Page 12 of Not This Way

Wealth and power on display. The perfect setting for a political execution.

“No signs of a break-in,” Ethan said. “She must have let the killer in herself.”

“If this really was the location of the abduction.”

“You don’t think some rich lady yuckity-yuck was out strolling the oil fields, do you?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She crossed the foyer, pushing open the doors to reveal a spacious room lined with bookshelves. A heavy oak desk. Leather armchairs arranged before a fireplace, cold and dark.

“What is it?” Ethan asked at her side.

“Door was shut.”

“So?”

“None of the other doors are shut.”

“What does that mean?”

Rachel shrugged. Not everything had tomeansomething. Sometimes, a tracker’s best bet was just to spot what was unlike the other things. What was out of place.

She glanced at a large window in the back. Latched.

She frowned, moving around the table, her eyes combing the carpet. Books disheveled.

“Wait a second.”

“What?” Ethan said.

“The books.”

“I mean… I’ve read before, just not those.”

“No, I wasn’t asking if you’ve read them. They’re out of order.”

“So?”

“The rest of the bookcase. Everything is in order. But these aren’t.”

She opened the top one. A few of the pages were crumpled as if they’d been hastily shoved back into place.

She frowned, glancing at the window again. If someone had come through that way, they might have knocked the window into the stack of books, scattering them. And then in their haste, they might have returned them improperly.

She nibbled on the corner of her lip in thought and adjusted the brim of her pale hat.

Then she approached the window, took two steps, as if she had just climbed through, and went very still.

Ethan noticed her line of sight. “Oh shit,” he said.

Oh shit was right.

A shell casing lay next to the desk, hidden in shadow.

Rachel snapped on a fresh pair of gloves, crouching to get a closer look. Nine millimeter. Recently fired. She straightened, scanning the room.

Dust motes drifted through shafts of sunlight in the stillness. The heavy tang of smoke lingered, acrid and unpleasant.

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