“Christ! They could be already dead. They probably are already dead. What’s the take on Pender? When did they pop him?”
“Twenty hours ago or more, according to the prelim.”
“Shit, that trail’s cold. Wait a minute, if they killed Pender that long ago, what the hell were they doing watching his house?”
“Waiting for someone to come by?”
“You mean waiting for Shaw and Katie to come by. Just like the funeral in Wisbach. What the hell were they thinking going there?”
“The officers on the scene at Pender’s home said it looked like a burglary gone bad.”
“Burglary my ass. So what’s the story on this Pender? Who is he?”
“He owns a firm called Pender amp; Associates based in northern Virginia. The picture isn’t completely clear, but it seems to be some sort of PR firm.”
Frank called Royce, filled him in, and arranged to meet the MI5 agent in the lobby in five minutes. He grabbed his gun, ripped open the door, and ran down the hall, pulling out his cell phone and punching in a number as he jogged along.
“Shaw and James are in serious trouble. Track him. Now!”
Frank hooked up with Royce in the lobby and the two agents raced to their car.
As they drove off Frank called the FBI agent.
“I want a strike team to hit Pender amp; Associates right now.”
“We don’t have the search warrants yet.”
Frank yelled, “What are the odds of a guy on our list getting popped and Shaw and James getting snatched from the guy’s house not being tied into this whole damn conspiracy?”
“About a billion to one,” the agent admitted.
“So screw the warrants. Nail Pender amp; Associates. Now!”
Yet Frank’s gut was telling him it was already too late. For Pender amp; Associates.
And too late for Shaw and Katie.
CHAPTER 92
SHAW SLOWLY ROSE FROM THE MUD and brush and steadied himself against a leaning, shallow-rooted pine. He stared down at the wreckage of the car; the flames started to burn down as the gas was used up. He had stopped yelling for Katie because he’d grown hoarse. He made his way down the hill, holding on to whatever he could. As he neared the burning car, he didn’t want to even think about what was inside it. The charred fragments of Katie James.
The small groan caught him so off guard he nearly toppled forward and down into the flames. He whirled around, staring into the darkness to his left.
“Katie?” He was almost afraid to say the name for fear of hearing nothing back.
There was definite movement now. And it was too big for a rabbit or squirrel. He lunged forward, tripped, fell down, picked himself up, and raced to her side.
Katie was lying facedown next to an oak but struggling to rise. Shaw knelt beside her, gently turned her over.
“Damn, I thought you were dead.”
Her face was bloody, her arm bent at an odd angle. She looked up at him, smiled weakly, but then grimaced in pain.
“So I’m not dead?”
He shook his head. “Not unless I am too. And I’m hurting too much to be anything except alive. Can you walk?”
With his help Katie got to her feet, holding her right forearm. “Think I might have busted my arm up.”