David stood in the doorway of Glenn’s cabin, knuckles pressing into his throbbing temples. And? And? His stomach was churning. He’d blown it again. And he’d hurt her. Again. “You stupid, dumb fuck.”
But standing here wouldn’t help anything. Shoulders heavy, he closed the front door and started to clear the unused table when his cell phone rang. It was Paige.
Of course it was. “What?” he asked wearily.
“You know, for a gorgeous guy with a really sharp brain, you are a stupid SOB.”
He closed his eyes, too tired to fight. “Thank you, Paige. See you tomorrow night at the dojo. You can rip me a new one then.”
“I’m on my way to Sal’s to meet her and Brie for major mojitos. What did you do?”
“This is none of your business. Really.”
“I’m going to have to tell her you know us both. I’ve never lied to her. I won’t start.”
Terrific. “Go ahead. Not much you can tell her that’ll make it much worse.”
“That bad?”
“Oh yeah.” I don’t play second-string, she’d said. “Paige, who hurt her?”
“You mean, besides you?”
He flinched. “You know, you’re not helping here.”
“I’m sorry. I just hate to see her this upset and I’m going to have to make it worse by saying you and I are friends.”
“Well, at least we’re still friends,” he said morosely.
“God. David, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to twist the knife. You want to know who hurt her? Most recently, it was her ex-fiancé.”
David’s eyes narrowed. “Micah Barlow?”
“You know Micah? Oh, wait, he’s in Arson now, so you would. Well, yeah, Micah was in it, but he wasn’t her fiancé. That would have been Micah’s best friend, Doug.”
Second-string. “He left her for someone else, didn’t he?”
There was a pause. “Yeah. And it almost killed her.”
Good going, Hunter. “Just do what you need to do to make her okay. Say what you need to say. Call me anything you want. I won’t bother her anymore.”
“David… Dammit.”
“Tomorrow at the dojo, just let me know that she’s all right.”
“We’ll think of something. Just hang in there.”
I hung on too long. That was the problem. But how could he fix it?
Monday, September 20, 11:15 p.m.
“It’s easier when the stuff is already here,” Albert muttered. Like Eric, he carried a gas can in each hand. Mary quietly brought up the rear, carrying the spool of fuse line. Her eyes were still red-rimmed and swollen.
I should be grieving, Eric thought. Joel was my friend. But all he could think of was getting this job done and getting the hell out of Dodge.
“Last time we got lucky,” Eric hissed back. “The glue was there. I told you, the fork trucks here run on propane and the tank is out back. We can’t use it to light the fire.”
Dressed all in black, each of them wore gloves and this time, ski masks over their faces. They stepped over the dog, who’d finally gone to sleep after eating the steak they’d injected with a narcotic Mary had left over from a back injury. She looked back.
“He’s breathing,” she said. “Good. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”
“He’s a dog, not an ‘anyone,’” Eric muttered, putting his gas cans down next to the back door. Not a girl. Whose face he could still see every time he closed his eyes.
“Let’s dump the gas outside,” Albert urged. “Don’t risk triggering the alarm.”
“We have to destroy what’s inside.” Eric sliced a hole in the door’s window and broke away enough glass so that he could crawl through. “Plus the video from the security cameras is inside. We need to take that with us. Give me a boost.”
Grumbling, Albert did so and prepared to come through himself.
“Wait,” Eric said, staring at the alarm panel. “The alarm’s not set. Whoever was last out must’ve forgotten.”
“Or we’re about to get caught,” Albert said. “Open it. I want to do this and get out.”
Eric opened the door and took his gas cans, then stepped aside to let the others through. “I’ll get the video first, then I’ll pour my gas. Mary, you start laying the fuse.”
The video was where Tomlinson’s secretary said it would be. Eric imagined she’d remember his phone call when the police began asking questions, but that was okay. He’d used the bastard’s disposable phone. Let it lead the cops to the real bad guy.
He popped the tape from the recorder, then spread his gas among the boxes stacked near the loading dock before meeting Albert and Mary at the back door. “Got the video. Mary, light the fuse.”
“For Joel,” she said, then touched the flame to the fuse. “Let’s go.”
They ran to their car, Eric looking over his shoulder, watching for the moment flames became visible inside. When they did, he snapped a photo using the texter’s cell.
“What was that for?” Mary asked as they drove away. “Why did you take a picture?”
Eric and Albert shared a glance. “Let’s get out of here,” Eric said. “Then we’ll talk.”
Albert drove quickly, then pulled onto a side road where they’d be shielded by trees. They jumped out and replaced the license plates they’d taken from Eric’s car, then got back in and took their ski masks off. Once they’d climbed back in, Albert started driving again and Eric turned back to Mary. “It’s like this,” he began.
Her face went pale as she listened. “Oh my God. We just… Oh my God. The guard… He’s dead? Are you sure?”
Eric nodded. “He was shot in the chest.”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“You must,” Albert said harshly. “Until we find this guy and kill him ourselves.”
Her eyes flew open, widened. “Kill him? Us?”
“How else can we be sure he won’t leak those pictures to the cops?” Eric asked.
She shook her head, hard. “I can’t kill anyone else. I can’t.”
“You already did,” Albert said again, more harshly. “Don’t even consider running away, unless it’s to off yourself like Joel did. He saved us a hell of a lot of trouble.”
Her jaw clenched. “I hate you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Albert said. Then silence fell over the car as the three of them drove back to the city.
Thoughtfully he tapped the steering wheel of his unobtrusive white panel van. Interesting. The three of them had turned on one another but seemed to be sticking together-for now anyway. He’d have to see how that played out over the next few days and whether or not they decided to run away.
He’d waited until they were out of sight of Tomlinson’s warehouse before pulling out behind them. Now he stopped on the side road, just as they had and changed his plates, too, in case he’d been caught on the security cameras of the other warehouses.
Back behind the wheel, he reached for his video camera. He’d been parked at the fourth warehouse down from Tomlinson’s, sitting in the back of his van, filming the three of them going in, then coming out. They’d worn black ski masks tonight, but he got their eyes-especially Mary’s as she looked back to check on the dog. He’d even gotten Eric on tape, taking a picture with the disposable cell.
The video would provide some excellent clips to send to Eric and his pals. Now, home. He still had work to do. It wasn’t like Eric and the gang were his only concern. No, sir. He hadn’t gotten to where he was by putting all his eggs in a single basket. Nor had he gotten to where he was by being afraid of sacrificing a few eggs. What was left of Tomlinson was frying up right now. It was time to start a new omelet.
Monday, September 20, 11:55 p.m.
Olivia pushed her glass to the middle of the bar. “I’m done.”
“I thought you were going to drown your sorrows,” Brie said, sitting on her left. “You’ve nursed that one glass all night.”
“Maybe you just need time to process whatever happened,” Paige said quietly from her right and Olivia gave her a sharp look. Usually Paige egged her on, fanning the flames of ire at the injustice of men, but she’d been uncharacteristically muted tonight.