“Forest pink pastel,” Jack said softly.
Annabelle looked up at him.
Jack sighed and straightened. “What would happen if you turned the flamingo pink into a pastel pink?”
Annabelle blinked. Forest pink pastel. “Well, here, nothing. But if we loaded it into a program that allowed images… Then, I don’t know. Maybe something.”
“Then change it. We can load it onto one of my computers.”
Annabelle thought for a moment and then shrugged. “All right, but it’ll take me a minute. The order has been messed up on this. I’m not sure if he did it on purpose or not…” If he did, she didn’t want to accidentally change it back, in case it was the key to showing them what they needed to see when the file was converted to images. She had to be very careful. She grew more focused and drew the laptop onto her lap as she set to work making the changes.
A few seconds later, the doorbell rang. The sudden noise caused her to jump.
Jack glanced at the door and then down at Annabelle. Their gazes locked. “How long did they say it would be?” Jack asked. Annabelle had to think for a moment to realize that he was referring to the pizza parlor and the pies she’d ordered.
“Twenty to thirty.”
Jack looked down at his watch and nodded. He rose from the couch and moved to the door. Once again, he peeked through the hole at eye-level and then stepped back. He unlatched the three locks and drew the door open. On the threshold stood a very young man in a backward baseball cap, his cheeks covered in acne, his t-shirt and wind breaker a touch too big for his gawky body. He didn’t look much older than Dylan.
“Hi,” the kid said, not exactly looking into Jack’s eyes. He turned his attention down to the three pizza boxes in his arms. “One large with everything, one large pepperoni, mushroom and olive and one medium no cheese, extra sauce with mushrooms and bell peppers?”
Jack turned to face Annabelle. She nodded. That was right.
“Come in.” Jack stepped back out of the way and, after a moment’s hesitation, the kid came in after him. Jack closed the door and then held out his hands for the pizzas. The boy handed them over and Jack moved to the kitchen, where he set the pizzas down and opened the top one. He leaned in for a whiff and then closed the lid again.
“What do we owe you?”
“That’ll be twenty-eight, ninety-seven.”
Jack turned back to face him, reached into his jacket’s interior pocket, and pulled out the gun with a silencer on the end of its barrel. The boy’s eyes widened momentarily and then they narrowed.
Jack didn’t give him a chance to react. He pointed the weapon and pulled the trigger. A splash of red erupted on the door and wall behind the delivery boy. His body jerked a little backward and then he opened his mouth. No sound came out.
Instead, he sank to his knees and somehow, by the grace of God, Annabelle managed to close her eyes as Jack moved forward, placed the gun against the boy’s chest, and pulled the trigger once more.
Dylan was up, his arms out at his sides, his eyes maddeningly wide. “What the- What the fuck? What did you do? Jesus Christ, what the fuck-”
Annabelle cut through this confused and terrified tirade with a question that, in contrast, sounded utterly calm. “How did you know?” She asked as she slowly opened her eyes again and tried not to look at the puddle that was spreading across the floor. Instead, she concentrated on Jack’s eyes. Jack’s blue, blue eyes.
“The pizza’s cold. The parlor is a block away. And he gave me the wrong price.” Jack answered calmly. He held her gaze a moment longer, as if sensing that she needed that contact, however distant it was. Then he knelt, and after re-holstering his gun, he turned the body over. “Pete always includes the tip in the price.”
Dylan, whose eyes were still as wide as golf balls, ran a shaking hand through his long hair and turned in place. His color was paling. His breathing was coming too fast, too shallow.
“What…” Annabelle swallowed. She’d accidentally glanced at the body and its puddle of blood. Nausea roiled in her belly. “What was he going to do? I mean, who is he?” And what are they going to do with his dead body?
Jack didn’t answer right away. With a practiced precision, he unzipped the young man’s jacket and revealed a holster much like his own. It contained a gun of a different, smaller make, but also equipped with a silencer. Strapped to his chest was a harness of some kind, and in that harness were several small vials of liquid, a piece of what looked like white gauze, and two syringes, also filled with clear liquid.
“Amateurs,” Jack whispered under his breath, sitting back on his heels and shaking his head. “He’s just a kid. I doubt his employers explained to him the down side of this line of work.”
“Jesus.” Dylan finally spoke, and sort of fell back into his seat, his face now an official shade of green. Perhaps pastel forest?
“Dylan, he was going to kill us,” Annabelle said softly.
“No. Not all of us, at least,” Jack said then as he stood once more. “He was under orders to take someone alive.” He stepped over the body and its halo of thick red liquid and re-entered the living room. His eyes found Annabelle’s and held her gaze. “Most likely you. Women make for easier questioning.”
“They had no idea that you were-” Annabelle stopped herself just in time and swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. The color drained from her face and her eyes widened. She’d been two words away from spilling Jack’s secret. It was the first time she’d ever come so close.
She’d simply realized that whoever was after them had figured the pizza delivery trick would be enough to subdue them all because they’d had no idea who they were dealing with. They didn’t know that Jack Thane was a professional killer.
Jack watched her for a moment in silence, his gaze as intense as she’d ever felt it. “No, luv,” he finally said, his tone very, very soft. “They had no idea. But they’ll figure it out soon enough now.”
“Figure what out?” Dylan finally asked, his own voice very soft. Most likely, it was difficult for him to speak around the bile that was probably trying to climb up his esophagus. Annabelle wasn’t sure why the scene wasn’t causing her to feel worse than it was. Maybe it was the Vicodin. Or maybe it was because it wasn’t the first time she’d seen Jack kill someone.
“We have to get out of here,” Annabelle said then, diffusing the question and the situation the only way she knew how. Besides, she was right. And that wasn’t all. “Cass’s in danger too, isn’t she?” She added, as she at once realized that Cassie would be linked to this mess just like everyone else had. Anyone who worked with or around Max or was related to him in any way was fair game. Whatever was on Teresa’s computer was obviously important enough to these people to kill for. They wouldn’t hesitate to track Cassie down and question her to death about it, whether she knew anything or not.
“Yes,” Jack said simply, once more pulling his cell phone from his inner jacket pocket. Annabelle stood as Jack made another phone call, assigning someone to watch over Cassie and her family. Cassie lived with her cousin, Trinity, in a two-story brick house in Woodbury. Trinity had two kids, both girls. They were very young.
Jack hung up and Annabelle could tell from his expression that Cassie and Trinity were still okay. Maybe the bad guys hadn’t thought of them yet. Whatever the case, she trusted Jack to keep them safe. There was just something about him.
“What now?” she asked when he’d re-pocketed the phone.
“Now we leave.” He gestured to the laptop on the coffee table. “Save whatever changes you’ve made and shut it down. Bring the machine with you.”