Nice things, sure. The furniture top of the line, but nothing garish, every piece understated. Ananke didn’t for a second believe the décor was some kind of aesthetic choice. Edmondson had picked out furnishings that made him look like nothing more than what the world thought he was — a typical, upper-middle-class drone. Perhaps he had a few more things than others in similar positions, but his single, no-kids status would have explained that away.
No, this had to be a cover home, she decided. His real oasis was probably located someplace else. But since the intel provided by her employer indicated this was where Edmondson would be, it was the only location included in her briefing.
So be it. Even if she was a bit curious, it was always better not to know all the details.
A low groan broke the steady rhythm of the man’s breaths. In a predictable pattern, his eyes creaked open and then confusion set in as he wondered why he’d gone to sleep without turning off the light.
He hadn’t.
More puzzlement came when he tried to sit up and found nothing below his neck would move.
There it is, she thought from her chair against the wall as he started to pant. The panic.
He tried again to will his body to follow directions, but only succeeded in straining the muscles in his face.
In a kind, gentle voice, Ananke said, “It won’t work.”
Edmondson whipped his head around, his eyes widening at the sight of her. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?”
“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Edmondson.”
His surprised look turned angry. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you obviously don’t realize the size of the mistake you’ve made. I am not someone you want to mess with. I will come after you, and I will find you.”
A smile. “I’d like to see you try.”
He scanned the room, obviously looking for something he could use to free himself, but even if a gun lay next to his palm, he would be unable to grab it.
Here it comes, she thought as he started to turn back to her.
The blood had drained from his face and all of his bravado was gone. In a halting whisper, he asked, “Who sent you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, goddammit, it matters. I can make a deal,” he explained. “I know things.”
“Let me stop you before you embarrass yourself anymore. There won’t be any deal.”
Voice rising, he said, “There’s always time for a deal. Just take me to whoever you’re working for. Let me show them what I can do for them.”
She looked at him with pity. “My client was very specific about what I was to collect. And I never disappoint my clients.”
“Collect? Collect what?” He scanned the room for a few seconds, then froze. “You found it, didn’t you? You went down there. Oh, God.”
“Mr. Edmondson, please. Use your head. You know what I’ve taken.” Denial always played a big part in these events, but she was tiring of his refusal to connect the dots. There was a schedule to keep, after all, and more to be done this night.
She could see the exact second he finally let the truth in. “No. No, you’re lying. I’m a valuable asset.”
“My orders would seem to contradict that.”
“I’ve got money,” he blurted out. “A lot! T-ten million. It’s all yours if you let me go. You can say I wasn’t here, or, or…or tell them you killed me and tossed my body in the ocean. I’ll disappear. No one will ever know.”
She said nothing.
“Fifteen million,” he said. “It’s all I have. We can transfer it right now.”
She arched her eyebrow again but remained silent.
Nervously licking his lips, he said, “Okay, thirty million. That’s everything. Just let me go. I swear you’ll be the only one who knows.”
She rose from the chair and glided to his bed. “You misunderstand the situation,” she said, patting his unmoving arm with her gloved hand. “You’re already dead.”
“What?”
“Two shots while you were sleeping. The first paralyzed you, and the second has been working its away into your brain for the last ten minutes. Soon…” She looked at her watch. “Wow, time really does fly, doesn’t it?” She smiled. “In less than five minutes, your brain will stop sending the signals that instructs your diaphragm to expand and contract and your heart to beat.”
“Please, no! Y-y-you must have an antidote, right? Give it to me and the money’s yours! Don’t you understand? Thirty million dollars!”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Even if an antidote does exist, do you really think my client would have allowed me to bring it along? My apologies you weren’t given more of a warning, but who really gets that anyway?” She turned toward the door. “I’m sure you’d rather spend your last couple minutes alone.”
As she walked out, he called, “No! Please! Don’t leave me! There’s got to be something you can do! There’s got to be—”
She shut the door.
She hadn’t been exactly straight with Edmondson. Yes, he was going to die, and though it could be in the next five minutes, it could also take ten, or, if he was a particularly rare case, he might even last another fifteen. So she had a bit of time to kill before she could verify his termination.
She set the timer on her phone for a quarter hour and headed down to the kitchen to see if there was something to eat. As she descended the stairs, she couldn’t help but recall his words as he was trying to figure out what she’d taken. “You found it, didn’t you? You went down there.”
That sure sounded like Edmonson was hiding something. His money, perhaps? Now that might be interesting. While ethically she couldn’t allow him to bribe her, if she happened to stumble upon some cash lying around, that was a different story.
A quick tour of the place won’t hurt.
She took a stroll through the first floor, assuming that’s what he meant when he said “down there.” Kitchen, living room, family room, pantry, laundry, and bathroom, but nothing in any of them shouted “hidden treasure.” Then again, he probably wouldn’t leave the key to his stolen fortune lying around for all to see. She checked closets and cabinets, looking for signs of false panels and concealed doorways, but came up empty. The only place left to look was the attached garage off the kitchen.
She checked her watch. She still had over five minutes. More than enough time for a quick peek.
As she opened the door, a hint of warm air drifted into the kitchen, the remnants of the earlier hot day. The space was dark, so she felt around until she found the light switch and flicked it on.
Edmondson’s Volvo S80 sedan was parked on the side closest to the door. On the other side of it, she could see part of a motorcycle.
When she circled the Volvo, her eyes lit up. Not just any motorcycle, but a vintage BMW with attached sidecar. Her estimation of Edmondson’s character ticked up a notch. She owned several bikes herself, two of which were at least as old as this one. None with sidecars, though. She preferred the freedom of racing down the road on her own but she could appreciate the beauty of Edmondson’s combo.
As she moved in closer, the small amount of regard she’d begun to feel for Edmondson faded. If he’d really cared about the bike, it wouldn’t be covered in a layer of dust. She knelt beside it for a closer look. While the bike appeared mechanically sound, it definitely needed maintenance. Yep, Edmondson was an asshole, all right. Hopefully, its next owner would treat the bike with respect.
She stood up, thinking maybe she should take possession of it herself. That’s when she noticed the handlebar grips. There was dust on the ends, but the parts where hands would go were clean. The seat, however, was as dusty as the rest of the bike.