We were at the hotel about an hour when we saw the news that proved Montague was right. Kurt was dead, and the primary suspect was the other corpse. We knew better, but his fingerprints had been all over the murder weapon.
He had literally been knifed in the back from a trophy weapon in his office. The news also reported the other man was dead, apparently a heart attack. Again, not true, but we don’t know what Brendan had rigged up.
It seemed the trail was cold, and I didn’t know what to do. Montague did, but I didn’t like it. “It’s time for you to go back to work my darling. Before you say no, I don’t know what we’re facing, who, or why. My brother factors in, but I don’t know how.”
“You’ll be safe enough in a new city, pretending to do one job, while doing another. Which cover is it, the HR manager, or the IT System Administrator? Also, what city?”
“This time, it’s Security Advisor, and I’m using my own name. It’s in Seattle. The owner of the consulting company knows me, so we have to be more careful.”
Montague shook his head. “That worries me. What was stolen this time? Some new computer software?”
“Actually no, patents. Someone in their legal department pulled a fast one, and sold forty two patents out from under us, to a holding company, through a loophole. It was too ingenious for one paralegal to have pulled it off. We need to know more.”
Montague packed his clothes, kissed me, and sent a text. “I can’t tell you where I’m going Love, it’ll make you safer. Before you say no, remember, I’m good at hiding in plain sight. I’ll be around.”
I knew there was no point in arguing, so I booked a flight to Seattle. It was the hardest thing I could do. He wouldn’t have me there to protect him.
The text I got, once off the flight, didn’t make me feel much better. “Safe now, only shot at once, a bit bruised up, but over all I’m good.” Monty liked to downplay things.
That meant, there had been bleeding, possibly a broken bone, he was hurt. People give me a pitiful look when they hear my husband is a stamp expert. They picture a boring, unimaginative person who gets nosebleeds.
They’re wrong of course, on two counts. Monty is neither boring, or unimaginative, but he does get nosebleeds. Sadly, they’re usually from the fists of 280 pound, angry bad buys.