Stevens grabbed a few hours’ sleep in his suite at the Golden Glades. Then he woke up and called Nancy. “Hey,” he said, “you have time to chat?”
His wife sighed. “I’m headed into the office, Kirk. It’s a hell of a week.” She paused. “I guess I have a couple minutes.”
“How’s your weekend?” said Stevens. “How are the kids?”
“Kids are good. Sounds like they miss you. Andrea’s been all over me to tell her what you’re up to.”
Stevens frowned. Since she’d met Carla Windermere in the middle of the Carter Tomlin case, his daughter had become an FBI junkie. Stevens had to admit it pleased him, just a little, that she’d taken such an interest in the family business, but both he and Nancy still harbored concerns that their daughter’s ordeal with Tomlin had left her with some yet-undiscovered psychological trauma.
“I told her I didn’t know,” Nancy said. “Just that it had to do with Spenser Pyatt. Why that means you’re in Miami, I couldn’t begin to guess.”
“It’s a contract killer,” Stevens told her. “The same guy who killed Pyatt killed another man here. Both hits bought and paid for. We ran down another client last night.”
“A contract killer. Well, I can’t very well tell Andrea that, can I? After the whole thing with Carter Tomlin, I’m amazed the poor girl can still sleep at night.”
“She’s tough, Nance,” Stevens said.
“Yeah, Kirk, I know she’s tough. An experience like that, though. And her dad running around like Sylvester Stallone . . .” She was silent a moment. “Look, just be careful, all right?”
“Always, Nancy.”
“Seriously. Don’t get yourself killed.” She sighed. “I’m going to tell the kids you’re on vacation or something. Deep-sea fishing. Partying with supermodels. Whatever won’t give them nightmares.”
“Supermodels give me nightmares,” Stevens said. “I’ll come home as soon as I can.” He told her good-bye, and that he missed her, and then he hung up the phone and leaned against the headboard and pictured Nancy at home and wondered why he’d even come to Miami.
But he knew why. He thought about chasing Comm on the Island Joy. The shoot-out. The interrogation. Comm was waiting now in the FBI’s Miami office. He would doubtless have more to tell them.
Stevens thought about Killswitch. About the zombie shooter and the anonymous accomplice in the gray Cadillac. All of it a mystery, but Comm would have information. Sooner or later, the truth would be revealed.
The thought propelled Stevens out of bed. He showered quickly and went down to the hotel lobby, where he ate a fast breakfast and waited for Windermere.