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“Got it, no problem, but there was a picture rolled up with it. I didn’t stop to find out what it was.”
“I’ll look at it in the car,” Marco said, already starting down the stairs.
Jogging through the garage and across the street, they quickly climbed into the Subaru.
“Any problems, Benny?” Marco asked as Joe handed him the rolled-up photograph.
“Nope, worked like a charm. I doubt it will even raise an eyebrow. Signals go out all the time. How many dropped calls have you had? How often have you called your cable company and asked them to resend the signal?”
“You’re always so reassuring,” Marco said with a grin. “How far to Steadman’s place?”
“About fifteen minutes, maybe less, if the traffic’s light.”
“I’ll follow you. If we’re lucky, he’ll be there and we can have a chat.”
“I hope he is,” Joe grunted. “I’m in the mood. I don’t like nosy assholes.”
“After a visit from us he won’t be nosy anymore,” Marco said grimly, stepping out of the Subaru.
Striding back to his Rover, he climbed inside, but before starting up the powerful engine he unrolled the photograph.
Chapter 17
Marco Moretti never panicked.
Even in the most dire circumstances.
No one feared bringing him bad news.
He’d never shoot the messenger.
Rarely did his heart skip.
But staring at the picture he had to fight to maintain control.
He wanted to put his fist through a wall.
Mostly he wanted to find the bastard who’d snapped the photo and choke the life out of him—or her.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he snarled. “Steph, if this is your doing—”
He suddenly remembered her digital camera.
Almost everyone used their phones to capture images.
“Who the fuck takes pictures and develops them?” he grunted. “This is old school. Shit. This means there’s a negative. Or is it negatives? Are there more like this?”
A car horn snapped him from his deeply disturbing thoughts. Darting his eyes up, he saw the Subaru waiting in the middle of the street. Trying to settle his thumping heart, he started his Rover and pulled out of his parking space.
But his mind continued to spin.
The private detective had given her the flash drive. It stood to reason he’d also given her the picture, but was he the one who snapped it?
“Call Benny,” he said sharply.
“Calling Kenny,” the car replied. “There is no one by that name—”
“Goddammit!”
