Page 52 of Destroyed With You

She nodded. “He wasn’t working the booth. He’d been hovering around. He asked if I recognized him, and I said I did. That’s when he smiled and said I thought you’d have the gift.” She shrugged. “He meant I could make a good spy. Apparently, I pay attention to things.”

Winston laughed. “As far as recruitment stories go, that’s the best I’ve heard.”

“Right? Well, anyway, he ended up being my mentor. I was so young that he was like a surrogate dad, too. So the bottom line is that I don’t like what we’re doing. I don’t like the fact that I believe that it’s possible. But here’s the thing,” she added, taking her eyes off the road to really look at him. “I know that it can. Because I’ve seen the dirty underbelly. And it’s nastier than anyone on the outside can imagine.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Neither one of us can ignore the possibility that a man we respect could be bad.”

“No,” she said. “We can’t.” She took one hand off the steering wheel and reached for him. He took her hand and squeezed, absurdly pleased that she’d reached out to him for the connection. “It’s probably weird, and I wish that neither one of us was going through this, but since we are, I’m glad that we’re going through it together.”

He felt a warm rush of pleasure from her words. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me, too.”

For a few minutes, they continued down the road in silence, the ride getting bumpier and bumpier as the surface got worse. Then Winston saw the small wooden mailbox in need of paint. And, if the GPS was right…

“There,” he said, pointing. “Turn right here.”

She did, then had to stop about ten yards down the dirt driveway when the path was blocked by a wood and barbed-wire gate.

“Hang on.” He got out of the car, hoping it was meant to keep livestock in and not people out. Sure enough, it was easy to unfasten and push to the side. He did, and she drove through. He kept the gate open, just in case they needed to get out of there quickly, and hopped back in the car.

“Where’s the house?” she asked peering down the dirt driveway.

“Over that rise, I assume.” He made a forward motion with his hands. “Onward.”

She put the car back in gear, and they moved slowly down the road, the dust swirling around the car as they did. Sure enough, as they crested the gentle rise, they saw a small clapboard house, not much more than a cabin, really. Boxy and tiny and, from the looks of it, empty.

Or maybe not empty, Winston thought as he caught sight of the forest green Buick parked behind a woodshed.

Linda’s smile was broad as she said, “Got him.”

“Back up a bit so the car’s hidden by the rise. If we’re lucky he hasn’t heard us.”

She did as he asked, and they took the long way around, scoping out the house as they moved, weapons drawn. But there was no movement in or outside the building.

He made a motion to indicate that he was going closer, and she moved to cover him. He crept to the back door, wondering if Bartlett was asleep in there. Or maybe out for a walk. Or maybe someone had met him here, and he’d left in another vehicle altogether. He hoped not. If that was the case, they could kiss Bartlett goodbye. At least for the short term. And finding him again, really would entail bringing in a full team from Stark Security.

He reached the backdoor without incident. Unlocked. He signaled to Linda, who stayed low as she hurried to his side. On three, he turned the lock, and they went in, him high and her low.

Silence.

The kitchen was empty, but he caught Linda’s arm as she started toward the next room.

“Do you smell that?” he whispered.

She sniffed, then nodded. “Death.”

Winston’s stomach turned. She was right. It was the scent of blood drying in the heat.

With weapons drawn, they moved into the small living area, then into the even smaller bedroom.

Sure enough, Tommy Bartlett lay spread-eagled on the floor, face down in a pool of his own blood.

Chapter Eighteen

“His hands,” I whisper. “Oh, God. Did you see his hands?”

Winston nods, looking as queasy as I feel. They’ve been mutilated, the fingers and thumbs removed. And in this heat, the smell is horrific.

“The laptop.” I swallow the bile that is rising in my throat. “Whoever killed him wanted to make sure that even dead he couldn’t unlock that laptop.”