Wickingham Way (A Harbour Falls Mystery #3)

Wickingham Way

S.R. Grey

Also by S. R. Grey

Harbour Falls

Willow Point

I Stand Before You

Prologue

T
he morning after the love of my life—the powerful and rich Adam Ward—confessed to just how dangerous the work he did really was he had to run down to his in-town office to pick up some business files. Not that I thought driving down to Harbour Falls was a danger in and of itself, but last night’s revelations had left me feeling uneasy.

It was Saturday, so the day’s plan was for Adam to work from my rented home (a lovely Victorian on the outskirts of Harbour Falls, owned by an equally lovely lady named Mrs. Heider). I should have felt calm and focused, but I did not.

I was currently sitting in Mrs. Heider’s lovely home, penning my newest novel—a love story largely inspired by my several-month romance with Adam. And true, I was seated at a desk located in the turret section of the second-floor writing room, computer screen before me, but sadly, keeping an eye on the house next door had somehow taken precedence over writing.

The big Victorian I couldn’t peel my eyes from belonged to Stowe Hannigan—Adam’s one-time fiancée’s brother. As Adam and I had only recently discovered, Stowe was also a hit man.
And
a member of the criminal organization my man was currently trying to bring down, with the backing of a covert branch of the US government.

I’d always known Adam’s work demanded secrecy, as he designed and implemented sophisticated security software systems for domestic and international organizations. And I’d heard whispers early on that Adam was probably involved in some high intrigue–type liaisons. But I’d never really realized just how incredibly dangerous all that secrecy and covert stuff really could be.

Well, not until recently.

I tapped my fingers on the desk and sighed. Tangled webs and all that.

Concluding that my preoccupation with Stowe’s place was distracting me from getting anything constructive accomplished in the realm of writing, I pretty much gave up and focused all my attention next door.

Cardboard moving boxes, which had been spread out all over Stowe’s porch yesterday evening, were no longer in sight. Stowe was supposed to be leaving our sleepy little part of Maine—so where were those boxes?

Maybe the lack of moving clutter meant my assassin neighbor had loaded the boxes into a truck or something and would be taking off sooner rather than later. I certainly hoped so. Stowe living in the house next door, while Adam worked to destroy the organization he was a part of, hit just a little too close for comfort.

From what I could gather from my vantage point, there appeared to be no signs of outward activity at Stowe’s house. Plus, his car was gone, leaving me to conclude that my neighbor was out. It was still early—and I’d not been up all that long since Adam had snuck off without waking me—but as I thought about it more and more, I realized I’d not seen any sign of Stowe, or his plain-white rental car, all morning…or yesterday evening.

Suddenly I had a brainstorm.

What an opportune time to take a little stroll next door and maybe peek in a window or two, just to see if Stowe really was all packed up. Maybe he’d already moved? Slipped out into the night, like the slippery character he had turned out to be. Maybe I’d find the house empty, which would leave me with one less thing to worry about.

I quickly saved the Word file I was working on—or not working on, as it were—and proceeded downstairs. I tugged on a pair of fashionable boots, zipped them up to my knees, and grabbed a lightweight jacket to throw on over my sweater. Three minutes later, I was standing out on Stowe’s porch, staring into his dining room window.

Hmm…not gone yet,
I glumly concluded.

There were way too many things in the cluttered room, indicating to me that Stowe was not even close to being moved out. In fact, from the look of things, it appeared my neighbor hadn’t even started to pack up the dining room. Even more curious, the dining room itself didn’t appear to be used for dining at all—at least not by Stowe Hannigan. The room was outfitted as more of a makeshift office of some sort, packed with a variety of home office–type equipment.

The heavy oak table in the center of the room stood covered in files, so much so that the dark wood surface wasn’t even visible. There was also only one dining room chair in sight. It was wedged in at the far end of the table, facing what appeared to be a state-of-the-art desktop computer. On the floor, cables lay crisscrossed and tangled around the scattered boxes. Boxes that bore an uncanny resemblance to the ones I’d seen on the porch yesterday.

Oh no
.

I squinted so I could better read the heavy, dark printing on the sides of the boxes.
Kitchen, bedroom
,
bathroom…
These were definitely the same boxes that had been out on the porch. So I had to question why Stowe would move the boxes back inside. The weather was good, dry for the past few days. Sure, that was an oddity for the northern coast of Maine at this time of year—but that was neither here nor there.

Perhaps Stowe had changed his mind about moving. If he had changed his mind, considering the circumstances, it seemed prudent to find out why. But to do so, I would need a better view. Unfortunately, the blinds on the inside of the window were only partially open. That meant from where I stood, I couldn’t see what—if anything—was in the boxes. What little I could see, though, made it seem as if Stowe was in the process of
un
packing his moving boxes.

But how could I be sure?

If I could just get in the house to check things out,
then
I’d know for sure.

I walked over to the front door and knocked, just to make absolutely certain my neighbor was definitely gone.

As expected, there was no answer. I breathed a little easier, glancing around to make sure I wasn’t being watched. No neighbors were in sight, so I considered my options.

Hmm…
I tapped my foot. I was looking at two possibilities. I could sneak inside, or I could go back over to my house and wait for Adam. Adam would want me to wait for him, no doubt. The only problem was I didn’t expect him to return for at least another half an hour. And I was feeling too impatient to do nothing for the next thirty minutes or so. Consequently, I decided one tiny peek couldn’t hurt.

With my decision made, I carefully tried the doorknob.

Locked,
dammit.

