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Bailey Stone’s guy.
Naturally. Stone had already showed he had eyes all over Boniface. And he’d have a few on me, too. So when Benny came a-calling, Stone would follow up right away, to find out what had gone down.
I had to wonder one thing, though. Stone’s intel was so good he had a guy here right away, minutes after Benny left. So why wasn’t Boniface’s network just as good, or better? Bailey Stone was not a subtle guy, and he must have left thumbprints somewhere. Was Boniface so secure, so arrogant, that he didn’t feel the need to watch his own back?
I didn’t believe it. You don’t get to be top dog, and stay top dog, by ignoring what the little dogs are doing. Boniface had to know what was going on.
But what the fuck, that didn’t matter right now. Dealing with Tennessee T-Shirt was what mattered.
“Buddy?” he called again. “Hey there! Anybody home?” And he stood there with a grin you would probably call “infectious” if you didn’t know he worked for a no-class shit-pig like Bailey Stone.
I took a deep breath. No choice but to go through with it. I did the snick-snick thing with the bolt action again. That got his attention, and he was facing my way when I stepped out of cover. For just a second he looked unsure. Then he put that big, friendly grin back on his face. “There you are!” he said. “I’s afraid you went off on a beer run or somethin’.” The grin got bigger. “Since you didn’t—that mean you got a couple cold ones in there?”
* * *
—
His name was Garrett Wallace, and like I figured, he was Bailey Stone’s guy. He’d sniffed out Benny’s visit and followed to see what had happened. There was no reason to lie to him, since the answer was “nothing much.” So I told him. He didn’t stay very long, maybe because I did not, in fact, offer him a cold one. He just smiled and nodded and gave me a telephone number, telling me I best keep in touch. Then he hopped in his car and took off again like my driveway was the Charlotte Motor Speedway and he was going for the NASCAR championship.
And I went back inside and sat there for a while, staring at my shoes and chewing my teeth. I told myself I’d been in worse spots.
Myself told me I was a lousy liar.
But what the hell. Life goes on. At least for now. And I realized I was hungry. It didn’t seem like a really first-rate response to all the shit falling on my head. But I’d skipped breakfast, and with all the jumping around through the woods and pointing my rifle at people, I must have worked up an appetite.
I got up and took two steps toward the kitchen—and my alarm sounded again.
I stepped over and turned it off and started scanning for visual confirmation—because this was really hard to believe. I mean, you lay out cash for a place so you can be alone, and suddenly it’s like the entire population of Toledo has come calling. How the hell was this possible? I even had an unlisted number. Was I on a tourist brochure? Things to see in the area—the lake, our wonderful Canadian geese, and Riley Wolfe!
But camera four showed movement. I zoomed in.
For a minute I thought I was seeing a mirage. Maybe a wire got crossed and I was picking up an image from a shopping mall or something. I mean, I know people look like that—but not out in the woods, sneaking through the trees to spy on a true desperado like me.
But no. I was seeing reality. Lunch would have to wait.
I picked up my rifle. At least there were plenty of private spots on my land with nice, soft dirt. Perfect for burying unwanted company.
With that cheery thought, I went outside to wait.
20
Evelyn had been following Garrett Wallace for quite some time—ever since she picked him out at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta, in fact. It had taken some work to figure out that Wallace was the man she’d been looking for, but Evelyn was patient, and she had her sources. She’d made him right away and followed him when he picked up a rental car. When he climbed in behind the wheel she had casually walked past, as if heading into the rental office, and, when she came to his vehicle, she had “accidentally” dropped her purse. Bending to retrieve it, she placed a magnetic tracker on the undercarriage, picked up her purse, and went back to her own car.
Wallace was easy enough to follow, in spite of his tendency to drive too fast. Evelyn kept well back, stopping for gas, food, and restroom breaks when he did. No one p
aid her any notice. Why would they? She was traveling alone, a dumpy middle-aged woman with short hair, some bad tattoos, and too many piercings. Not the kind of woman anyone would want to strike up a friendly conversation with.
No one did. And Evelyn certainly didn’t. She stayed on Wallace’s tail, making sure he didn’t see her at rest stops. She had no idea where they were going, but that was not important. What mattered was that she knew this was Bailey Stone’s man, and he was the only lead she had to finding a lever to get Stone off her back. And that had been her top priority, ever since she got the phone call on a number Stone should not have known. It didn’t matter that Stone was a regular client who paid well and promptly. What mattered was that he had a grip on her she could not allow anyone to have, and she knew enough about him to know he would never let it go.
So she had done the job for him, sent him pictures he’d asked for of the woman. And then she had killed the “Betty” identity, which she hated to do. Aside from the expense and the hassle of becoming a new person, she liked being Betty. But that was over. In her mind, Stone had killed Betty, and he could not be allowed to do that with impunity. All other reasons aside, he would do it again, unless she stopped him.
She didn’t underestimate Stone—far from it. He had a vast and powerful organization, and she was one overweight middle-aged woman. But she was a professional, and a good one, and finding out hidden things was one of the things she was very good at. She would find a weakness, a chink in Stone’s defenses, something, and she would break his hold.
But she had to do it before Stone discovered her new identity. She knew that was just a matter of time. As soon as he thought about her at all, he would track her down again, just as he had the last time. That was something she couldn’t afford. Anonymity was her only real protection. And besides, Evelyn wanted Bailey Stone off the board. She was not particularly vengeful, but he was a threat. It had been a shock to discover he knew her identity, and that knowledge had taken away any illusion of security she’d had.
So Stone had to go. Death or prison, she didn’t care. Just as long as she was free of him. Besides, she owed him. She had enjoyed her life in Manhattan, and he had taken that away from her. She would never again get to live as Betty. But she would do what she could to stay Evelyn.
And that would only happen if Stone was gone.
