by Maggie Thom
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John was about to stand up when someone came out the side door. His knees were starting to cramp, his tall, muscled frame not lending itself to be folded down into a pretzel for long periods. Well that and his age, even though he kept himself fit, age showed itself in the graying of his hair and the etched lines in his face. He stayed crouched until he knew he was alone. The woman had left. She'd almost ran him down, in the alley, when she'd driven out of there like a maniac. A quick dive over the fence had kept her from seeing him and saved his hide. But just. He hadn't been expecting her to come out. He could have killed her then. But it would have been messy and he didn't want any witnesses. He would decide when and where. This would be done right. No more mistakes. This time he'd make sure she was gone. What a freaking zoo. No one had said anything about having to deal with two men fighting over the broad. She's kind of skinny.
John had been scouting the house when one guy had barreled out the front door and the other had tried to stop him. The shoving match hadn't been much. The little guy had won hands down but knew enough to get the hell out of there in a hurry.
He had been told to find and get rid of the girl. From all he'd been given she was pretty much a loner. No real friends. That seemed to have changed. He'd have to be a little more cautious. But he would succeed. He wasn't in any hurry to follow her. The tracking device he'd attached to her car would let him know where she was at, at all times. Besides he was curious as to who her 'friends' were and if they'd be a problem.
He'd get to her soon enough. She was the last person who had all the answers. Only she didn't know that. And she may never know. He smiled, loving the quirkiness of it - she'd die and never know why. The thought of sharing her history with her was tempting, just to see the anguish, the tears, the fear. He let that image wash through him and shuddered as goose bumps covered his body. Killing wasn't his first love and not one he'd done often but when someone had done him wrong, they paid. And she had done him wrong. She'd taken away his only family. The sister he'd tried to protect from his alcoholic father and overzealous, turn-your-head-and-don't-notice-what's-happening-to-your-children, religious mother.
He had to do this quickly, get his money and get out of the country before the police finally tracked him down. They had a warrant out for his arrest. His latest roofing scam had given him hundreds of thousands of dollars and a line on the need-to-question list of the local RCMP. He laughed as he thought about all that they had no clue about. All the other things that were probably of a much greater interest to them, if only they knew. He'd been caught once but never convicted. He wouldn't go there again. Once he was done with the girl, he would leave the country for good. Go find some fresh people to bilk of their money.
He waited another ten minutes before he stood up. Hugging the darkness of the six-foot high fence, he walked to the side of the house. His hand shaking slightly, he took out his pick. Thirty seconds and he was in. A bit disgusted that at one time he'd have been in within five seconds, he shook that off. He moved stealthily through the house, not making even a whisper of a sound, priding himself on the fact that he might have aged a bit but he still had what it took. Even if he hadn't been gainfully employed this way in a long, long time.
The place was a mess and had obviously been well searched. Regardless, he still did a careful check of all vents or ceiling tiles that might have been moved but found nothing. He needed to make sure that there was no link from the past to her. Nothing that the cops could use at a later date to try to extradite him. Even countries that didn't believe in that practice could be bribed. As his flashlight flipped over the spilled newspaper covering over half the living room floor he noted two crumpled cards. Bending, he picked them up. Two business cards. One was the girl's, the others was a lawyer's. Acid burned in his gut as he thought about the lawyer he'd had to get rid of. The man who'd figured he was above the law and had decided he could slip evidence to the prosecution. He'd wanted John to go down for defrauding an old woman of her life savings.
He smiled as he remembered how easy it had been to set up that situation.
John pulled out his cell phone and called an old acquaintance, even though he knew he'd be charged heavily for the information. Five minutes later he had the home address. He left the Bailey house, moving stealthily along the alley for two more blocks to where he'd parked his black car. The fine tremor in his hand was almost unnoticeable but was enough that the key didn't slide in smoothly the way it should have.
A drink would have been a nice but he'd never allowed himself to indulge. Not while he was in the middle of something big. And this was big. The end to a thirty-five year career. Which had really ended when his sister Mary had been killed. Thinking of her still made him sad. Made him mad. He still blamed that infant for being responsible for her death and keeping him from collecting thousands of dollars from her new family. Mary had looked after that baby for months and finding out that toddler was alive was too much. He would have killed the girl for nothing but he was a business man. He planned to get paid and get paid well. That child had robbed him of the best career he'd come up with - snatching kids from wealthy parents who had an enemy they often didn't even realize. He'd been hired by family members, relatives, business partners. It hadn't been easy to steal from the rich but that's why whoever wanted his services had to have very deep pockets and very deep resources. He'd had to abandon his prolific career when Mary died.
Besides he wasn't going to spend his retirement behind bars. He had no plans nor desire to go to jail. Not because of one dumb bitch who could ruin it all.
He'd do what needed to be done and then go on a long trip to somewhere south. Somewhere, where extradition wasn't in their vocabulary.
The two men who'd stumbled out of the house came to mind. He might have to charge more for complications. Killing three was really no different than killing one.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN