Page 34 of I'm Watching You

‘I dropped her near the water at a restaurant.’ He gave the address. ‘I think she slipped out the bathroom window.’

‘Where’d she go?’

The blade slid over his eyelid. ‘The restaurant owner said north.’

‘Did you see anyone else? Did she meet another man?’ He jabbed his thumb into the fresh cut under Jimmy’s eye.

Jimmy screamed. ‘I didn’t see no one, I swear.’

‘That’s all?’

Jimmy figured he’d burn in hell for what he was about to say. But what could Satan do to him that Mr Braxtonhadn’t already done? ‘He hurt her. Made her cry. She had bruises on her face.’

‘I believe you, Jimmy.’ The voice he heard now was Richard Braxton’s. Terror flooded his broken body. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. God, but he hurt. ‘You got to believe me, Mr B. I didn’t know she was planning to run.’

He heard a cigarette lighter snap open, then smelled the scent of a freshly lit cigarette. Braxton liked his smokes when he was tense. ‘You shouldn’t have let her get away.’

‘I know.’

The tip of a gun pressed against his temple and fired.

Chapter Nine

Monday, July 7, 4:02P.M.

The law offices of Turner and Barlow were located in a suburban office park twenty miles west of Richmond. The five-story building had a shiny, reflective exterior and was nestled next to a large lake surrounded by pristine park benches and tree-lined jog paths. Tall front doors led to a foyer capped with skylights that magnified sunlight down on polished black marble floors.

Zack and Warwick checked the business directory posted on the wall and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. The elevator door dinged opened to muffled shouts. It was impossible to make out what was being said, but the tone was unmistakably angry.

Wordlessly, the detectives bypassed the stunned receptionist and cut around the maze of cubicles toward the corner office on the building’s south side. The name on the office door read Quinton Barlow.

‘I want to see my damn attorney! Where is he?!’ the male voice thundered behind the wood paneled door.

Zack hesitated. ‘That sounds like Ronnie T.’

Warwick nodded. ‘He’s either one damn good liar or he doesn’t know what happened to Harold.’

‘My money’s on one damn good liar.’

Ronnie T. had built a drug empire that stretched up and down the I-95 corridor. He’d evaded arrest on drug-trafficking charges; however, thanks to Zack’s undercover work, the Feds had been able to make a case for income tax evasion.

Without announcing himself, Zack opened the door and strolled into the plush office. ‘I thought I heard a familiar voice.’

Warwick was a step behind him. ‘What’s got everyone so upset?’

Ronnie T. stood in front of Quinton Barlow’s desk, his right hand clenching an ornate walking stick that coordinated with his white jumpsuit and custom Nikes. He sported a ball cap cocked at a jaunty angle and wore a thick gold chain worth more than most cops made in a year.

Across the desk, a composed Quinton Barlow faced him. Short and pudgy, he wore a white monogrammed dress shirt, red silk tie, and dark suit pants. Barlow had been practicing criminal defense law for thirty-plus years. Dealing with men like Ronnie T. was standard.

Barlow met Zack’s gaze and smiled pleasantly. ‘Gentlemen, what can we do for you?’

Ronnie T.’s eyes narrowed before he smiled at Zack. ‘Five-O. Shit. Before you ask, I ain’t done nothing wrong. My hearing was canceled this morning, because my damn attorney didn’t show. I was just asking Quinton here where the hell Harold is hiding.’

Zack pulled a slim notebook and pen out of his pocket. ‘So where is Harold?’

Ronnie T. flashed a signature grin even as his grip tightened on his cane. ‘Quinton isn’t telling.’

‘Ronnie only just burst into my office,’ Barlow said.

---