Page 29 of Lethal Game

"It would have had to start there," he said. "Were there any visitors to the house before you started feeling ill?"

"I don't know. I can't remember. The last week is fuzzy in my mind."

"Let's start with your husband then," he said. "Where is he?"

"He went to see a friend."

"The name of the friend?"

"Greg Palmer," Pamela said. "I don't have his address or phone number."

"How about a city or state?"

"Um. I think it was Florida, maybe Miami. I don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly when Dan left, but he assured me he'd be back as soon as he could. And I shouldn't worry about anything."

"Unfortunately, you have a lot to worry about," he told her.

Her gaze darkened. "Not about my husband. If you're suggesting he poisoned me, you're completely off base. He loves me, and I love him. He would never hurt me."

"But he's not here, and Alisa says his phone is off. He'scompletely unreachable when you are very ill. Surely, you can see why that raises doubts about his disappearance."

"He didn't disappear; he left," Pamela said stubbornly, showing the same fighting determination he'd seen in her daughter's eyes.

"Mom," Alisa interrupted. "Jason is right. Dad is missing. And unless you can give us more details or a way to reach him, the FBI is going to look for him."

"There has to be a mistake. I couldn't have been poisoned. I don't want the FBI to get involved in this because of me."

"It's not just you, it's also me," Alisa told her mother.

Pamela's eyes filled with worry as she looked at Alisa. "What do you mean?"

"The cuts on my hand and arm, the dirt on my clothes—I was in an accident, Mom. Someone tampered with the brakes on my car. If Jason hadn't been driving, I wouldn't have survived."

"Oh, my God," Pamela whispered, her hand going to her mouth in horror. "When?"

"Today." Alisa drew in a deep breath. "I don't want to stress you out even more, but you need to know what's going on because then you'll understand why we need to find Dad. Last night, after I left your room, someone attacked me in the parking garage."

"Oh, no," Pamela said, shaking her head. "This can't be. What happened?"

"I thought he wanted my car, but he was trying to get me into the vehicle. Jason caught him and arrested him. He can't hurt me anymore, but obviously, he has friends who can. He was under arrest when someone did something to my brakes."

"This is unbelievable. You should have told me sooner, Alisa."

"I was going to tell you this morning, but you weren't doing well." She paused and drew in another breath. "There's one more thing, Mom. Jerry called me earlier."

"Jerry, my neighbor?"

"Someone set fire to your house. I haven't seen the damage, but he said it's significant."

Her mother's skin turned so white that Alisa gave the monitor a quick look, then said, "Do you want some water?"

"I—I don't know," her mother said somewhat breathlessly. "I can't believe what you're telling me. It feels like a horrible dream."

"I wish it was, Mom. The last thing I wanted to do was dump all this on you now, but your life is in danger, and so is mine. Maybe Dad's, too. We have to find him. Do you know where he is?"

"I don't," she said, her gaze moving from Alisa to him. "I'm sorry, but I don't. He didn't give me any more information. He said he'd be in touch soon, and I believe him. I don't know what else to tell you."

There was a sincerity and a fear in Pamela's eyes that suggested she was telling the truth. "Okay," he said. "I believe you, Mrs. Hunt. Let's talk about the week before you got sick. You said you don't remember visitors, but did your husband get any phone calls he seemed concerned about? Did his behavior change in any way? Was he worried? Was he home or away at unusual times? Did he take any money out of the bank?"