Parkerson watched the rearview mirror and hardly dared to breathe. The street was empty behind him. The cops were gone. He kept driving.
They’d be calling in his plates, he knew. There’d be police on his tail, locals and state troopers and FBI alike. He had to get out of Jerry’s Explorer. Hide out somewhere and figure a plan.
His heart wouldn’t stop racing. Fifteen minutes ago, he’d been eating lasagna with his kids. Now he was running for his life. How the hell had they found him? Didn’t matter; they’d done it. The only important thing now was escape.
Escape.
The asset was at the lake house. He’d driven down from Delaware in a dead man’s car. Maybe they were lucky and the police hadn’t ID’d the victims yet. Maybe the car wasn’t made. They could swap the plates, anyway. And the asset was armed. There were guns at the lake house. And nobody but Parkerson and the asset even knew the place existed. They’d be safe there, for a while. At least until dark.
Parkerson drove north, avoiding the interstate. He circled the lake and took side roads until he reached Mooresville, where he risked a heart-stopping five minutes on busy Highway 150 before ducking off onto rural roads again. He kept his eyes glued to the rearview mirror, searching for cops. Didn’t see a one. He was close to the lake house now. Almost in the clear.
The lake road was deserted. Parkerson waited at the intersection until he was sure nobody had followed him. Then he turned and followed the shore to a little grove of trees at the end of the road. Drove into the grove and parked beside an old Chevy truck next to the cabin. Killed the engine and sat in the driver’s seat, waiting for his heart to slow. The lake twinkled through the forest, a late-evening show. Soon the sun would be down. Night would fall, and he could escape undetected.
Parkerson looked out at the old truck alongside. The house was dark behind it. There was no sign of life, but Parkerson knew the asset was inside, waiting for instruction. Waiting, though he didn’t know it yet, to die.
Wendell Gray would have to be disposed of. He was an anchor now, a liability, even if he’d shown potential. It would be messy. It would be violent and difficult and altogether unclean. Parkerson felt slightly sick as he thought about it.
Still, it was a necessity. Gray had to die, and so he would. Parkerson straightened and reached for the door handle, steeling himself to the task. The sun was setting. It would be nighttime soon. In a few hours, he could escape.