pretty fiancée of Turner Barratt’s he buried next.
Jennifer needed Dennis Lee’s lackeys to buy her time so she could make absolutely certain everything that had happened with Miranda was well hidden.
Damn it. Everything wrong in her life boiled back down to having to deal with Wallace’s little whores.
Jennifer snapped her laptop shut. She needed to find Wallace’s journals before the TSP learned about what had happened fifteen years ago in Philadelphia. Find them, read them herself, and then burn the damned things.
She needed to think before this situation got any more complicated.
She dropped a loving kiss on her son’s forehead, as a redheaded nurse came in to check on him. He would rest well tonight.
Jennifer had things to take care of, to make certain his future was everything he deserved.
54
Allen felt like he’d abducted the woman, instead of rescuing her. Izzie hadn’t had much to say about what was happening to her and he’d known it. With the sedation, it was obvious she hadn’t been truly able to make informed decisions.
He winced at that. Not something he was proud of being a part of, but the end greatly outweighed the means.
They had ganged up on her. It didn’t matter that her friend had been the mastermind with the plan or that the regional head of the TSP had thought it was the only idea that would work at all.
No one had been able to find her uncle. Apparently, every other relative she had was on a totally different continent.
Allen still felt like he’d scooped her up and run off with her.
Which was exactly what he had done.
He pulled his car into the garage of the house his sister had inherited from Logan and killed the engine. The only ones who knew the plan he’d concocted had been Elliot and Rafe—and Nikkie Jean.
No one had dared consider keeping her in the dark.
Izzie dozed next to him, her cheek scraped up and her hair still a little damp and curling over the steri-strip Nikkie Jean had put in her eyebrow.
Allen’s plan was to keep her at Logan’s place until after the worst of the storms.
They’d leave first thing in the morning. Early.
All he had to do was get some supplies together and find the keys to the luxury van that Logan’s parents had bought three years before his father had died from a heart attack and his mother from complications from diabetes a handful of months later. Linda and Barry had had plans to travel the country and enjoy time with each other after retirement. That hadn’t happened.
They hadn’t seen what had happened to their only living son. It would have broken their hearts. Then again, if they’d been alive when Logan had been injured, maybe they would have been able to see that he’d needed more help than Allen had given him.
Maybe they would have saved him and prevented what had happened. Unlike Allen.
He’d always have the guilt for giving Logan those damned Solpalmitraln pills.
Well, he wasn’t going to have someone else’s death on his conscience. Allen made a snap decision.
Every moment they delayed leaving Finley Creek, the more risk she was in. Storm or not.
He’d rather face Mother Nature again than risk her being attacked.
He had the keys to that van right there. He’d been there the day they’d bought that van; had toured it with Logan, making good-natured jokes the whole time at Barry’s expense.
Everything they would need was either in that van—or they could get quickly. What more did they need than that?
Nikkie Jean would be the one to spread the rumors that he was filling in for Rafe at a teaching conference at the largest medical school in Brazil for however long he needed to keep Izzie safe. It wasn’t too far-fetched—Rafe had received offers to do that before. As had Allen. He’d even done one conference in Mexico City shortly before Rafe had returned to Finley Creek.
Izzie’s disappearance so soon after the shooting was going to be a lot harder to explain away.
They’d come up with saying she’d been in a car accident. Elliot was going to see that a minor injury-causing accident was reported in the police reports, no names. With enough details to make it believable.
Allen grabbed a high-end drill from the tool bench—Logan’s father had designed engines for NASA—and removed the license plate from his car. It was just a way to delay anyone identifying the car if they broke in. Which he didn’t think would happen. His name wasn’t on this property