Free Nowhere to Hide by Debby Giusti Page A

found?”
    â€œNot a clue. He must have known they were on to him. He even had me up the insurance on our house. After his death, I went through his papers and computer files. Nothing. One night, he was mugged leaving the club. Two days later, someone tried to run him off the road.”
    â€œDid he recognize the car?”
    â€œA black Mercedes. I did some checking. The car had to have been scratched or dented so I called dealers for their service records. Then, I contacted all the garages in the surrounding area, but nothing turned up. I even hired a private detective who ran scared once he got wind people in high places were involved in the club.”
    â€œPretty much a dead end.”
    â€œI’ve tried every angle I could think of and haven’t gotten anywhere. Can you help me?”
    â€œAny idea where your husband might have hid the incriminating evidence?”
    â€œUnder their noses.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œA year ago, Sonny lost a good job when he played a little trick on his CEO. He buried a very inflammatory joke on the company Web site. Guess the other I.T. guys got a kick out of it until someone leaked the information.”
    â€œSo the boss was ticked?”
    â€œHe fired Sonny.”
    â€œWhat are you saying, Mrs. Sloan?”
    â€œSince my husband used his computer skills before to hide a joke on the Web, he may have tried the same technique again.”
    â€œYou think he planted evidence of the corruption on the Men’s Club Web site?” Trish Delaney sounded incredulous.
    â€œI know it seems odd. And so far, I haven’t found anything. Call it woman’s intuition, but I keep getting the feeling that’s where I need to look.”
    â€œInteresting. And unique. I’ll access the site. See what I can find. Give me a little time.”
    â€œI’ll call you,” Lydia said.
    She hung up feeling more optimistic than she had in months. Trish Delaney had the contacts and expertise to accomplish what Lydia couldn’t. As much as she didn’t want her story turned into front-page news, someone had tried to hurt Tyler. That upped the stakes.
    Lydia filled the teapot with water and pulled ateabag from the cabinet. She needed to distance herself from all that had happened in Atlanta. A good book and a cup of herbal raspberry would soothe her troubled spirit.
    The pot whistled. Lydia poured the boiling water and, cup in hand, walked back to a small, tiled sitting area off the master bedroom.
    A noise caused her to look up at the narrow window over the writing desk.
    She screamed.
    The cup dropped from her hands and shattered on the cold tile floor.

SEVEN
    A fter his conversation with Harris, Matt logged on to the AJCs Web site and double clicked on Archives. Tapping in a time line and the key words Sonny Sloan, he hit Search. Three articles flashed on the screen. Matt saved them to a disc and printed a hard copy.
    Harris had been right. According to the stories, Sonny died in a house fire seven months ago. Lydia and her son had escaped. Two residents of the middle-class Atlanta neighborhood said Lydia had packed her car with personal belongings and parked it in the driveway the night of the fire.
    Matt ran a hand over his forehead. If she didn’t know about the fire, why’d she pack her car? It didn’t make sense.
    Unless she was planning to leave the next morning.
    He shoved the papers into his top desk drawer, scooted his chair back and started to stand when the phone rang.
    â€œSecurity. Lawson.”
    â€œChief, it’s Luke Davenport. My wife just gothome from the gals’ neighborhood bridge party. Said she heard noise down on the beach. Probably teens. Remember that problem we had last summer?”
    â€œBonfires and booze. Yeah, I remember. Mrs. Davenport see anyone?”
    â€œJust heard noise, that’s all. Maybe we’re overreacting, but after that problem they’re having on the