Lethal(91)

He stared at her, wondering who this person was. She wore Janice’s face, her hair, her clothes. But she was a total stranger.

“It means something to me.” He picked up his car keys and stalked from the room, leaving her chasing after him, calling his name.

She must have sensed something in his tone of voice, or read something in his expression that frightened her and took the starch out of her defiance. Because the last thing he heard her say was, “Don’t leave me!”

He slammed the front door on his way out.

Now, hours later, the sound of the slamming door and her plea echoed inside his head.

He’d been so damned angry. First Hamilton’s machinations. Then to discover his own wife was exchanging filthy text messages with God knew who. Perverts. Sex addicts. It turned his stomach to think about it.

But leave her? Leave her to cope with Lanny alone when she couldn’t handle more than a few hours without assistance? He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t simply walk out of their situation and leave her to cope with it alone. And even if he was inclined to abandon her, he couldn’t desert Lanny.

Actually he didn’t know what he would do about this. Probably nothing.

Doing nothing seemed to be the way in which he and Janice handled most of their problems. They were without friends, without sex, without any happiness whatsoever simply because neither of them had done anything to stop the erosion of it. Her “sexting” would be just another aspect of their lives that they would pretend wasn’t there.

They were strangers who lived in the same house, a man and a woman who’d known one another a long time ago, who had laughed and loved, and who now were forged together by a responsibility that neither could forsake.

Jesus, they were pitiful.

He scrubbed his face with his hands and ordered himself to focus on the job at hand. He checked the time. Straight up ten o’clock.

Make yourself seen, Hamilton had told him.

He opened the car door, got out, and walked forward, stopping several yards beyond the hood of the car.

He held his hands loosely at his sides, slightly away from his body, also as Hamilton had directed. The cricket continued to fill the night air with its grating racket, but above it Tom could hear his own heartbeat, his own staggered respiration.

He didn’t hear the man. Not at all.

He had no forewarning that he was there until the barrel of a pistol was jammed into the base of his skull.


When Coburn had told Honor what she was to do, she’d protested. “That goes against your own plan.”

“It goes against the plan I gave to Hamilton.”

“You never intended to send me to meet VanAllen?”

“Hell no. Somebody in this op is working for The Bookkeeper. Whether or not it’s VanAllen, somebody is dirty. Probably lots of somebodies. The Bookkeeper will be afraid of what you know, or at least suspect, and will want you taken out as bad as he does me.”

“He can’t just have me shot.”

“Of course he can. I told you, situations like this, hostage exchanges in particular, get f*cked up real easy. Sometimes on purpose. You could become an ‘accidental’ casualty.”

It was a sobering thought that had silenced her for several moments. He had parked their stolen car in the garage of a defunct paint and body shop, where the gutted chassis of other cars had been left to the mercy of the elements. When she’d asked him how he knew about these hiding places, he’d said, “I make it my business to know.”

He hadn’t elaborated, but she reasoned that he had mapped out several escape routes, planning against the time when he would need one. Like tonight.

They had waited in the stifling garage for more than an hour before he began giving her instructions. “Stay here,” he’d said. “Either I’ll come back within a few minutes after ten o’clock, or I won’t. If I don’t, drive away. Collect Emily and—”

“And what?” she’d asked when he stopped talking.

“Depends on you. You either call your father-in-law or Doral. You tell them where you are, and you get welcomed back into the fold. For a while anyway.”

“Or?”

“Or you keep driving and get as far away from here as this car will take you. Then you call Hamilton. You tell him you won’t come in to anybody except him. He’ll come pick you up.”

“Why does it have to be one way or the other?”

“Because I came to your house on Monday morning. I wish now that I hadn’t. But I did. So thanks to me, The Bookkeeper and everyone on his payroll will assume you know something. The good guys will assume the same. You’ve got to decide which team you’re on.”

She looked at him meaningfully. “I already have, haven’t I?”

He’d held her gaze, then said, “Okay, good. Listen up.” He gave her his cell phone, recited a telephone number, and told her to memorize it.

“Hamilton’s? Won’t it be on the phone?”

He shook his head. “I clear the log after each call. You should, too. Got the number?”

She had repeated it back to him.

Then he’d gone through it all again, stressing to her that she couldn’t trust anyone, except possibly Tori. “I got a good vibe from her. I don’t think she would betray you, but she might give you up unintentionally.”