| |
When he’d got the message from Beth Jordan, Mimic had pulled his white Nissan Murano SUV over and sat on the hood. He’d closed the Facebook page on his iPad and had opened a Google search.
Nothing but blacktop and dry wilderness stretched ahead. He briefly closed his golden eyelashes against the breeze skimming across the desert prospect in front of him. He opened them again. Interstate 15 disappeared into the haze. It felt like the hottest part of the day, and he was eager to get back into the air con even though it gave him cottonmouth. He inhaled some real and tepid air and dabbed at the sour cream at the corners of his lips with a napkin he’d taken from Starbucks.
Beth Jordan had given him a run for his money and so had the O’Dooles. Both parties had to be silenced, Jordan because, as suspected, she knew what united his targets. He’d told Ramiro Casales to shoot anyone in the Luxor lobby answering her description before he turned the gun on himself, but Mimic had guessed she wouldn’t show. He still had Allegro to reel her in with, but the threats to her family were no guarantee she wouldn’t ruin everything he’d painstakingly orchestrated. He wondered how he would finish her, Mrs O’Doole and her children. Google told him.
He found some more details to ponder, and then slid off the hot metal and dumped his iPad back through the driver’s door. This route was alien to him, but the enjoyable part of his work was when it took him to new territory. He removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He’d always wanted to visit the Moapa Valley, and decided to stop off on the way. They had a renowned wildlife preserve there. He’d let Beth Jordan locate the O’Dooles. Mimic had over fifteen hours of driving ahead, so he figured, by the time he arrived, he’d have them all in one place.
