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Thomas hesitated, then gave a curt nod.
“Say it.”
“We have a deal.”
Trapper took a cell phone from his coat pocket. “What number should I call to tell you where to be and when to be there?” He tapped in the number Thomas recited. “I’ll be in touch.” He returned the phone to his pocket, then went around the desk and replaced the pistol in the drawer.
“What if none of your former colleagues listens to you?” Thomas asked.
“Then you’re screwed.” Trapper shut the drawer soundly. “Which you deserve to be for all the people you’ve caused to die and all the lives you’ve made a living hell. Ready, Kerra?”
She directed Thomas a glower of pure loathing as she walked past him and out of the study. Trapper followed her, and Thomas fell into line. He disengaged the alarm and opened the front door for them.
No one said good night.
Kerra preceded Trapper out. But before reaching the front steps, he pivoted suddenly and came back. He reached across the threshold, grabbed Thomas by his zippered top, hauled him out onto the porch, and slammed him back against the brick exterior wall.
Shoving his face close to Thomas’s, he said softly but with lethal intent, “The Pegasus bombing has governed my life, and I’m sick of it. Tomorrow, I’m putting my future on the line. If you fuck me over, I’ll cut out your heart and eat it.”
Trapper’s electric blue eyes speared into his, then as quickly as Trapper had seized him, he let him go. Thomas slumped against the wall and remained there until they’d driven through the gate and it had closed behind them.
He pushed himself away from the wall, rearranged his clothing, and chuckled. “Ah, Trapper. You should have had a scotch.”
He bolted the door and reset the security alarm before heading for the study to pour himself another. But as he entered the room, he stopped short. “Greta. You startled me. What are you doing up?”
She was standing beneath Tiffany’s portrait, one hand braced on the brass andiron for support. “Is it true?”
“You should be in bed. You look faint.”
“Is it true? My baby was killed because of you?”
“Greta, listen to me. I don’t know what you overheard, but—”
“My beautiful baby.” She looked up at the portrait, tears streaming from her eyes. “My baby.”
His voice cracking, he said, “She was my baby, too.”
Greta glared at him through tears of wrathful contempt. “You heartless bastard.”
Chapter 33
As Trapper entered the kitchen of Kerra’s condo, she turned away from the stove. “Did you find the bathroom?”
“Yeah. What’s this?”
“Food.” She spooned scrambled eggs from a skillet onto two plates. “Doesn’t surprise me that you don’t recognize it. When’s the last time we had any?” She added slices of bacon and buttered toast to the plates and handed one to him. “Sit.”
The aroma of hot food had caused his stomach to growl, which caused her to laugh. He carried his plate to the tiny table. She joined him and they began eating.
“Who will you call first?” she asked.
“In addition to Marianne, there were two or three who at least listened and didn’t dismiss my notion out of hand. I’ll start with them. Maybe one of them can recommend someone for me to talk to, either in our bureau or with the FBI.
“But, contrary to what I told Wilcox, I’ll wait till morning. I remember calling former colleagues when I was falling-down drunk, especially soon after I got fired. I don’t want them thinking this is just another of those times.”
When they finished the meal, Trapper carried his empty plate to the sink and rinsed it under the faucet. “That was great.”
Kerra moved up beside him. “I don’t bake cakes, but I know how to scramble an egg.”
