Page 68 of The Fourth Option
Isn’t philosophy fundamentally a search for truth?
Then why are you running from it?
He coasted to a stop and parked along the street a few blocks from the Staub residence. After Belle had so easily placed him at Leigh Ann’s, he decided to at least not park directly in front.
You need to tell her.
What good will that do?
Truth.
If you make it out of here, look in on Leigh Ann and Connor.
You owe me.
Walker had failed his friend on the battlefield and then failed him again in death.
He exited his van onto the dark street and called for Paladin to join him.
“Good boy,” Walker said as he locked the vehicle.
Would Irene Isaacson really look into Connor’s case as she had promised Leigh Ann? Doubtful. Isaacson was a politician, and politicians told people what they wanted to hear.
You can still honor Staub and return that favor.
If you want to avoid suicide, find something to do.
Who said that? Voltaire?
Maybe.
His encounter with Belle was encouraging. After all, she might be the key that unlocked Connor’s journal. Maybe Walker could crack the code and complete Connor’s work on the Royal De Luxe in his van. Connor couldn’t continue investigating, but Walker could. Maybe that, in some small way, would help fulfill the promise he had made to a dying man.
Paladin looked up at Walker as they made their way under the classic streetlamps, past the ironwork, gardens, and columns of the grand, historic homes, as if to ask why his master was walking so slow.
“Don’t worry, partner. Just thinking.”
It was nearly nine. Leigh Ann’s ER shifts made for late nights.
His conversation with Belle had reminded him that he needed to vary his routine so instead of using the main entrance, he passed the front gate and decided to use the driveway that led to the detached garage.
He heard jazz floating through the humid air. It seemed louder thanhe remembered but maybe that was how Leigh Ann liked it when she was alone. Nothing the neighbors would complain about. He stepped past the hanging tropical plants between the garage and house, noting that Leigh Ann needed better perimeter lighting. As he was about to take the steps up to the side door, Paladin froze at his side, silently alerting, just as he had done a thousand times in Iraq and Afghanistan. Walker stopped in his tracks.
Paladin alerted when he smelled certain explosives or precursors common in IEDs: C-4, TNT, Semtex, ammonium nitrate, RDX. But there was another odor that also triggered him.
Blood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MAYBE IT WASnothing, but Walker had learned long ago that primal instincts should not be ignored, especially those of a multipurpose canine.
He stepped off the path and into the garden shadows between the detached garage and the main house, drawing his Glock.
“Stil,” he whispered, ordering Paladin to stay silent.
Maybe it’s nothing.
The side entrance led into a room just off the kitchen, warm yellow light emanated through sheer curtains.
