“Problem?” Saxon asked.
“Time’s running out. Huck’s competition starts soon.” Rowan pocketed his phone. “We need to find Rousseau fast.”
Martinelli’s radio came to life. “Detective, we have a situation at the Rousseau residence. Neighbors reported hearing gunshots earlier this morning.”
“Copy that. En route.” Martinelli was already moving toward the door.
The drive to Rousseau’s house took a thousand hours, a.k.a. fifteen minutes. “If Rousseau’s been killed or kidnapped,” Rowan said, “we’re not dealing with a local businessman gone bad.”
“You’re thinking organized crime?” Martinelli asked, taking a corner that required Rowan to brace himself.
“Maybe.” He looked out the window. He should have gone to the rodeo. But he couldn’t leave with this knot in his gut.
Tall pines flanked the entrance to the Rousseau estate, the driveway winding nearly half a mile through manicured landscaping before the house came into view. The home rose four stories, with balconies on the upper floors overlooking lawns so perfectly groomed they could have graced the cover of a landscaping magazine. Police vehicles lined the drive, their red and blue lights slashing across the massive stone structure like a scene from a crime drama.
A uniformed officer approached as they climbed out of their vehicles. “Detectives? We’ve got a problem.”
“What’s the situation?” Martinelli asked, already pulling on latex gloves.
“House is empty, but there are clear signs of a struggle. Blood on the kitchen floor, overturned furniture, back door standing open.” The officer consulted his notes. “Neighbors heard gunshots around six thirty this morning. Nobody called it in though.”
“Any sign of Rousseau?” Saxon had pulled up behind them and now stalked up.
“Negative,” said the officer. “But we found his wallet in a bedroom drawer. If he left willingly, he didn’t take much with him.”
Rowan studied the house. “Security system?”
“Disabled from the inside. Maybe he knew his attackers.”
Rowan turned to Martinelli. “Think about it. We get evidence pointing to Rousseau, we come looking for him, and conveniently he’s been taken.”
“What are you thinking?” Saxon asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he knows something they don’t want us to find out.”
“Or maybe he crossed them,” Saxon said. “The real architects of the conspiracy eliminated their local operative before he could be arrested and questioned.” He pulled out his phone. “I wish we had those GPS tracking rings we used during firefighting operations. Would make finding people a lot easier.”
“Wait,” Rowan said. “You could call Jamie Winters. See if she can track Rousseau’s GPS through his phone.”
“She helped us thwart the bio-bomb conspiracy last summer. If anyone can locate a missing person through technology, it’s Jamie.” Saxon was already dialing, stepping away.
Martinelli just stood there, frowning.
“What?” Rowan said.
“What if they’re using him as bait?”
Rowan stilled. “What?”
“Any reason to think they’d want our attention elsewhere?”
Rowan frowned. “Where?”
“I don’t know. Just that the Blackwoods’ place has been targeted a lot. I keep thinking about Rousseau’s office. Looks a lot like the damage left at Sierra’s place.”
Rowan stilled. “Huck and Sierra. They’re at the rodeo.”
“They’re probably fine, right? All those people. Still, I think we get a unit out to her house.” Martinelli picked up his walkie.
