Sleight of Hand (14 page)

“Tell him to stay down and get the jerk out of the pickup or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

At five yards, a Walther looks like a real gun, and any gun’s muzzle looks like Death’s own eye when you’re looking at it. His hand stopped on the way into his jacket and crept back down.

“Benny, out of the truck,” Onebrow called hoarsely over his shoulder. His eyes didn’t leave my face.

Deadhand lurched up. I shot his knee out and had the gun pointing back at Onebrow’s face before he was back down on the ground again. Benny froze where he was, half out of the pickup.

“Benny gets here in five or you lose your face,” I said. “Five.”

“Benny! Get here now, shithead!”

Benny scuttled over in response to Onebrow’s command and made it before I got to three. He was younger and smaller than the others, pale-faced and shaking. I took this in while keeping my eyes on Onebrow. I judged him an evil bastard and he was the most dangerous of the three by far. Behind me, I heard the Mercedes come down the hill and stop. It was to my right from the sound, but I didn’t dare look to see. As long as Jennifer didn’t get in front of me, it was fine.

I pointed with the Walther slightly lower, at Onebrow’s chest. “Now open that jacket slowly and take the gun out with just your thumb and finger touching it. Slowly. Just the thumb and finger.”

Onebrow obeyed carefully while I studied him for twitches or tells. The thought that it would be easier just to shoot him had crossed my mind and he knew it.

“Hold it out to the side. Put it down on the ground, gently.” It looked like a 9mm Glock. “Now, both of you, drag this heap of shit ten yards back.” I kicked Deadhand where he was groaning on the ground, clutching his leg.

He squealed as they pulled him back. I’d drilled the shot right through the kneecap and any movement of the leg was going to hurt him for a long time. Good.

“Jen?”

“I’m in the car, Amber. About ten yards behind you. I didn’t get a signal on the cell.” Her voice was strained but steady.

“Go across to the pickup and take out anything that looks like a weapon or a cell phone. And anything else that looks interesting.”

While she did that and I picked up the Glock, I made them empty their pockets.

There were four options here as I saw it. I could shoot them and leave them for the animals to clean up, but I don’t work like that. I could torture them and find out who sent them. That turned my stomach even more. I could get Jennifer to drive down the road and call the police. There’s no way this scum would be able to turn the legal tables on us, but pinning them down with a charge of aggravated assault would be difficult and time-consuming. Turning to the police also sent a message to their bosses, and it wasn’t the message I wanted sent. I took the fourth option.

After Jennifer had finished, I had them drag Deadhand over and load him into the pickup, screeching complaints about his leg until Onebrow snapped at him. Benny took off his belt and used it as a tourniquet on Deadhand’s leg, then sat with him in the back. I got Onebrow to climb into the driver’s seat. He’d been quiet practically the whole time, watching me closely. I had no doubt that if I’d slipped up, he would have been on me. He was the leader of this group and looked like a man who held grudges to the grave.

I was pointing both guns at the bridge of his nose.

“You look like you’ve got a good memory. When you think of me, remember Death’s eyes staring at you.” I clicked the barrels together slightly to make the point. “You see that again, and it will be the last thing you see. I don’t care who sent you or why. Tell them, next time there will be no knee shots, no survivors. Now, get the fuck out of here.”

Onebrow started up and drove down the road, spinning the wheels in the mud. I walked behind a little way, making sure he could see that I was still pointing the guns at them. They turned the corner and I listened carefully as the sound of the engine faded away. No stopping.

I let the tension out of my shoulders. It was one thing to do something like this with a squad behind me and serious firepower, quite another to be facing down three guys with a couple of small bore handguns.

I turned, sticking the Walther back in the holster and the Glock in my jacket pocket. Jennifer was standing behind me, pale and shivering with reaction. I gave her a hug.

“You okay?” I said.

She nodded. “What about you? He hit you, I saw…” She reached up and touched the side of my head gently.

“Ow! Damn, more bruises.” I caught her wrist. “It’s okay, really, just a glancing blow.”

