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Chantelle says, “If they were in WITSEC, the marshals won’t tell us jack.”
“Will they clue in the FBI?” Poppy can understand WITSEC not sharing information with state and local law enforcement, but wouldn’t they brief one of their own?
“I’d be surprised. They’ve never lost a witness for a reason: They trust no one.”
Poppy feels a stab of worry when her phone vibrates in her pocket since it could be a call about her father. Poppy flicks the device.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Poppy, I’m sorry to bother you.” It’s Margaret from the office. Something must be wrong for her to call so late.
“No worries. Is everything okay?”
“I never heard from the sheriff today. It’s not like him. I contacted the assisted living facility where his wife lives, and he hasn’t been there all day. I wondered if you’ve heard from him?”
“I’ve been at KBI working the Alison Lane case, and haven’t heard. But I usually don’t… Did you check with Kyle?”
“No one’s seen him. I’m not sure what to do.”
“Has anyone gone to his house, done a wellness check?”
“I drove by, but no one answered the door.”
Poppy feels unsettled, a tingle of apprehension at the base of her neck. “I’m sure everything’s fine. We’re about done here, so I’ll stop by the hospital to see if he’s there with my dad, and if not, I’ll stop by his house.”
Margaret lets out a loud sigh of relief. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.”
Ten minutes later, Chantelle walks to the parking lot with Poppy. The outdoor lot is nearly empty with only scattered light from a few lampposts. “Sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“Nah, it’s late. I’ve got it. The sheriff is probably at the hospital. He was buds with my father.”
When they reach Poppy’s car, they linger there a long moment.
“I really don’t mind coming,” Chantelle says.
“I’ve got it,” Poppy says. “I’ll call you tomorrow…” She hesitates. “About the case stuff.”
Chantelle nods, then waits as Poppy gets into the Ford Escort. Poppy watches as Chantelle walks across the shadowy lot to the employee section and gets inside her car. Before heading back to Leavenworth, Poppy checks her phone to see if there are any updates on her father or the sheriff.
The lot is quiet, the only sound from the wind.
Until she hears the voice coming from the back seat.
67
CORDES-SUR-CIEL, FRANCE
Ryan retrieves the gun with the oversized barrel from the floor next to the bloody mess that remains of the attacker. He unscrews the barrel, a silencer he presumes, jams it in his pocket, and tucks the gun at the small of his back.
Ali seems to be in shock. She’s said nothing more since the man stopped moving. Ryan studies his body. The man’s chest is rising and falling, he’s alive.
A wail of sirens comes from the street. Ryan looks at her. “Wait here.”
He darts down the hallway to the gallery’s front door. Peering through the shades on the door’s window, he sees people on the street staring toward the main road. The distinctive sound of European emergency sirens fills the air. Ryan opens the door, looks toward the intersection. Cars are veering to the side of the main road to give way to the procession of police cars and ambulances. In the distance, Ryan sees smoke billowing in the sky. Like there’s been some kind of explosion or fire.
He goes back inside, stands in the entryway, trying to gather his thoughts. They should call the police, right? Their attacker is in bad shape, but it was self-defense. But who is he? And why is he after Ali?