Hell if I was about to let one little obstacle like a locked door stop me. I was Maddy Fitch, best-selling author by trade but persistent investigator on my own time…even if my snooping and nosiness often bought me more trouble than not. But I was nothing if not determined, so I ran back over to my house.

I didn’t use bobby pins, but I had a feeling my landlord, Mrs. Heider, just might. I raced up to the bathroom and dug around in the drawers of the vanity. Sure enough, I found a bunch of bobby pins in the back of the last drawer I yanked open.

Perfect!

Two minutes later, I was back out on Stowe’s porch, prying open one of the hairpins and slipping it into the keyhole on the doorknob.

Okay, I’d seen this on TV, but damn, it was harder in real life.

But I was nothing if not determined, remember? And sure enough, after a few additional tries, I sprung the lock.

Yes!

I may have done a little victory dance, but then I remembered the neighbors. No need to attract unwanted attention.

I glanced around. No neighbors, no Stowe, no Adam. Cool. Everything was still quiet, so I turned around and stepped right into Stowe’s house.

And then…I panicked.

Shit, what in God’s name was I doing? Breaking and entering an assassin’s home!? That was like entering a dragon’s lair. Was I crazy? Even if Stowe didn’t happen upon me—which he might—I knew Adam would kick my ass if he came back from his office earlier than expected and caught me over here. He wouldn’t actually kick my ass, of course, but still.

Best he not find out
, I thought as I hurried into the dining room. I was intent on determining whether Stowe’s moving boxes were packed…or in the process of being unpacked. I hoped for the former as I hustled over to the many boxes and started going through each one as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, my initial fear was soon confirmed; Stowe was definitely in the process of
unpacking
his belongings.

Why, though?

Why would Stowe Hannigan remain here in Harbour Falls? Sure, he was originally from this tiny coastal town in Maine, and he had once had family here. His sister had been Chelsea Hannigan, Adam’s one-time fiancée. But Chelsea had gone missing over four years ago, and his family had since moved far away.

Of course, events had brought Stowe back to town three months earlier, in November. Stowe had returned to retrieve his sister’s remains after her body was discovered. Proud to say, I was the one who uncovered the clues that solved
that
particular mystery.

But the fact remained that Stowe’s permanent residence was not in Maine. He lived in Florida. He had for the past decade, doing whatever underworld things one did when part of a multilayered criminal organization. Of course, Stowe wouldn’t be doing much of anything criminally oriented for much longer if Adam and the government had their way.

And that got me thinking…

My eyes drifted to the numerous files covering the table. Checking a few couldn’t hurt, right? It might even help. Maybe I’d be afforded some insight into my neighbor’s plans for the near future. Information like that could potentially be very helpful to Adam.

Or so I reasoned.

In any case, without further ado, I stepped over to the dining room table and began to page through a bunch of random papers and files. I found nothing helpful at first glance, just bits and pieces of information on various individuals. Some of the files contained lengthy rap sheets. I assumed those were in reference to the assorted members of Stowe’s organization, kind of like résumés for criminals.

Time was passing, but I continued to search and search. I knew I’d better hurry, though, as Stowe could return at any time. And if Adam came home and found me snooping—well, like I said before, that could actually turn out worse for me than Stowe happening upon me. Especially since I’d promised Adam I’d keep no more secrets from him. And this probably qualified as a secret. It was definitely sneaky at the very least.

With all that in mind, I hurriedly closed up the files I’d opened and stacked them back in the same way.

Or so I tried.

But wait…

Was the first file I picked up originally next to the printer on the table…or over by the computer? I held it up, frowned, pivoted left and right.

Still, I was confused.

Had I picked up the file I held in my hands from the empty space next to the computer? I couldn’t remember. And I really didn’t have time to figure it out.

Oh, whatever.

I stepped to my left and placed the file causing me so much concern on top of another file marked, “Reopened.”

Curious as to what
reopened
meant, I flipped the file open so I could read the contents.

It was then and there I almost collapsed, right smack dab in the middle of Stowe’s cluttered dining room floor. All because of one piece of paper on top…and the five words printed on it that read: “Suspected project name—Wickingham Way.”

No, no, no, no!

Wickingham Way was the code name of Adam’s secret project to bring Stowe’s criminal organization to its knees. This could prove disastrous.

The next page had a bit more information, just as damning.

Status of project: unknown

Recent activity: February 11—five offshore accounts frozen

Threat assessment level: raised from high to critical

Previous directive status: hold

Updated directive status: February 11—eliminate target

Okay, this was bad—really bad. Stowe knew the name of the project Adam was working on. Apparently whatever Adam was doing—for whatever government entity employing his services—it was working, as evidenced by the five frozen offshore accounts. I was sure that was what had bumped the threat level up from high to critical.

February 11 was yesterday, so this was all very recent. Maybe
this
was why Stowe was staying? But what did this
directive status
crap mean? And what did
eliminate target
mean? Who was the target?

I was afraid to find out.

There was a glossy eight-by-ten photograph behind the paper outlining the directive. With shaky fingers, I slipped it out. And the photo contained…an image of Adam leaving his Harbour Falls office. Yesterday, based on the suit he was wearing.

Oh Lord, Adam was the target. There was no doubt about it. Hell, it said right at the top of the picture, in the border: “Adam Ward—target.”

My worst fear had just been confirmed. Stowe Hannigan was assigned to assassinate the man I loved.

I stared and stared at the photograph of Adam, thinking only one thing:
God, how will we ever get out of this terrible mess?