Page 63 of Deathtoll
He climbed to the driver’s seat in the front, pulled his gun from the glove compartment, and showed it to her. “Do we understand each other?”
That settled her down.
“Good girl.”
He backed up and pulled out, got back on the pothole-ridden country road, then on the highway, toward Broslin. He’d only left town to follow her.
“I’d decided last night that I would grab you on your way to work. But when I drove by the house this morning, I saw you swing a suitcase into the trunk. Sister trouble?”
Emma made some noises behind the tape, but he didn’t think it was a response. Sounded like a curse.
“Families are a pain in the ass,” he told her. An endless source of unnecessary drama, a massive drain of energy—which was why he didn’t have one. But Emma Bridges’s temper and troubles suited him just fine. “Grabbing you on the road worked out better, anyway. Too many damn busybodies in Broslin.”
The two-hour drive before her first pit stop had gifted him with plenty of time to plan. “If I couldn’t grab you at the first stop, I would have done it at the next one, or the next. I’m never in a hurry. Never desperate. I’m ready, always, to take advantage when an opportunity presents itself.”
He smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “That’s what a few decades’ worth of experience brings to the table. It’s what separates the professionals from the riffraff.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Kate
Kate wanted to talk to Murph about the possibility of Asael being alive. But not yet. She had to stop freaking out first. Murph texted that he’d be in Philly all afternoon to check out zipline equipment for the course he planned to install in the woods behind Hope Hill. His absence came in handy.
She sat behind her desk and counted to eight as she breathed in. How long was she supposed to hold that breath? Dammit, she couldn’t remember. And she’d taken two different yoga breathing classes at the center—she liked to try out things before recommending them to her patients.
Forget controlled breathing. She kicked off her shoes and focused on the muscles in her neck and back.Relax.
She gave up after a couple of minutes and picked up her phone. Time to call Emma again to see if she’d calmed down enough to pick up.
The phone rang. But before Emma could have answered the call, footsteps sounded out in the hallway, someone running, then Joe Kessler popped in. “I think Ian McCall is in the parking lot.”
The call went to voicemail. Kate clicked off without leaving yet another message. “Are you sure?”
“Fits the description. He’s out of his car and pacing. Like he’s trying to decide whether or not to come inside. I called it in, but I’m not going to wait for backup. I’m going to take him into custody. I want you to stay right here.”
Then, before Kate could protest, Joe was gone again.
“Wait!” She scrambled up and tripped over her sneakers.
She had to plop back down and untie the laces before she could shove her feet in, then tie the laces again so she wouldn’t trip and fall on her face. And then,finally, she was out of there, leaving her chair spinning behind her like some cartoon character. “Wait!”
By the time she rounded the corner, Joe was long through the doors on the other side of the lobby. He might not be a football player anymore, but when he ran, he ran.
“Do not hurt him!” Kate called after him, just in case he could hear.
By the time she burst outside, he was halfway through the parking lot. She stopped short because she didn’t want to startle Ian, who was keeping a close eye on Joe’s progress. Joe’s physique was pretty intimidating, to be fair. Kate imagined having him coming at you was like watching an approaching freight train.
He slowed a dozen feet out and stopped, held up his hands, away from his weapon. “Hi, Ian. I’m Joe Kessler. Kate’s friend.”
He was good at this, trained for this, but Kate was still having a heart attack.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Ian said, surly, backing away, completely focused on Joe, whom he saw as a source of danger. “I want to talk to Kate.” He hadn’t noticed her yet.
“All right. I get that. She’s nice. Everyone wants to talk to her. I’m a poor substitute, but hear me out. Last time you two talked, it didn’t go well.”
“And I’m sorry about that!” Ian slapped his palm on the tailgate of his beaten-up black pickup.
He didn’t drive a tan Nissan after all, Kate thought. She’d just been paranoid the morning before.
