as well as you could, right? ”
“Probably.”
“Seems like overkill for a white collar crime.”
Billy Clyde nodded but didn’t meet Dylan’s eyes. A pit opened up in his stomach. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“A lot of terrorists get caught because of white collar crime. They need money to fund their terrorism.”
“You think we could be dealing with terrorists?” Suddenly hot, Dylan moved the AC up another notch. Bad enough dealing with kidnappers—but terrorists?
He glanced over at Billy Clyde who wore a grim expression and nodded.
Billy Clyde lifted up the camera and began snapping pictures. “Turn right at the next street. It’s the third house on the right. Don’t stop. Drive past it while I take pictures.”
Dylan drove past the house three times before Billy Clyde was satisfied he’d taken all the pictures he needed. “Pull up in front of the house. I’m going in.”
“I’ll take the back.”
Billy Clyde nodded. “Turn on your radio.”
Dylan pressed the button and slipped it in his ear. Then he hit the microphone’s button attached to his shirt lapel. “Testing…one…two…three.”
Billy Clyde nodded his affirmation and then tested his equipment. B oth men stepped out of the car.
Dylan followed the sidewalk to the back of the house. No side door. That was good. Less ways to escape. As far as he saw, there was a front door and a back door. Of course, they could always jump out of a window if they really wanted to escape, he supposed.
The house itself was a two-story bungalow, probably built during the post-war building boom. I n spite of its age, it was well maintained. The lawn was neatly trimmed. Flowers grew in abundance along the side of the house. It looked like a typical home, not a hideout for a kidnapper.
He walked to the back of the house and stood beside the door , keeping himself out of view in case anyone was looking out the back door. He pulled out his gun and kept it by his side. He whispered softly into the mike. “I’m in place.”
A loud knocking sound came from Billy Clyde’s mike. A moment later the squeak of a door. “Yes, can I—Mr. Addams is that you?”
“Mrs. Miller. Is this your house?” Billy Clyde sounded surprised.
“Yes.”
“Who’s at home with you right now?”
“No one.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course, I’m—is that gun? What’s wrong? I don’t understand.” Panic was seeping into the woman’s voice.
As Dylan listened, he pictured a little white-haired lady with glasses.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Miller. Don’t be frightened, but I need to check your house if that’s okay with you.”
“Oh, dear.” The woman sounded as if she might faint. “Am I in danger?”
“I’m not sure, but I need to check the house.”
“Of course. Of course. Come in.”
Whoever the woman was, she trusted Billy Clyde.
“I have a friend at the back door. I’m going to let him in and we’re going to check your house for you.”
“Oh my. Of course.” Her voice shook with fear.
A moment later, Billy Clyde was at the back of the house opening the door . Mrs. Miller stood behind him. She looked just the way he’d imagined from her voice. A little old lady with white hair and glasses stood there. Her face was pale and she rubbed her hands together as if that could help the situation.
He held o ut a hand. “Hi, I’m Dylan. Don’t worry. We want to make sure no one’s in the house. Where’s your basement?” She pointed at a door on the other side of the kitchen. “Is that the only way to get in and out of the basement?
She nodded.
Billy patted her on the shoulder. “You stay here.”
“By myself?”
“We’ll be right back. If you see anything strange yell as loudly as you can.”
“Wait a minute.”
Billy Clyde nodded and the two men stood staring at each other as she walked out of the room. A moment later she was back holding a twelve-gauge shotgun. “Okay, now you can go.
“Probably.”
“Seems like overkill for a white collar crime.”
Billy Clyde nodded but didn’t meet Dylan’s eyes. A pit opened up in his stomach. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“A lot of terrorists get caught because of white collar crime. They need money to fund their terrorism.”
“You think we could be dealing with terrorists?” Suddenly hot, Dylan moved the AC up another notch. Bad enough dealing with kidnappers—but terrorists?
He glanced over at Billy Clyde who wore a grim expression and nodded.
Billy Clyde lifted up the camera and began snapping pictures. “Turn right at the next street. It’s the third house on the right. Don’t stop. Drive past it while I take pictures.”
Dylan drove past the house three times before Billy Clyde was satisfied he’d taken all the pictures he needed. “Pull up in front of the house. I’m going in.”
“I’ll take the back.”
Billy Clyde nodded. “Turn on your radio.”
Dylan pressed the button and slipped it in his ear. Then he hit the microphone’s button attached to his shirt lapel. “Testing…one…two…three.”
Billy Clyde nodded his affirmation and then tested his equipment. B oth men stepped out of the car.
Dylan followed the sidewalk to the back of the house. No side door. That was good. Less ways to escape. As far as he saw, there was a front door and a back door. Of course, they could always jump out of a window if they really wanted to escape, he supposed.
The house itself was a two-story bungalow, probably built during the post-war building boom. I n spite of its age, it was well maintained. The lawn was neatly trimmed. Flowers grew in abundance along the side of the house. It looked like a typical home, not a hideout for a kidnapper.
He walked to the back of the house and stood beside the door , keeping himself out of view in case anyone was looking out the back door. He pulled out his gun and kept it by his side. He whispered softly into the mike. “I’m in place.”
A loud knocking sound came from Billy Clyde’s mike. A moment later the squeak of a door. “Yes, can I—Mr. Addams is that you?”
“Mrs. Miller. Is this your house?” Billy Clyde sounded surprised.
“Yes.”
“Who’s at home with you right now?”
“No one.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course, I’m—is that gun? What’s wrong? I don’t understand.” Panic was seeping into the woman’s voice.
As Dylan listened, he pictured a little white-haired lady with glasses.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Miller. Don’t be frightened, but I need to check your house if that’s okay with you.”
“Oh, dear.” The woman sounded as if she might faint. “Am I in danger?”
“I’m not sure, but I need to check the house.”
“Of course. Of course. Come in.”
Whoever the woman was, she trusted Billy Clyde.
“I have a friend at the back door. I’m going to let him in and we’re going to check your house for you.”
“Oh my. Of course.” Her voice shook with fear.
A moment later, Billy Clyde was at the back of the house opening the door . Mrs. Miller stood behind him. She looked just the way he’d imagined from her voice. A little old lady with white hair and glasses stood there. Her face was pale and she rubbed her hands together as if that could help the situation.
He held o ut a hand. “Hi, I’m Dylan. Don’t worry. We want to make sure no one’s in the house. Where’s your basement?” She pointed at a door on the other side of the kitchen. “Is that the only way to get in and out of the basement?
She nodded.
Billy patted her on the shoulder. “You stay here.”
“By myself?”
“We’ll be right back. If you see anything strange yell as loudly as you can.”
“Wait a minute.”
Billy Clyde nodded and the two men stood staring at each other as she walked out of the room. A moment later she was back holding a twelve-gauge shotgun. “Okay, now you can go.
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