For all she knew Thomas Gérard was a serial killer.
As she climbed out of the car and started up the steps, she again thought about the treasure box and the website link and the wedding video and wondered if he’d had something to do with them. It didn’t seem likely, but what if she had been betrayed by his charm and good looks and her own damnably fragile psyche since she’d found that photograph?
She was halfway up the steps when all thoughts of Gérard abruptly vanished.
The Shack’s front door was ajar.
Though she’d been upset when she left, she knew she’d locked it, so this could only mean one thing: the intruder was back.
Son of a bitch.
Quietly reversing course, she returned to the car and retrieved the mugger’s gun from the glove box. There was sand on the weapon, but she brushed it off and tucked it into her waistband, then went around to the rear of the house to see if the sleeping bag was still on the ground.
It was.
Okay, so what did that mean? Had he not had a chance to retrieve it before he saw her pull in? Or, if he was still upstairs, had he even seen or heard the car at all? That was certainly a possibili—
A muffled crash from above.
There was no if about it. Someone was definitely up there, and she’d be damned if she’d let him get away.
She moved through the darkness to a set of wooden steps that led up to the patio — the same steps she and Danny had taken to the beach every day. Switching to stealth mode, she ascended them quickly and quietly, hoping the weather-punished wood wouldn’t creak under her weight. It did, but only faintly, and she doubted it could be heard inside the house.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she peered through the sliding glass and saw nothing but the silhouettes of the den sofa and chairs. She took out her keys and unlocked the door, slid it open just wide enough to fit through, then pulled the gun from her waistband and slipped inside.
Movement. She definitely heard movement. Coming from the front of the house.
She stepped into the hallway, pressed her back against the wall, and worked her way toward the living room. She was halfway there when she heard the sound of running water coming from the kitchen.
She paused long enough to pull her cell phone from her pocket and call up the flashlight app, but didn’t activate it. She edged her way down the rest of the hall and made the turn into the kitchen.
Raising the gun and phone simultaneously, she switched on the flashlight and said, “Move and you’re a dead man.”
There was a loud yelp and a guy in a suit stumbled back against the counter, a wet cloth in one hand, the right leg of his pants rolled up to reveal an almost hairless shin with a nasty red cut in the pasty white flesh.
“Jesus, Alex, it’s me! It’s me!”
Jason McElroy.
She let out a breath and lowered the gun. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Just so you know, half the damn lightbulbs in this dump are missing and the rest are broken. I was searching for a working lamp when I ran into that piece of crap you call a coffee table.”
“I repeat,” Alex said, “what are you doing here?”
“Right now I’m trying to keep from bleeding to death.”
She stepped forward, and raised the gun again. For all she knew, he was the one who had planted the treasure box. “You’d better explain, Jason, or you’ll be bleeding a lot more.”
“Put that thing down, will you?” He shut off the faucet, hobbled to a chair at the table, then sat and inspected the damage to his shin. “You know, if you answered your phone once in a while, we could have avoided this unpleasantness. I’m here because I need you. It’s that simple.”
As he dabbed at the wound with the wet cloth, Alex had zero urge to repeat her nursemaiding efforts on McElroy. The threat of nuclear holocaust couldn’t make her go down that road.
She crossed to the stove, turned on the hood light above it, then put away her cell phone and said, “You always need me. Why do you think I didn’t call you back?”
She, Deuce, and Cooper had handled three successful acquisitions since the op at Slavne prison last year. The grab in Turkey was supposed to have been the fourth.
He said, “You’re still angry about what happened in Istanbul.”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“Okay, fine, I understand. I was angry, too. But until the government starts asking me for diplomatic advice, there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it.”
“Diplomatic advice? You think consorting with a known terrorist is diplomacy?”
McElroy sighed. “We consorted with bin Laden until he became inconvenient. Same with Saddam Hussein. The world isn’t good guys versus bad guys, Alex. It’s all about who has what we need when we need it.”
“I’m not sure I want to live in that world.”
“Oops, too late.” He tossed the cloth into the sink and rolled down his pant leg. “I’m not here to debate politics, all right? If you’re looking to catch bad guys, I’ve got a major acquisition lined up and I can guarantee this one won’t turn out like the last. Fair enough?”
With reluctance, she laid her gun on the counter.
“Maybe I’d rather sit this one out,” she said. “Sit them all out.”
“And do what instead? Go back to rounding up fugitive junkies for a few hundred bucks a head?”
“Keep in mind I know who I’m talking to when I say this, but it’s not all about the money.”
McElroy forced a laugh. “Okay. Fine. We can pretend that’s true. What about information, then? That’s part of the reason we’re in business together, remember? Quid pro quo.”
She gestured toward the front door. “Don’t bump into it on the way out.”
She turned down the hall, heading toward the den and the patio beyond. When she heard McElroy shuffling behind her, she picked up speed.
“Alex, wait.”
“I’m done talking, Jason.”
“Maybe so, but if you think I can get a cab out here at this time of morning, you’re out of your mind. I had a hard enough time getting one from the airport.”
She stopped and turned in the doorway. “So what am I supposed to do, offer you a cup of coffee and a donut? You’ve got Stonewell International at your beck and call. Get somebody to pick you up.”
She went out to the patio and stood at the rail. It was too late to sleep and too early to be alive. She tried to enjoy the view but could feel McElroy standing somewhere behind her, undoubtedly trying to figure out how to get her to change her mind.
She was about to turn and tell him to get lost when her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket, checked the screen, and saw Deuce’s face staring up at her.
Now what?
She answered it. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I figured you’d be awake. And you sound pretty alert.”
“A lot more than I want to be.”
“I’m calling to give you the heads-up. Our supreme commander chartered a helicopter and he’s at your beach house, looking for you. He just called me. There’s something major brewing and he’s pissed because you haven’t—”
“The heads-up is supposed to come before I get ambushed, genius.”
“Oh, shit, you’re there? Did he tell you what the gig is?”
“No,” Alex said. “And I don’t want to know.”
A pause. “You’re still pissed about Istanbul, aren’t you?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? It just happened a couple days ago. Give me time to get over it.”
“Look, Alex, nobody wishes it could’ve turned out different more than I do, but I think you should listen to what the man has to say. He’s already promised to double our salaries for this gig, and between you and me, I could use the cash.”