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18
Biloxi, Mississippi
WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 5:30 P.M.
Good boy,” Gabe soothed, stretching over the console to the back seat so that he could give Shoe a scritch behind his ears. They’d been sitting in their new rental car for two hours, waiting for April Frazier to come home. “You’re being such a good boy.”
Shoe really had been a good boy. He’d waited patiently while Molly had switched out the rental sedan for an SUV, paying with Burke’s “John Smith” credit card.
It wasn’t really in the name of a fake person named John Smith. It was a company Burke had set up specifically for situations such as this—allowing his PIs to rent vehicles, reserve hotel rooms, and buy food that couldn’t be traced to any of them or to the company as a whole.
The driver’s license she’d used, on the other hand... That was not as legit. She was listed as Jennifer Arnold, which were the first names of her grandparents.
Gabe wasn’t going to think about the legality of her fake ID right now, because he’d been relieved to switch vehicles. First, they couldn’t be tracked if his father’s killer had managed to slip a tracker into the previous car while they’d been waiting at the vet’s. Second, the sedan had been small for anyone approaching six feet tall, which he was. The SUV was much more comfortable, plus it had room for Shoe to stretch out in the back seat.
The dog seemed no worse for his near-death experience. He’d had a vacation at the vet’s, in fact. Everyone there loved Shoe.
Gabe hoped no one would use his relationship with the veterinarian to hurt anyone who worked there. Or any of the animals.
I couldn’t stand that.He wanted to warn everyone with whom he came into contact. Be careful. Don’t walk alone in the dark. Lock your doors. Watch for shadows in the night.
But he couldn’t. And he probably shouldn’t, because ninety-five percent of the people he talked to weren’t in any danger. He’d cause hysteria.
Except he hadn’t warned Dr. McLain or Dusty Woodruff. They’d helped him. They’d helped his father. And now they were dead, too.
“Stop,” Molly murmured.
He met her gaze with a frown. She sat behind the wheel, looking as crisp and calm as she usually did, despite the oppressive heat. The SUV’s air-conditioning simply couldn’t keep up and the Kevlar vest was like an oven all on its own.
“Stop what?” he asked.
“Stop feeling guilty about the pathologist and the mortician.”
“How did you know I was doing that?”
“You get this little line in your forehead when you’re upset.” She traced a fingertip between his crunched brows. “Right here. It was not your fault, Gabriel Hebert. So stop. Think instead about getting them justice.”
“What will that look like?” he asked, genuinely needing to know.
“Depends. Prison at best. A gruesome death at worst. Or flip the two, if you want. Best and worst are relative to the perpetrator.”
She knew what she was talking about, so he nodded. “I’ll try.”
She lightly squeezed his forearm. “That’s all we can do.”
He pointed to her phone when it buzzed. “Incoming.”
She snatched it up, unlocking the screen to read the text. “Antoine says that April Frazier is headed our way.”
“How can Antoine possibly know that?” he asked.
“He’s tracking her cell. He was able to find her number while we were waiting.”
“What? He can do that? Track people’s phones without their knowledge?”
Molly shrugged. “Antoine can do a lot of things. Most of the time I can’t understand even when he tries to explain. I just accept it. Like... I don’t know. Like the miracle that is bacon.”
Gabe shook his head. “Bacon is not a miracle. It comes from pigs.”
