms. Caldwell’s inner circle. And a maintenance team that keeps the place in order between her visits.”
Riley’s mind added another name to that list: Thomas Veach. With his methodical approach to targeting the women connected to Triad Ventures, it seemed almost certain he would have uncovered this connection.
“Chantal, how long ago did you say Ms. Caldwell left for the cabin?” Riley asked, already calculating distances and timing in her head.
“She left less than half an hour ago,” Chantal repeated. “She drove herself. She always does when she goes there—part of the whole solitary experience.”
“So she hasn’t arrived yet,” Ann Marie noted, catching Riley’s eye meaningfully.
“No,” Chantal confirmed. “It’s about a two-hour drive.”
“We need exact directions to this cabin,” Riley said. “Can you send those to Agent Esmer’s phone?”
There was another brief hesitation before Chantal replied. “I have a map I can send you. Ms. Caldwell had it prepared for the maintenance team. It shows the exact location and the access roads.”
“That would be perfect,” Ann Marie said warmly. “You’re doing the right thing, Chantal. You may very well be saving Ms. Caldwell’s life today.”
“I hope so,” Chantal said, her voice smaller now, the professional polish giving way to genuine concern. “She’s... she’s not just my boss. She’s been a mentor to me.”
“We understand,” Ann Marie assured her. “And we’ll do everything in our power to ensure her safety.”
While they finished the call, Riley’s mind was already plotting the fastest route, considering what resources they might need.
Thomas Veach had proven himself to be methodical, patient, and utterly determined.
If he was indeed targeting Evelyn Caldwell, he would have planned this final kill with the same attention to detail as the others.
Ann Marie’s phone pinged with an incoming message. “Got it,” she confirmed, examining the map Chantal had sent. “Detailed directions and landmarks. The cabin is quite isolated.”
“Thank you, Chantal,” Riley said. “We’re heading there now. If Ms. Caldwell contacts you for any reason while en route, please tell her to go to a public place immediately and call the police. She should not return to the cabin.”
“I understand,” Chantal replied solemnly. “Please, find her. Keep her safe.”
The call ended, and Riley immediately put the car in drive, pulling away from the curb with a sense of desperate urgency. The map on Ann Marie’s phone showed their destination—a remote spot nestled among trees, accessible only by a private road that wound through dense forest.
“If we push it, we might be able to get there in under two hours,” Riley said, mentally calculating the fastest route out of the city. “But Veach could already be ahead of us.”
“Especially if he knew about the cabin beforehand,” Ann Marie agreed, her expression grim. “Given his research into his victims, that’s likely.”
“We need to let Callahan know,” Riley said, accelerating through a yellow light. “We need to coordinate our plans with him.”
Ann Marie was already reaching for her phone. “I’ll call him now.”
As the city began to give way to suburbs around them, Riley felt the familiar tightness in her chest that came with knowing a life hung in the balance. They were racing against time itself.