part0029

EVAN WAS IN MORE trouble than he knew. Guillory picked up her phone when she heard the double beep announcing the arrival of a text message. Having tried to call Evan the previous day and having it go to voicemail, she expected that the text was from him.

The thoughts running through her mind were far from complimentary as far as Mr Buckley was concerned. She didn’t think she was a jealous person, didn’t own Evan after all. She could even be accused of pushing him away at the moment.

But to have her call go to voicemail shortly after receiving a call from Ana Maria—what a lovely name—Cortez with her oh-so-sexy voice coming down the line making her think she’d accidentally called a premium rate phone sex number, telling her she was meeting Evan—in some idyllic bar on the waterfront watching the sun sink slowly below the horizon of the perfect azure sea, no doubt—and wanting to know if she could trust him—words failed her!

She reckoned she deserved a promotion. Or at least commendation for not yelling down the line at her: you can trust him to cause trouble . Which is what she’d said, just not shouting. She’d tried to keep her voice friendly, wasn’t sure she managed to pull it off.

The phone flexed in her hand as she glared at the display, imagining that it was his neck in her strong fingers. It wasn’t him, wasn’t any number in her contacts. It wasn’t anybody she was going to want to add to her contacts either. She stared at the words, her mind temporarily blank, all thoughts of what she wanted to do to Buckley suddenly gone.

She didn’t know exactly what it meant. She didn’t need to. It was enough to know that it was nothing good. Her stomach tightened, her legs suddenly weak, crazy thoughts she’d never have believed possible just a minute ago now filling her head. She would rather it had been from Evan. Telling her that he’d spent the night in Marathon or Key West or whatever romantic location in bed with his new-found friend Ana Maria.

Because, if she was honest, ever since the events of a few nights ago, she’d been expecting something like this. She’d expected Curtis Banks, the petty thief and burglar who’d let her into Robert Garfield’s house, to try to put the squeeze on her. Except this wasn’t him.

This was a whole lot worse.

It was more than that. Because the feeling had been building inside her since she couldn’t remember when, since some former life that was unrecognizable to her now. From before .

This was what she deserved.

Because she didn’t believe in salvation, or if she did, she lived her life knowing that its light would not shine upon her.

And while it was her emotions, her subconscious that gave her no peace, that made her feel that way, it was her mind, her intellect and years of experience that told her something else as well.

It was only the beginning.

In her experience, things generally start easy and then get worse. The only positive thing that could be said about the whole situation was that at that point, she wasn’t aware that the item of hers that the unknown person who sent the text had in their possession had been supplied by Evan, however unwillingly.

GUILLORY WASN’T THE only one to get a text from Lydia that morning. When Evan heard it arrive, he jumped to a similar conclusion to the one Guillory had made. That it was her. The only difference was, when he saw from the display that it wasn’t, he knew exactly who it was.

The text was similar too. Except that it was the other way around.

He knew exactly what she was talking about too.

In the course of the investigation that had involved Guillory being abducted by the pedophile gang, he had ended up driving the killer Todd Strange’s van—with Todd dead in the back. He’d been shot by the gangster Chico—the very detail that his sister Lydia wanted to know. While waiting for the final showdown with Chico, he’d searched the van. He’d made a very interesting discovery. A Nemesis Arms Vanquish, a lightweight, take-down sniper’s rifle. He’d hidden it in the undergrowth, then come back for it later. Because you never know when a sniper’s rifle is going to come in handy.

It never had of course. Broken down into its component parts, it fitted neatly into a carrying case that looked for all the world like an executive briefcase. It had been sitting on the top shelf of his closet ever since. He’d almost forgotten about it, certainly never bothered to get it down and assemble it. Or feel the perfect balance of it in his hands, maybe even imagine blowing Ryder’s fat head apart with it on those occasions when their relationship was at a particularly low ebb.

Now it seemed Todd’s sister Lydia was well aware of all of her brother’s lethal toys, knew which one was missing. It wasn’t a huge leap for her to figure out that he had it.

And now she wanted it back.

No way. He wasn’t about to hand it over to anybody harboring suspicions—justified or otherwise—about Guillory’s involvement in her brother’s killing. She already had the earring. He wasn’t going to give her a ready-made backup plan as well. So he ignored the text, knowing that he’d be hearing from her again very soon.

Sooner than he thought. Another text came in almost immediately with details of a time and location. He didn’t even read it all the way through, deleted both messages.

Then he got the rifle in its case down from the closet. He couldn’t keep it in the apartment any longer. Lydia had broken in once already. And he couldn’t carry it around with him. He’d take it to Crow who never left the house.

As he headed out, he looked as if he were about to make his first sales call of the day on a hapless homeowner, his briefcase full of kitchen worktop or aluminum siding samples, his mind full of dirty tricks.