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“That’s a flamingo, right?” Shane said as he watched Agnes start toward the house, her red sundress flipping around her legs in the breeze again.
“Yeah,” Carpenter said, looking as bemused by the whole thing as Rhett did.
“Thought so.” He watched her move up the path, the ties of the sundress jaunty on her shoulders, and he wondered why she’d bothered with ties since she didn’t have to untie anything to get it off, the whole thing just slipped off over her head. Probably so he’d think about untying it. Which he was doing right now?—
His phone vibrated and he checked it and saw a text message from two hours ago. He pulled out his sat phone and punched in speed-dial l and Wilson answered on the first ring.
“Where have you been? I transmitted the intelligence to Carpenter’s van two hours ago.”
Eating pancakes. Checking out a bomb shelter. Thinking about ways to get Agnes alone. “Checking out what I can here.” What intelligence?
There was a long silence, which indicated what Wilson thought of that.
“Check the intelligence ASAP” The phone went dead.
Shane closed the phone. “Wilson sent some intel, probably on Casey Dean. Can you check and prep it for me?”
“Roger that,” Carpenter said, and nodded to the drive. “Isn’t that Agnes’s fiancé?”
Taylor’s Cobra was coming down the road followed by a van with the county logo stenciled on the side. They bumped over the bridge and parked at the side of the house, and Rhett ambled down the path to investigate.
“Yep, that’s him.”
The county van meant some kind of inspector. That was going to annoy Agnes. Maybe even make her furious.
Carpenter looked at him with interest. “You don’t seem to mind him being here.”
“Nope.” Shane watched Taylor get out and confer with the selfimportant little man who’d gotten out of the van. Agnes was going to hate him, too. Anger, coming right up. “I’m feeling pretty cheerful right now.”
Carpenter shot him an odd glance, then shrugged. “So about the intel?”
Shane looked at his watch. “I can give you half an hour. Then I’m going to have to save this idiot’s ass again.”
He went over to the van and climbed inside with Carpenter who got the air-conditioning going full blast. One wall of the van was lined with computers, communication equipment, and other machines Shane didn’t know the purpose of. The other side was lined with lockers holding the various tools of their trade.
Shane sat in one of the swivel chairs bolted to the floor while Carpenter took his in front of the large computer screen and brought up the intel that Wilson had sent.
“The FBI intercepted a call to Don Fortunato,” he said, looking at the screen. “Traced back to a pay phone in Savannah directing the Don to go to a pay phone away from his house and await a call in fifteen minutes, which would have been untraceable, but Wilson had a tail on the Don with a directional mike. The tail followed him to the pay phone and picked up most of the Don’s end of the conversation.”
Shane read the screen over his shoulder:
df: Yeah?
(six-second pause)
df: How the fuck do I know?
(eight-second pause)
df: No shit.
(four-second pause)
df: Hell yeah, I still want the job done.
(four-second pause)
df: Fuck you. We agreed on a price.
