Page 20 of No Surrender
“Shouldn’t there be a robot and a hologram to go with that?” Ross asked, keeping his expression innocent.
“You have watched that movie too many times, geek boy,” Vic teased.
Hargrove scrubbed a hand down over his face. “I really don’t know how I’m going to buy us time, so whatever you can come up with—as fast as you find it—I’m grateful. We are the firewall to keep this trial from falling apart.”
Yeah, no pressure.
* * *
“Thanks for coming to look at the card and the ticket,” Vic told Simon as he walked him to the door. “I know it was jarring.”
Simon shrugged. “I don’t know that I’d put it quite like that—the sensation of the malicious magic wasn’t comfortable, but it also—thank God—wasn’t personal. When you get the poker chip, call me, and I’ll come have a look, although I suspect it’ll be much the same.”
“I think you’re right. So we need to find this person before they manage to tank the whole trial,” Vic agreed.
Vic leaned in for a quick kiss at the back door and insisted on walking Simon to his car, even though the paparazzi hung on the chain-link fence and yelled questions, brandishing boom mics and sporting telephoto lenses.
Simon and Vic disregarded the noise. Vic couldn’t help thinking that he had numerous impolite hand gestures he’d like to share with the crowd, but Simon brought his palm down on Vic’s shoulder in warning, as if Simon had guessed his fiancé’s intention.
“Call me after you get in,” Vic warned. “If there are people blocking the entrance, let me know, and I’ll send a squad car.”
“I promise,” Simon said solemnly. “And I need you to be upfront if anyone mails another suspicious package. Don’t forget—you’re still on the witch’s hit list. Come home safely. I’m planning on a nice, quiet dinner.”
Vic thought of how often their meals had been interrupted of late. “I intend to do my best to make sure we can have the evening all to ourselves.”
“I’m counting on it,” Simon said with a grin, waving as he got into his car and drove away.
* * *
“I recognize that look in your eyes,” Ross said when Vic came back to his desk. “You’re looking for trouble.”
“Not really. But I do think we should go pay Hamilton Andrews a professional visit.”
Ross sighed. “I figured as much. I’ve floated the idea with Hargrove, and he gave permission—provided we ‘tread carefully.’ Which I took to mean no asking whether he knows who cursed him.”
“Geez, Ross. Give me some credit. I can be subtle.”
“As a baseball bat,” Ross muttered. “Just remember—Andrews doesn’t buy into the woo-woo stuff.”
“We don’t need to speculate about the card having anything to do with the accident. It’s clearly a threat—sent by someone who knew it would be irresistible for him. I want to crack his contacts list. And when Judge Byrnam is well enough, do the same for her. If we overlay their contacts, sooner or later we’ll find people in common,” Vic replied.
Ross perched on the edge of his desk. “I doubt the sender would be dumb enough to use the same name in a baseball fan group that he’d use in a group for poker enthusiasts.”
Vic shrugged. “That’s where we let the tech guys go to town on the information—they can find IP addresses and shit like that. The crazy fan might think about using different online names, but most people don’t know how to spoof the techie stuff.”
“Let’s give it a shot and see where it gets us.” Ross grabbed his phone, ready to go, and shot Vic a puzzled glance when he saw his partner typing on his computer.
“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Vic said. “I wanted to submit a request for the cold case files on the disappearances from back in the eighties. There might not be much to go on—but you never know.” He filled in the rest of the form and hit enter. Then he slipped into his jacket and shoved his phone into his pocket.
“C’mon. I’ll get the car. We can get some officers to plow the road for us, move the reporters out of the way.”
To Vic’s relief, the reporters didn’t try to follow them. He kept an eye out for a tail, but he trusted Ross’s evasive driving skills. This was far from their first rodeo.
They pulled up in front of a nice home in a gated North Myrtle Beach community. “Glad we called ahead. Wouldn’t have wanted to ram the gates,” Vic observed.
“Just because you can’t see the machine gun towers doesn’t mean they aren’t here,” Ross joked. “They’re camouflaged as decorative lighthouses.”
Vic glanced at the replica tower near the front entrance. “You might be right about that.”
