Mirho left his car on the shoulder off the dark street. There was no traffic this time of night. Going on midnight. No one anywhere. He smelled the ocean nearby. Most of the lights from the apartment high-rises along the water had been dimmed. He screwed in the sound suppressor on his HK 9 millimeter and stuffed the gun under his leather jacket into his belt. He took out the wire cutters.
He turned off the electronic tracker that had led him here.
Shutting the door, he made his way over to the wire fence and ran his hand along the links until he found a spot with some give. Here it would be easier to cut. Using two hands, one by one he snapped the metal links in a straight line down to the ground. Around twenty. Until he was able to pull a seam back in the fence—wide enough for him to wedge himself through and squeeze inside the yard. He planned not to have the same worries a little bit later when it was time to leave.
A few lights marked the way and he headed toward the water, his heels crunching on the compacted earth and snow. The cold coming off the water stung his cheeks. He moved his fingers to keep them warm. He could almost taste the fear he was about to cause.
As he got within a few yards of the office, he stopped. Across the narrow bay, lights flickered in Queens. He saw the hulking silhouette of boats up on blocks, plastic glinting off the intermittent spots, one of them blinking. A five-foot wooden boathook leaned against one of the boat blocks. He stepped more carefully now, removing the gun from his belt. A gull honked out on the water. That was the only sound. There was a large warehouse kind of structure with a retractable aluminum-sided door. And a small, shingled cabin with a wood porch adjoining it.
He decided that was where she had to be.
He blew out a frosty breath.
He looked inside the windows. The interior was dark. He stopped. He didn’t hear anything from within. Or sense any movement. Here’s where the fun starts, partner …
He put the gun to his side and stepped onto the porch.