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March finished his juice.
The client is extremely satisfied...
Which, March thought, was the ultimate goal of his father, the salesman, as well.
He flopped down in the sumptuous bed. He had many plans to make. But at the moment he preferred for his thoughts to dwell upon, who else? The captivating Kathryn Dance.
Chapter 67
At CBI headquarters once more.
Dance had hit the restroom to scrub the face wound. There'd be a bruise, that was for sure, a good-size one. A scar? Maybe.
She turned the corner to the Gals' Wing. It being the weekend, the office wasn't staffed with assistants. She walked past Maryellen Kresbach's station and into her own office.
"Hey." Jon Boling, sitting in the chair across the desk, smiled.
"Jon!" She strode to him fast and started to throw her arms around his shoulders. Then saw him wince in anticipation. She stopped fast.
"How are you?"
"Fine. Relatively speaking. But sore. Really sore." His face was bruised and he had two bandages, on his cheek and neck. His wrist was wrapped in beige elastic.
"What happened?"
"Lost the brakes on Ocean."
The main street leading down to the beach in Carmel. Very steep.
"No!"
"They felt funny when I started off, so I got about a half block from the store...the store I was at. And I pulled over. That's when they popped. Both of the brake shoes."
"Jon!"
"I steered into bushes, and that slowed me down. Went through them and hit the curb and a car at the stop sign."
"The brakes?" she asked. "You think they were tampered with?"
"Tampered with? Why would... Oh. Your unsub, you're thinking?"
"Maybe. To slow me down, distract me."
"But how did he put us together?"
"Nothing about this guy would surprise me. You notice anybody near your bike?"
"No. I had an errand. Left the bike outside. Only five minutes. I wasn't paying any attention." Then Boling was looking her over. "But...what happened to you?"
"Nothing critical. I got banged up getting into an elevator."
"Well, that must have been quite an entrance."
She told him about the latest attack. "Nobody hurt badly."
Then her eyes strayed to what was on her desk in front of him: Stan Prescott's ASUS computer. Beside it was a portable hard drive. "You cracked it?"
"Well, my partner did."
