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“What’s that?”
“Something for you to take with you on the new job.” He handed her the box and a small key.
Holly set down the box, inserted the key and unlocked it. “Oooh,” she said, gazing at the shiny stainless slide with her name engraved on it. “Nice Colt.45.”
“It’s not a Colt, and it’s not a.45,” Ham said. “It’s a nine-millimeter made of Caspian parts. The lightweight frame was designed by Terry Tussey, and the grip holds a round shorter than standard, but it will conceal nicely. Only weighs twenty-one ounces. I thought it might come in handy.”
Holly picked up the small gun and hefted it. “Nice,” she said.
Ham handed her a loaded magazine. “See if you can hit anything with it”
The target was still set at twenty-five feet. Holly set herself, pushed and pulled and squeezed off the round.
“Half an inch off dead center,” Ham said. “Not bad, considering it’s a three-inch barrel, instead of four.”
“Sweet trigger,” Holly said. “Four, four and a half pounds?”
“Four, exactly. Try it with both eyes open, and use up the magazine, rapid fire.”
Holly obliged.
“That target no longer has a center,” Ham said, a touch of pride in his voice. He went back to his range bag and came back with some gun leather. “Mitch Rosen made you a shoulder rig, a belt and a holster for it,” he said.
“It’s beautiful work,” she said, caressing the mahogany leather. “Thank you, Ham.” She put her arms around him and hugged.
Ham, uncharacteristically, hugged her back, but then he looked a little embarrassed. “What time did you file for?”
“Ten,” Holly said. “My stuff’s in the car.”
“You’ll have to clear out at Fort Pierce for the Bahamas,” Ham said.
“I know, Ham.”
“I don’t know why you want to go to the Bahamas alone for a weekend,” he said.
“I just want to take Daisy and spend the weekend alone; I have a lot to think about.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I’ll be back on Monday, maybe Sunday night, depending on the weather.”
“Okay.”
She packed up her things, put her new gun into her range bag and went to the car. She gave Ham a wave and drove off.
AT FOUR O’CLOCK that afternoon
, Holly landed the rented Cessna at Roberts International Airport in Grand Cayman, having flown first to the Bahamas, checked into a hotel, filed a new flight plan and left Daisy in a prearranged kennel. She dropped off her bag with the doorman at her Georgetown hotel, then kept the cab for the trip to the bank. Refusing the driver’s help, she hefted the two nylon duffels from the trunk of the cab and carried them inside.
A Mr. Dellinger-English, well-tailored and very discreet looking-was waiting for her. He nodded for a guard to take the bags, and the man went into a side room while Dellinger showed her into his office.
“How do you do?” Dellinger said, offering his hand.
I’m very pleased to meet you,“ Holly replied.
“The money will be machine counted in there,” Dellinger said. “It will take a little while; why don’t we get the paperwork done?”
“All right.” She sat down at his desk.
