Page 19 of The Perfect Hosts
“You’ll see,” Dalton says as he begins to walk away. “The Drakes and people like them own more than land around here. Just you wait.”
Jamie steps out of the hospital into the dark parking lot and jogs to his car. Once inside he glances at his watch. Almost six o’clock. He needs to call Greta, who he’s banking on being in the office even though the sun isn’t up yet.
“Jamie,” she says, picking up on the first ring.
“Greta,” he responds. “First one in the office?” As the intelligence research specialist, she is their go-to person for, among other things, digging through massive amounts of data and information in databases, public records, and open-source intelligence to assist in investigations.
“Always,” Greta says. “I’m actually already on cup of coffee number two. What do you need?”
“Can you look up anything you can find on Dalton Monaghan of Nightjar?” Jamie asks as he presses the car’s ignition and flips on the windshield wipers. “I’m specifically looking for any arrest records, employment records, anything that might indicate familiarity with explosive devices.”
“That’s a tall order for six in the morning.” Greta chuckles, but already he can hear her fingers tapping the keyboard. “But I can tell you right now that your Dalton is forty years old and a wind turbine technician,” Greta recites. “Grew up in Ohio, moved to Nightjar about nine years ago with his wife, Johanna. This is interesting. He’s been arrested three times as an adultand once as a minor. All in the state of Ohio. The minor record is sealed, but it looks like he was arrested once for trespassing, once for drunk and disorderly, and once for assault.”
“Who was the victim?” Jamie asks, snapping on his seat belt.
“Someone named Zeke Hollinger. Monaghan also pressed charges against him. Looks like it was a bar fight. Both sets of charges were eventually dropped,” Greta explains.
“Well, it proves this guy has a temper,” Jamie says. “Anything else?” There’s more key tapping. Through the rain, Jamie sees a figure moving through the parking lot. Dalton Monaghan. He unlocks his car door and climbs inside.
“Looks like Monaghan was trained as a combat engineer in the army back in the early 2000s,” Greta says.
“So he would have plenty of experience with explosives,” Jamie muses, his eyes still on Dalton, who now has both hands on his steering wheel and drops his head.
“Not really. He never got much of a chance,” Greta says. “He was injured in a training exercise and blew out his knee. Had surgery and ended up working as a recruiter in Cleveland for a few years.”
“But he has the skills,” Jamie says. “He would have learned how to use explosives to clear minefields and pathways, demolish buildings.”
Jamie watches as Dalton lifts his head and abruptly slams the palm against the dashboard before putting his car into Drive and speeding from the parking lot.
“Looks like you have your first suspect,” Greta says. “It really is always the husband, isn’t it?”
Chapter 8
Lucy
Lucy looks out the passenger-side window of Trent’s pickup trying to see the craggy landscape through the rain-splattered glass. She can feel the heat of his gaze as it flicks back and forth from the road to her face. Lucy is grateful for the dark.
Trent is driving with one hand on the steering wheel while fumbling with his phone with the other, and a harsh trill fills the cab before Wes’s voice interrupts the ringing.“This is Wes. You know what to do.”
“Wes,” Trent says, “I just heard what happened. I hope you and Madeline are okay. I’m on my way and will be at the ranch in about twenty minutes. Let me know what you need.”
He disconnects and then makes another call. This time it goes straight to voicemail, and Lucy hears her sister’s voice for the first time in a month.“You’ve reached Madeline. I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
“Hey, Madeline,” Trent says, and Lucy is surprised at his shift in tone. From businesslike to—what?—gentler, more familiar? “I can’t believe this. God, I hope you and the baby are okay. Give me a call, okay? And don’t worry about the horses and Pip. I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.” He disconnects.
Interesting, Lucy thinks. Perfect little Madeline and theranch hand. This could be much more fun than she thought, or maybe it would just complicate things.
“So you’re Madeline’s sister?” Trent finally says.
She could feign sleep, but he wouldn’t buy it. Who could sleep after they’ve learned their pregnant sister may have been blown up in an explosion? Only a monster could do that.
“Stepsister,” Lucy says. Her breath leaves a ghostly sheen of condensation across the window. “Her mom married my dad when we were kids. We grew up together.”
“I guess I’m surprised you’re here,” Trent says. “Madeline said you had quite the falling-out last time she was home.”
Lucy shrugs and drags one finger across the glass drawing a fat heart. “And I guess I’m surprised your sheriff dad didn’t haul your ass off to jail for drunk driving tonight.”
“I only drank the first shot, you idiot,” Trent says with a laugh. “Then I told the bartender to switch to Coke. And besides, I could say the same about you. You matched me drink for drink.”