Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [142]
“Claire?”
A paramedic said, “Sir, you’ll have to—”
“This is a matter of life or death,” Mitch said without budging. “Dave, snap out of it.”
“Where’s Claire?” Dave tried to sit up. He held his head.
“Sir, lie down—”
Mitch interrupted the medic. “Dave, someone kidnapped Claire. Did you get a good look at him? How were you all knocked out?”
Hans said from across the room, “Warren is the only victim with a visible injury.”
“Then how—” Mitch paused. “Poison?”
Grant came in from the kitchen. “There’s a lot of food spread out on the table. We’re bagging it for testing.”
“Poison?” Dave squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them wide and looked around. They were still at Claire’s house. “We all ate the same food. From Claire’s favorite Italian place, just up the street.”
“Who? Did you pick up the food?”
“Phil and Eric got it.”
“Phil?” Mitch questioned. “There’re only four of you here—you, your father, Agent Warren, and someone with an ID and badge named Eric Jordan.”
“Phil—what happened to Phil?”
“That’s a damn good question,” Mitch said, jumping up. He remembered Claire talking about Phil Palmer being Dave’s partner and closest friend. He dialed Meg. “I need everything on Philip Palmer. He’s a cop with Sac PD. Start with his address.”
“I can tell you that,” Dave said, mouth tight. “He lives in South Land Park on Robertson. I’m going with you.”
He tried to stand, then sat down heavily.
“I’ll keep you informed,” Mitch promised Dave and left.
Meg had told him to stand down until backup arrived, but if Phil Palmer had Claire inside, there was no way in hell that Mitch was going to give him one more minute alone with her.
He had Grant and Hans with him outside Phil Palmer’s small post-WWII bungalow in an older, well-maintained Sacramento neighborhood. Grant motioned he would go around back, and held up two fingers.
Mitch painstakingly counted to one hundred and twenty to give Grant enough time to get into place.
Hans had his back, and Mitch knocked on the door.
No answer. Total silence inside.
He knocked again. “Officer Palmer?” he said, forcing his voice to be calm. “There’s been an attack on your partner and we’re concerned about your safety.”
No answer, total silence.
No one was there.
Mitch pounded on the door. “Palmer! This is the FBI! Open up!”
Moments later, gun drawn, Mitch kicked the door twice and it swung in.
Grant came in from the rear entrance. They quickly searched the residence.
No one.
They went through the house again, methodically. It was obvious that Phil Palmer didn’t actually live here. There was some food in the freezer and pantry, but only enough to provide a meal if he had to be here. The house was devoid of clutter, a file cabinet was empty, a computer on the desk had nothing saved to the hard drive.
The house was a front. Phil Palmer had created a public image and Sac PD bought it. So had his friends, partner, and Claire.
Mitch couldn’t lose Claire now. She hated him, and he didn’t blame her, but he would fight for her. He loved her, dammit, he wasn’t going to lose her, to her own hurt feelings or to a psychopath.
Why had Palmer kidnapped Claire? What did he want from her? Was this related to O’Brien’s conviction, or some sick obsession that had developed over the years? If it was related to O’Brien, that meant it was related to Taverton and the past.
“Collier,” Mitch said.
Hans nodded as Grant stared. “Excuse me?”
“Collier knows what’s going on. He has to. Because if he doesn’t know where Phil Palmer took Claire, she’s going to die.” And if Claire died, Mitch wouldn’t—
Don’t. He couldn’t think the worst. He wouldn’t be able to do his job.
I’ll find you, Claire.
On the drive back to headquarters, Mitch spoke to Meg and learned there was no other property owned or leased by Philip Palmer in Sacramento County or any surrounding county. Mitch talked again to Dave Kamanski, who said he didn’t know where Phil would be, or why he would have kidnapped Claire.
“Why didn’t I see something? Phil’s a good friend. My partner. He wouldn’t hurt Claire. Why would