Tracking Safety (Refuge Cove #6)

Prologue

Her passport had to be somewhere around here.

Ellie Barone retraced her steps through the apartment for the third time, checking the drawer beside the bed, the shelf in the entryway, and the small basket near the front door where miscellaneous things accumulated.

Nothing.

She only had a couple of weeks until she left with her husband, Roderick, for her vacation in Mexico, and she couldn’t find the passport anywhere.

She stood in the hallway and considered where else it might be.

Her gaze stopped on Roderick’s office. The door was open an inch, which was unusual. As a rule, he kept it shut. He kept everything about that room closed and sealed off from the rest of their life together as if it were a separate country she didn’t have a visa to visit.

It’s just my work stuff, sweetheart. Nothing that would interest you. But because of the nature of what I do, some of it is classified. That’s why it’s locked up.

Early in their marriage she’d found his mysteriousness charming.

She liked the idea of a man with a whole professional world she didn’t need to worry about.

Because until she’d married him, she’d had so much to worry about—especially things like where her rent money would come from and if she’d have enough left over for groceries.

As soon as she’d turned eighteen, her parents had made her move out and support herself. They’d said it would be good for her.

She didn’t know if it had been good. But she did know it had been rough.

After Ellie and Roderick married, he’d taken care of everything—the apartment, the finances, the dinner reservations at places that required a three-month wait. He’d even paid off her student loans.

Ellie had felt like the luckiest woman in Chicago.

Then the honeymoon had ended, and she’d started noticing things she couldn’t quite explain.

She’d noticed his mood shifts. The way conversations with his colleagues would suddenly stop when she walked into a room.

The times he’d come home in the middle of the night with split knuckles and stories about near muggings.

She hadn’t pushed for details. She’d learned by then not to push. Whenever she did, the simmering anger in his gaze made her go cold. He’d never touched her. But that look frightened her enough that she stayed in her place.

Ellie had been explaining all of it away for months. People had complicated professional lives. Roderick was a private person. She was probably reading too much into things.

Was that all true? Or was she just making excuses?

She hesitated another moment and glanced at her watch. Roderick wasn’t due home for another three hours.

It couldn’t hurt to search for her passport in his office. She just needed to stay focused and to keep Roderick’s business paperwork private. She could do that.

She pushed the door open and paused.

The room was immaculate with dark mahogany, leather chairs, and bookshelves lined with books she doubted her husband had ever read. A Persian rug covered the hardwood floor. A massive wooden desk stood at the center of the space.

Normal. Everything looked normal.

So why did she feel so nervous?

She didn’t know, but she just needed to get this over with. Being in his office was really no big deal. It shouldn’t be, at least.

She checked Roderick’s desk first—the surface then the shallow middle drawer.

No passport.

She tried the side drawers.

Pens, a phone charger, and other miscellaneous items.

Nothing useful.

She crossed to the filing cabinet and tugged at one of the drawers.

It was locked.

Ellie stared at it. She’d locked herself out of her own office filing cabinet twice in the past year. Then she’d finally let one of her colleagues show her how to pick the lock. It hadn’t been hard.

She stared at the filing cabinet another second then made a decision. Her passport had to be in there. She just wanted to know for herself.

She found a letter opener and a paperclip. Then she got to work.

Just like at the office, it only took a minute for the lock to give.

Bingo!

She began thumbing through the files, looking for something with a label that might indicate “important documents” or the like.

No folders were marked that way.

But another file caught her eye.

It was labeled Operations in Roderick’s precise handwriting.

Her curiosity spiked.

She wasn’t sure why, but she grabbed it. Everything inside her told her to stop.

Instead, she set the folder on the desk and opened it.

The first page contained a list of names. Twenty, maybe twenty-five of them, each one followed by a dollar amount. The figures were large—larger than anything that belonged in a legitimate import business. They were too round, too clean.

She didn’t recognize any of the names listed, but that didn’t mean anything. Roderick had hundreds of business contacts she’d never met.

But something about the list left her unsettled.

She turned the page.

More names and figures appeared. But these were different. They were smaller amounts and more frequent dates. They were listed in a column that looked less like payments going out and more like collections coming in.

