Something had to happen soon. He needed to get away from Lisa. She was driving him crazy. It wasn’t just the big fight either. Ever since Stanton’s death she’d been so sickeningly clingy. If it wasn’t for the money, he’d have dumped her and moved on. Trouble was, she knew it. He’d catch her looking at him and he’d see the malicious gleam in her eye, challenging him. And he would smile sweetly, say something nice, try not to bite through his tongue. Bitch. Stanton had been right.
Following Hanna had paid off, his suspicions had been proved right. Nobody goes to the lengths he was going to unless they’ve got something to hide. He didn’t know what it was yet, but he’d find out soon enough.
A half-hour later Hanna’s Bentley nosed out into the traffic and turned left, back towards where McIntyre waited. He ducked down out of sight as Hanna blew past him, gave him thirty seconds, then made a U-turn and set off after him, the GPS leading the way.
Hanna’s next stop off—an up-market doctors’ practice—caused another piece of the puzzle to fall into place. Lisa already told him how her father wasn’t looking so good lately. As if he cared. Hanna never had a day sick in his life, but now he was looking a little off-color. He put on a brave front, but she knew him well enough to see through it. Ever since her mother had passed away, she’d almost been looking for signs of ill-health.
And now, here he was.
McIntyre thought about the journey from Buckley’s office to where he now sat. He hadn’t paid much attention on the way over, his mind full of the implications of Hanna’s visit to Buckley, letting the GPS tracker guide him. Now he thought about it, the old man had taken a very roundabout route to get here too. He didn’t want anybody knowing about this particular visit either. Maybe he wanted to spare Lisa’s feelings, vulnerable as she was after her mother’s and then her husband’s death.
No, that wasn’t it. He was up to something.
A police cruiser turned into the street a hundred yards further on, drove slowly towards him. It was that sort of neighborhood. It had been a good morning’s work, time to go. He’d get the name of Hanna’s doctor from Lisa and come back later, see what he could learn. He pulled away from the curb, nodded and smiled at the two cops as their cars passed. He’d have to be careful when he came back.
Chapter 6
EVAN GOT OUT HIS phone and stared at the text that came in five minutes after Hanna arrived. He’d been itching to look at it the whole time.
And if it wasn’t a threat, he didn’t know what was.
He suspected as much, made a conscious decision to not try to read it surreptitiously while Hanna was there. He fished a piece of paper out of his wallet, unfolded it and laid it on the desk. The first four messages from Carl Hendricks.
I know where she is.
Nobody found the second level.
Shame Faulkner burned down the barns. Now you’ll never know.
You were so close.
He scrolled back through his messages and found the fifth one, the one that almost got him killed on his last case down in Kentucky. It had come through as he hid in the psychopath Forrest St. John’s hayloft. The sound of it pinging in his pocket nearly got him shot— accidentally— by Angel Garcia, the Louisville PD detective on the case. He copied it onto the scrap of paper.
How’s it feel, Buckley?
That one had been personal, the first one to use his name. Finally, he added the one that arrived earlier while he was with Hanna.
Don’t worry, it will all be over soon.
The meaning was clear. The time for messages was over. The next phase was about to begin—direct, physical retribution.
He re-folded the scrap of paper, put it back in his wallet, pondering the question that had bugged him ever since he told Kate Guillory that Hendricks was stalking him. He hadn’t told her then the contents of the messages. Should he tell her now? On the one hand, the barely concealed threat was a definite escalation which needed to be taken seriously. On the other hand ...
He ripped a sheet of paper from his notebook and wrote out the messages again. He didn’t need to copy them from the scrap of paper in his wallet, he knew them by heart.
I know where she is.
You were so close.
How’s it feel, Buckley?
Don’t worry, it will all be over soon.
He smiled to himself. Nobody needed to know there were two more messages. The sequence still made perfect sense without the ones he’d omitted—a taunting escalation into a concealed threat. He couldn’t see why they’d want to see the original emails and texts—if they wanted to trace the sender, they didn’t need all of them. And if they did, he’d deal with that when it happened.
In the meantime, it gave him the opportunity to investigate the existence of a lower basement level. On his own. The last thing he needed was Guillory telling him not to be so stupid, saying it was obvious Hendricks was making it up to maximize his pain, with that look on her face that made him feel six years old.
Or, worse, preventing him from looking into it at all.
***
‘HANG OUT A LOT with multi-millionaire businessmen, do you?’
Evan slid into the booth opposite Guillory feeling very pleased with himself and waved the waitress over.
‘Whenever I get the chance, yeah. Better than some of the company I keep.’
‘I’ve told you not to listen to Donut.’
‘Don’t call him that.’
He grinned at her and ordered some coffee. She shook her head at the offer of a refill.
‘What should I call him?’
‘He likes Detective Ryder, it’s more respectful.’
‘I like Mr Buckley. Doesn’t happen very often though. I notice you’re not wearing lipstick today.’
She had a hard job keeping her open palm under control. It was such a perfect fit for the back of his head.
