Chapter Fifteen

Allen

“You need to cancel your showings today,” I tell her brusquely, “or get someone else to do them. You are not going. Matter of fact, I’m taking you somewhere safe until this bastard is caught.”

“No, Allen. I have a responsibility to my clients to show up when I say I will.”

“And I have the responsibility of keeping your stubborn ass alive and in one piece, Brielle. Don’t make me make you put your own safety first,” I snarl at her.

“What are you going to do? Tie me up and throw me over your shoulder?”

“If necessary, yes,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “You might as well cooperate with me, because whether you like it or not, this is still happening.”

Our scowling standoff finally ends when she snaps, “Okay, fine, whatever. I’ll call Anne and see if she can cover for me.”

“That’s more like it,” I say approvingly, and she flips me the bird as she waits for the other realtor to answer the phone.

“Anne, hi, it’s Brielle. Remember what I was telling you about the other day? Yeah, it’s escalated like you were worried about. I am supposed to meet the Martins and show them two houses today between eleven-thirty and two. Any way you can cover for me?”

She listens, nodding along with whatever Anne is telling her.

“Oh, that works out well then,” Brielle says. “If you’re going to be at both properties today anyway, I can just call Stan and Melody and explain that I can’t make it and get them in touch with you.”

She listens a bit longer, then finishes her call with “I really appreciate it… yes ma’am, I promise… okay. Thanks again, Anne, talk to you later.”

“Okay, that’s a load off my mind,” she says with a small smile. “Let me tell the Martins the new plans right quick, and then I’ll pack and come along quietly. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

***

Pete arrives within minutes, and I waste no time leading him back to show him Brielle’s monitor and the ominous display.

“Got us a funny man, heh? We’ll see about that,” Pete intones, his ebony face set into a stony expression that belies his growing anger. “Gonna feel so good to nail this dude to the wall.”

He swivels his gaze to me.

“You moving her?”

“Yep, and we’ll be leaving right after the visit down the street to check out that treehouse.”

“Off grid?”

“Completely. You got a burner phone?”

“You know it,” he says, and pulls two items out of his bag to hand to me. “Brought you a fresh laptop, too. Encrypted.”

“Thanks, Pete. Let me know what you find out about that,” I conclude, pointing at the countdown message.

“Soon as I know, you’ll know.”

***

I stop in Brielle’s open bedroom doorway just in time to see her tucking her cell phone into her purse.

“Leave that here. Laptop too.”

“But… but… how am I supposed to…”

“You’re not,” I tell her. “Brielle, think for a minute. This guy has your number, and now, he’s hacked into your home computer. What makes you think he can’t track you via your cell phone or your laptop - if he hasn’t been already?”

Realization dawns and her green eyes grow huge in an increasingly pale face.

I step forward and place my hands on her shoulders.

“Do you trust me, Brielle?”

She swallows hard. “Yes, Allen. I trust you.”

“Then leave those here. Let’s go meet with your neighbors, scope out that treehouse, and then we’ll grab our bags and go.”

I take her hand and lead her down the hall, pausing at her office.

“Pete, we’re going to make contact two doors down. Be back in just a few.”

“Roger that, boss,” he says as he unpacks and sets up his own encrypted laptop.

Brielle

When I ring the doorbell two houses down from mine, Marge’s beaming smile greets us as the door swings open.

“Brielle! Lovely to see you, dear,” she says as she steps forward and envelops me in a hug.

“Hi Miss Marge. It’s good to see you, too,” I say earnestly as I hug her right back.

“Oh, my! Who’s this handsome young fellow?” she immediately asks when she notices Allen standing behind me.

“Miss Marge, I’d like you to meet my friend, Allen Jones,” I say, stifling a chuckle as she tucks her chin to peer over her horn-rimmed glasses at him.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says, and when she extends her hand, he grasps it and kisses the back, making her titter with delight.

“Such a charmer, this one,” Marge stage-whispers to me with an impish grin. “Hope you’re gonna keep him around.”

I flush scarlet and it’s Allen’s turn to chuckle as the little old lady promptly pivots and heads inside, beckoning to us to follow.

“Harold! Brielle’s here!” she bellows as we walk into their living room.

“Brielle! Good to see you, young lady. Still wheeling and dealing in houses?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, and walk over to where he’s standing with his arms open for a hug.

“Harold, this is Allen, my friend,” I tell him, and smile when I see that the once-over Allen’s getting from Harold isn’t nearly as friendly as the one from Marge.

“Nice to meet you, son. You doing right by our Bri?” Harold barks.

“Yes, sir, she’s a special woman,” Allen answers, his face serious.

“Good! Now, what’s this about the treehouse?”

Allen smiles. “I’m thinking of building one, and I was wondering if I could get a closer look at the one you have in your back yard.”

“Sure! Come on back. Ladder still’s sturdy, but my knees won’t take the climb anymore, so I’ll just let you two go on up,” Harold announces with a grin that makes me realize he’s decided to play matchmaker.

We walk out onto their back porch, then across the lush green lawn to the spectacular oak tree that wears the treehouse proudly, like a precious jewel.

“Ladies first,” Allen says, and holds out his hand in front of him.

I grin and quickly make my way up to the treehouse but am stopped short by what I see when I open the door. Some things – a lovingly worn small wooden table with two equally tiny wooden chairs and a narrow three-shelf bookcase – belong up here, as do the faded plastic army men strewn about the place.

Other things, like the expensive-looking binoculars and the sleeping bag, look brand new and very out of place – as do the large footprints clearly visible in the layer of dust that covers almost everything.

Allen climbs up right behind me and immediately pulls out his cellphone.

“Don’t go inside or touch anything,” he whispers so as not to alarm the sweet older couple waiting for us on the ground. “I need to take some pictures of this.”

He solemnly does just that from the doorway. Then Allen works his way past me onto the little exterior balcony and maneuvers around to the west-facing side of the structure to poke his head through the open window and take more pictures of the interior.

“Act normal,” he whispers when he returns to stand by me at the top of the ladder. “I don’t want them to know about any of this until my team can get things under control.”

I nod silently, suddenly fearful for the neighbors that have become more like family to me, and I use the climb down to get my game face back into place before I step to the ground and turn around to face Marge and Harold.

“Nice and sturdy,” Allen remarks once he’s back by my side. “How long has it been here?”

“Oh, about twenty-five years, give or take,” Harold says proudly. “Built it for our boys. Then our babies grew up and had babies of their own and the grandkids used to come play in it. Course, they are almost teenagers now. Too cool to hang out in a tree when they can be playing video games these days.”

We chat a few minutes more before Allen says, “Would you mind if a carpenter friend of mine comes over to take measurements this afternoon? I’d really appreciate it.”

“That’s no problem at all,” Marge assures us. “We’d be happy to help.”

After politely declining a meal, we make our way to the front door. Once we are outside again and walking back toward my house, the smile lighting up Allen’s face fades.

“I’m going to get Marlon up there and see if he can lift any fingerprints. Hopefully, we’ll get lucky.”

“How’s he going to do that without leaving more footprints? You saw how dusty it was up there. Whoever has been hiding out is going to notice if someone else walks around in there. And did you see those binoculars?”

“Not just binoculars,” he reveals. “Extremely high dollar binoculars that no one in their right mind would just leave behind. Whoever stashed them there not only wasn’t worried about them being taken, but they plan on coming back.”

When his jaw twitches, I know he is holding something back.

“What? What else did you see?”

He shakes his head, and I stop walking and place my hand on his arm.

“Allen. You asked me to trust you, and I do, but that also means you cannot be keeping secrets from me. What else did you see?”

He sighs.

“Did you notice the little window facing your house?”

“Sure I did. What about it?”

“Did you see the floor underneath it?”

“No,” I admit. “I couldn’t from the doorway. The little table was blocking my view. Why?”

He turns his head and looks straight at me.

“There were three marks in the dust,” he finally says after a long silence. “I think a tripod made them.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “A tripod? Why in the world would someone have a tripod in a treehouse?”

He holds my gaze.

“Promise me you won’t freak out,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Just… promise me.”

“Okay, fine, I promise. Now answer the question – why in the hell would someone have a tripod up there?”

“For mounting a camera… or video equipment.”