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“I’ll be careful.”
She ended the call, finished her breakfast and took a long shower before falling across the bed. She’d found the cheap mattress hard for the past month, but today it didn’t matter.
* * *
The ringing phone jolted her back to consciousness. The clock on the bedside table read five-thirty. She’d slept seven hours?
“Hello.” She stretched and cleared her throat.
“Did I wake you?” Max laughed.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“What do you want?” Heidi sat up and scanned the room. Satisfied she was alone, she leaned back onto the pillows.
“First, Sara would like you to know that if you ever do something that stupid again, she will no longer be your best friend.”
“Sara’s survived worse. I’m not worried.”
“Well, she is.”
“How does she even know about this?” Sara had been her best friend since the first night in their freshman college dorm. When she’d woken up screaming, she’d expected Sara to bolt. She wouldn’t have blamed her.
Instead, Sara had stayed. She’d kept Heidi’s secrets. She’d taught Heidi how to laugh again. And she’d made no secret that having a roommate with a traumatic past had led to her decision to make PTSD her specialty. She was now Dr. Sara Elliot, a practicing clinical psychologist who consulted frequently with the FBI, CIA and other law enforcement and intelligence agencies. Her security clearance was even higher than Uncle Frank’s.
Heidi had never understood why Sara and Max weren’t on better terms. It would make her life a lot easier if her two best friends could get along but she seemed to be the only thing they could agree on.
“She came in to see Frank about fifteen minutes after he hung up with you. He’s the one who ratted you out. Not me.”
“Well, good. That will save me some time the next time I talk to her.”
“Seriously, Z. We’re all concerned about you. The Kovacs don’t play.” Max wasn’t laughing anymore.
“I know that better than anyone.”
Max didn’t respond.
Heidi let him stew for a minute. He was worried. Sara was worried. Uncle Frank was worried. She appreciated the concern, but there was no way she’d pass up the chance to take down the Kovacs. She’d never been this close before.
“Did you have a reason for waking me up other than to fuss at me?”
“I called because I thought you might like to know a forest ranger found a burned-out Ford F-150 in the Pisgah National Forest, next county over. Matches a vehicle reported stolen on Wednesday.”
“Okay.”
“Z?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not sure this is going to be as straightforward as we’d hoped.”
“It never is.”
“You need to find out what Blake Harrison has done to tick off the Kovac family.”
“I don’t think he has any idea.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The look on his face last night. He wasn’t expecting to be run down on a rainy highway and he never imagined they’d done it on purpose. I spent the entire evening watching the family at the hospital. The dad, Jeffrey, and the sister, Caroline, were worried, but they weren’t scared.”
“They should be.”
“They will be.”
“Have you thought about how you’re going to handle letting him know what’s going on?”
“I’m hoping to catch him alone. TacOps is monitoring the place.”
“No small job.”
“Tell me about it.”
The Harrisons owned a huge swath of property. The land had been in the family for over a hundred years. The family business, Harrison Plastics International, known by everyone in the area as HPI, sat on one side of the road in the valley between two small mountains. One mountain was undeveloped and used as a recreation area for the employees of HPI. The Harrisons’ homes dotted the small mountain on the other side.
Blake’s home sat on the backside of the mountain, while his parents’ home sat in the middle overlooking the valley and the plant. Caroline’s home perched near the top of the mountain above their parents’. A gate blocked the winding driveway leading to their houses, but it wouldn’t stop anyone determined to get inside.
“Richards is leading the TacOps team,” Heidi continued.
“Good man.”
“He’s supposed to let me know if there’s a good opportunity to pay Blake Harrison a visit. If nothing comes up soon, I may just have to knock on his door.”
It was 7:28 p.m. Blake swallowed three more ibuprofen. They’d offered him a prescription for stronger pain medication before releasing him from the hospital. He’d refused. He’d seen firsthand how far prescription drugs could take someone and he didn’t want that stuff in his house again.
He tried to bend over to pull Maggie’s doll from under the couch, but his back had other ideas. The rap on the door caught him off guard and he jerked upright. Pain raced through his sore muscles as he reached for the baseball bat he’d unearthed when he’d returned home this morning.
Someone had tried to kill him last night. Not that anyone knew, but when his ex-wife’s parents had offered to take Maggie for the evening, he’d jumped at it. At age five, Maggie’s response to the idea of him being injured was to climb all over him to make sure he was in one piece. His aching back could use a night off from being her jungle gym. And anyway, she had to be safer with her grandparents than with him.
Wait. What if they’d tapped his phone? They could have been listening and that would mean they knew he was alone. If he looked through the peephole, would they shoot him?
Get a grip, man. He’d watched too many movies.
The knock came again.
“Mr. Harrison?”
He knew that voice.
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