“Amber, you were fantastic! You just walked up and…”

I touched her lips with a finger and stopped her. “It’s what I was trained to do, so it’s not fantastic. You haven’t been, so I’m much more impressed by how well you reacted.”

I turned abruptly and started walking back up to the site, embarrassed.

I got some evidence bags from my kit and gathered all the things off the ground. Jen had found a cell phone in the pickup and some scribbled notes which I wanted to look at. There was also a second Glock and a handful of spare ammo. The contents of their pockets included wallets and cell phones. And a photo of Jen. Until the moment I saw that, I’d had a horrible doubt they might have been after me and I’d put her at risk.

I turned all the cells off and had a look at the notes, which gave directions to Silver Hills.

“Who knows you’re out here, Jen?”

“You and me. I didn’t tell my assistant where I was going to be.”

“You have your cell on this afternoon?”

“Not till I tried to call the police. I turned it off at the restaurant and didn’t bother putting it back on. It’s usually a waste up here. Why?”

I sighed and lay down to look underneath the car. “Someone tracked us.”

After five minutes of rolling round and getting my jacket filthy, I spotted something out of place. There was a small box hidden above the back bumper—a tracking device of some kind.

I had Jen drive back down to the highway and away from Denver. At a truck stop, I stuck the tracker on a logging truck and we turned around and headed for Jen’s home overlooking the Denver Country Club.

On the way, I called Victor and arranged for Jen to have a permanent bodyguard, overruling her arguments. The attack on her company had escalated to attacks on her. Until we found out who was behind this, we could only expect more attempts and I couldn’t be there all the time.

Chapter 17

It was a little after 6 p.m. when we rolled in through the automatic gates of Jen’s house. The sign said it was called Manassah.

My head was in threat assessment mode, looking at ways that an intruder might be able to get in over fences, through windows and doors, so I barely looked at the house itself to start with.

When Victor’s team arrived and started their own sweep, I was able to stand back and appreciate how beautiful it was. I knew Jen used a company apartment close to the office sometimes when she worked late, but she’d mentioned it felt like staying at a hotel. Here, she had stamped her individuality on the place. This was where she would live most of the time when she was in Denver. If she entertained, it would be here. Her ranch was more a private weekend retreat.

By the end of the inspection, any thoughts of entertaining were being frowned on, and the downtown apartment was being proposed as an easier place to secure. Jen wasn’t having any of that, and a compromise was reached where three guards were based on the grounds, as well as one in a control center and one on the gate. All of them on maximum six hour shifts.

I winced at the expense, but Jen signed it off.

While they were setting up, she pulled me aside.

“Amber, what’s happened to cause this?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s changed, Jen. The obvious thing is we’ve called the police in on Troy’s abduction, so they know you’re aware of them, whoever they are. I don’t know why that should have escalated the situation, but clearly the threat is now being directed against you.”

“I hired you. That’s new.”

“But no one knew that except you, me, your driver maybe. And Tullah, of course.”

Two of the guards came in carrying bulky equipment and we had to squeeze together to let them pass in the corridor.

Jen cleared her throat. “They tracked us to Silver Hills.”

“I’ve already had your other cars checked for trackers,” I said. “But I guess they could have followed you the old-fashioned way to our meeting at Whitman’s.”

We moved into her living room and perched on a couple of chairs while the guards wandered in and out checking comms equipment and blind spots.

“You surprised me at the resort,” Jen said. “I mean how you dealt with them at the end. Do you intend to call the police about it?”

“Not unless you really want to. I know, I’m not being consistent here. I told you that we’d report any felonies.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I trust you. I’ll go with your lead on this. I just need to understand why.”

“With hindsight, maybe it was a bad call,” I answered slowly. “But I wanted to send a message back to whoever sent them. And I want to know who that was, not have that disappear into some legal case we can’t get access to, that never gets proved, or nails some low-level thugs. I’ll find plenty in the stuff we took. These are gang members, not professionals. Except maybe Onebrow.”

“Onebrow?”

I grinned. “Old habit of mine. Onebrow is my name for the leader. Deadhand was the guy I shot—his hands are all puffy, they look like a drowned man’s. And the driver was called Benny, apparently.”

