Burning Bright (Peter Ash #2)(68)
He wondered if it was possible for him to live a different way than he did now, so separate from other human beings. Where his only moments of true human contact were with those whose lives he ended. This tug he felt, this urge for connection, to get inside another’s mind in a profound way, did other people feel it, too? If so, how did they accomplish those connections?
Now he noticed that the tall man was different inside the coffee shop. Like a dog with his hackles up. Shepard wondered if the man had the same radar that Shepard had so carefully cultivated, the ability to feel someone watching, someone behind him.
The tall man definitely felt something. He was on high alert, looking carefully around the room with a behavior that Shepard recognized in himself. Checking the exits, the lines of fire, each person and their positions and where their attention was directed. The tall man was following old habits, perhaps compulsively. But he didn’t look at Shepard longer than anyone else, didn’t appear to have identified Shepard as the source of his unease. Shepard was good at being invisible.
When it was Shepard’s turn in line, he ordered a simple coffee, because it would be faster than the tall man’s double espresso and the girl’s triple tall mocha. He killed time fussing with the cream and sugar so that he could walk out of the place right behind them.
He saw when it happened, in the open air. The tall man’s shoulders dropped and the slight flush fell from his face. He was still watchful outside, still ready for whatever might come, but he didn’t seem threatened in the busy urban environment, even though it had many more possible dangers. Even though Shepard was right behind him.
The man had felt threatened indoors.
That could be useful.
The couple walked back toward their car, Shepard just a few steps behind them. The man did have a slight limp in the medical boot, but Shepard noticed something else, too. He was left-handed, and obviously wanted that hand free, likely because he was carrying a weapon within easy reach. But holding his coffee in his right hand, he carried himself a little differently. Shepard could see it, the slight protection of the right side. Some injury there, a wound or pulled muscle.
Shepard felt an odd sense of relief.
Having seen the tall man close up, seen how he moved, how he assessed the room, Shepard knew he was extremely dangerous. Every bit as dangerous as Shepard.
But the tall man wasn’t at full strength.
They got back in the green minivan, and Shepard made his way more quickly to his own car.
He followed them downtown to Nordstrom. When they went inside, he took the opportunity to attach a small magnetized GPS beacon to the underside of their car.
It would simplify finding them again when necessary.
34
PETER
So Nicolet didn’t tell you anything?”
“Just that I’m in over my head,” he said. “Which I already knew.”
On a side street four blocks from the YMCA, Peter was trading license plates with an identical minivan while June watched for police cars. Most people didn’t even know their own plate number, so he figured it would be a while before the owner of the other van noticed his plates were wrong. With all the cameras, he and June were losing invisibility by the minute, and he didn’t want to buy another vehicle. He liked the Honda.
“At least you got to hit an attorney,” said June. “Check that off your life list.”
Peter shook his head as he screwed the stolen plate to their rear bumper. “I kind of liked him, actually. He was pretty tough.”
“I don’t think you get to Nicolet’s level without being tough.”
Peter stood and walked around to the passenger side. “Who’s first?”
Their next chore was to search the houses of the dead men.
“Alvarez is closest,” June said, and stepped on the gas. It was after three.
According to June’s research, the hunters’ driver’s licenses had their most recent addresses.
As June pushed the minivan down the narrow streets, she said, “Why would they use their own driver’s licenses? Why even carry them on an operation like that? Wouldn’t they at least have good fake ID?”
“They were ex-military,” said Peter. “Their prints would be on file with the feds, so it would be easy for the police to identify them. For that matter, the military keeps everyone’s DNA records, too, for identifying the dead in combat. That’s not supposed to be available for any other reason, but you know how that works.”
June nodded. “The rule of power. If it can be done, it will be done. They couldn’t really hide, so it was simpler to be themselves.”
Peter had another thought. “Or maybe they actually were from the government, like we talked about, and they had protection from higher up. So their identities were their protection.”
She shook her head. “Let’s not go down that rabbit hole just yet. Let’s find the people behind these guys.”
Before they find us, thought Peter.
? ? ?
MARTIN ALVAREZ OWNED a small slate-gray house in West Seattle. It had started out even smaller, but someone had put a modest addition on the back, and had done a pretty nice job of it, paying attention to the details of the siding and the rooflines. But he wasn’t living large, not here. He was saving for a rainy day.
June parked the van out front.