Page 20 of The 9th Man

She led him down the fence to a section of loose boards. With a bit of waggling she removed two and created a gap through which they entered. On the other side they crouched behind a lilac bush.

“I noticed that needed repair a couple of weeks ago.”

“Wait here a second,” he told her. “I need to check out the front.”

He picked his way through the yard, down the side of the house, until he reached a corner. No police in sight. But there was a car parked about fifty yards away with no one inside. Hissomething’s offradar blared an alert. Both from the car and from the nearby streetlight, which was dark and unlit, unlike last night, its glass panes shattered. He still carried the 9mm taken off the guys in Brussels. He withdrew the weapon from his waist, kept low, and made his way through the ever-thickening shadows to the car.

Empty.

But the engine hood was still warm.

Which meant they weren’t alone.

He circled back to her and recounted what he’d seen.

She asked, “You think they’re inside waiting?”

He nodded. “Could be a two-birds-with-one-stone situation. Let you lead them to the good stuff, then they take it and kill us. How did you get to Brussels?”

“Bus. Cash ticket, no ID required.”

“When we talked yesterday morning, were you already at Grand Place?” She nodded. “And you pulled the battery on your phone?”

“Not until you told me to get the burner. What’s going on, Luke?”

The phone? Possibly. But there was a better explanation. “I made a mistake. I should have seen it. They must have planted a GPS tracker on my rental car last night. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Why would they?”

“In case I got away. Which I did.”

“Which means they know we’re here.”

He thought for a moment. “What’s the fastest you can run a mile?”

“Personal best is a five-twenty in a sixty-pound ruck. What have you got in mind?”

He kept his attention on the darkened house. “As far as they’re concerned, where the car goes, we go. We passed a diner about a mile back.”

He saw she understood.

“Give me the keys.”

He handed them over.

“Be right back.”

She crawled through the fence and disappeared.

He sat in the dark and kept watch on the house.

Nothing stirred.

What would his daddy say now? He’d been born and raised in a small Tennessee town where his father and uncle were both known commodities, particularly his uncle, who served in various local political offices, then as governor before becoming president. He had three brothers. Matthew, Mark, and John. He’d completed the evangelists, the names coming from his mother who remained, to this day, deeply religious. His father? Not so much, but he faithfully attended church every Sunday until the day he died—which, ironically, had been on Sunday.

Cancer.

Fatal. Fast.

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