The rain quickened.
Brent stood and walked close to the sliding glass doors. Even under the battering from the intense summer storm Eagle Lake was beautiful. He released the lock and slid open the glass panel. Warm, moist air flooded in and mixed with the air-conditioning, fogging the double-insulated panes. He gazed beyond the railing down to the shore. A wooden dock accommodated a small skiff with a tiny outboard, a green canvas stretched over the top. Hank stepped up behind him.
“Your friend fish?” Brent asked, pointing to the boat, similar to the one he used last weekend. It was also similar to the one his father had been murdered in, and not all that far away from here.
“You know your way around this lake, don’t you?” Hank asked. “Damn thing’s been here thirty years and I’ve never set foot in or on it.”
He glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. “I wouldn’t recommend today for your first time.”
FRANKBARNARD SPIED THE GLASS DOOR SLIDE OPEN.HE AIMED THEbinoculars and two faces came into focus.
Clear and undeniable.
He dialed the phone.
“I have them.”
JON HUNG UP AND TURNED TOLEE ANDHUGHES.
“We located them.”
Lee smiled. Hughes looked relieved.
“Kill them,” Lee said. “Quickly. But carefully. With no lingering issues. Like the pro you are.”
Jon glanced at his watch.
4:53P.M.
Then he stood and left the conference room.
7:57P.M.
THE PHONE JARREDBRENT’S NERVES.
He and Hank had been sitting tight for a couple of hours, mulling over their next steps, deciding on who to involve from law enforcement, and where. The move with Greene had turned disastrous. They could not make another miscalculation. Whatever they did, it had to be the smart play. The house loomed dark and sullen, a lone lamp the only illumination. Hank sat on the edge of a chair. They both stared at the house phone.
Which kept ringing.
Brent stood, walked to the kitchen counter, and answered.
“Good evening, Mr. Walker.”
Adrenaline shot through his body. “Who is this?”
No response.
A chill curled down his spine. Now he knew. “De Florio?”
Outside, rain was still falling, even harder than earlier. “How did you find us?”
De Florio chuckled. “You made a mistake.”
His mind raced. Then it hit him. “They own the phone company?”
“A fact few know.”
True. That information had not been part of the materials Bozin supplied. Which was why earlier he’d risked the calls he made. But Hank’s call from the landline had been nothing but a bright beacon. Thank God he hadn’t used the cell to call his uncle’s house.
