Chapter 41
Ten minutes earlier in Palm Springs, Damian led Billy, Peter, and Ben into his living room.
“May I interest anyone in a glass of Latour Corton-Charlemagne?” he asked.
“I have no idea what that is, but it sounds great,” Ben said.
“Charlemagne is a type of Chardonnay,” Peter explained.
“And you know that why?”
“Have you met my father?”
Stone Barrington was well-versed on, among other things, fine wine.
“Good point,” Ben said. “I’ll have a glass.”
“Me, too,” Peter said.
“Billy?” Damian asked.
“I’ll have to pass,” Billy said. “I have a meeting later at which I need to be clearheaded.”
“What meeting?” Peter asked as soon as Damian had gone off to fetch the wine.
“Pike Westin and Tina Martin.”
“They’re in town?” Ben asked.
“If not yet, they will be.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“No reason for Pike to ruin both of our evenings.”
“There’s a problem with Pike?” Peter asked.
“Let’s just say that if you ever consider casting him in the future, think again.”
“This is a story I want to hear.”
“Ben can fill you in later,” Billy said.
Damian returned with their drinks and took a seat.
“I won’t beat around the bush,” he said. “Your script is one of the best I’ve read in decades, maybe ever.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Peter said. “But I doubt it’s the best ever.”
“That’s for others to determine.”
“Damian is right,” Ben said. “It’s your best yet.”
“Thank you, Damian,” Peter said.
Ben cleared his throat.
“And Ben,” Peter said. “I’m glad you both liked it.”
“I can’t speak for Ben,” Damian said, “but in my case, I more than merely liked it.”
“Dare I ask if you’re interested in playing the father?”
Damian chuckled. “You are one devious man, you know that?”
“That’s not a no,” Ben said.
Billy’s phone vibrated. He checked the screen and recognized the number as belonging to the team watching Emma.
“Will you excuse me for a minute?” he asked, already rising. “I need to take this.”
“Of course.”
Billy answered as he headed toward the kitchen. “This is Billy Barnett.”
He listened as Brooks told him about Emma and Ronan’s destination and how they had been in a hurry to get there.
A thought hit him, and not a good one. Were they trying to catch Marty in the act of breaking and entering?
“Is there any other vehicle at the house?” he asked.
“Hold on.”
Things happened fast after that. A warning of trouble, followed quickly by two bangs only seconds apart. Then the line filled with a cacophony of metallic crunches and groans and bangs before the line went dead.
Billy tried calling Brooks as he raced back into the living room but was sent straight to voicemail. Peter, Ben, and Damian had stopped what they were talking about and were looking at him with concern.
“Is everything all right?” Damian asked.
“Not exactly,” Billy said. “Ben, I need your keys.”
Without hesitating, Ben tossed them to him.
“Do you need someone to come with you?” Peter asked.
“No.”
“Are you coming back?” Ben asked.
“Probably not,” Billy said, and hurried toward the door.
—
At the same time Billy heard the Strategic Services vehicle lose control, Emma and Ronan snuck across her kitchen and into the hallway.
They’d debated bringing Ari with them but had decided to leave him in the car as he would likely have alerted Marty to their presence.
Just as they reached the hall, Ronan heard an odd, distant noise.
He touched her arm and paused. “Was that thunder?” he whispered.
“Was what thunder?” she asked.
“That noise. You didn’t hear it?”
“No. Now come on. Let’s not waste time.”
They moved into the hall, which was almost pitch-black. From somewhere farther back came the sound of muffled movement.
“That I hear,” Emma whispered.
They followed the noise to her workshop entrance. One of the double doors was partially open, and through the gap they could see the dim glow of a flashlight.
Emma was about to creep in, when Marty’s voice came from inside the room. “What do we have here?”
For a moment, Ronan wondered if he was talking about them, but the voice had come from too far away.
He and Emma quietly slipped into the room and crept behind a row of cabinets. They peeked over the top.
Marty was at Emma’s workbench, under a halo of light. In his hands was the fake black box Emma had created. He was turning it around and around, much in the same way Billy had done with the real box.
“What do you do?” Marty muttered just loud enough for them to hear.
When he flipped the box again, it slipped out of his fingers and fell to the floor.
“Shit!”
He snatched it up, then looked around the room as if afraid someone had seen what he’d done. Ronan pulled Emma down just before Marty’s gaze swept across their position.
From the workbench area came the scrunch of footsteps headed their way.
Ronan held up three fingers, then counted them down. When the last finger lowered to his palm, he and Emma moved out from their cover and stood directly in front of Marty.
Marty let out a high-pitched scream and staggered back several steps. He then squinted, confused. “E-E-Emma?”
“What are you doing in my workshop?” she asked.
“Oh, um…Well…I, uh…you see—”
“What’s in the bag?” Ronan asked, his eyes flicking for a second to the cloth grocery bag in Marty’s hand.
“This?” Marty said, holding the bag tighter. “Nothing. Just some, um, personal things.”
“Show us,” Emma said.
He moved the bag behind his back. “I said it was personal.”
“So is my home. And you’re standing in it without my permission.”
“Shall I call the police now?” Ronan asked.
“Please,” Emma said.
Ronan pulled out his phone.
But before he could dial a single digit, something round and hard pressed against the base of his head.
Behind him, a male voice said, “Put the phone down.”