Chapter 5
Chapter 5 - A SCENT ON THE WINDIn Chicago, the penthouse was quiet, but it was not at peace.Arthur Montgomery stood by the glass window, looking out at the calm summer waters of Lake Michigan. On his desk lay the police report of Iris Thorne’s "suicide." The case had been closed three months ago. The investigators concluded she had jumped during the storm, her body swept away by the undertow.
But Arthur didn't believe in suicide. Especially not for Iris.
"She was too cowardly to jump," Arthur muttered to himself, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his mahogany desk. "She wanted to run. She wanted to hurt me."
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. His private investigator, a cold, ruthless former intelligence operative named Miller, walked into the room, holding a tablet.
"Mr. Montgomery," Miller said, his voice flat. "We found something."
Arthur turned around, his eyes turning to sharp slits. "Speak."
"We ran a secondary sweep on her bank accounts and digital footprint," Miller explained, handing the tablet to Arthur. "Three weeks before her disappearance, a prepaid digital visa card was purchased at a grocery store three blocks from your building. It was used to buy a pair of women's hiking boots, a waterproof backpack, and a bus ticket to Missoula, Montana."
Arthur’s face contorted into a mask of pure, venomous rage. The glass of scotch in his hand shattered as he squeezed it, the amber liquid and blood dripping onto his pristine desk. He didn't even flinch at the pain.
"I knew it," Arthur hissed, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "She played me. She made a fool out of me."
"We’ve already started scanning local databases in western Montana," Miller continued. "A small town called Pine Crest, just outside Missoula, reported a new resident matching her description working at a wildlife shelter. She’s using the name 'Wren'."
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Arthur pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the blood and scotch from his hand. His gray eyes turned entirely dark, filled with a psychotic, obsessive determination.
"Pack the cars, Miller," Arthur commanded, a cold, terrifying smile curling his lips. "We are going to Montana. It’s time to bring my runaway bride home."
