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“I’d like to check out your house, if you don’t mind.” Jack had told him yesterday that he’d been with Phoenix PD and was now a licensed PI, but he didn’t know if Logan remembered. “Is your wife home?”
He shook his head. “She had plans.”
“Do you know where Jennifer went after the hospital?”
He shook his head. “I offered another place—”
“So you talked to her.”
“Last night. She called, said she had to get out of town for a while. I offered her a house or hotel room—I have a suite at my resort I use for clients—but she said someone might be able to find her again. She sounded scared, said that her past was haunting her. She promised to call as soon as she was settled. That’s why...” His voice trailed off.
“You thought Rachel was telling the truth.”
“Why would she lie?”
Either because Margo was right and Brittney had set him up, or Rachel was hired to drug Logan and find Jennifer’s location.
Jack said, “You have my card, call me. I can help both you and Jennifer.” Might be a conflict of interest, but he was now concerned about Logan Monroe’s safety. The guy didn’t act like a multimillionaire. He had no private security, other than a home alarm system; he was known in the business world, but he acted like an ordinary guy. Someone Jack could like.
“Okay,” Logan said noncommittally.
“And you might want to tell your wife about what’s going on, to make sure she’s taking precautions.”
“I did.”
That surprised Jack, considering what Margo had said. “About yesterday?”
“Yes. She said it was probably a gas leak or a problem with the AC. I sent out an inspector today, should have a report tomorrow. I asked them to copy me in, not just the management company.”
Margo was going to flip over that news. Why did Brittney lie to her?
Then, Logan said, “I’m worried about Jennifer. I would reach out to my old partner, but something Jennifer said has me wanting to talk to her first.”
Gavin O’Keefe hadn’t hired Angelhart, but he owned the company.
If Desert West was up to no good, why would they hire Angelhart to investigate? To cover up a crime? Jack had met personally with Ron Tucker, the CFO, and he didn’t get any sign of deception from him.
Jack walked Logan into his house. The door didn’t have a key; instead, a code let them in. “Do you mind if I look around?” Jack asked Logan.
“Go ahead.” He glanced at his phone. “My wife is on her way home.”
Jack sent Margo a text with that information, and then he looked through the house, turning on lights as he went.
The house was spacious—far too big for two people. But who was Jack to judge? His ex-wife would have liked the place—the windows, the view, the space, the expensive furnishings. The house itself was a tasteful blend of contemporary and Southwestern styles, warm, earthy tones with splashes of color. Jack had never cared about things. His parents weren’t wealthy, though they did well enough to send five kids to Catholic school. While no one had wanted for anything, they didn’t have extras. Jack bought his first car by working weekends and summers as a lifeguard at a country club for two years. Margo bought her first car by working as a caddy at the same place.
The one thing Jack wanted was a little space—a few acres in the hills, a couple of horses and big dogs who needed space to run. He was always looking for the right property, but he couldn’t afford most of the ranches he’d seen, and the rare times a fixer-upper popped onto the market, it was gone before he could put in an offer. He’d take a flop if it was in the right area.
Jack cleared the house, then found Logan sitting at the kitchen bar drinking a bottle of water. The man looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know what to do or say.
“I appreciate you helping me out, Mr. Angelhart,” he said.
“Call me Jack.” He sat across from Logan, looked him in the eyes. They were focused but bloodshot. “You doing okay?”
“Splitting headache, but I don’t have that fuzziness anymore.”
“Good.”
“Do you need me to call you an Uber?”
