“Everything OK?” Jake asked, trying to hide the tremble in his voice.
The guard paused, examined him closely. “Looking for someone. Have you seen anyone else in this stairwell?”
Jake pointed behind him. “Yeah, just saw a guy just a second ago. He was in a hurry. Nearly knocked me over. I think he exited on the nineteenth floor.”
“Nineteenth?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.”
“All right, thanks.”
“You bet. Good luck.”
Jake stepped around the guard. He heard the guy lift his radio and tell his partner to check the nineteenth floor. Jake made sure to keep his steps steady for a few flights. But the closer he got to the ground floor, the faster his legs wanted to move. He finally reached the bottom. He pushed the door open and again steadied his pace so as to not draw any eyeballs. There were no security guards around the booth right now. Exiting the building, Jake stepped out onto the sidewalk along Congress Avenue.
Then he ran like hell.
THIRTY-SIX
Logan Gervais sat at the bar in the Four Seasons, sipping on a glass of bourbon and trying to soothe some of his frustrations over missing the opportunity to take out his target earlier in the public park. The football coach was surprisingly shifty, or maybe just damn lucky. There was no other explanation for how he’d somehow sidestepped every bullet the great ghost had offered up in his direction. And to catch a running train like that? And now this situation had turned into a much bigger mess for Gervais because one of his bullets caught the other man—who just happened to be the Texas governor’s chief of staff. The man had died, and the media story was big. Gervais was watching it all unfold on the TV behind the bar. Police are searching for the shooter . . . shooter still at large . . . eyewitnesses giving detailed reports of the incident.
Gervais cursed. What a headache. He was not overly concerned about being identified. He had been very discreet with each attempted shot. It just created theatrics he’d rather not have to deal with while trying to complete this assignment by the end of the day. Gervais looked down at his laptop on the bar. An unexpected message from his client appeared in his in-box on his secured website. His eyes narrowed. A second assignment request. Three new targets in addition to the football coach. An older woman, along with a younger man and woman who were probably both in their twenties. Then an add-on about the recovery of a child who was in their custody. There was also a photo of the child, who looked to be in her early teens.
Gervais replied to the message.
Negative. This falls outside my normal scope.
He got a quick reply. Money is no object.
Gervais smiled. He’d played that well. Triple my fee.
Done. Please handle promptly.
Gervais quickly downed the rest of the bourbon and gathered his belongings.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Eddie spun the big tires on his truck as he entered his mother’s trailer park at rapid speed. Dust and dirt kicked out and sprayed a man out walking his dog. But Eddie didn’t give a damn. He was in a hurry to get the old lady and get the hell out of town as soon as possible. He knew they were in serious jeopardy after what had happened with the man and the woman at Steve Kingston’s house. He couldn’t stop cursing up a storm.
After taking care of Steve, Eddie could’ve easily just left the house. But he didn’t. He decided to hang around and search for valuables inside the home. Eddie was in the master bathroom, sorting through women’s jewelry in an elaborate jewelry box when he’d first heard someone else enter the house. Eddie hid away in the closet, waiting for the coast to clear. But then another person entered the property. A damn FBI agent. Eddie would’ve taken her out if not for the other guy unexpectedly interrupting him. Eddie’s shoulder was killing him. The fall from the balcony had probably broken a bone or something. But he didn’t have time to go to a doctor. He would take care of it later when they were free and clear of Austin.
Eddie had called his mother and told her to be ready to bolt. They were leaving town. He made a quick stop at his trailer and threw a bag of clothes together and then headed to the trailer park. He skidded the truck to a stop outside the old lady’s trailer. Then he jumped out of the truck. The pretty young girl next door was outside again. But Eddie didn’t even give her a second look. His heart felt like it was pumping a hundred miles an hour. Eddie had never shot a man up close like that before—that young woman last night had just been an accident. It was not a pleasant sight or feeling. He’d nearly thrown up all over the hardwood floor.