‘That’s because I’m working.’
‘Yeah, me too. I’ve got a new client.’
‘I know that—’
‘I suppose I should say thank you.’
‘You should, but I’m not holding my breath. I think Hanna plays golf with the Chief, something like that. The Chief told him to speak to me and Ryder.’
‘I heard about that. Buckley’s got the monopoly on stubborn and stupid.’
She smiled.
‘Yeah, you should’ve seen Ryder’s face when Hanna said he was going to hire you.’
‘Did you wear lipstick when you met with Hanna?’
She felt her palm flex again, saw him lean back in his seat out of range.
‘Looks like he doesn’t blame you for what happened to Stanton. Then again, you manage to do that perfectly well on your own. What’s he want you to do for him?’
He hesitated a moment to get his answers straight in his head. As Hanna said, sometimes it was as if he simply opened his mouth and let the wind blow his tongue around. He had to be more careful this time.
‘He wants me to find somebody.’
There was a long pause as she waited for more.
‘Don’t give too much away, Evan. Who? Why?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ he said, feeling ridiculous.
‘You’re not at liberty to say,’ she mimicked. ‘Do you mean you’re not allowed to tell me?’
‘Not only you. I can’t tell anybody.’
She suddenly grinned at him, her whole face lighting up. Lipstick or not, he was reminded how good she looked when she smiled.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You. I can just imagine what’s going on inside your head. How am I going to get her to do most of the work for me if I can’t tell her what the job is?’
He tried to look sheepish, ended up laughing himself. Sometimes he wished he wasn’t so transparent.
‘You’re right, it’s a thorny one.’
She leaned back and stretched, her hands linked behind her head, the smile still there.
‘You’ll find a way though.’
&
nbsp; ‘I hope so.’
‘Anything about it you can tell me without having to kill me afterwards?’
As often happened, his hand automatically went to his ear. After exposing Lisa Stanton and Hugh McIntyre’s affair, McIntyre had jumped him in a parking lot one night and taken a bite out of it. It was enough for her.
‘McIntyre?’
Evan dropped his hand, nodded.
‘He’s involved, yes. What Hanna asked me to do will have a direct impact on him.’
‘As in, a direct negative impact.’
‘Oh yes. And for some very unpleasant people he’s mixed up with. He—’
She held up a hand, the smile fading from her lips.
‘I don’t want you to betray any client confidentiality, Evan. All I want to say is if this gets dangerous, you need to tell me. Remember, I’ve met you more than once before—I know exactly what you’re like. No heroics. If things get hairy, you call in the grown-ups.’
He turned his head as if looking to see if he could spot any. She took the opportunity to give it the slap it deserved.
‘Thank God for that,’ she said, the words riding out on a long exhale. ‘I’ve been itching to do that ever since you sat down.’
The thing was, Evan had met her before as well. Although she wasn’t as transparent as he was, he was getting to understand her better all the time. He wouldn’t have known it a few weeks ago, but he knew today that the playful slap and the words were only there to mask the concern she was determined he didn’t see.
The words Angel Garcia had spoken to him down in Kentucky were never far from the front of his mind whenever he saw or spoke to her now.
Despite what she says about you, she sounds like she’s …fond of you.
It made him feel awful, slimy.
In his pocket and in his wallet, he had two pieces of paper—one with four messages written on it and one with six. For the life of him, he didn’t know which one he was going to show her when they got around to discussing Carl Hendricks, which would be any minute now.
His thoughts must have been written all over his face.
‘Hey, Buckley, what’s the matter with you?’
He shook his head, waved for the waitress to bring a refill.
‘You always order more coffee when you want to avoid talking about something. Did you know that?’
‘I’m thirsty, that’s all.’
‘Right. Why don’t you tell me about your trip to Kentucky? I spoke with Detective Garcia. He told me a few interesting things.’
Evan paid a lot of attention to the coffee refill, didn’t look at her. He didn’t need to. He knew what was coming.
‘I hear you’ve got a little friend down there. Gina, isn’t it?’
He looked up at her, saw the smile on her lips. Maybe not all the way up to her eyes this time, the denim blue that he loved duller than usual.
‘Or was it the other one, Destiny? I get confused. Anyway, sounds like you had a fun time.’
A half-strangled laugh slipped through his teeth.
‘Let’s hope I don’t have so much fun on this case.’
She leaned forward and put her hand on top of his, gave it a squeeze.
‘No chance. Not with me around.’
He had no idea whether she meant no chance of a romantic interlude, or no chance of ending up kneeling side by side in the dirt with Angel Garcia, preparing to meet their maker as Forrest St. John aimed his gun at the back of their heads.
‘You want to talk about Hendricks now?’ she said, pulling her hand away, business all the way.
***
‘JESUS, EVAN. FROM THE look on your face, I’ll take that as a no, shall I?’
He glanced at the door, thought about making a quick dash for it. She caught him looking and turned to look herself. She turned back, a frown creasing her forehead.
‘I think maybe you’re being a little paranoid.’
