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“Hey, you didn’t just say your name wasLloyd Brimley, did you?”
He squinted at the man in front of him—a stranger, Lloyd thought. “What’s it to you?”
“Areyou Lloyd Brimley? Played for OSU a few years back?” The man smiled and revealed straight, perfect teeth.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Some remnant of pride surfaced and Lloyd managed a smile.
“That’s fuckingamazing,” the man said, slipping into the seat across from Lloyd, a look of excitement settling on his features. “I watched you play ... I thought for sure you’d go pro. Then that one bad play ... that fucker did you dirty, you know.”
Lloyd jerked his head in a nod. “Damn right, he did.” Nobody ever seemed to get that. Always talking about bad luck and bad landings, but that piece of shit had hit him wrongdeliberately, had killed his career. “What’s your name, pal?”
“Steve.” The man offered his hand and gave Lloyd a wide, friendly smile. “It’s Steve. Man, it is apleasureto meet you.”
“We might have a problem.”
Travis had just finished securing his vest when Miles came on the line.
“Explain.”
After taking the quickest shower in the history of mankind, he’d come out of the bathroom, turning it over so Isabel could take a longer one. Now, as he listened to the sound of water rushing, he slid out of her bedroom and leaned against the wall just outside the door. Less than fifteen minutes had passed since his last update—sure, it had been a fast and furious few minutes in the closet, but they’d both needed each other. He’d devote so much more time to her later. Once this was all settled, once she was safe.
“We had a team in the dinner—a man and a woman, paired up and acting as tourists passing through. They saw our target come in. He approached somebody we believe is a local. They got a picture of him as they left—”
“Together?” Travis demanded, shoving off the wall.
The shower shut off and he pressed the heel of his hand against his eye.Fuck, fuck, fuck ...
“Yes,” Miles said, voice clipped with impatience. “Together. The man we believe to be local got into the car with our target—there was no obvious threat made. From everything the team could tell, the local went along willingly, was smiling and chatting with the target.”
“Did he pay him? Are they partners? What?”
“We’re working on it. Another team picked up following while the first team stayed on site—they might luck into getting some information out of the staff at the diner.”
“I need the picture. Any details,” Travis demanded. “Is ... Bella knows these people, has lived here for ages. Maybe she knows whoever it is. Can you give me the details?”
“I already got them from the team. Where is Bella?”
The door swung open and he looked up, saw Isabel look out in concern.
“She’s right here,” Travis said, pulling out his phone and switching the call from his earpiece to the phone, then putting it on speaker. Travis gave her a quick summary and saw her mouth tighten, eyes darken with worry. “Miles has a description of the guy, maybe you know him.”
Isabel grimaced. “I suck as descriptions like that ... I need a picture, a face. Something.”
“The team is sending one but it needs to be cleaned up a bit—they weren’t at a good angle to grab one, so the techs on working on it. It shouldn’t take long, another half hour.” Miles sounded pissed at the delay. “But for now, here’s what we have. Approximately six feet, white male, mid-to-late thirties, wore a baseball hat, most likely black, with what one agent thinks was an Ohio State logo on it. Solid build, but getting a little thick through the middle. He walked with a faint limp, favoring the right leg. He had a ruddy complexion so my agents think he might work the boats around here, either that or just has that sort of skin tone.”
Travis’s stomach clenched at the mention of the ball cap and the limp.
He looked up at Isabel and saw the same worry in her eyes.
“Tell your team to do a run on Lloyd Brimley.”
Barely a second passed before Miles swore. “Son of abitch!” He bellowed out an order, followed by another order to a different member of his team. Two more orders followed on the heels of that. “And I need to know where the fuck Bridgette Brimley and her son are,now!”
“How far is the diner from here?” Travis asked Isabel softly.
“Not even ten minutes.”
Distantly, a faint, mechanical hum came to Travis’s ears. Isabel jerked her head up and looked downstairs. “That’s the school bus. It shouldn’t even be stopping here.”
