Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(111)

Putting together the money for the trip had been the easy part. Heather could win at any gambling game, from poker to roulette. The craps tables were her favorites since she could throw the dice with such amazing accuracy that she only lost to avoid standing out. Even the slot machines proved no challenge to her savant mind. Within a few minutes of watching, she could determine the way any machine’s random number generation algorithms worked. Game over.

They changed from casino to casino, from game to game, intentionally losing to throw off suspicion, but steadily building the cash they would soon be needing. Heather always seemed to know exactly when to back off on her current winning streak.

The real problem had been getting the passports and visas needed to get into Colombia. These weren’t the type of documents you could just whip up at your local FedEx Kinko’s. But Las Vegas abounded with people who, for the right price, could produce whatever fake documentation you needed.

Only a couple of blocks to go now before the car reached their destination. If everything went perfect, they’d walk in, plop down the envelope with the seventy-five thousand dollars, pick up their documents, and go. If everything didn’t go as planned, well, that’s what Heather was working out the odds on as he drove. She wouldn’t have the last pieces of data she needed until they walked into the building and met the person who awaited them.

In the meantime, they had rehearsed the most likely scenarios a dozen times. Mark felt stretched taut, like a cable holding some great span of bridge. Only the bridge that he supported was this girl he loved more deeply than he would have believed possible. It must have happened ages ago, but it was their mutual quest for Jennifer that had brought him to the full realization of his feelings.

And he hadn’t even told her. How could he? With all the pressure she was under, how could he lay that on her?

Mark turned right off of Oakleigh onto Evening Dew Drive. The neighborhood was upper middle-class residential, just east of the ridgelines rising up to Frenchman Mountain. Certainly not the kind of place you’d expect to find an illicit print shop for hire. Mark pulled into the driveway just as the late-afternoon sun disappeared behind the high peaks to the west.

Reaching across to gently squeeze Heather’s shoulder, his voice nudged her. “Heather. You with me?”

She turned toward him and nodded. “Good to go.”

“Okay then, let’s get it over with.”

Mark reached across the seat for the envelope of cash, but Heather stopped him. “Let me take the lead. Just stay by me and watch for my signal.”

Although Mark felt prepared for anything, this wasn’t good. Her last vision must have taken her down one of the more unpleasant paths.

Opening the door and stepping into the driveway, Mark shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss.”

As he followed Heather to the front door, he willed his face into a mask like he had observed on some of the high-roller bodyguards at casinos downtown. Ignoring the doorbell, Mark rapped three times on the door, then twice more.

Listening carefully, he made out the footsteps of three men, two moving away as the other approached. Three heartbeats matched the movements. A door closed softly just before the front door opened.

The man who smiled out at them looked like any male head-of-household a census-taker would expect to meet in this neighborhood, a neatly dressed blond-haired, blue-eyed man in tan cotton Dockers and a Michael Jordan golf shirt. Even the sandal straps matched the tan lines barely visible on his feet.

“Mr. Billings?” Heather asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m Amanda Fowler, and this is my associate, Jason. I believe you were expecting us.”

“So I was. Please, come in.”

Mark stepped in first, his eyes scanning the interior in a way Mr. Billings noticed. As soon as the door closed behind Heather, the warm smile faded from the man’s face.

“You have my money?”

Heather patted the fat envelope. “I would like to see our documents first.”

Billings smiled, this time allowing a slight sneer to warp his lips. “Follow me.”

Heather stumbled slightly, and Mark reached a hand out to support her arm, thankful that the sunglasses hid her eyes.

Billings paused momentarily, looking at Mark. “She on drugs or something?”

“Cut the small talk and show us the documents. Then you’ll get your money.”

“Fine. No need to get pushy.”

Billings led them into a small study just off the dining room. A large executive desk occupied the center of the room, and Billings slid into the chair behind it, reaching down into a drawer as he did.

“Easy,” Mark said, stepping up beside him so he could see into the drawer.

“What? You think I’d pull a gun on you? In this neighborhood?” Billings pulled a large manila envelope from a file and emptied its contents onto the desktop.

Heather flipped rapidly through the passports and visas, then slid the cash-filled envelope toward Billings, watching as he counted. “Satisfied?”

The smile returned to Billings’ face. “Actually, I’ve run into some unexpected costs associated with the urgency of processing your order. I’ll need another twenty-five grand.”

“No. We’ll pay the agreed price and not a penny more.”

Billings cleared his throat, and as he did, Heather nodded toward the closed door behind him.