Windermere pulled the Camry over to the curb. Pointed up the road to a pristine white two-story Colonial perched across from a park at the top of a small hill. “That’s the place,” she said. “Parkerson’s home base.”
Stevens nodded. “And there’s the gray Cadillac.”
They’d followed Michael Parkerson’s trail to a quiet suburban street in Cornelius, an outlying community twenty miles north of Charlotte along Interstate 77. It was close to Magnusson Aerospace, and just as important, it was close to Lake Norman, the vast man-made inland sea that provided hydroelectric power and recreation to metropolitan Charlotte’s more than two million residents.
Malcolm Lind told Caity Sherman he was headed for a lake house, Windermere thought. Plenty of those on Lake Norman.
She glanced across the Camry at Stevens. “Everything cool on the home front, partner?”
Stevens nodded. “Sounds like it.”
“Andrea’s okay? Nothing to worry about?”
“She’s mortified that her dad’s such a sap,” Stevens said. “That’s about it.”
“Good,” she said. “Then let’s get our game faces on.”
Stevens nodded. “I’m ready.” Reached into the backseat and dug out a Kevlar vest. Windermere watched him, marveling at the voodoo he’d done to get them here. Parkerson drove a big gray Cadillac. He had Defense Department clearance. And, hell, he even looked like Thomas Gardham. He was Killswitch, no doubt, and Stevens had found him.
He’s made for this stuff, she thought. She studied her colleague across the Camry and suddenly thought of Mathers. Felt a quick pang of guilt and chased it from her mind.
Stevens is your partner, not your boyfriend. Get your head in the game.
Windermere straightened and pushed Mathers away. Pushed Stevens away, too. Behind the Camry, a Cornelius PD cruiser pulled to a stop. Windermere studied it and knew there was another patrol car up the block, ready to guard Parkerson’s house from the rear and ensure their suspect didn’t get far if he ran. She watched in the rearview as a uniformed police officer climbed out of the cruiser and stood stretching on the pavement, his movements measured and deliberate. Then she reached for her Glock, checked it. “Ready?”
Stevens checked his own sidearm. “Always.”
Windermere squared her shoulders and climbed from the car, the adrenaline pumping electric through her body. “Killswitch, partner,” she said. “Let’s do this.”