break. Stress. Any number of triggers could have set off the episode. But that doesn’t explain the hospital’s denial of your presence in their facility. These are the questions we have to consider and find explanations for.”
She contemplated his words before she spoke again. Looking directly at him, she asked, “But you’ll fix whatever it is, right?”
Patrick infused all the reassurance he could into his gaze. “You have our word we will find the problem—” he leaned forward slightly for emphasis “—and will do whatever it takes to rectify that problem, or get you to the people who can.”
Relief filled her eyes. “Thank you.”
What he suddenly felt contradicted all that he had just stated to this woman. For the first time since he’d entered Victoria’s office and learned of this assignment, Patrick had second thoughts.
Sande Williams was a complete mystery. A woman in serious trouble. Whatever demons, real or imagined, haunted her, he had promised that he would take care of her and the situation.
How the hell could he make that kind of assurance when he hadn’t even really known his own wife? He had lived with her for years and hadn’t experienced the slightest inkling that all was not as it should be. He’d failed her and he’d failed himself.
As if Windy sensed his mental retreat, she took the reins. “Ms. Williams, this is what we do at the Colby Agency, and we’re very, very good at what we do. We will find the truth and take whatever steps are necessary to resolve your dilemma. You’re in good hands.”
On cue, Patrick felt a tremor.
Maybe he wasn’t as ready for a field assignment as he’d thought.
This wasn’t a mere compilation of facts and data to be passed along to an investigator for follow through. This involved dealing directly with the people of interest in the case.
This was the real thing.
Chapter Three
2422 Johnson Lane Chicago Suburb
“Here’s how we’re going to play this.” The first part of the job would be no hardship for Patrick. He knew how to read people. “We approach—”
“Wait.” Sande looked from him to the house across the street and back. “I’m not sure about this. What if I do or say the wrong thing?”
Fifteen minutes ago she had been fully prepared to participate in this phase of the investigation. No hesitation. The plan was simple. They would approach the residence listed on her driver’s license and see if she recognized the place or anyone residing there. At the same time, he would be analyzing any occupants for recognition of his client. In and out in a matter of minutes. No big deal.
“Windy checked out the lady living here,” he offered again, in hopes of calming Sande’s fear. “She’s a CPA. Single. And she has no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. She’s lived here for three years. There’s nothing to be worried about.”
Sande cast another furtive glance at the house. “But what if she somehow knows the people who did this to me? What if she’s involved?”
Her teeth tortured her bottom lip. He’d noticed she did that when she was nervous or uncertain. The need to protect stirred in him. Not unusual in this situation. She was vulnerable, he was not. Basic human compassion dictated that primal response. He’d tried to ignore going down that path for a few years now. But compassion was a necessary element of his interaction with the client. There was no discounting it now.
Patrick gazed at the ranch-style brick home across the street from where he’d parked along the curb. “Determining whether or not the lady of the house is involved is part of what we’ll hopefully learn on this visit. Remember, we have the element of surprise on our side. She has no idea we’re coming. She won’t be prepared to cause trouble or set any sort of trap.”
He wasn’t sure he’d convinced Sande, but she hadn’t flat out refused to go inside as of yet. He wondered if she would be more willing if a woman had been here. His associate was running Sande’s fingerprints and doing additional research on the hospital where she had awakened on that gurney.
Patrick didn’t need Windy for this step. He could handle an interview without his associate’s guidance. This was his specialty. All he needed was the client’s cooperation.
“Okay.” Sande took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”
He breathed a little easier with that decision out of the way.
They crossed the street side by side. His client’s trepidation was palpable despite her determination to go through with this step. They had been watching the house for more than half an hour when the owner had come home. Since the woman had parked in the garage before emerging from her car, neither he nor Sande had been able to get a good look at her.
According to Windy’s research, the owner was Nancy Childers. Other than her occupation, the fact that she had no criminal record and that she had moved to Chicago from Detroit, they knew nothing else. She appeared to be a loner and had no listed next of kin.
The instant Patrick and Sande reached the front door of the house, she turned to him, her eyes wide with worry again. “I don’t say anything, right?”
“Exactly.” They’d been over this already. “Study the woman. The house. If you’ve been here before you may experience déjà vu or some emotional tug.”
Sande took another of those deep, bolstering breaths as she nodded.
“Try to stay relaxed and just feel.”
“I can do that.”
Her voice sounded strong despite the uncertainty in her eyes. Patrick rapped on the door and waited. A second knock was required before it opened.
A female matching Nancy Childers’s physical description looked expectantly from Patrick to Sande. “Can I help you?”
“Ms. Childers?”
The expected suspicion flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Yes.”
“My name is Patrick O’Brien, and this is my colleague, Sande Williams. We’re canvassing the area regarding a problem with burglaries. Do you have five minutes to discuss the recent rash of incidents in your neighborhood?”
When looking for a cover story, he’d read about the outbreak of robberies in the area. Any criminal activity in the community was likely to prompt immediate cooperation from residents. And if Ms. Childers reacted as expected, she would automatically assume he represented the local authorities in one capacity or another.
Nancy Childers hesitated only half a second. “Sure.” The suspicion vanished and she managed a polite smile. “Come in.” The door opened wider in invitation as she stepped back, allowing them entrance.
“We can talk in the living room.” She led the way.
When they were seated, Patrick explained briefly what he’d learned about the rash of robberies before asking, “Have you considered that someone in your neighborhood might be the perpetrator?”
Nancy
