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He scribbled the directions as his blackmailer reeled them off, digging out another scrap of paper when he ran out of room.
“Do you have that?”
“Yes. What do I do once we’re there?”
“Wait.”
“For what?”
“You’ll know when you see it.”
“What does that mean?”
“You ask too many questions, Travis. Trust me. You’ll know. Two pieces of advice. Be careful approaching Bri. She’ll probably be armed. And knock off the booze until your job is done.”
The line went dead.
Slowly Travis slid the pen and pieces of paper back into his pocket. Weighed the phone in his hand.
He could call back. Demand more specifics.
But in all likelihood, the call would roll to voicemail. Whoever was behind this plan was done communicating.
He picked up his drink and downed the remains in several long gulps. Quashed the temptation to order another.
His tormentor was right.
To pull off this next assignment, he’d need a clear head.
But after it was done ... after he walked away and left Bri to the mercy of the person who had a deadly vendetta against her ... he’d stop at the first bar he found and drink until he obliterated the memory of his part in murder.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THIS COULD BE IT.
Bri stopped in front of James Wallace’s house, set the brake, and inspected her face in the rearview mirror.
Her makeup was impeccable, but it couldn’t hide the faint lines of fatigue at the corners of her eyes.
Having to wait two days to meet with him hadn’t been conducive to nighttime slumber.
But her Thursday afternoon would perk up considerably if he was able to provide a piece of useful information.
She pulled her key from the ignition and checked out the street. No sign of Marc yet, but she was a few minutes early. It was also possible the meeting he told her about two hours ago when she called to let him know she’d connected with Wallace could be running long.
If he wasn’t here by three, she’d shoot him a text and let him know she’d get started without—
Ping.
Message coming in, likely from Marc.
She pulled out her cell.
Yep.
Bri—Sorry to bail on you. Nan has a hundred and one temperature, and she told me one of the blisters on her irradiated skin seems to be infected. I’m with her at urgent care now.Probably overkill again, but after all she’s been through I didn’t want to take a chance. Let me know how it goes.
Quashing her disappointment, she set her thumbs in motion.
