Page 90 of High Value Target

“Who the hell did this? Who took my baby girl? I want her found.” The veins in his neck stood out, but his voice cracked, and his eyes filled.

The front door opened, and Palmer strolled in. “I’m here to see Tinsley. What’s going on?”

Grady spun on him. “Where were you last night?”

“What do you mean? Where’s Tins? She’s not answering her phone.”

“Where were you, Palmer?” JD snapped.

“I was at the office until about eleven, trying to figure out the damn accounting system they use. There’s money missing. Why?”

“Tinsley’s gone.”

“What do you mean? Gone where?”

“She’s been taken.”

“Taken? By who? You mean like kidnapped?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God.” He ran a hand down his neck and spun in a circle. “Where are the police?” He pointed toward the Tri Star team. “You aren’t trusting this to these morons, are you, JD? Not with our Tinsley’s life in the balance. Oh, my God. My baby.”

Grady shoved him against the wall. “Don’t pretend like you care, you son-of-a-bitch. I overheard thaturgentcall you took at dinner the other night, the one you had to rush out and deal with. It was Nora Jensen on the phone. Your ex-girlfriend, and it appears, maybe not so ex anymore.”

“That’s a lie.” His eyes went over Grady’s shoulder to where JD stood, his eyes narrowed and his mouth tight. “JD, he’s lying.”

Grady gave him another shove. “I did a little digging into you afterward, Palmer. Those nights you were supposedly in Austin wooing campaign donors, you were really checked into the Astor hotel in Houston. Guess who else checked into that hotel those same days, JD? Nora Jensen.”

“Get out,” JD ordered. “Don’t ever come back here, Palmer. This family is through with you.”

***

Frank Bonner was sweating. He glanced at the stack of binders marked FBI, others marked ATF, then at the file box marked Frank Bonner Taskforce. He turned white as a sheet and his leg bounced up and down. He licked his lips. “Why’s my wife here?”

Grady smiled. They had him right where they wanted him. “Why do you think? She’s telling us everything she knows.”

Chris tapped his pen on the desk. “Maybe you should tell us your side before she hangs you.”

“That bitch. It was her idea to take the money. I didn’t want anything to do with it. What we got is never enough for her.”

“What money?”

“There was this guy. He offered us a bunch of money to blow up that oil derrick. I didn’t want to do it.”

“What guy?” Chris leaned forward.

“Said his name was Charlie. We met him in a bar we frequent. He played a game of pool with us.”

“What did he look like?” Grady asked.

“He had dark hair, about my height. Maybe about thirty.” Frank shrugged.

“That's all you can tell us?” Chris pressed.

“I don’t know. He was average, except for the fact it was obvious he didn’t fit in with the McGuire’s Pub crowd.”

“Why not?” Grady asked.