Page 54 of Guess Again
“Sure. Follow me.”
She followed the man to the northeast side of the store, where the combat paraphernalia and tactical equipment were located. Knives of all shapes and sizes decorated the wall, along with compasses, watches, canteens, and other essentials needed on the battlefield. There was even a corner display of beer cozies. It took twenty minutes for the man to showcase the Kevlar accessories, and she ended up choosing the Citizen Armor SHTF Tactical Vest, after the sales rep promised that if a round were shot into her chest, the vest would stop the bullet cold.
The purpose of the vest, she told the sales rep as she handed over her credit card, was a sport-shooting range program she was participating in that required all its participants to wear Kevlar. She gave no explanation for why she was also purchasing a Victorinox Swiss Army Knife with a drop point blade, but flirted just enough so that the man would remember the tall lady with jet-black hair and mesmerizing caramel eyes when authorities came to ask questions, which they surely would in the coming days.
“Good luck,” the sales rep said, handing her the box with the Kevlar vest inside.
“With what?”
“The shooting-range program.”
“Oh, right. Thank you.”
She smiled and took the vest. She hoped a bullet never found her chest, but just in case something went wrong, she would be protected. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
She had just a few more tasks to complete before next Monday. She climbed into her car and adjusted the rearview mirror so that the unmarked police car came into view. She had learned the man behind the wheel—an older gentleman with a limp—was Pete Kramer, a special agent with the Department of Criminal Investigation.
She’d always known Francis was smart. But she was starting to suspect that he was a genius, and the long game he was playing was masterful.
CHAPTER 50
Beaver Dam, Wisconsin Tuesday, July 29, 2025
THE WINDOW OFBLAKECORDIS’S HOME OPENED WITHOUT PROTEST. There was no reason to lock the house. The chance that a random intruder would find their way to his cottage, which was situated in the middle of Prescott Estates, was a statistical improbability since there had never been a reported burglary on the grounds. Still, out of habit, Blake usually locked the front door. So, she had made sure to unlock this window the last time she was at the cottage to see him. She climbed through the window, carrying with her a Callaway 9-iron golf club, and headed straight for his office.
Sitting behind the desk, she logged onto Blake’s computer. It took just a minute to access the internal links and get to the guts of the device. Ten minutes more and she had what she needed, and after another ten she had the computer set and organized. She skipped a dramatic exit out the window, choosing instead to leave through the front door. But before she did, she opened the closet in the front foyer and placed the 9-iron in the back corner. She grabbed a package of Saratoga 120 cigarettes off the coffee table on the way out, caring little if Blake Cordis questioned why his front door was unlocked when he returned home from work.
CHAPTER 51
Boscobel, Wisconsin Wednesday, July 30, 2025
GOVERNORMARKJONES WAS ESCORTED INTOWARDENARICUTLASS’Soffice at the Wisconsin Secure Program Facility on Wednesday morning. It had been less than twenty-four hours since his meeting with Ethan Hall, during which he had learned that Francis Bernard had set in motion a proverbial ticking time bomb that not only threatened a girl’s life, but Mark’s political career if he mismanaged things. He’d also learned, in the most definitive manner in a decade, that his daughter was dead.
“Governor,” the warden said when he walked in. “To what do I owe the pleasure of an unannounced visit?”
“Hey, Ari. Sorry to drop in unannounced.”
“Not at all. Something big must have come up to pull you out to crappy, little Boscobel from your cushy mansion in Madison. Something important?”
“I’m afraid so, yes. It has to do with one of your inmates. Francis Bernard.”
“Bernard? He’s a lifer.” Ari looked up in contemplation. “Actually, he’s not. He was grandfathered in and probably has mandatory parole coming at some point. But he’s been here thirty years.”
“Thirty-two,” Mark said. “And I need a favor.”
“Oh yeah?”
“We need to transfer him to Columbia.”
“Why?”
“Grab a cup of coffee and take a seat. I’ll tell you all about it.”
After he listened to the governor’s story, Ari Cutlass cocked his head. “That’s quite a situation you’re in. How long has this girl been missing?”
“A month. And my guys are worried she doesn’t have much time left.”
“Damn, Mark.”
