Not allowing himself to dwell on the evidence of marital domesticity, he rapidly looked through the drawers of her night table. A hardcover fiction book, a paperback travel book on Norway, a box of personalized stationery in the name of Talia Shafer. Not Ford. That gave him a small sense of satisfaction.

The drawers contained nothing remarkable or intensely personal. Thank God. He couldn’t have borne that. But maybe Jasper kept the sex toys in his nightstand.

Drex moved to that side of the bed and opened the drawers one by one. He didn’t find items used for sexual enhancement or kinky bedroom antics. He didn’t find anything. Nothing. Nada. The drawers were empty. He tapped on the back of the piece to see if it was false. It seemed solid, and the inside dimensions of the drawer matched those of the outside.

He looked under the bed. No doubt Jasper would find that highly amusing. There was nothing there.

Next he went to a chest of drawers. The first drawer he opened attested that it was Jasper’s. Undershorts—an expensive name brand—were folded and lined up in rows that a seasoned valet would have been challenged to match in terms of straightness. The sock drawer was the same. In one drawer, the arrangement of silk pocket handkerchiefs looked like a canvas of modern art.

Drex was tempted to upend each drawer on the floor, if for no other reason than to make a mess in Jasper’s pristine environment. He decided to wait until he had finished his overview, but damned if he wasn’t going to start with this drawer of fancy hankies.

Jasper’s closet looked like a men’s store on Rodeo Drive. Impeccable. Every garment was perfectly hung with an inch of space in between. Shirts, pants, jackets were grouped by color. His shoes were aligned as though he’d used a ruler to make sure the toes didn’t extend beyond the edge of the shelf.

Had Jasper arranged everything with such precision so he would know if somebody had touched his things?

Drex was pondering that when his cell phone vibrated, startling him and causing him to jump. He pulled the phone from his jeans pocket and answered in an unnecessary whisper. It was Gif.

“They didn’t show.”

“What?”

“They didn’t show.”

“What’s that mean?”

Gif made a sound of impatience. “They didn’t check in or go through security.”

“You must have missed them.”

“No, I didn’t. Security is in plain sight.”

“But I saw him drive into the garage.”

“That may be, but they’re not on that flight. I pretended to be running late and asked a ticket agent if I had time to make it. She told me the door of the plane had already been closed. It’s probably taxiing as we speak.”

Drex checked his watch and figured that Gif was right. His mind was careening, trying to process this. “Talia’s in the travel industry. She must have some kind of escort service that bypasses regular security.”

“I guess that’s possible.”

“What else could it be?”

“Private plane?” Gif ventured.

“They wouldn’t have used public parking.”

“Right.”

“Can you get to the garage, check to see if their car is still there?”

“Sure, but it’ll take me a minute.”

“Stay on the line.”

“Okay. But, Drex, if they changed their minds and are on their way home, you’ve got to get out of there.”

“Way ahead of you.” He pulled the double doors closed as he left the bedroom and hit the staircase at a run. The gloaming had turned darker but he was disinclined to turn on his flashlight. The flashlight on loan from Jasper.

Gif asked, “Have you disturbed anything?”

“No, I was saving that. Are you at the garage yet?”

Gif was puffing. “Almost. What’s he drive?”

“Black Mercedes SUV. Shit!”

“What was that?”

“I bumped into a corner of the dining table. Why would they have changed their minds? Goddammit! I thought I’d have days of free access to this house.”

Gif was growing shorter of breath. “Plans made on short notice get changed, canceled.”

“But they were talking about it this morning. The weather forecast for Atlanta. What they should pack. How casual or dressy did they want to be. They went on for a full five minutes about—”

“Okay, I’m in the garage. Which way?”

Drex had come to a dead standstill in the center of the kitchen and repeated in his head what he’d heard himself say.

“Drex? When he turned in, did he go left or right?”

“They talked about the trip. At length. Both last night and this morning.”

He pivoted toward the stove. After a second’s hesitation, he went over to it and stuck his fingers in the narrow crack between it and the cabinetry where he’d placed the tiny transmitter while waxing poetic about the best way to cook corn on the cob.

It wasn’t there.

He fell back a step, took several breaths, tried again, wedging his fingers in as far as they would go, but he knew where he had attached the bug, and it wasn’t there.

“Drex!” Gif shouted in his hear. “Left or right?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to find their car.”

“What? Why?”

“Hold on.” He walked over to the spot where he had let Jasper catch him crouched in front of the cabinetry. He knelt down now and ran his hand along the baseboard.

And came up with the transmitter.

“Drex? Are you out of there yet? What is going on?”

“Jasper moved the transmitter.”

“What? He couldn’t have. He didn’t know where it was.”

“He found it. And, as an inside joke, he put it right where I had pretended to hide it that night.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “We overheard exactly what they wanted us to hear.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“In spades,” Drex said. “We’ve been played.”

Chapter 18

Gif was yelling in his ear, being a hard-ass coach, drilling him. “Get out of that house. Vacate the apartment, too. Hurry.”

He’d needed the drilling to knock him out of the momentary stupor he’d lapsed into upon realizing that he’d been duped.

“I’ll be in touch.”

He disconnected. With Gif’s urgent instructions ringing in his ear, he launched himself off the floor. On his way out, he reset the alarm and locked the back door, leaving both as they’d been. He straightened the lock on the screen door so one couldn’t tell simply by looking that it was damaged.

Then he ran like hell to the garage apartment. Precipitation had made the stairs treacherous, but he charged up them and into the apartment. No sooner had he closed the door behind himself than he heard the siren.

“You have got to be fucking kidding!”

He stood in the center of the room, heart booming, lungs laboring, mentally shuffling through options and discarding them until he was down to only one.

In a flurry of motion, he felt for the wall switch behind him and flipped on the overhead light. Blinking against the sudden brightness, he peeled off the latex gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of his windbreaker, exchanging them for his pistol. He shucked the windbreaker and threw it aside where it landed carelessly in the ratty easy chair.