Page 38 of Talk to Me

The paper shredders in her office and kitchen suggested she had a method for handling personal data. But they were frustratingly empty.

“Locke,” the thief’s voice came over the bug, as clear as if I were in the room with him. “Thanks for getting back to me.”

Phone call.

“That’s all you got from the property records?”

Too bad I couldn’t hear the other side of that conversation.

“Really?” True curiosity kindled in his voice. “How far back?”

The silence was enough to make me grit my teeth.

“No,” he said after a long moment, sounding more thoughtful than anything else. “Leave it there. I don’t want to set off any alarms. I’ll dig a different way.” A pause. “Yeah, you too. Thanks.”

Then the call ended or at least the conversation did. His movement around the room carried over the bug. The shower kicked on and there was rustling. The sound of running water didn’t diminish though.

I dialed it down. I didn’t need to listen if he was the type to jerk off in the shower.

McQuade had been almost too quiet. He might have discovered my tracker. It wouldn’t surprise me. While I waited and watched, I’d also done my research. Locke had almost no internet footprint of any kind.

He might as well not exist, if Locke were even his real name. Patch’s work would be my guess. Then a thief would be better off without a high profile. It was all a little too neat, but also logical.

McQuade, on the other hand, had a reputation to rival my own and a history that suggested I never wanted him as an enemy. While he wasn’t an assassin specifically, he had been known to take wetwork jobs.

No, he was far more the grunt on the ground. He got dirty and went to places many others avoided. Nothing in his jacket suggested altruistic motives nor criminal. But the variety of jobs attributed to him over the past seven years were too chaotically chosen to not be the product of a somewhat disturbed mind.

A rescue operation in Angola. Taking out a drug lord and all the higher ups in a cartel in Panama. Months spent in and out of hot zones with no clear pattern. The most recent being a year in the Middle East. My contacts liked McQuade, found him useful and requested that I not take him out of play.

Interesting.

A knock on a door had me glancing at my own, but it was coming in over my earbuds. The hush of steps muffled by socks, but there was the faintest creak of a floorboard.

McQuade?

“Thanks.” Definitely McQuade. The sound of paper bags rustling. Sounded like food delivery.

No response, just the door shutting then the combination of sound created by the bags being upended. So, he didn’t order soup. There were a couple of soft thumps. A pair of harder ones, then the rattle of ice in a cup before he slurped the drink.

Shotgunning it from the sound of it. I grimaced. He finished it off with a lengthy burp that took a few seconds to complete.

Well, it fit his uncouth image.

Then there was ice hitting the sink or a bowl maybe.

“There we go.” His words were so low, I almost missed them. More plastic ripping, then his laptop booted up.

Dammit, McQuade had gotten some information. This was the time I wished I had eyes in those rooms so I could see what he was seeing.

Instead, I just worked on cleaning my guns. I was on the third and last. It was something to do to pass the time. My bags were packed. I’d had a new rental car delivered as well. Four of them—actually—under four different aliases.

If someone was tracking me. and I didn’t doubt someone was. If Locke could follow me, then clearly anyone with the resources, and the wherewithal could be as well. It hadn’t been that long since someone tried to snare me in a trap.

Better to not take chances. I wasn’t sure who’d gone after Patch or who’d taken her. Whoever they were, they were going to regret it. Based on my observations, McQuade and Locke were both on board. One or the other could also be a plant.

Of the two? I’d have suggested Locke, but he seemed less guarded than McQuade. Whatever, once we located Patch and secured her, I could eliminate them if necessary. I’d almost gotten my gun reassembled to the soundtrack of McQuade tapping his space bar.

No sound.

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