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TWO SECONDS LATER. Two friggin' seconds, and his plans, his life, would have all been over.
He'd shifted Leslie's Impala into park and had almost climbed out when he saw the woman step from a pickup truck parked a few car lengths in front of him. He'd stared. Surely, it wasn't her.
But when she turned to talk to the man who climbed from the driver's side, he got a good look at her. He hadn't met Marisa Vega, but he'd seen enough of Leslie's photographs to last him a lifetime. She'd removed all the pictures of her sister and her mom from the house, but she'd kept plenty in that giant purse of hers. Snapshots and portraits in that little photo album she'd carried with her everywhere. Who knew what she'd been thinking when she stared at her sister's face. He should have asked. Not that it mattered now.
If he'd had any doubt, one look at the man with Marisa brushed them away. He recognized Walter Boyle from the million times he'd considered punching the man square in the face. Maybe pummeling him until he died. Not that he'd ever had it in him.
But there was Leslie. So, he was capable of almost anything. Who knew?
Walter Boyle's newspaper articles had ruined Charles Gray's life. Pamela Gray's, too, and his own. And Walter—Nate, as Leslie had said he preferred to be called—had gone on to get a job with the Times and have a great career as an investigative journalist. No punishment for what he'd done.
Marisa and Nate got back in the truck, but the truck didn't pull away. Good thing. Now that he had them in his sights, he wasn't about to lose them. Maybe he could turn the tables. He'd been convinced that snatching the kid would get Marisa to give up the money, but apparently she didn't care about the little Mexican brat as much as she'd claimed to, because she still insisted she didn't have the cash.
But Leslie had known differently, and he did, too. Never mind that Leslie had changed her mind. Stupid, sentimental sister stuff.
The thought of her made his hands shake, and he clasped them together and forced the memory of the previous night from his mind.
He'd come to this house on a whim, not sure what to do with the Mexican brat he'd stuffed in the trunk. At least the sedative seemed to be working. She hadn't made a peep. He'd given her a pillow and blanket, and he'd cracked the space between the trunk and the backseat to get fresh air in there. The kid should survive.
He'd thought maybe Rosa or one of the other maids might help him with her. But now...
And what in the world were Marisa and Nate doing here?
He had no idea, but they'd made it impossible for him to go inside, even after they left. Too risky. Much too risky.
How to use this chance encounter to his advantage?
He could follow them. Leslie's car was much more ordinary than his, so they'd probably not notice the tail. Who remembered a silver sedan? And even if somebody did, it would trace back to Leslie, not him. As long as he wiped it down carefully, he should be fine.
But where would Marisa and Nate go after this? How long could he conceivably follow them before they hit open road and got suspicious? And with the kid in the trunk...
That wouldn't work.
What could he do?
The answer was obvious, and he laughed out loud. Duh—he was in Leslie's car. He'd been tracking her since he'd started seeing her. He'd been watching her on the iPhone app, too, but that wasn't as reliable, and he had to keep an eye on it all the time. The car's tracker kept records. With it, he could check it every once in a while and see what she'd been up to. That was just one way he'd confirmed that she was indeed on his side and not working with the feds.
Their pillow talk was the other way he'd known. Make a woman feel loved, and she'd do anything for you.
Now he just had to get the tracker on Nate and Marisa's truck. Eventually, they had to get out of it, if not here, somewhere. He'd just follow until they did. When the truck was empty, he'd grab the tracker from beneath Leslie's car and secure it to the truck. The magnet would keep it in place, and he'd know where they were.
For the first time since this all had begun, luck was on his side. He'd get what was coming to him, one way or another.