Page 19 of Boxed In

Once he reached the third floor, he strode down the darkened hall toward the office where he’d left his research assistant.

She should be hard at work, but he didn’t hear anything when he stepped into the outer office.

“Olivia?”

She didn’t answer. Maybe she’d gone to the ladies’ room or gone down to the canteen to get something to eat.

As soon as he pushed into the room where she’d been working, he stopped short. The office was in shambles.

The pitcher she’d unwrapped was lying in pieces on the floor, and it looked like someone had swept some of the shards under the table.

The chair at the desk was overturned. And pieces of the shipment were out of the cartons and thrown willy-nilly around the floor—along with the packing materials.

In short, it looked like a hurricane had blown through the office. Well, not a hurricane—a person or persons, desperate to find something.

The box?

Now why was that the first thing he thought of?

Carl scrambled around the room looking for the antique. It appeared to be gone.

Why—and how?

Was Olivia working for someone sinister? Was this smashup a setup designed to make him think something bad had happened to her?

He reached for the phone to call the police. Before he could dial 911, he cursed under his breath and put the receiver back in the cradle.

He couldn’t get the law involved—not if the shipment was really stolen.

So now what? Maybe Olivia was somewhere else in the building. Hiding from whoever had done this?

If so, maybe he’d better get the hell out of here before they came looking for him.

He was about to leave when he heard a noise from the doorway. Spinning around, he got ready to duck behind the table.

“Mr. Peterbalm?” The question came from a woman who worked in one of the other offices. Betty something. He didn’t remember her last name, but he’d seen Olivia talking to her.

“Yes,” he breathed. “What happened here?”

She looked around, her eyes widening as she took in the mess.

“What happened?” he repeated.

“I don’t know. I saw Olivia and Luke. They were running out of the office. They said there had been a robbery—and I should hide.”

“Luke Garner?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing here?”

“A computer problem, I assume.”

“There was a robbery? Did they call the cops?”

“They said not to.” The woman looked around nervously. “Are you going to call the police now?”

“I’d better talk to the insurance company first,” he improvised, hoping she’d buy the line.

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