Jen looked away, as if unsure about what she was going to say. “I think you could have found out directly who was giving the orders.”

“Probably. Yes. I know the techniques.” I frowned. “I’m not a nice person, Jen.”

She snorted. “There’s a contradiction in that reasoning. Anyway, I wouldn’t have stopped you. I heard what that fat bastard said. Hell, I would have helped. What would that make me? No, Amber, knowing and doing are whole different countries.” She waved it off, settling back in her chair and frowning in thought, her hands running restlessly up and down the armrests.

“Can you stay here as well?” she said. “There’s a guest suite just across from mine. Please?”

I had been wondering where I would be sleeping that night. I wanted to stay away from Mrs. Desiarto’s, but I felt I could really use a good night’s sleep, and the thought of the office or the back of my car wasn’t appealing. It was an enormous temptation to camp here while I worked on Jen’s case, but it broke all sorts of rules in my Private Investigation 101 book. Some of the indecision must have shown on my face.

“I would feel so much safer, Amber. I’m sure these other guys know what they’re doing, but I’ve seen you in action. There’s the most wonderful bathtub in the suite, as well. Meals when you want them. And it would make briefings easier, wouldn’t it?”

I chuckled, thinking I knew how Captain Morales felt the other night. At least she’d relaxed a bit, and it would be easier operating from here.

“The bathtub sold it,” I said. “I need it now. But then I have to go and sort out some stuff. I’ll be back late tonight. Could your driver drop me off at my office to pick up my car, please?”

“Done.” She organized keys and access codes. Her maid brought towels and a robe, and took my muddy clothes away, promising to get them back to me later.

What a bathtub! It was sunk into the floor and had lights under the water. The surrounds were Italian marble and, during the day, I would have been able to look out over the gardens through picture windows. Realizing Victor’s guards were out there somewhere, I closed the blinds. The maid had the water running and added something scented and bubbly while I was undressing. I eased myself into the heat. Oh, bliss. I decided immediately that my life needed more hot baths like this.

Half an hour later, slightly dizzy but smelling so much better, I wandered back to the living room in my borrowed robe, combing out my hair.

Jen was flicking through a report, but she tossed it to one side and sprang up.

“You look almost relaxed, Amber. Your clothes will be a little while. A drink while you wait?” She arched an eyebrow at me as she walked over to a well-stocked bar.

“Rum. Straight, please,” I said. “A dark rum,” I added as I saw the array of bottles.

She came back with my rum and a brandy for herself. “Guyanese fifteen-year-old,” she said casually, handing mine across. “Should be dark enough.”

I sipped the golden brown liquor and let the smooth, warm taste run around my mouth. Heaven. It exploded across my tongue: a mouthful of molasses with a kiss of vanilla and orange peel. I closed my eyes, savoring it. Wow. I’d never realized the difference between the rum I could afford and the kind of stuff people like Jen drank.

We sat and sipped for a while, completely comfortable with the silence. I put my legs up on a stool. I was going to have trouble kicking my ass off this sofa later, but I didn’t care. I had never been in such a luxurious house, but instead of feeling awkward, I felt at home, thanks to the rum, the bath, Jen herself, or the combination.

Jen took some freshly made tapas from the bar and set it on the sofa between us. I bit into a smoky stuffed pepper. Another ‘wow.’ The flavor was delicate and almost overpowering at the same time—it made every other stuffed pepper I’d eaten seem tasteless by comparison.

“God, these are unbelievable,” I muttered.

Jen gave me an odd look. “Oh, Carmen made them. Glad you like them.”

She wasn’t being dismissive, exactly. She was probably just so used to expensive ingredients and a gourmet cook she’d forgotten what normal food tasted like. I needed to shut up or she’d think I lived on McDonald’s. I might have gotten all defensive at that thought, but I was distracted by the piece of crispy fried calamari I’d popped into my mouth. I just managed to not groan.

“Is there any link between this attack and the weird stuff?” Jen asked, interrupting my private food orgy.

I sat up and shrugged. “Too early to tell.”