Promise Not To Tell(85)

“Now, see, that’s where you’re wrong. I admit I’m not a red-hot cybersecurity investigator, but I’ve got this intern – a young wonder boy, just like you used to be. He said to tell you that you obviously haven’t gotten on the Darknet lately to read up on the last couple of software and firmware updates for your phone. Apparently there were some issues that were not fixed. I won’t pretend I understood all the details. All I know is that he was able to get me what I needed on you. Has your phone been a little slow lately?”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Believe whatever you want to believe. I’ll give you a little time to think about it. But don’t take too long. There’s not a chance in hell that you can sneak the gun back into Laurel’s house. She’s already talking to the cops. Probably giving them a list of people who might have known the code on her gun safe. It will be a very short list, won’t it? You’ll be right at the top.”

Preston’s face contorted with the full force of his fury.

“You are causing me way too much trouble,” he said. “I’m done with you.”

He reached down under a seat. When he straightened, he had a pistol in his hand.

But Cabot had already grabbed the boat hook. He swung it in a sweeping arc as Preston tried to take aim.

The boat hook slammed into Preston’s shoulder just as he squeezed off a shot. The gun roared, the sound echoing in the fog.

Preston had been going for a chest shot, but the impact of the boat hook knocked him off balance, ruining his aim. The bullet caught Cabot in his left arm. The jolt sent him reeling.

So much for the Kevlar vest Schwartz loaned me, he thought. No such thing as a perfect plan.

Preston was bringing the gun up again, going for another shot. With his left arm out of commission, Cabot knew he would not have the leverage and power he needed to take another swipe with the boat hook.

He rolled to his feet, seized a heavy coil of rope with his right hand and hurled it at Preston.

Preston managed to dodge the uncoiling rope, but in the process he lost his balance and went down on one knee. The boat rocked violently.

Cabot launched himself into the craft before Preston could recover. His weight and the sudden impact caused the small vessel to bounce and shudder in the water. He went down, taking Preston with him.

“Freeze,” someone yelled.

Preston tried to toss the gun over the side, but Cabot was sprawled on top of him, using his good arm to pin Preston’s gun hand to the bottom of the boat.

Two uniformed officers appeared at the end of the dock. They looked down into the boat, guns drawn.

“Drop the gun,” one of them barked.

“Fuck,” Preston hissed.

But he released his grip on the gun. One of the officers got into the boat to collect the weapon.

“Careful with the gun,” Cabot said. “It’s stolen. Pretty sure it’s the same gun that was used to kill Tucker Fleming.”

Anson jogged across the lawn. He was accompanied by a young man in plain clothes who had a gun in one hand and a badge in the other.

Schwartz eyed the growing stain on Cabot’s windbreaker. “So much for the vest.”

“Yeah,” Cabot said. He was suddenly aware of the ice and fire in his upper left arm. “The same thought occurred to me.”

“The medics are on the way,” Schwartz said.

The officers got cuffs on Preston and hauled him up onto the dock.

Anson helped Cabot out of the boat.

“Sit down,” Anson ordered.

He started to remove the jacket. Cabot groaned.

“Take it easy,” he said. “That hurts.”

“I’ll bet,” Anson said.

He got the jacket off and clamped a hand around the bleeding wound.

“Virginia isn’t going to like this,” Anson said. “I seem to recall you assuring her that your big plan to confront Preston was perfectly safe because you would be wearing a vest.”

“Tell me the truth, Anson. Do you think this little incident is going to hurt my image as a hotshot private eye?”

“Doesn’t do it any good,” Anson said. “Lucky for you, Virginia has noticed that you have other qualities.”

Cabot realized he was greatly cheered by that thought. “You’re right. Lucky me. Still, she isn’t going to like this.”

“No,” Anson said. “She won’t.”

CHAPTER 64

“You conned Josh Preston, didn’t you?” Virginia said. “You made him believe that Xavier had hacked into his phone and found proof that Preston was sending the messages to Tucker Fleming.”

They were sitting in her living room. Anson was at the window. Cabot, his left arm in a bandage and a sling, was sprawled on the sofa. Virginia thought he looked exhausted, but she knew he was in no mood to sleep – not yet, at any rate. She was feeding him a steady diet of hot soup and herbal tea, but she could feel the vibes generated by hand-to-hand combat coming off him in waves.

She was still in the process of reentry herself. She had arrived at the emergency room before they’d had a chance to dispose of Cabot’s bloodstained clothes. It was a sight she knew she would revisit in her dreams from time to time.

“Preston thought he was the smartest guy in the room, but he was rattled because he had recently killed a man and had been discovered in the act of trying to destroy the evidence,” Cabot said. “Under those circumstances, it wasn’t hard to make him believe that someone had hacked into his phone.”