The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(36)

Bishop’s Pawn.

My lawyer sense told me he was now more than a little annoyed. Killing me remained a problem. Others knew about me, and he was no longer running with the big dogs. He didn’t call the shots. Instead, he was retired, living here in Shangri-la with his marble FBI emblem in the entrance hall floor, dependent on people still in positions of power to cover for him.

Those were the ones Stephanie Nelle was after.

The folks in DC whose strings this guy pulled.

So I decided to get with the plan and help her out.

“Why am I here?”

“I was hoping we could solve this problem together. I know what Foster wants.” He pointed at the case. “Those to be burned. I get that. People are motivated by a variety of reasons. Ideology, passion, duty, loyalty. Some by personal gain. What do you want?”

I nearly smiled. He’d brought me here to bribe me.

Something thudded into the door loud enough to grab both my and Oliver’s attention. He rose from his seat and rushed across to a desk, where he withdrew a weapon.

“Stay here.”

You wish.

He headed for the door.

I snatched up the coin from the top of the waterproof case and pocketed it, then I cut Oliver off, planting a solid right uppercut that sent the bastard down. I then relieved him of his gun and mocked him.

“You stay here.”

I opened the door.

Jansen lay on the floor.





Chapter Twenty-two


I bent down and checked.

Jansen was still breathing, but he’d taken a pop to his head, a fresh gash marking the method of attack. I came alert and stared down the corridor toward the entrance hall. The man in the glasses who’d escorted us inside lay sprawled on the terrazzo. Apparently, somebody unexpected had arrived.

But what about Coleen, her father, and her husband? I decided there was no choice, so I called out, “Coleen?”

“In here.”

I heard the voice, muffled, as if through a closed door, coming from ahead. Three doors down I found them, but the knob was locked.

“Stand back,” I said.

I pounded my right foot into the wood. Two more kicks and the jamb gave way.

I stepped inside.

“Something’s happening here,” I told them. “And it’s not good.”

Then I realized.

The waterproof case was back in the library.

“Follow me.”

We returned to the room to find Oliver still on the floor, the waterproof case gone, the French doors leading out to the terrace open.

“Get in one of the cars out front and get out of here,” I told Coleen.

“I’m going with you,” she said, then she faced her husband. “Take Dad and go. Do you have your cell phone?”

Nate shook his head. “The guy back there on the floor in the hall took it.”

I understood Coleen’s point, so I rushed back inside and searched Jansen, finding the unit.

“When you get away,” she told Nate, “call us on your phone.”

Nate nodded.

“Let those files go,” Foster said. “They’re not worth all of this.”

“I can’t,” Coleen said.

I agreed with her.

“I demand you listen to me, Coleen.”

“We’re way beyond that,” she told him.

I grabbed Foster by the arm and led him away, whispering into his ear, “Go, or I’ll tell her what you did to get us here.”

I could see the threat registered.

The older man nodded his acquiescence.

“You and I will talk privately later,” I muttered.

We all raced from the house, rounding one side and following the towering hedges back to the driveway entrance.

Several parked cars waited.

“One of those hopefully has keys in it,” I said. “Take it.”

Foster and Nate headed off.

Coleen and I left the grounds and found the street beyond the hedges. To my left I saw two men moving east, toward the ocean, carrying the waterproof case. They were nearly a hundred yards away, too far for the gun, and besides, I didn’t want to draw any attention that might bring the local police.

An engine cranked behind us, and a moment later one of the cars with Nate driving sped from the house. I motioned for them to turn right. Nate hesitated, seeing the two men with the case farther down the street. I knew what he was thinking.

He had a car.

We didn’t.

“We’ll get it,” I told him through the closed window. “Get your father-in-law out of here.”

He turned the car right and disappeared down the street.

Coleen was already running toward the two other men.

I followed.

One of them glanced back and saw her. They increased their pace. So did I. I saw them cross the street at the end of the block and trot down a narrow, sandy footpath, then disappear into the oaks and palms that separated two of the estate properties. A posted sign noted that the trail was for public beach access. A wall ran down the right side guarding the perimeter of a huge house that rose among the trees. A fence protected the private property to the left.

Coleen crossed the street and headed for the trail.

I ran faster.

A shot popped ahead.

Coleen was unarmed, which meant she was taking fire. I crossed the street and plunged into the foliage, following the sandy ground through the trees. Coleen was huddled against the trunk of one of the thicker oaks. The two men were near the trail’s end, where daylight and the sound of surf signaled ocean.