Someone’s initials were scribbled beside several of the names.

R.B.

Roderick Barone.

She turned the page again.

An address on the south side of the city was written there. Below it, a name had been circled in red ink, and a date had been added—four weeks ago.

She turned the last page.

Photographs had been shoved at the back of the file. Eight of them, each printed on plain paper.

They were taken from a distance with a long lens. A man coming out of a restaurant. A woman unlocking a car in a parking garage. An older man walking a dog along the lakefront, caught mid-stride.

None of the people were looking at the camera. None of them knew they were being watched or photographed.

She studied the images.

These weren’t business photographs, nor were they surveillance photos from a security system or images from a corporate file.

These were pictures of ordinary people going about their ordinary lives, taken when they weren’t aware.

Out of curiosity, she pulled out her phone and typed in one of the names.

Her lungs seized when several articles popped up.

Martin Bennett . . . he’d been killed in a hit-and-run two months ago.

Was his death connected to this list somehow?

She could hardly breathe as she searched the next name.

Rick Stephens was also dead. Six months ago. Boating accident.

Her husband wasn’t running an import business, was he? Ellie had never exactly understood what that entailed. She’d chosen not to ask too many questions.

Now she could see where that might have been a lapse in judgment. What had she gotten herself into when she married this man? Who exactly had she made a commitment to?

From somewhere inside the apartment, a door closed.

Her back went ramrod straight.

Roderick . . . was he home early? No one else would just walk in. It had to be him.

Panic raced through her.

She quickly shoved the folder back into the filing cabinet and closed the drawer.

Sweat already spread across her forehead.

She couldn’t be caught in here.

She rushed toward the door. Before she reached it, Roderick appeared.

“Roderick . . . you’re home early.” She smoothed her black dress pants.

He stared at her with slow, deliberate assessment. His gaze moved from her face to the filing cabinet then back to her face.

She held her breath as she waited.

Her husband was handsome. He’d always been handsome with his dark hair, strong jaw, and a face that made people want to trust him before he’d said a word. Ellie had trusted him before he’d said a word.

Was that a mistake?

Finally, his expression settled back into something hospitable.

“My Ellie . . . I thought we agreed you shouldn’t be in here.” His voice sounded pleasant, but an edge crept beneath it.

“I was looking for my passport.” She forced her hands to remain still at her sides, desperate to sound casual. “I’ve looked everywhere else. The door was open, and I thought maybe you’d put it in here for safekeeping.”

Something flickered in his gaze. “And did you find it?”

“No.”

He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the room.

As he did, Ellie made herself remain where she was. Moving away from him might signal that she was frightened—and that she’d done something wrong.

She had to play it cool. Every instinct told her so.

“You should have called me,” Roderick said. “I would have told you where to look.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I know how busy you are at work.”

“It’s no bother.” He stopped beside the filing cabinet and casually rested one hand on top of it. “You know how I feel about the paperwork for my business, my Ellie. Some of what I deal with is sensitive. Confidential. My customers depend on me for their privacy.”

“Of course.” She held his gaze. “I wasn’t interested in your files. I was looking for my passport. Nothing else.”

He studied her again.

Keep your expression neutral. Don’t let him see your lie, your fear.

But those photos slammed into her thoughts again.

Roderick might have something to do with those people’s deaths. Her husband might be a killer.

A lump formed in her throat.

She had to make sure none of those thoughts reached her face.

Roderick stepped closer and murmured, “You’re a smart woman, Ellie. That’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you.”

She waited, sensing he had more to say. But her skin pricked in anticipation of what might come next.

“You’re smart enough to understand there are things in a man’s life that are private. Things that need to remain private. If they’re not private, then there are consequences.”

His hand closed around her wrist, and his grip tightened as his thumb brushed across her skin.

Her breath caught.

If he squeezed hard enough . . . could he crush her bone?

She didn’t know. But that’s how it felt.

He glowered at her. “Do we understand each other?”

She peered at him—at his pleasant face, his steady eyes, his smile that had charmed her across a room three years ago.