Lethal(97)

He could have spent it with Isobel. He’d even thought it was safe enough now to take her out into the open. They could have gone to a park, sat on a bench and fed ducks, shared a blanket under a tree. Something like that.

He’d seen people doing things like that, and he’d scorned such unproductive pastimes. But he realized now why people enjoyed them. It was all about being close to another person and letting nothing distract you from the joy of simply being near them.

He could have spent the day gazing into Isobel’s lovely eyes, teasing small, shy smiles out of her, perhaps daring to hold her hand. He could have seen for the first time how her hair and skin looked in sunlight, how a breeze from off the river would mold her clothes to the dainty body that tantalized him.

He would have enjoyed that.

He would have enjoyed killing the fed.

Instead, he’d wasted all day babysitting the fat guy’s car.

Bonnell Wallace hadn’t even left the bank for lunch. He’d parked his car in the bank employee lot that morning, and there it had stayed until he left for home at ten after five. The Bookkeeper had said to follow him, so Diego had followed him through rush-hour traffic. He’d gone straight home.

Fifteen minutes after he got to the mansion, a black woman driving an SUV and wearing a domestic’s uniform had left. She drove through the property gate, and it had closed behind her automatically.

That had been hours ago, and no one else had come or gone.

Diego was bored stiff. But if The Bookkeeper wanted to pay him to watch a gate, that’s what he would do. For now. But never again. After collecting his pay for this job, plus the five hundred he was being paid for Isobel’s believed extermination, he’d get himself a new phone and disappear off The Bookkeeper’s radar.

As though conjuring up a call, his cell phone vibrated. He pulled it off his belt and answered.

“Are you ready for some action, Diego?”

“You hafta ask?”

The Bookkeeper issued him new instructions, but they were a far cry from what he had waited all day to hear. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“No.”

“I thought I was on standby to do the fed. ‘Be ready, Diego. At a moment’s notice, Diego,’ ” he mimicked. “What happened to that?”

“Change of plans, but this is related.”

“How?”

“It’s been a busy and trying night. Just do as I tell you without giving me an argument.”

Diego stared at the big white house and considered The Bookkeeper’s order. He was here and he’d invested a hell of a lot of time already; he’d just as well do it. Mumbling, he asked, “What do you want me to do with him after?”

“That’s a stupid question. You know the answer. Get on it. I need this information as soon as possible. Immediately.”

Fuck immediately, Diego thought as he disconnected. I’ve waited on you all f*cking day.

For several minutes after, he remained in his hiding place and analyzed the mansion. As before, he mentally ticked off all the reasons why breaching it would be dicey.

He didn’t like it. He had a bad feeling about this job, and had from the get-go. Why not heed his gut instinct and just walk away from it, let The Bookkeeper find someone else to do this?

But then he thought of Isobel. He wanted to get her pretty things, and he couldn’t always steal them. He would need money, especially if he planned to vacation for a while and spend idle days with her. The Bookkeeper’s money was good. An hour, two at most, and he would be due a hefty payday. After collecting, he could leave The Bookkeeper’s employ for good.

Mind made up, he came out from his hiding place. Keeping to the shadows and moving with the stealth of one, he found a place at the back of the Wallace property where the wisteria vine on the estate wall was thick and the lighting thin.

He went over the wall.





Chapter 37





The place was still deserted. The padlock on the door of the detached garage was exactly as Coburn had left it. The black pickup hadn’t been moved from where he’d parked it that morning.

He pulled the sedan to a stop beside it and together they got out. Honor, functioning in a fog, looked to him for direction.

“Let’s see what’s up there.” He nodded toward the room above the garage.

They climbed the staircase attached to the exterior wall. The door at the top of the stairs was locked, but within ten seconds Coburn had found the key above the doorjamb. He unlocked and opened the door, then felt the inside wall for a light switch and flipped it on.

The small room obviously had been occupied by a young male. Posters and pennants for various sports teams were tacked to the walls. The bed was covered with a stadium blanket. Two deer heads with eight points each stared at one another from opposite walls across a floor of clean but scuffed hardwood. A nightstand, a chest of drawers, and a blue vinyl beanbag chair were the only other pieces of furniture.

Coburn crossed the room and opened a door, revealing a closet in which were stored a tackle box and rod and reel, a few articles of winter clothing zipped into garment bags, and a pair of hunting boots standing upright on the floor.

A matching door opened into a bathroom that wasn’t much larger than the closet. There was no tub, just a preformed fiberglass shower stall that was slightly discolored.