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“So,” he instructed, “you just stay outside the casino, right by the valet station, in broad daylight, where I—and everyone else—can see you. If Horton asks you to talk inside or in his car, just blow him off. Pretend you’re rattled by the unexpected sight of him. Walk away.”
“Got it.” The FBI had grilled me incessantly already, with every what if scenario under the sun.
What will you do if…?
What will you say if…?
What happens if…?
Granted, they had a lot on the line. The wrath of Amano and Dane included, if anything went wrong. Even if it didn’t, everyone knew we’d be in hot water as soon as the stoic and stoicer found out about this latest field trip.
Dane and Amano might be impassive when it came to some of my more harebrained thoughts and ideas, but they both seethed beneath the surface at times. And if that simmering erupted—
Panic ran through my veins and I shuddered. Especially when I knew Dane’s vulnerability over not being the hero husband (in his mind) that I believed him to be. That was definitely a sensitive subject that needed to be addressed after all was said and done with this Wayne Horton and secret-society bullshit.
“You’re nervous,” Kyle commented.
“Of course I’m nervous. Dane is going to be monumentally pissed off.”
“Yeah, I’m sleeping with one eye open from here on out.”
“I’ll tell them it was all my doing. That you had to go along with it to keep me out of trouble.”
“Right. They’ll so believe that.”
I wrung my hands in my lap. Kyle popped a few more Tots.
“How can you possibly eat at a time like this?” My stomach churned.
“Eating’s never the problem. Taking a few intentional blows to the ribs in my next karate session with Amano will be the problem.”
“Might want to lay low for a while. Till he cools down.”
“You really think he has an off switch?”
“Doubtful.”
Yes, Kyle and I were digging a very deep hole for ourselves. But I was convinced this was the most viable plan. No one else was going to corner Wayne and get him to admit to the tsunami-worthy waves of destruction he’d left in his wake. I wasn’t a hundred percent certain I could do it, either. Not even 50 percent sure. But I optimistically clung to the 49, having no other strategy.
An FBI investigation could be drawn out for months. Wayne was too crafty and I had a feeling he’d covered his tracks well. Again, that was why the Feds weren’t sniffing around him. They’d wanted Vale. Not Wayne.
But if I could give them Wayne—
“Hop to over there,” Kyle suddenly said to me. The FBI was listening in, since I was already wired. “Horton just pulled under the porte cochere to valet park. He’s wearing a red T-shirt, untucked. Denim jacket. Jeans and aviator glasses. Prick.”
“He has every reason to be arrogant. So far, he’s gotten away with murder and blowing up a luxury multi-billion-dollar hotel.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got offshore accounts galore.”
“Doesn’t he have to launder the money he’s collected from Vale?”
“Beats the fuck out of me,” Kyle said. “I don’t get that part at all. Like, why couldn’t Walt and Sky spend their drug money on Breaking Bad, but it worked out fine for her to hand over six hundred and some odd thousand dollars to the guy she’d had an affair with in order for him to pay the IRS? The IRS didn’t wonder where the hell he came up with that kind of dough?”
“It’s a TV show, you two,” Price interjected.
I sighed. “Amano’s right. We watch way too much Netflix.”
Kyle lowered his binoculars and consulted the clock on the dash. “You have an hour and ten minutes until he comes out of the casino.” That was precisely how long Wayne would sit at a table, win or lose. It was the only thing he did with any sort of predictability. “Sure you don’t want a hamburger?”
