Page 53 of Bad Seed

***

Ollie Prine had been in Chicago far longer than he’d planned, and now he was waiting on a scrawny, pencil-neck twenty-year-old for answers. It was driving him crazy. He hadn’t heard from Thor in almost thirty-sixhours and was beginning to think this was going to be a bust when the kid finally called.

Ollie answered on the first ring.

“Yeah? Did you get it?”

“Yes. She’s living in an apartment in the South Loop. High-end living. One thousand now, and then I will send you the info. I’ll text you my Venmo addy.”

Before Ollie could say a word, Thor disconnected.

Ollie ended the call and waited. The text came a minute later. Ollie immediately complied, hit Send, and then waited again, knowing Thor wouldn’t respond until he’d received the money and banked it, but Ollie’s relief was at an all-time high.

A few minutes later he got the text with the info, grabbed his coat and the package he’d already prepared, and headed out the door to make a delivery. He’d rented a car and had all the technology to make himself look like a delivery man, including the label scanner that required a signature to accept. He had the address and the apartment number. His only drawback might be if there was security in the lobby, but he’d deal with that if it happened.

If he couldn’t gain access to her apartment, he’d be on a stakeout again, waiting for her to leave the building. He hurried to the parking garage to get his car, entered the address in his GPS, and was soon on the way to pay a visit to Harley Banks.

Ollie felt good about this as he wound his way through the Chicago streets. He wanted this over with,and even more, he intended to end his association with Berlin when this job was done. A warmer climate was calling. He could almost hear it.

Thirty minutes later, he arrived at the location, parked in an area marked Delivery, patted the shoulder holster inside his coat to make sure the gun was still secure, checked to see if his cap was on straight, and then exited the car.

The building was imposing. The lobby was opulent. And the information desk in the center of the room was manned by an armed guard, which may or may not put a kink in his plan. He approached the desk, glanced at the name on the package, then looked up at the guard.

“Special delivery for Harley Banks.”

“You can leave it with me. I’ll see that she gets it,” the guard said.

“She has to sign for it,” Ollie said.

The guard shook his head. “Sorry, but she’s away on business. We’re authorized to sign packages for her in such cases.”

Ollie stifled a groan.Not again!“Then do you have a forwarding address?”

“No. Sorry,” the guard said.

Ollie shrugged and walked out, got in the car, and began pounding his fists on the steering wheel until the knuckles were red, then called Berlin. It went to voicemail.

It’s me. Harley Banks’s apartment IS in Chicago,but she’s not there. She’s a damn ghost. I’m not a hacker. I can’t check travel schedules. I don’t know where she’s gone, and I’m coming back to Philly to await new orders.

Ollie went back to his motel room, bought a ticket for the next flight to Philadelphia, then packed and checked out. The flight left in a few hours, but he was going to the airport now. At least he could walk around without freezing, get some food to eat, and wait there.

***

By the time Berlin heard the message, Ollie was already in the air. Berlin knew he could just let it go. Paget’s death was blamed on an inmate and already forgotten, and the feds were sifting through eighteen years’ worth of criminals the dead agent had helped put away. He reasoned that they couldn’t find someone they didn’t even know existed. But it rankled. He’d been bested by a woman. A really smart woman. And that didn’t feel safe.

Chapter 10

The fire at the warehouse had taken the fight out of Wilhem Crossley. After the raid, he’d mistakenly assumed it was over. Then the murders and the fire happened, and he began to wonder if it was a warning to him that he’d be next—or even worse, that his son might become a target.

After calling Harley Banks to warn her of his fears, he called his lawyer into the office to update his will and to make certain provisions in case he was unable to make decisions for himself, and then he canceled all of his appointments and went home.

Tip saw his father leaving the building, but instead of calling his dad, he called his secretary.

“Frieda, I just saw Dad getting into his car. Is he okay? Did he say where he was going?”

“Once his lawyer left, he said he was going home for the day,” Frieda said.

Tip frowned. “He met with the lawyer?”

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