He wasn’t about to correct her mistaken assumption.
She shook her head in exasperation, her breath exiting noisily through her nose.
‘Why don’t you show me what he sent you?’
In his mind, Evan tried to picture Hendricks’ basement, tried to imagine whether there was any chance of a second, lower level. It was impossible. The other memories from that night were so vivid, they obliterated everything else. He’d been too busy trying to stay alive. The possibility of another level had never crossed his mind until Hendricks’ message.
He noticed her hand extended towards him, a pained look on her face.
‘What?’
‘Let me see your phone.’
‘It’s okay, I wrote them out for you. Save you having to dig through my phone.’
She gave him a strange look, not the most attractive he’d seen, then burst out laughing.
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t want me looking through your phone. You’ve got a secure folder on it you can use for all that sort of stuff, you know.’
He shook his head.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Pictures of Gina perhaps, that you don’t want me to see.’
The laughter was still in her voice even if it was wearing very thin. He pulled out his phone and found the messages, held the phone out towards her.
‘There’s nothing on that phone I’m not happy for you to see, Kate.’
She took the phone, read the messages, kept her eyes down when she’d finished.
‘Only three?’
‘The first one was an email. That’s why I wrote them all out for you, so I didn’t have to carry my laptop around. There’s a ton of porn on that I definitely don’t want you to see.’
Her head snapped up and she almost fell into his grin.
‘Idiot.’
They were back on track again, and he’d learned something interesting about her today. His mouth was suddenly dry—too much coffee, had to be—his heart thundering in his chest as he placed a scrap of paper on the table, pushed it across to her side. She straightened it, read the messages. Her face was serious when she looked up again.
‘There’s a definite escalation in the tone. Taunting to start with, ending with what’s got to be a threat.’
‘That’s what I thought. What did you find out about the guy who’s sending them for him?’
Their unspoken thoughts hung in the air between them so palpably, he might as well have voiced them.
Who’ll be the one following through on the threat.
He thought she looked serious before. She managed to ratchet it up a step.
‘That bad, eh?’
She went to raise her hand to call the waitress, then dropped it again, a small, apologetic smile on her lips.
‘Don’t want to pick up any of my bad habits, Kate. Tell me your worst.’
‘We don’t know it’s this guy—’
‘Just tell me, Kate. We both know he’s the best candidate for it.’
She pulled her notebook out, found the page she wanted. He tried to see what was written there.
‘How can you read that scribble?’
She ignored him, kept her eyes on the page.
‘The guy’s a real redneck. His name’s Floyd Gray, age thirty-six, comes from a place called Hillsboro in Texas. Joined the Army in 2000 with Hendricks and Adamson. Convicted of statutory rape of a fifteen-year-old girl in 2005, again with Hendricks and Adamson. They got out on a technicality two years later. Gray didn’t get out until 2010—’
‘What did he do?’
‘Stabbed another inmate. Something happened when his sister was visiting, a guy insulted her. Sounds like he’s good at holding a grudge. And following through on it.’
‘Killed him?’
‘Not quite. He wouldn’t be here now, ready and willing to hunt you down for Hendricks if he did.’
‘Thanks a lot. What’s he been doing since he got out?’
She wrinkled her nose, bit
her bottom lip.
‘This is where it gets a bit vague. He spent the last six or seven years outside the U.S., working for a semi-legit security contractor as a mercenary’—she consulted her notebook again—‘he’s got an impressive résumé. Syria, Iraq, Somalia, you name a godforsaken hellhole, he’s killed people there.’
He nodded as she spoke, like the details made any difference.
‘Great. Let me guess—special expertise, black ops civilian assassination?’
‘Let me check page two of his résumé ...’
He tried to catch her eye but she kept her nose buried in her notebook.
‘Any idea where he is now?’
‘Hmm. This is where it gets really hazy. He re-entered the U.S. late last year and disappeared off the radar. He’ll have a stack of tax-free cash that’ll last him. No job, no bank account, no phone or utilities contracts, nothing. Most likely back living in a trailer park in Hillsboro, listening to Country & Western music, drinking himself into oblivion.’
‘And running Carl Hendricks’ errands, of course.’
Guillory shrugged, never one to waste her breath unnecessarily.
Evan checked his watch. Not bad going. Still only eleven-thirty in the morning and already he had Hugh McIntyre and Floyd Gray after his blood. Perhaps McIntyre might like to hire Gray, rationalize things a bit, avoid wasteful duplication of effort.
‘Want to see a photo?’ Guillory said.
‘Why not? Might stop me inadvertently buying him a beer in a bar, right before he stabs me in the parking lot.’
She pulled a photocopied image from the back of her notebook and passed it across. Then she picked up the scrap of paper with the messages on and read through them again while Evan studied Floyd Gray’s mugshot. Closely-cropped dark hair, receding at the temples as male pattern baldness set in. A strong jaw, full lips, a nose that had been broken more than once, pale eyes you instinctively knew you didn’t want to catch in a bar.
He pushed it across the table.
The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets) Page 58