Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(19)

“So let’s talk fee adjustment. And take off your pervert crown.”

Osterman lifted off his master crown, and carefully smoothed back his thick, glossy dark hair. “I’m paying you a fortune already.”

“McCloud is high-risk. Ex-special forces. One brother who’s an ex-fed, another who’s a private investigator. Those men are going to be unhappy. It may be necessary for me to relocate. That takes capital.”

Osterman was tantalized by the fantasy of Gordon disappearing from his life forever. “How much do you want?”

Gordon named a sum. Osterman stared at the man, appalled.

“You’re welcome to call someone else,” he taunted. “Feel free. I’d be happy to wash my hands of this. Because you’re bugging me, Chris.”

“Too much,” he said testily, already making the calculations in his head, liquidating assets, transferring this, converting that.

“Your slush fund should cover it. And the big boys at Helix won’t have to worry their pretty little heads, right? We’ll keep it between us. He jerked his chin at Caitlin. “Want me to load her up?”

“Yes. I’m sick of looking at her. I’ll mix up a dose of heroin and fentanyl. Inject her right before you dump her. Don’t let her asphyxiate in the trunk of your car. It looks suspicious to the forensics techs.”

“Might take her a while to finish dying,” Gordon warned. “You want to risk her ending up in the emergency room?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Osterman adjusted the knobs. “She’ll have so much cerebral damage, she won’t be able to tell them her own name.”

Gordon whistled softly. “Now that’s cold.”

The silence behind him made him suspicious as he loaded the syringe. He turned, to see Gordon peeking under Caitlin’s shirt.

“Why do you do that?” he snapped. “It’s disgusting.”

“Why does a man do anything? Why does a dog lick his balls? Because he can, Chris. Because he can.”

Osterman shuddered with distaste. “You are such an animal.”

“So throw me a chunk of meat.” He moved his hand down to caress her crotch, and snatched it away with a hiss of distaste. “Yuck. She’s wet herself. I’ll back the van up to the cargo door. You got any more body bags? I don’t want her leaking in my trunk.”

“I’m almost out. It’s really hard to get those in bulk,” he said.

“Yeah, ain’t life difficult? Is that one of your annoying passive aggressive ways of asking me to get some more of them for you?”

The door swung shut on their wrangling, leaving the vidcams to record the subject’s response to X-Cog NG-4. Wrists straining, heels drumming. Face locked in the rictus of an endless, silent scream.





Chapter 5



C rash. Bam. Kitchen cupboard doors bounced shut, and swung open again. Sean watched in horrified fascination as his older brother stormed around the dim kitchen of their father’s old house. “I don’t know why you’re so pissed with me,” he said plaintively. “I haven’t done anything wrong.” He paused for a moment. “Yet.”

Davy made a snarling noise. There was a squeak, and he was staring at a detached drawer, its handle torn half off. Rubber bands, nails and other detritus rattled onto the kitchen floor. He flung it away.

“Hah,” he muttered. “If I weren’t so pissed, that would be funny.”

The sun was long since hidden behind Endicott Bluff. They hadn’t bothered to light up the kerosene lamps yet. In fact, considering Davy’s current mood, perhaps the kerosene lamps were best left unlit.

Shadows were swallowing the room. The west window was a light show, ranging from fire-edged pink to mauve to deep, cobalt blue. A star hung in it. OK, a planet—Venus, if he recalled Dad’s astronomy lectures correctly.

But Davy wasn’t enjoying the sunset. He assaulted the cupboard, and another handle came loose. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Goddamn flimsy rotten piece of shit.” He hurled it against the opposite wall.

Crash, the handle hit a picture. Sean winced as glass shattered.

This was unnerving. Davy usually maintained near-pathological control over his emotions, with the notable exception of his passion for Margot, his new wife. On a normal day, it took the emotional equivalent of a catastrophic earthquake to make him lose his temper.

Davy rummaged through the cupboards. “I know there’s a bottle of Scotch around here. Unless you drank it and didn’t replace it.”

“Nope. I wouldn’t drink that stuff if you held a gun to my head. Would you calm the f*ck down? You’re making me tense.”

“I’m making you tense?” Davy spun and kicked the swinging door. Smash, and one side dangled forlornly from its bent, twisted hinge. “I’m the one who bailed your ass out, and I am making you tense?”

“You did not technically bail me out,” Sean pointed out. “I was not technically under arrest! I didn’t—”

“Nah, just hanging out in the interrogation room for fun, chatting on the technical aspects of car bomb construction with local officers of the law. All of whom think you’re a delinquent. Many of whom, like Roarke, have personal reasons to hate your guts—”