A tall, attractive man in khakis and a polo came in with a teenage girl. “I’m looking for Lucy Kincaid.”

Lucy frowned. The office shouldn’t let anyone back here without buzzing her first.

“I’m Lucy.”

“Agent Ryan Maguire. This is Eve Truman.”

“Ryan. Max’s Ryan.”

He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. Where is she?”

It took Lucy a second to understand. “She doesn’t know you were coming?”

“Tomorrow, but I changed our flight and I can’t reach her. Your husband also doesn’t know where she is. I want you to ping her phone.”

“She was in Kerr County at the recorder’s office three hours ago. I talked to her.”

“At one?”

“About then.”

“Well? Can you do it?”

“Agent Maguire,” Rachel said, “it’s an unusual request.”

“She’s not a criminal or a suspect, she’s missing.”

“Three hours—”

He was getting frustrated. Lucy said, “Give me one minute.”

She stepped back to her desk and called Sean. He answered immediately. “What’s going on with Max?” she asked.

“I’m hacking into—”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Give me a minute, I’m on my way back from Austin right now. And I think Mitch Corta is going to do the right thing. Have your White Collar people stay late.”

“Corta?”

“I found him, he has some evidence—land deals, contracts—but even he doesn’t understand it. But he also has information about Harrison Monroe and Simon Mills and is willing to make a formal statement—at least he was until Maguire called me because he can’t find Max. Shit.”

“What?”

“Her car. It’s at the police impound lot.”

“She was arrested?”

“She would have called you or me if she was. Give me a minute.”

“Ryan wants us to ping her phone.”

“Forget that, I put a tracker on it when she came to town. With her consent, only to be used in an emergency.” A few seconds later he said, “She’s at Methodist Hospital in Boerne. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

She turned to face Ryan.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“I’ll take you to her.”

Chapter Thirty-six

There was no way in hell that Max was staying in the hospital overnight. Her phone was busted, otherwise she would have called Sean to spring her from this place.

“Ms. Revere,” the doctor said, “you have a concussion, a broken ankle, and two cracked ribs.”

She looked at the nurse who was putting a cast on her ankle. She knew she had a broken ankle. She didn’t need to be told. She knew she had a concussion, her head hurt worse than the worst hangover she’d ever had.

“You’re lucky to be alive, Ms. Revere.”

“Did they catch the guy who ran me off the road?”

“I don’t know.”