“What? Hang on a minute.” He strode to the garage, punched a code into a keypad, and vanished through the door that opened.
Truman waited. He has to take inventory?
The man reappeared five seconds later. “Where is it?”
“I’d like to talk to Christian Lake. He’s the registered owner.” Truman wasn’t budging until he talked to Lake.
The man glanced at Truman’s department SUV and back to the card. “Okay, Chief. I’m trying to keep people out of his hair today, but I think he’ll talk to you.” He gestured for Truman to follow him into the home.
Truman gaped as he entered.
Golden wood gleamed. Everywhere Truman looked, he saw polished wood and glass. Tall wainscoting, custom cabinets, end tables, and elaborate baseboards. The ceilings were sky high and decorated with rustic beams, amplifying the multimillion-dollar-cabin feeling. In the middle of the open common area, a three-sided fireplace made of river rock immediately drew his gaze. It was the centerpiece of the room, stretching up to the grand ceiling. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out to the lake and showed off a giant deck that appeared to surround the entire home. Truman felt as if he were indoors and outdoors at the same time.
“Nice home.” An understatement.
The other man glanced back at him. “It is. Wait here and I’ll get Christian.” He pointed at a sitting area and then jogged up a curving wood staircase.
Mercy would love this.
Actually, she’d say it was too big to maintain in an emergency. Although she’d like the remote location.
Truman suddenly looked at the home with new eyes, wondering about power and heat for the home if society collapsed. He didn’t know whether to appreciate or be annoyed that he viewed the world a bit differently since Mercy had come into his life.
But he could still acknowledge an incredible home.
The interior was ornate but welcoming and casual. The overstuffed furniture had been arranged to create several different seating areas that begged for conversation and friends and wine. Scents of coffee and cinnamon created a homey ambiance, softening the fact that the room was devoid of people. Except Truman.
Instead of sitting, he walked over to the tall windows and looked out at the lake. Standing closer, he realized they weren’t just windows . . . they were glass panels that slid to the sides when the owner wished to open the entire back wall to the outdoors. I’d love to see this during the summer.
Footsteps sounded, and two men came down the stairs. Christian Lake was around forty and tall and clearly spent time in a gym, the muscle definition in his arms showing through his long-sleeved shirt. Truman wasn’t one to judge another man’s looks, but he suspected Mercy would do a double take if Christian Lake walked by. If the first guy looked like Jason Stratham, Lake resembled Ryan Reynolds.
Truman felt as if he were on a movie set.
Christian Lake’s brown eyes were bloodshot, and he looked exhausted. He held out his hand to Truman. “I’m Christian, Chief Daly. I understand you found one of my vehicles?”
His handshake was solid and his gaze direct. The man Truman had met outside hovered several feet behind Christian, his arms loose at his sides, his gaze watchful and assessing. Bodyguard? He could easily hide a weapon under his heavy coat. Truman studied Christian Lake. Why does this man need protection?
“I found a black Lexus SUV registered to you out on Goose Hollow Road. It’s been sitting there for a few days.”
Christian briefly closed his eyes. “Oh crap. I loaned it to Rob Murray a while back. I’d forgotten with all the—” He turned to the man behind him. “Rollins, can you give Rob a call?” Christian looked back at Truman. “Was it wrecked?”
“No. It looked fine.” If I owned an SUV like that, I wouldn’t loan it to anyone.
Relief crossed Christian’s face.
“I didn’t call for a tow yet,” Truman said. “I’ll leave that to you since you seem to know what happened.”
“I’ll get to the bottom of this, but I’m surprised he’d just abandon it. That’s not like him. I hope he’s okay.”
“He’s a friend?” Truman asked.
“He works for me.”
“No answer,” Rollins said, sliding his phone into his pocket.
Frustration crossed Christian’s face. “Do you mind taking care of the car?” he asked Rollins. “I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes.” Rollins nodded, took a hard look at Truman, and then disappeared down a hallway on the other side of the stairs.
“Rollins works for you too?” Truman hadn’t cared for Rollins’s parting look. It’d warned him to toe the line.
“He does. Thanks for driving out here, Chief Daly. I know I’m out of your way.”
“Do I need to look for your friend?”
Christian frowned. “I’ll call him again later. I’m sure it’s nothing. His car was having issues, so I loaned him mine for a few days. I’ve been distracted since—” The man looked away, swallowing hard.
Truman studied the bloodshot eyes and decided to ask the question that’d been ricocheting through his brain. “Are you related to Malcolm Lake?”
As Christian’s face fell, Truman instantly wished he hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’d heard about his death, but I wasn’t sure you were related.”
“He was my father . . . and thank you.”
Truman paused, wanting to ask if Christian was aware of the similarity between his father’s death and Olivia Sabin’s. None of my business. His gaze fell on a series of award plaques behind Christian on the wall. Even at this distance, he could see LAKE SKI AND SPORTS engraved in the metal.
“You’re Lake Ski and Sports?” he blurted before thinking.
“Yes.”
The protective actions of Rollins made a little more sense now. Christian Lake was a very, very wealthy man . . . although Truman had been clued into that fact as he drove up to the house. Truman had heard the owner of Lake Ski and Sports was developing a new type of ski that might rock the entire industry, along with several other new sports equipment–related improvements. He’d been hailed as an innovator by the media and condemned as a disrupter by manufacturers because his inventions threatened to make their products obsolete.
Lake was sort of a smaller-scale Bill Gates or Elon Musk of sporting goods.
Truman held out his hand, feeling he’d overstayed his welcome. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you. I’ll show you out.” He led the way to the front door, giving Truman new mind-boggling views of the home’s elaborate interior. Out front a huge covered porch overlooked the grounds. Even though it was covered in snow, Truman suspected the extensive property was perfectly landscaped. As he went down the steps, a small SUV came up the long drive and parked.
He blinked as Mercy stepped out of the back door on the driver’s side. A dark-haired woman emerged from the passenger’s side, and Eddie slammed the driver’s door, instantly spotting Truman. “Hey, Truman!”
Christian Lake’s appointment was with the FBI.
Truman glanced back at Christian, who now curiously eyed him.
How can I convince them to let me sit in on their interview?
Hiding her pleasure at unexpectedly running into Truman, Mercy introduced him to Ava as they stood in the snow in front of the giant cabin.