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Travis turned his back on the darkness. Inside the kitchen, Marcia had gone back to loading the dishwasher. “How long do you expect me to hang around?”
“Until the threat is gone.”
“What threat?”
“You ask too many questions, Travis. Just sit tight until further notice.”
“If I have to wait much longer, I’ll run out of cash.”
“Ah. No credit card use, no way to track your location. You’re smarter than I thought.”
“Look ...” Sweat popped out on his forehead despite the chilly evening breeze. “At least give me a timeframe.”
“Let’s say two weeks, at the most. You could, of course, leave sooner—but you wouldn’t want to have to make the long drive back if I end up having another job for you, would you?”
“You’d seriously ask me to do that?”
“We all do what we have to do, and we use the tools at our disposal. You’re a very valuable tool, Travis, and I may require your assistance with another assignment.”
Marcia glanced his direction, and Travis moved toward thedoor. If he didn’t go in soon, she’d come out to investigate—and he didn’t want her hearing any of this conversation.
“I’ll stay for a while.”
“I thought you would. I’ll be in touch. Enjoy your evening with Marcia.”
The caller severed the connection.
Travis kept the phone to his ear and held up a finger as Marcia walked toward the door, buying himself a few moments to think as he pretended to converse over the dead connection.
After a pause, she went back to the counter.
Backhanding the sweat off his forehead, he forced his brain to shift into analytical mode.
His blackmailer had again broached the idea of another assignment. One that appeared to be contingent on factors he wasn’t privy to.
And he wanted no part of it. The first one had been bad enough. Who knew what he’d be asked to do in a second go-round? He’d been lucky to pull off the shooting without any repercussions, but pushing your luck was never smart.
Because luck always ran out.
In his peripheral vision, a movement caught his eye. He twisted toward it.
Backlit by the illumination from the kitchen, a spider was spinning his web, the delicate strands forming an intricate and deadly trap for any prey that ventured too close.
His stomach kinked at the all-too-apt analogy.
While it was possible this would all end well, that he’d get permission to leave without being asked to do any more dirty work, he had a sinking feeling the worst was yet to come—and that when it did, all the trouble he’d left behind in Idaho would seem like a minor annoyance compared to what lay ahead.
TWENTY-ONE
EIGHT MOREDAYS UNTIL HIS DATE WITH BRI.
Picking up his pace as he walked the short route from the ATF office to the US Attorney’s digs, Marc smiled.
It was time to call and establish concrete plans they could both look forward to. End his week on a high note, even if he wouldn’t clock out for another seven hours.
Besides, talking with Bri would help energize him for the boring press conference he’d been tapped to attend on this Friday morning as the ATF representative. While he’d boned up on the four-month, multi-agency initiative to stem violent crime, the odds he’d be singled out to answer any questions were minuscule given all the higher-ranking law enforcement officials on the attendance roster.
Marc pulled out his phone as it began to vibrate.
