Zeke waited him out, willing him to cave. A lawyer would muddle up the situation and slow everything down.

“It started with a phone call.”

Thank you, Lord.

“From who?” He pulled out a lined notepad and a pen.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if it was a man or woman. They were using voice-changing software.”

“What did they say?”

“That they knew about my financial issues and were willing to bail me out in exchange for a favor.”

“Facilitating their use of Ivy Hill property.”

“Yes.”

“How did they know about your money problems?”

“They didn’t say—but I’d applied for loans at several banks, and asked a few friends for help. It wasn’t a closely guarded secret.”

“Did you suggest the barn?”

“No. They already knew about it—which was strange. It’s not on any of our brochures.”

Interesting—and worth further deliberation.

“What did they ask you to do?” Zeke jotted more notes.

“They wanted me to leave a key under a rock for the lock on the access road gate and to delete the security footage for certain hours.”

“And you agreed.”

“Yes.” He lifted a hand to massage his temple. “My wife and I had separated not long before. She gave me six months to stop gambling and get out of debt. The call seemed like a gift from heaven.”

“Only it wasn’t.”

“No.” The man’s features contorted. “It was a nightmare that led straight to hell. Once I helped them, they had blackmail material. I was at their mercy.”

“How many times did you assist this person?”

“Three so far. But there’s another delivery and pickup scheduled for this week.”

“We know—but not the exact dates.”

“Delivery tomorrow between eleven and midnight, pickup the next night during the same hour.”

He wrote down the information. “Why did you begin doing night patrols?”

“They told me to, after . . . after Stephanie Laurent and her boyfriend disappeared.”

Zeke stopped writing. “What do you know about that?”

“Nothing.” Panic flared in the man’s eyes. “I don’t know anything. Except . . . except they disappeared the same night as one of the pickups.”

So the DEA case and Cate’s were, indeed, linked—as they’d suspected.

“What do you think happened to them?”

The man swallowed. “I don’t know. I asked once but didn’t get an answer. I have to think . . . to think there was a connection.”

“What about the attack on Cate Sheppard?”

The rest of the color drained from his complexion. “I think I should . . . I should wait until I have a lawyer to answer that.”

Translation? He had more to do with the attack on Cate than with the one on Stephanie.

Zeke tamped down the spurt of anger that jacked up his pulse.