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God, I’m shallow, she thought, and headed back to the house to make out her list of cake supplies and to work on her column. That had to be done by Saturday, too. Everything had to be done by Saturday.
Sunday’s going to be a good day, she thought.
Assuming she lived that long.
An hour after he left Two Rivers, Shane sat outside Joey’s diner in the Defender and worked at the message on his cell phone until he had it all decrypted:
WRONG TARGET HIT
CASEY DEAN STILL ACTIVE
CALL TO SET UP MEET TO DISCUSS ASAP.
“Fuck.” He’d killed the wrong guy. Too many intel screwups like this lately. Somebody needed to go in there and kick some ass. Wilson would have once, but he was getting old.
Rhett was hanging his head out the passenger window, looking miserable. I know how you feel, Shane thought. He slammed his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. First Joey and his little Agnes and his mysteries, and now this screwup.
Shane flipped open the cell phone and punched in number 2 on the speed-dial. It was answered on the second ring.
“Wilson.”
“I’m in Keyes.”
“Why?”
“Personal business. What happened with the intel?”
Three seconds passed, which was a very long time in Shane’s experience dealing with Wilson. The emptiness was tilled with clicking noises as the signal was encrypted, bounced between government satellites, and decrypted.
“I’ll meet you in Keyes this evening, twenty-two hundred hours,” Wilson said. “Location?”
Shane blinked. He always came to Wilson. “There’s a floating dock at the junction of the Blood River and the Intracoastal Waterway.”
The phone went dead and Shane closed it. He saw Joey lock up his diner and come slowly over, a newspaper in one hand. For the first time, he looked old to Shane.
“What’s in the back?” Joey asked, jerking his head toward the large box in the bed of the truck as he got in, shooing Rhett over at the same time.
“Air conditioner unit,” Shane said. “The one at Two Rivers isn’t enough.”
Joey raised his eyebrows. “Agnes come into some money, did she?”
Shane started the truck. “You shutting down for the day for real?”
“There’s someone I need to talk to,” Joey said. “Anybody I know?” Joey hesitated.
Shane figured he’d shown enough patience. “I got some questions, Joey. That’s just the first.”
Joey nodded. “Charlie ‘Four Wheels’ Thibault. Grandpa of the kid who died last night.”
Shane waited.
“I used to know him. Thinking I better go see him.”
Shane nodded. “I’ll drive you. Mind the slobber.”
“Nice ride,” Joey said, thumping the heavy side panel.
Shane pulled into the street and Joey pointed which way to drive. “So how’d you get to know this Four Wheels?”
