Security Measures

Real bummed. It’s a drag here. Can we meet and talk?

Sure. We can meet right now if you promise not to bring that guy with you.

The offer of a daytime meeting surprised Vincent, but with luck, the park would be just as deserted in the sweltering midday heat as it had been in the dark of night. If this was a trap, he didn’t want to bring innocent people into the mix.

I can meet now.

Okay, but don’t let that guy see you leave the house.

He’s not around.

Where is he?

I think he left. Mom didn’t like him.

Can you make it in twenty minutes?

Easy.

Vincent logged out of Kelly’s server and flicked off the monitor. His mind was already going over how he’d handle the meeting with Byron as he unlocked the door and started down the hall to the front of the house.

The door to Janice’s bedroom was open. He knocked anyway. When she didn’t respond, he peeked inside. The white robe she’d had on that morning was tossed on top of the unmade bed. The sheets were still mussed where she’d slept.

Something twisted in his gut, and he leaned against the door frame trying to get a handle on his feelings. This crazy desire she ignited didn’t mean anything. It was just that he hadn’t been with a woman in years and years.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. He stepped into the living room and scanned it for signs of life. The morning newspaper was folded and sitting on the huge ottoman just as he’d left it. A half glass of soda was on the table by the sofa, leftover remnants of ice cubes floating on the top.

Panic swelled in his chest as he raced to the kitchen, then opened the garage door. The tan SUV was gone. Damn. He kicked a sneaker lying by the door with such force that it knocked over Kelly’s bike and sent a tin watering can clattering across the floor.

What kind of lunatic would have run off on her own after what he’d told her about Tyrone’s revenge plans? That was a no-brainer. The same kind of nut who’d testify against Tyrone Magilinti in the first place. If Janice thought some play-by-the-rules U.S. Marshal could save her and Kelly, she was living in a dreamworld.

So where the hell had she taken his daughter? Probably to some so-called safe house the marshal had set up. Or she might have gone to a friend’s house or just hit the road.

She might have even caught a flight out of town, probably not in her own name. Only airline security was tight these days. Unless the marshal had set her up with some convincing alternate forms of ID, she’d never be able to board. Still, he’d check the airlines just to make sure.

He walked back to the kitchen and this time he saw the note from Janice propped against the coffeepot. Like hell, she’d be back soon. She’d probably already called the cops and told them where to find him.

He was amazed they weren’t already beating down the door. There might be a SWAT unit surrounding the house, waiting for him to stick his head out before they started shooting.

He checked his weapons. One pistol was at his waist, tucked into the holster that fit beneath his loose cotton shirt; another was in his boot holster, along with a hunting knife sharp enough to slice a man’s jugular with a flick of the wrist.

Vincent raced to the guest room, stuffed his few personal belongings and his spare change of clothes into the blue duffel with his tools and equipment, then went to the front window and studied the landscape.

There was no sign of police activity, so he walked out, got into his car and drove to the park to meet Byron. It would be a quick visit, but if he was, in fact, working for Tyrone, Vincent wanted to know why and who else who might be on his cousin’s payroll. It always helped to be able to identify the assassins when someone was going down.

THE PARK was deserted except for a mixed-breed mutt chasing squirrels. Vincent waited in the wooded area a couple of yards off the path. He didn’t want Byron to see him and run off before he got close enough to grab him.

Byron showed up early—at least, Vincent figured the guy in denim cutoffs with the scraggly hair was Byron. The guy scanned the area, then dropped into a swing and lit a cigarette. He was lanky and moved in a sluggish manner that suggested he had nothing better to do than while away his days meeting pen pals in the park.

Vincent kept a wary eye out to make sure no one else was around. When he was fairly certain Byron was alone, he stepped onto the path and started breathing as if he’d been jogging.

“Man, this heat will give you a stroke,” he said, leaning against a tree and holding a hand over his chest.

“Yeah. It’s hot.” Byron took a long draw on the cigarette and blew out a spiral of smoke as Vincent approached him.

“It’s too hot for Kelly,” Vincent said, stopping within arm’s reach of Byron. “She said to tell you that.”

The cigarette slipped from Byron’s fingers. Vincent stepped in front of him and ground it out.

“You must have the wrong guy,” Byron said. “I don’t know a Kelly.”

“I think you do.”

Byron jumped up, but Vincent put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him back into the swing.

“You’re crazy, man. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Vincent kept his grip on Byron’s shoulders. “Who paid you to start up a friendship with Kelly?”

“No one. I told you, I don’t know no Kelly.”

Vincent pulled his weapon and held the tip of the barrel against Byron’s right temple. “Who paid you?”

The guy broke into a serious sweat. It poured down his face like rain.

“Okay, okay. Some guy paid me, but I don’t know his name. He just said to start luring Kelly to the park and find out things about her.”

“What kind of things?”

“Who her friends are. What hours her mom’s home. That sort of thing.”

“Why did you run out on her last night?”

“I didn’t, man. I was never here.”

“That’s not what you said in the e-mail.”

“I say what he tells me to say. Last night he told me not to show, then he told me to act like I did.”

“Why didn’t he want you to show last night?”

“I don’t know, dude. I don’t ask questions. I just do as I’m told. I got some gambling debts. I need the money.”

“Did your friend tell you to set up this meeting today?”

“No, and he’s not a friend. Look, please put that gun down. I’ll tell you everything, just put that gun down, please.”

Vincent lowered the gun. The guy was scared, and his gut feeling was that Byron was finally telling the truth.