Free Fertile Ground by Rochelle Krich Page B

of the gum.
    “Victor, have you seen Dr. Gordon?”
    “Today, you mean?”
    “Yes.” She tried not to sound impatient.
    “Most of the media have gone, you know. These are the scouts. Mr. Fisk said, “Keep ‘em out, Victor.” “
    She thought she would scream. “Victor, about Dr. Gordon?”
    “You haven’t talked to him?” He narrowed his eyes in bewilderment.
    “No. Not since last night. I’m worried about him, Victor. If you know something about where he is—”
    “I don’t know where he is. How would I know that,
    Doc?” He sounded aggrieved. He chewed for a moment, then said, “He made me promise not to tell, but of course he didn’t mean you, ‘cause you’re his fiancee.”
    Her heart skipped a beat. “You saw him?”
    He nodded. “Early this morning. Around six.”
    Why hadn’t she thought to ask Victor earlier? “Did he say why he was here so early?”
    “Nope. He didn’t sign in, neither. I said, “Hey, Dr. Gordon, you got to sign in, ‘cause it’s before seven o’clock. It’s the rule.” And he said, “C’mon, Victor. I’m the one that made the rule.” ” Victor shot a quick glance at Lisa to make sure she understood, then faced forward again. “See, they’re huddling again, wondering what you and I are talkin’ about.” “How long was Dr. Gordon here?” And why had he gone in so early? Whom had he hoped to avoid?
    “About half an hour. When he was leaving, he said, “Victor, don’t tell anyone I was here.” So I didn’t. Not even Mr. Fisk.”
    “Do you know where he was—where in the building, I mean?”
    Victor shook his head. “He has keys to everything, so he could have been anywhere.” He frowned. “You won’t tell Mr. Fisk that I lied to him, will you? “Cause he might fire me.”
    “I won’t tell.”
    “You think I did right, not telling?”
    “You did right, Victor.”
    The guard turned toward the lot. “You don’t think Doc Gordon’s in real trouble, do you? “Cause I like him a lot.”
    “I like him a lot, too, Victor,” Lisa said softly.

Chapter 7
    Matthew’s BMW wasn’t in his assigned space in the condominium’s underground lot. Lisa parked her white Altima in his slot and took the mahogany paneled elevator to the twelfth floor. She unlocked the door to his apartment, using the set of keys he’d given her only last week. “Just in case you want to surprise me one night,” he’d joked.
    Standing in front of his door, she felt dizzy with fear. Matthew had said he was stopping at his condo. What if someone had followed him here, robbed him, stolen his car? What if Matthew was inside, unconscious, or … She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought. She opened the door and stepped onto the beige marble tile of the rectangular entryway.
    “Matthew?”
    She edged into the large living room, hugging her arms in protest against the frigid temperature. The central air conditioning must have been running all day. Fear had led her to expect a room in shambles—upturned furniture, tilted artwork, shredded pillows. But everything seemed in order. Nothing, as far as she could tell, was missing. Still, her heart was pounding. Holding her breath, her eyes darting right and left, she walked quickly past the brass and-glass sofa table into the dining area, then past the
    compact, state-of-the-art kitchen and down a short hall. Finally, she pushed open the door to the master bedroom.
    He wasn’t there. Not on the king-size bed, neatly made up with a geometric-patterned tan-and hunter-green comforter and matching shams. Not on the cream-colored Berber carpet.
    She checked the master bath. A plush hunter-green bath sheet hung over the brass-framed door to the large beige marbled stall shower. The room was empty. So were the other bedroom and the powder room and the office where Matthew often worked late into the night. His laptop was shut. The notepad on his mahogany desk was blank.
    She returned to the bedroom and, approaching the large walk-in