Once done with details, Ace spent the rest of the day roaming the floors of both casinos, talking to the high rollers and charming them into bringing in new, rich customers. He loved the games, the women and the house’s guaranteed wins.
Ace watched the front of the casino. No movement.
As he waited, he shuffled a deck of cards and dealt four poker hands. He dealt the last card and set the remaining cards on the passenger seat between the hands. He picked up his five cards and smiled.
Three queens.
He checked the other dealt hands. “This really isn’t your night, Douglas,” he muttered.
He opened the glove compartment and pulled out the weapon, a smooth, seven-inch, high-carbon hunting knife, a beautiful, shining tool that left almost no evidence at the scene, except for whatever the police could learn from knife wounds. They might figure out the kind of knife that had been used and the cuts would tell them a bit about who used it, but he was sure that nothing would tie him to this. He’d bought the knife from a famous German knife maker who had personally made it for him, so it would never be traced.
He was about to exchange two cards when he saw his target exit the building. Ace checked his watch. It was after ten. Grant was a classic creature of habit, someone who deserved to fall behind as times changed.
Grant waited as the valet retrieved his car, then hopped in and moved into traffic.
Ace waited a moment before turning on his headlights and following Grant’s vintage Jaguar. He remained a good distance behind—he already knew the route the man would take home.
The two cars turned off the main road without another car in sight. There were no streetlights, but he could see Grant’s Jag approaching a vacated strip mall that had been closed down for years.
Ah, the perfect spot.
A deep thrill climbed Ace’s body.
Doug had just turned onto the back road, less than fifteen miles from his place, when he noticed the car behind him. It moved quickly, lights flashing.
What now? A cop?
He shook his head but pulled the Jaguar into the deserted parking lot of an abandoned strip mall.
A Ferrari pulled beside him on the right side.
Shit. Ace Sanders.
Sanders was the last person Doug wanted to see.
Nothing moved in the Ferrari. The windows were blacked out, so he couldn’t see the driver’s face.
It has to be Sanders. What’s he doing? Is he fucking nuts or just arrogant beyond recall?
The window of the Ferrari moved down. It was Sanders. Did he want a confrontation?
Doug rolled down the passenger-side window. “You need something?”
“I was hoping I’d catch you before you got home,” Sanders said. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Linda.”
Doug was shocked that Sanders would bring up her name so boldly. He watched Sanders climb out of his car and walk around, moving between the two vehicles. Sanders leaned back against the Ferrari’s passenger door and raised his hands in the air. “Truce.”
Truce?
Sanders’ eyes softened. “Look, Doug, I know we’ve had our differences in the past. But I think that if we leave the past where it belongs, in the past, and move on, then there is a mega opportunity for us to make some real money in this city.”
Doug had no idea what Sanders was talking about. What opportunity?
“If you just hear me out,” Sanders went on. “Then what I have to show you will be very beneficial.”
“You said something about Linda.” Doug said.
“So you’ll hear me out?”
Speechless, Doug stared out the front windshield, refusing to look in the man’s direction. What could Sanders possibly say about Linda? Was this some last-minute attempt to try to save her in some way, somehow persuade him to think better of her, take her back? That wasn’t Sanders’ way at all. And what was this opportunity?
Maybe I’ll learn something I can use to fight Sanders. Some slip-up.
He finally looked at Sanders and nodded slightly. Doug heard Sanders’ car door open and then slam and then Sanders got into the passenger seat of the Jaguar. He set a leather bag on his lap
The tension in the car was palpable, the quiet haunting.
“What about Linda?” Doug asked finally.
Sanders shook his head. “I don’t want to talk here. I don’t want anyone to see or know that we’re having this conversation. There’s a lot of competition out there. There’s a place where we can talk. It’s only a few minutes away. I’ll give you directions as you drive.”
Something in Sanders voice told Doug he didn’t have much of a choice.
He was more than a little hesitant to accommodate Sanders. But if there was a possibility that he could learn something new, possibly important enough to change his feelings, then he had to take the chance.
What was he thinking? Did he still have feelings for Linda? This was insane. He should flat out refuse and leave Sanders in the parking lot staring at the Jaguar’s taillights. But he couldn’t.
Except for Sanders’ occasional directions, the drive was quiet. He had yet to look his way and Doug was beginning to panic. He couldn’t sit still any longer. The silence was unnerving him. “So what’s up?”
Sanders twitched, as though Doug’s question had startled him out of a trance. He stared at Doug as if he hadn’t known the man was in the car with him.
“There’s something you need to see,” Sanders said.
“What’s in the bag?”
“After I show you something, we’ll talk about what’s in my bag.”
Five minutes later they were driving through a heavily forested area.
“It’s in there,” Sanders said, pointing to the woods that surrounded the region.
Doug balked. This was idiotic. What was Sanders going to show him—bleached bones from a murder? Or was this really some sort of truce, Sanders thinking about a partnership with a prime piece of real estate to invest in. Doug knew Sanders always had a motive for money. This area could work for a casino/hotel.
He didn’t like it, but his curiosity was overwhelming and stronger at the moment than his fear. He had to know what was so important to see or discuss about his wife that Ace would drive him out to the middle of nowhere. Ignoring his every gut instinct, he slowly got out of the car.
Ace sat in the idling car and watched as Grant got out and looked around. He had worried that Grant would refuse to go along and felt for the knife in his jacket.
Then he joined Grant. “This way,” Ace said, motioning.
They moved past scrub and over thick grass. It was hard to see more than a few feet ahead.
“Why didn’t you bring a flashlight?” Grant asked, a tremor in his voice.
“I know where we’re going.” After a few more steps, he said, “It’s right in there.”
Grant slipped past him, parted the shaggy branches and leaned forward.
Ace took a step closer. Perfect.
He yanked Grant’s head against his shoulder, thrust the knife deep into one side of Grant’s throat, then sliced all the way across with such force he could feel the knife’s edge slide along Grant’s spinal cord. Masses of blood gushed and spurted from the wound.
When the trailing tip of the hunting knife left Grant’s throat, Ace let the limp body drop to the ground. Looking into his victim’s dead eyes, he smiled with intoxicating pleasure and wiped most of the blood from the blade, using Grant’s expensive suit as a towel.
With the calmness of a seasoned veteran, he walked back to Grant’s car, opened the passenger door and took out his leather bag, careful not to leave any bloodstains on or inside the car. He opened the bag, pulled out a couple of towels, a shirt and a pair of pants, and set them to the side.