Dylan (Bowen Boys, #3)(5)

And now he had five people dead, including two of his own, plus he had lost his eye because of her. He picked up the handheld mirror he’d been looking in when his agent knocked. She was going to pay for this, too.

The knife had entered his socket and pierced his eyeball. The doctor who had treated him told him that he was lucky that he’d only lost an eye. The robber could have done a bit more damage than that had he pressed a little harder on the blade. Kirby had thanked him for his help, refused to stay overnight, and trashed the prescription on his way out. He had his own form of medication, and it wasn’t anything this jerk would prescribe to him. Reaching into his top desk drawer, Kirby pulled out his coke and did two more lines of it. He was leaning back and feeling nothing when his phone rang.

“You want to tell me why there are nineteen agents pissing off about two dozen of my citizens right now?” said Marshall David, right hand man to the president of the United States, on the other end of the line. It took Kirby a few seconds to try and figure out what he was talking about.

“I’m sorry, what? You mean with the Crosby murder?” He knew almost immediately he’d made a mistake.

“I’m talking about the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Vern Clements and their lovely daughter Ruby. What is this about Crosby? Was that another family murdered?”

Kirby shook his head, then felt stupid as he realized that Marshall David couldn’t see him.

“No, sir,” Kirby said. “What I meant to say was that we’re looking to connect a person by the name of Crosby to the murders.” He hadn’t meant to tell that yet, but he’d been too stoned to remember, and now it was out. “She worked for some underground hit crew until recently. But up until then we’d had her pegged as someone who we would watch but not be overly concerned with. Then last night she turned up in a house where one of my men was, and she killed him and the entire Clements family.”

“Why?” Good question, Kirby thought, and was glad when he wasn’t able to answer him. “I want what you have on her and this underground crew as soon as possible. Bring it to me yourself.”

Kirby picked up the file to do as he’d been ordered when he realized that, as stoned as he was, he’d f*ck up. He sat back down and tried to think how to get out of it. A glance in the mirror gave him what he needed.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t. I was hurt pretty badly last night in an attempted robbery. I only came in today to see what I could do to expedite this and find the murderer. I’ve been restricted to bed rest, but, sir…I knew that you’d want answers. Walking too much makes me dizzy and extremely ill.” Kirby explained to his boss what he’d told his wife and the company doctor the night before.

“You should have told me first thing. I can’t know these things without someone telling me. I’ll have my aide come for the file. You go home. I have a feeling the shit is going to hit the fan on this one, and I will need all my good men with me.”

“Thank you, sir, and I will,” Kirby said, letting out a sigh. “I’ll leave the file on the desk out front.” He took down Marshall’s personal phone number in the event he needed it, hung up the phone, and put the file on the front desk, not having a clue where his secretary had gone.

All Kirby wanted from the man was to leave him alone to do his job…not necessarily the one that Marshall had hired him to do, but the one that made him the most money. The underground crew that he’d hired to do the hits that the government needed done, as well as anything he wanted taken care of. And that’s where the f*cking bitch Crosby had crossed the line.

Kirby was about to leave his office when his aide came in with some news. He had to sit down to take it in after he heard the first part. The bitch had known about the chip for longer than he’d thought.

“The address we have on file is an empty lot. We checked it against the county records, and it’s the same address she has listed there, as well. But to look at the place, it’s been empty of anything for a while. The post office box is a fake, too. Casey Snow is the name on the mail. She can’t be reached at her home. We’re pulling records now to see if we can find her place of business. But according to the post master, her mail has been piling up for some time.”

Kirby had a feeling that the body in her car wasn’t Miss Snow but one stolen from the morgue. He wanted to scream at the man that he’d been duped but didn’t. The only person who had known about the other woman was now lying on a slab in the morgue. He’d been one of the two men that Crosby had shot on her way into the house.

She’d had a great deal more street smarts than he’d first given her credit for. When he’d hired her over five years ago, he’d told her she was joining an elite team that only answered to two people: him and the president. Only the president hadn’t known anything about this group, and Crosby had figured it out.

Crosby had been at the top of the list of candidates. Her tests scores were off the charts, and her IQ was well over anything he’d ever seen. She was also one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, with dark hair and light gray eyes, and she towered over most men, including him, in her stocking feet. He had known a few women that topped the six foot two inch stature, but no one had carried it like she did. Willow thin, she looked good in anything she put on, which was nearly always black on black. The one time she’d needed to dress up, the black evening gown looked as if it had been molded to her body. When she’d left the event, her target was taken care of and no one had a clue that the woman who had made heads turn was the one who’d taken him out.