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"I wanted you dead? Be there already. Got a message for Boris."
"And you want me to play delivery boy?"
"You don't want to? Fine. I'll use the next guy."
The thug let Jack steer him into the woods--on the opposite side of the trail. I crept as close as I dared, waited until they had their backs to me, then darted across the open path.
Jack stopped in a clearing. I found a spot ten feet away, with a good sight line. He made the thug kneel, hands on the back of his head, then trained his gun on the guy's skull base. I aimed mine at the thug's right shoulder--a disabling shot.
"You said you got a message for Boris," the guy said.
"Houston."
"Wha--?" The thug tried to look over his shoulder at Jack, but a gun poke stopped him.
"That's the message. Houston."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Boris knows. Tell him this is my business--"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Houston. He'll know. And my business? No concern of his. His business? No concern of mine. Got it?"
"Got what? That's not a message. It's code or some--"
"Repeat what I said."
The thug sighed but, with prompts, repeated it.
"Good," Jack said. "Boris comes after me again? I'll know you fucked up the message."
Jack let the thug go, then slipped into the woods to make sure he left.
The moment the guy's car pulled out, Jack looked directly at where I was hiding. I stepped out, expecting to be lambasted. But he only waved me toward the car.
"So is that the last we'll hear of Boris Nikolaev?" I asked as I climbed into the car.
"Better be," Jack muttered. "Damned inconvenient."
I shook my head and reached for the radio dial.
"Won't change anything, Nadia."
I looked at him, fingers on the knob.
"Find out now. Find out at Evelyn's. Won't change what happened." His gaze slanted my way. "You know what happened."
I nodded and turned on the radio.
* * *
THIRTY-TWO
As promised, the Helter Skelter killer had taken another victim at noon. As for whether he struck on the dot of noon, I'll leave it for the more dramatically inclined reporters to speculate. What I do know is that the victim was found less than ten minutes past noon, when her friends called into the kitchen to see why she was taking so long with the coffee. At the time of the murder, they'd been tuned to CNN waiting for news of what was unfolding a few steps away. The irony of that would be lost on no one. Of everyone waiting for news of the next victim, one person became that news.
The audacity of the killing was lost on no one, either. Not only had he struck in an occupied home, but one with a state-of-the-art security system, in one of the most supposedly secure gated communities. The message was clear--if I can get to her, I can get to anyone.
