Double Jeopardy

62

5:15 P.M.

TRAVIS AND CAVANAUGH APPROACHED the front door of the home of the Elcon president, Mario Catuara. It was an elegant house, obviously expensive, not far from Fort Worth, but very secluded. If they hadn’t known exactly where they were going, they never would have found it.

Travis stopped when he got to the porch steps. The front door was open.

“Something’s wrong,” Cavanaugh said.

“I agree,” Travis replied. “Someone got here before us.”

“Moroconi? Or that creep from the library?”

Travis shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Why would Moroconi be looking for Catuara?”

“I don’t know. But that envelope we found in his hotel room tells me they’re connected somehow. Why don’t you stay out here while I take a look inside?”

Cavanaugh grabbed Travis by the collar. “Spare me the chivalry. If Moroconi is in there, you’re going to need someone who’s capable of firing a gun.”

Cavanaugh pushed the front door the rest of the way open and entered. Frowning, Travis followed close behind.

They made a quick sweep of the ground level of the house. Marvelously well furnished, but beyond that, they found nothing of interest. They did discover a staircase—nineteen steps going up, twenty steps going down.

“Let’s cover both floors at once so he can’t slip away,” Cavanaugh whispered. “You take the basement. I’ll take the upstairs.”

Travis didn’t argue. He tiptoed quietly down the carpeted steps and soon realized he had gotten the easier assignment. There was only one room downstairs.

The door was partly open and the light was on. Travis took a deep breath, then stepped through. He hit the deck, just in case someone fired at him. No one did. He crawled into the room on his hands and knees, then slowly rose to his feet.

It was a rec room—a high-class, state-of-the-art playhouse. Travis eyed the sophisticated exercise equipment, feeling a wave of envy he couldn’t suppress. If he could afford to put gizmos like these in his apartment, maybe he could lose those extra pounds around his gut. Scanning the room, he saw a pool table, several pinball machines, and in the far corner—a hot tub.

There was something floating in the hot tub. Approaching, he saw it was a body—Catuara, unless Travis missed his guess. He was tied down in the tub, and his face was covered with water. He was not moving.

“Cavanaugh!” Travis yelled.

He reached into the water, then instinctively withdrew his hand. The water was blisteringly hot. He grabbed a towel from a nearby rack and wrapped it around his hand. Steeling himself, he reached into the hot tub and pulled the man’s head above the water.

The man’s eyes did not open, but Travis saw them move under the eyelids—a sign of life, however slight.

He cut the ropes with a pocketknife he’d picked up at the pawnshop. After the man was free, he hauled him out of the steaming water.

It was at just that moment, when Travis’s arms were wrapped around the body and there was nothing he could do to defend himself, that he heard quiet footsteps immediately behind him. He felt a heavy blow on the top of his head, and before he passed out, he had a brief sensation of his face plunging into scalding hot water.