“How was it you were in Evan’s truck, Miss Jones? Had you planned to meet somewhere?” He waited, and when she didn’t answer asked, “Just how deep were you into this with him?”
She swallowed, her mouth dry from breathing through it, and tried to speak. Her voice wouldn’t come.
“A drink, Mifflin. Do I have to tell you everything?”
Mifflin left the room and came back with a glass of water, probably straight from the hose. He poured it on her face, some of it actually making it into her mouth. She tried again. “Hitched. Ride.”
“Oh, I see. You hitched a ride. From where?”
Where had she been? She thought she shouldn’t tell him. Somehow it didn’t seem… “O…hio.”
“Ah, yes, Ohio. Lovely state. We do lots of business with people in Ohio. And you just happened to be traipsing along in Ohio when Evan drove up with his wealth of stolen information, is that right?”
Was she supposed to answer?
“Answer him.” Dixon kicked the chair, jarring her so that she could hardly catch her breath from the pain shooting through her ribs.
“Dix, give her some time. She can’t think straight, since you guys got so carried away. There, has she fainted now?” Casey’s eyes opened to slits, and she saw Yonkers sitting behind a desk, his hands folded on top. A large window, blinds down, framed him as he watched her. “Oh, you’re awake. Good.” He came around to the front of the desk, pulling an upright lawn chair a few feet from her. He sat and leaned over, his face inches from hers. “When did you and Evan join forces?”
What day of the week had it been? How long ago? “S-Sun…day.”
“Ah, Sunday. Just hours before his little accident. Such a shame. A shame things worked out the way they did—for both of you. You know, we really didn’t want Evan to die.” He tilted his head, looking into her eyes. Was that sorrow she saw there?
She blinked as he went fuzzy around the edges.
“Miss Jones?” He patted her cheek roughly. “Miss Jones?” He sat up, sighing loudly. “Well, congratulations, guys, you’ve done her in so hard she’s no good to us at all.”
“Can we get rid of her, then?” Mifflin sounded all too eager.
Casey strained to keep her eyes open—she wasn’t about to let him kill her with her eyes closed.
“No you can’t get rid of her, you idiot. We need her. We need what she has. And unless you know where it is…”
“You know I don’t.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Casey’s eyes drifted shut as she held on to the understanding that Mifflin wouldn’t be killing her just that moment.
“The kids,” Dixon said. “The teenagers.”
Casey kept her eyes shut, but her heart beat faster.
“What about them?” Casey heard Yonkers get up and move behind his desk.
“Don’t you think they know where it is?”
“The Cross kid told us to look at the shed. We did. It wasn’t there.”
“But—”
“He thought you were a cop, Dix, remember? He would have told you. Look, haven’t we been over this?”
A phone rang, and Dixon answered. After a brief conversation his phone slapped shut. “He’s here.”
“Good. Let’s get him in and out. No reason to keep him while we’ve got other…complications.”
“You got it. This is Sandy Greene, though. He was pretty pissed she called him. He probably wouldn’t mind getting a few punches in.”
He and Mifflin both laughed, and shuffled toward the door. Casey listened as hard as she could when they’d gone. Only one person breathing.
“Yonkers,” Death whispered. “He’s the only one left. Can you move?”
She certainly couldn’t take Yonkers out, if that’s what Death was wondering. Yonkers had been right to tell his men not to worry.
“Just try to do something,” Death said. “Move a finger. A toe. He’s not watching.”
She managed to move both. When she’d done that, she concentrated on her hand. Her left wrist seemed to be the one part of her that didn’t hurt.
“Well, that’s a plus,” Death said. “How about an ankle?”
The left one seemed okay. In fact, from what she could tell she didn’t have any broken bones except for maybe some ribs. She’d had broken ribs before, and what she was feeling was very familiar. There was no telling what kind of internal bleeding she was suffering—she vaguely remembered getting hit numerous times in her abdomen.
“Yonk?” Westing’s voice jerked Casey back into the room, and she held as still as she could. “Want to see this? Sandy got some extras, and I’m not sure what you want done with them.”
Yonkers growled. “How many times do I have to tell these guys? No extras—just what’s on the paperwork.”
“I know.”
“There’s a reason these people can’t drive legit anymore. Too stupid.”
Yonkers’ footsteps followed Westing’s, and the door slammed shut. Casey’s impulse was to relax, but she knew this could be her only chance to get free. Or, if not free, to at least arm herself. Biting her lip, she eased into a sitting position, sliding her legs off the chair, her feet on the floor. Her vision swam.
“Steady,” Death said. “I can’t catch you, you know.”
Casey took as deep a breath as she could and looked at the top of Yonkers’ desk. Papers. A clock. Picture frames. Not much within reach. She stretched as far as she could and snagged a pencil. Not newly sharpened, but when you were thrusting lead into someone, it didn’t need to be.
“Coming back!” Death hissed.
Footsteps and angry voices were heading their way.
Casey slid the pencil up her shirt and lay back on the chair just as the door opened.
“But they were just sitting there!” a man said. “A whole pallet of Wiis. Don’t tell me you can’t unload those.”
“Of course I can,” Yonkers said. “And I can come up with paperwork for them, too. But what if you would have been stopped? What if someone had found those in your load? You don’t have the authorization for them.”
“I hid them way in the front, no one would’ve checked in— Hey, who’s that?”
Casey knew he was talking about her. She held down her fear. Dixon had wanted to let Greene have a crack at her. Would Yonkers allow it? She thought about the pencil hidden in her shirt and wondered how much damage she could do with it before the rest of the guys stopped her.
“That,” Yonkers said, “is someone who crossed me.”
The statement hung in the air.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Greene finally said. “It won’t happen again. You have my word.”
“And your word is so good. Get out of here. And keep your hands off things that aren’t on the orders.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Go.”
Footsteps shuffled, and left.
“Tell me why we hired him, again?” Yonkers, sounding irritated.
“Friend of Dix’s,” Westing said. “Got into trouble for hitting his wife and needed to go underground. Wasn’t a driver, but Dix said the man could learn, and he’s been doing okay.”
“Until tonight. If he does it again we’ll have to cut him loose.”
“I’ll warn him.”
Westing left, and Casey allowed her eyes to open a crack. Yonkers sat behind his desk, shaking his head. All this time she’d been thinking of him as some mysterious, evil man behind a vast trucking conspiracy. Looking at him now, in his suit, surrounded by greenery, it was hard to think of him as being behind anything more evil than killing plants. It was his buddies she had to worry about. They were the loose cannons.
Yonkers closed his eyes and clenched a pen in his hand for several moments before standing suddenly and walking around the desk. Casey closed her eyes and concentrated on being limp.
Yonkers sat in the other lawn chair—Casey could hear it creak—and she felt his breath as he leaned toward her. He grabbed her face in his hand and turned it this way and that before tossing it back toward the chair. “Westing!”
Casey hoped he didn’t see her jump.
“Yeah?”