Sharpe has ties to Michigan, Illinois, Ohio, Missouri, Wisconsin, and Indiana. In the past, he has traveled to California and Georgia. Additionally, he may be in the possession of a Glock 9 mm handgun.
CAUTION
LEON SHARPE IS WANTED FOR MURDER AND
ARMED ROBBERY IN DETROIT, MICHIGAN.
DURING MAY OF 2005, SHARPE ALLEGEDLY
SHOT AND KILLED TWO ARMORED TRUCK
GUARDS OUTSIDE A MOVIE THEATER AND
THEN FLED WITH THE MONEY.
CONSIDERED ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS
IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION CONCERNING
THIS PERSON, PLEASE CONTACT YOUR LOCAL FBI
OFFICE OR THE NEAREST U.S. EMBASSY OR
CONSULATE.
REWARD
The FBI is offering a reward of up to $100,000 for information leading directly to the arrest of Leon Sharpe.
5
Corey stared at the screen, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
There was no question that it was the Leon he knew. The profile included a black-and-white head shot that presumably had been taken a few years ago. In it, Leon was clean-shaven, with a short fade haircut. His features were pinched in a kiss-my-ass glower.
Allegedly shot and killed two armored truck guards. .
Although shock had struck Corey like a hammer, he knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to learn about this. He understood as well as anyone what Leon was capable of doing. Leon’s elevation to the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted status seemed, perversely, like the inevitable culmination of the path Leon had traveled since he was a kid: the crowning achievement of a life of crime.
And he’d managed to evade the cops for three years. Three whole years on the run. Wouldn’t he have been featured on that show, too, America’s Most Wanted? Face flashing on tubes all across the country? Flyers plastered in post offices nationwide?
To stay free for so long, Leon had to be either a genius, or incredibly lucky. Corey suspected a bit of both.
He cracked his knuckles. Think, damn it. He had to think.
At the bottom of the profile was a link to contact a local FBI field office. Corey clicked the link, entered his zip code, and received the address and phone number of the FBI’s Atlanta branch.
He glanced at the telephone on his desk. Cracked his knuckles again.
Think.
He couldn’t call the FBI. Not yet. He had to think about this further, mull over the consequences of getting involved. This wasn’t as simple as making a phone call and reporting a sighting of a fugitive.
This could, for reasons he was loathe to admit, get complicated.
The memory of that cigarette lighter pulsed like a malignant tumor in his mind’s eye. He was convinced that Leon had shown it to him that morning because he’d known what Corey would do later. He’d anticipated that Corey would go online to look him up.
And he’d delivered to Corey a clear warning. Keep your mouth shut. Or else.
A knock came at the door.
Corey bolted upright in his chair. But it was only Todd outside, waving at Corey through the glass sidelight.
I don’t want to talk to him right now. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I need time to think through this.
But he closed the Web browser and beckoned Todd inside.
“Morning, buddy,” Todd said. “How’re things going?”
He shrugged. “It’s going. Just got in from Jada’s appointment.”
Todd slid into the wing chair in front of Corey’s desk and crossed his long legs. He looked, as he normally did, as if he were en route to a photo shoot for a men’s clothing catalog. In his late thirties, he was tall, fit, and tanned, with a finely chiseled, Greek god face and thick black hair that was never out of place. He wore a monogrammed white silk shirt, diamond-studded cufflinks, paisley tie, tailored charcoal slacks, and Italian loafers. A platinum Rolex glittered on his wrist; he wore a gold signet ring inscribed with his family crest on the little finger of his left hand that he claimed brought him good luck.
Todd was one of the first friends Corey had made when he’d moved to Atlanta. At Corey’s job as a service technician, Todd had been his supervisor. He’d been less like a boss and more like a peer, and they became fast friends, grabbing beers after work, trading DVDs of their favorite action films, and competing in a weekly poker game with some of their other coworkers.
Ten years later-Todd had been promoted to vice president of sales by then, and Corey was regional director of operations-they decided to launch their own security services firm. Todd, who hailed from a wealthy family, had a trust fund that they used as collateral to swing a bank loan. Corey took out a second mortgage on his house to supply the rest of the start-up capital they required.
After five years in business, their little engine that could was operating totally in the black, with increasing revenues and recognition each year. Corey had a knack for the nuts-and-bolts of managing a business; Todd had a flair for sales. Working together as a team, they figured to retire wealthy in fifteen or twenty years, with a legacy to pass on to their heirs.
“The doctor give you the green light for Jada’s ear implant thingy?” Todd asked.
“She’s perfect.”
“Cool.” Todd fingered a nonexistent mustache on his upper lip, and leaned forward. “Hey, I got off the phone with Douglas Homes a couple minutes ago. We’ve got a verbal commitment. Thirty-eight residential properties. Major coin. We took a gamble with our bid and it paid off, big time.”
“Sounds good,” Corey said, glancing at the computer screen. He wanted to pull up the profile again, wanted to have some time alone to think.
“Sounds good?” Todd reared back in the chair. “That’s better than good-that’s awesome! Douglas Homes is building in the Florida panhandle, remember? That’s a whole new market for us, new territory to conquer. This’ll lead to even bigger things, partner.”
Todd’s blue eyes danced. He lived for the major deal, the big gamble, the bold risk. More often than not, his maneuvers panned out in their favor, a significant reason why Gates-Webb was earning money hand over fist.
“You’re right, it’s awesome,” Corey said, trying to put some enthusiasm in his voice. “We’ll buy some champagne for the team when the contract comes in.”
“You okay?” Todd frowned. “Seems like you’re not here. Mentally, I mean.”
“Can I pose a hypothetical question? Not work related?”
Todd shrugged. “Shoot.”
“If you knew I had committed a crime and was wanted for it by the police, what would you do? Would you turn me in?”
“You mean would I snitch?”
“Yeah.”
Todd shook his head. “Don’t know. What kind of crime are we talking about?”
“Let’s say I killed someone.”
“Killed someone?” Todd’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Killed them why? In self-defense? Because you were going through road rage? Because they did something to your family?”
“Let’s say I was robbing this person, and then when I was making my getaway I killed him, because I had to in order to escape.”
“Like a stickup?”
“Sort of like that,” Corey said. He added: “Purely hypothetical situation.”
“Purely hypothetical?” Todd grinned. “I don’t think I’d snitch, but I’d probably try to talk you into turning yourself in peacefully.”
Corey frowned. “Why would you do that? I mean, try to talk me into turning myself in, instead of snitching?”
“I couldn’t snitch on a friend. I’m too loyal.”
“You’d put loyalty over obeying the law?”
“Wouldn’t you do the same thing for me?”