“But I saw him drive into the garage.”
“That may be, but they’re not on that flight. I pretended to be running late and asked a ticket agent if I had time to make it. She told me the door of the plane had already been closed. It’s probably taxiing as we speak.”
Drex checked his watch and figured that Gif was right. His mind was careening, trying to process this. “Talia’s in the travel industry. She must have some kind of escort service that bypasses regular security.”
“I guess that’s possible.”
“What else could it be?”
“Private plane?” Gif ventured.
“They wouldn’t have used public parking.”
“Right.”
“Can you get to the garage, check to see if their car is still there?”
“Sure, but it’ll take me a minute.”
“Stay on the line.”
“Okay. But, Drex, if they changed their minds and are on their way home, you’ve got to get out of there.”
“Way ahead of you.” He pulled the double doors closed as he left the bedroom and hit the staircase at a run. The gloaming had turned darker but he was disinclined to turn on his flashlight. The flashlight on loan from Jasper.
Gif asked, “Have you disturbed anything?”
“No, I was saving that. Are you at the garage yet?”
Gif was puffing. “Almost. What’s he drive?”
“Black Mercedes SUV. Shit!”
“What was that?”
“I bumped into a corner of the dining table. Why would they have changed their minds? Goddammit! I thought I’d have days of free access to this house.”
Gif was growing shorter of breath. “Plans made on short notice get changed, canceled.”
“But they were talking about it this morning. The weather forecast for Atlanta. What they should pack. How casual or dressy did they want to be. They went on for a full five minutes about—”
“Okay, I’m in the garage. Which way?”
Drex had come to a dead standstill in the center of the kitchen and repeated in his head what he’d heard himself say.
“Drex? When he turned in, did he go left or right?”
“They talked about the trip. At length. Both last night and this morning.”
He pivoted toward the stove. After a second’s hesitation, he went over to it and stuck his fingers in the narrow crack between it and the cabinetry where he’d placed the tiny transmitter while waxing poetic about the best way to cook corn on the cob.
It wasn’t there.
He fell back a step, took several breaths, tried again, wedging his fingers in as far as they would go, but he knew where he had attached the bug, and it wasn’t there.
“Drex!” Gif shouted in his hear. “Left or right?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to find their car.”