Chris felt adrenaline surge into his system. He turned to his computer and plugged in Courtney’s name and Central Valley PA, and the first address was hers:

Courtney Wheeler, 297 Mole Drive, Central Valley, PA

Then Chris’s gaze fell on the third address, under previous addresses of Courtney Wheeler, and the entry read:

Courtney Shank Wheeler, 938 Evergreen Circle, Headley, PA

Chris’s thoughts raced. Headley, PA. Where had he heard that name before? The Rabbi had said it. It was up north in Marcellus Shale. Courtney and her family were from the Marcellus Shale area. She could have been the connection to the baseball team—and if so, that meant Evan was the boy in the Musketeers Varsity T-shirt, stealing the bags of ammonium nitrate fertilizer from Herb Vrasaya’s farm.

Chris felt the revelation electrify his system. If Evan was missing, it could be going down tonight. Or Evan could be in mortal jeopardy.

Chris reached for his phone and was pressing in the Rabbi’s number when he heard the door opening.

“Chris?” Heather stood in the threshold with Jordan, her bewilderment plain.

Chapter Forty-seven

“Chris, what are you doing?” Heather asked, aghast.

“Excuse me.” Chris hustled out of the office and closed the door behind him. “I’m sorry, but you both have to go, and so do I.”

“What do you mean?” Heather recoiled, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t explain more. You both have to go. Please.”

“But aren’t you going to deal with this situation?” Heather folded her arms. “I’m not just going to let my son—”

“Heather, please. Evan could be in grave trouble.” Chris grabbed his windbreaker from the hook and his keys from the side table.

“But what about Jordan? Jordan matters, too. I’m surprised you would treat him like he doesn’t. I thought you cared about him. About us.”

“Heather.” Chris felt pained. He wanted to touch her but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Of course I care about you both. But please, for now, go.”

“Why?” Heather asked, wounded.

“Coach, what’s up? Why are you acting so random?” Jordan’s lips parted, and Chris could see how hurt they were, which made him feel terrible. He had deceived her and Jordan, who had trusted him. They had been his unwitting, and he’d never felt bad about it before. He owed them an explanation.

“Heather, Jordan, there’s something I have to tell you. I’m a Special Agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, and I’m working undercover.”

“Chris? You’re a what?” Heather asked, astonished. “You mean, you’re not really a coach?”

“Correct, I’m not a coach. That was a cover story. I have to go now. We all do.” Chris had no more time to lose. He crossed the room and removed the false front from a shelf in the entertainment center, which concealed a small safe that he’d built into the wall himself.

“Whoa, Coach, I mean, for real?” Jordan gasped. “Are you kidding right now?”

“Jordan, I’m sorry I lied to you, but I had to.” Chris dialed the safe’s combination, opened the door, and took out his wallet and shoulder holster with his Glock. He closed the safe, walked back to Heather and Jordan, and showed them his ID and badge. “Here’s my ID, so you know.”

“It says Curt Abbott,” Heather said, shocked. “Chris isn’t your real name?”

“No, now that’s all I can tell you and I shouldn’t even be telling you that. I’m asking you to keep this completely confidential. Tell no one outside of this room. This is a federal matter, and we are handling it.” Chris felt a wrench in his chest to see Heather edge backwards, her eyes showing the sting of betrayal.

“Chris, is this really true?” she asked, her tone newly hushed. “You lied to us to help Evan?”

“No but I can’t explain more,” Chris rushed to say, slipping on his shoulder holster and checking the snap on the thumb break, which held his Glock securely in place. “You’ll be contacted by an ATF agent within the hour. They’ll confirm what I’m saying. Now let’s go, hurry.”

Chris hustled them downstairs, then ran for his car, pulling out ahead of them.

It was go-time.

Chapter Forty-eight

Chris tore out of his development, heading toward Courtney’s. Mole Street was in the Murray Hills development, and he knew the way. He reached for his phone and called the Rabbi, who answered immediately.

“Curt, hi. I’m at the burn site, and we got nothing. Tell me something good. Improve my mood.”

“Can do. I think the kid who stole the fertilizer is Evan Kostis, from my baseball team.” Chris steered right, then left through the deserted streets. “He was having an affair with a female teacher at the high school, Courtney Wheeler, and she’s originally from Headley. Her maiden name is Shank, and she used to live on Evergreen Circle. I’m going to her house in Central Valley right now.”

“So they were connected. Nice work! You need backup? I’ll get the locals over there.”

“Yes, but I don’t want them to tip her off if she’s there.”

“Think she will be?”

“No. She could be up there with Evan. You need to send people over to her family home in Headley.” Chris told him the address.

“So you think the kid’s in the conspiracy with the teacher?”

“Yes.” Chris whizzed past the outlet malls, their stores darkened and closed. “His father is about to be indicted for tax evasion, a doctor at Blakemore Medical Center in Central Valley. Ask your AUSA and IRS pals what the deal is. That might be the source of Evan’s gripe against the government.”

“Okay. How are they traveling? You got a vehicle or a tag?”

“Not for Courtney, but Evan is driving a new black BMW. I’ll text you photos of the tag, the car, and him.” Chris had a photo of the BMW in his phone from that day in the parking lot, at school.

“What does this have to do with the dead teacher, Abe Yomes?”

“Not sure yet, but Abe was close friends with Courtney. You got anybody to call my unwitting, Jordan and Heather Larkin? I had to blow my cover, it couldn’t be avoided. They need handholding.”