Simon tore out of the house with his backpack slung over his shoulder. “I’m ready, Aunt Savannah.”
Michael’s hands curled into fists. “I wasn’t going to let him go at all, but my mother talked me into it. Get off my property before I change my mind.”
Savannah steered Simon toward her car. He flung his packinto the back seat, then climbed in on the passenger side. She went around to the driver’s side and got in, then shot a final backward glance toward Helen, who stared after the car with a thoughtful, remote expression.
Nothing seemed to get through to the Willard family. Did Helen care nothing about Nora?
Chapter 28
Michael waited in the dark. He sat on Erik Andersen’s leather sofa, facing the front door. It was the same sofa where Michael saw a girl’s backpack on an earlier visit. He thought he smelled perfume, but that was probably just his imagination. Had Jess ever sat on this sofa while Andersen eyed her with a predatory smile?
Michael grimaced. Jess should have talked to him before she ever got involved with Andersen. He would have warned her off—and beaten some sense into her if necessary. What could she possibly have been thinking?
Andersen’s thoughts, on the other hand, were obvious. He had been an ambitious young professor. Jess was a beautiful and brilliant young woman with connections to both the Legares and the Willards. Andersen figured he could milk those connections for all they were worth. He planned to use Jess as a stepping stone and abandon her whenever she ceased to be useful. But she’d abandoned him first, after catching him with another female student.
Fresh anger swept over Michael, heightening his blood pressure—and his anticipation of what would happen tonight.
The door opened. Andersen walked in and clicked on thelight. He spotted Michael and froze. Before he could react, a masked man stepped from behind the door, put a gun to Andersen’s back, and shut and locked the door with his free hand. He shoved Andersen in the small of the back, pushing him away from the door and creating some open space in case Andersen tried anything.
Michael smiled. The masked man was his second cousin, Jimbo Clayton. This was Jimbo’s first muscle job, and he was handling it like a pro so far. Little Joe and Tommy used to do this sort of work, but they both died in a police raid a few months ago.
Andersen licked his lips. “Mike, what’s going on?”
Michael stood. “Evening, Professor. Glad you’re alone tonight. That’ll make things easier.”
“What do you mean? Make what easier?” Andersen’s gaze slid to Michael’s hands. “Why are you wearing gloves?”
Michael reached behind the sofa and pulled out a suitcase he’d found in Andersen’s closet. “You’re going to disappear again.”
Andersen relaxed slightly. “Okay. Do you mind telling me why?”
“You talk too much and to the wrong people.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
Michael frowned. “You also lie too much. I know about your conversation with Hez Webster. And I know you’re scheduled to meet with the DA tomorrow.”
Andersen gulped and turned pale.
“So you’re going to disappear again,” Michael continued. “At least until the adoption hearing is over. And you’re not going to talk to the DA. Ever.”
Andersen nodded. “Okay, sure. I’ll leave now.”
Michael walked toward the garage door, pulling the suitcase. “We’re going to escort you out of town.”
Jimbo took the phone from Andersen’s hand and tossed it to the floor. “You won’t need that tonight.” He nudged Andersen toward the door with the barrel of his gun. “Get in the back seat.”
Andersen climbed into the back of his own car, followed by Jimbo. Michael put the suitcase in the trunk, opened the garage door, and got behind the wheel. He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Keep your hands in your lap. If you touch the door handle, you’ll die. Understand?”
Andersen moved away from the door and clasped his hands in his lap. “Got it.”
The Mercedes purred as Michael pulled out of the garage. He drove through the countryside, avoiding towns and making sure to stay under the speed limit and follow all traffic rules.
They entered Gum Swamp. The night was chilly, and patchy fog filled low spots and sent streamers of mist across the road. Michael broke the silence in the car. “Do you like poetry, Professor?”
Andersen stirred. “What?”
“Poetry. Do you like it?”
