Doug rolled down the passenger-side window. “You need something?”
“I was hoping I’d catch you before you got home,” Sanders said. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Linda.”
Doug was shocked that Sanders would bring up her name so boldly. He watched Sanders climb out of his car and walk around, moving between the two vehicles. Sanders leaned back against the Ferrari’s passenger door and raised his hands in the air. “Truce.”
Sanders’ eyes softened. “Look, Doug, I know we’ve had our differences in the past. But I think that if we leave the past where it belongs, in the past, and move on, then there is a mega opportunity for us to make some real money in this city.”
Doug had no idea what Sanders was talking about. What opportunity?
“If you just hear me out,” Sanders went on. “Then what I have to show you will be very beneficial.”
“You said something about Linda.” Doug said.
“So you’ll hear me out?”
Speechless, Doug stared out the front windshield, refusing to look in the man’s direction. What could Sanders possibly say about Linda? Was this some last-minute attempt to try to save her in some way, somehow persuade him to think better of her, take her back? That wasn’t Sanders’ way at all. And what was this opportunity?
He finally looked at Sanders and nodded slightly. Doug heard Sanders’ car door open and then slam and then Sanders got into the passenger seat of the Jaguar. He set a leather bag on his lap
The tension in the car was palpable, the quiet haunting.
“What about Linda?” Doug asked finally.
Sanders shook his head. “I don’t want to talk here. I don’t want anyone to see or know that we’re having this conversation. There’s a lot of competition out there. There’s a place where we can talk. It’s only a few minutes away. I’ll give you directions as you drive.”
Something in Sanders voice told Doug he didn’t have much of a choice.
He was more than a little hesitant to accommodate Sanders. But if there was a possibility that he could learn something new, possibly important enough to change his feelings, then he had to take the chance.
What was he thinking? Did he still have feelings for Linda? This was insane. He should flat out refuse and leave Sanders in the parking lot staring at the Jaguar’s taillights. But he couldn’t.
Except for Sanders’ occasional directions, the drive was quiet. He had yet to look his way and Doug was beginning to panic. He couldn’t sit still any longer. The silence was unnerving him. “So what’s up?”
Sanders twitched, as though Doug’s question had startled him out of a trance. He stared at Doug as if he hadn’t known the man was in the car with him.
“There’s something you need to see,” Sanders said.
“What’s in the bag?”
“After I show you something, we’ll talk about what’s in my bag.”
Five minutes later they were driving through a heavily forested area.
“It’s in there,” Sanders said, pointing to the woods that surrounded the region.
Doug balked. This was idiotic. What was Sanders going to show him—bleached bones from a murder? Or was this really some sort of truce, Sanders thinking about a partnership with a prime piece of real estate to invest in. Doug knew Sanders always had a motive for money. This area could work for a casino/hotel.
He didn’t like it, but his curiosity was overwhelming and stronger at the moment than his fear. He had to know what was so important to see or discuss about his wife that Ace would drive him out to the middle of nowhere. Ignoring his every gut instinct, he slowly got out of the car.
Ace sat in the idling car and watched as Grant got out and looked around. He had worried that Grant would refuse to go along and felt for the knife in his jacket.
Then he joined Grant. “This way,” Ace said, motioning.
They moved past scrub and over thick grass. It was hard to see more than a few feet ahead.
“Why didn’t you bring a flashlight?” Grant asked, a tremor in his voice.
“I know where we’re going.” After a few more steps, he said, “It’s right in there.”
Grant slipped past him, parted the shaggy branches and leaned forward.
Ace took a step closer.
He yanked Grant’s head against his shoulder, thrust the knife deep into one side of Grant’s throat, then sliced all the way across with such force he could feel the knife’s edge slide along Grant’s spinal cord. Masses of blood gushed and spurted from the wound.
When the trailing tip of the hunting knife left Grant’s throat, Ace let the limp body drop to the ground. Looking into his victim’s dead eyes, he smiled with intoxicating pleasure and wiped most of the blood from the blade, using Grant’s expensive suit as a towel.
With the calmness of a seasoned veteran, he walked back to Grant’s car, opened the passenger door and took out his leather bag, careful not to leave any bloodstains on or inside the car. He opened the bag, pulled out a couple of towels, a shirt and a pair of pants, and set them to the side.
Unbuttoning his shirt, he removed the bloody garments and gloves and threw everything into the leather bag, including the knife and its sheath. With the towels, he wiped all the blood off his body that he could see. He put on a fresh shirt and pants, closed the leather bag, made sure it had no blood on it anywhere and put it back in the passenger seat. Then he pulled on a new pair of clean gloves, eliminating any possibility of prints on the steering wheel.
He needed to go back to the mall, pick up his Ferrari and leave Grant’s vehicle abandoned there. The only tread marks the police would ever find at the murder site would come from the tires on Grant’s own car.
Ace glanced at the body in the bushes and frowned. Pitt wouldn’t be happy. Pitt had told him to leave the body in Grant’s office, but that had never been Ace’s intention. It would have been too risky.
It just wasn’t in the cards.
Chapter 8
Calvin was jolted from an uneasy sleep by the phone. He reached across the bed and answered with a hoarse voice. “Yeah.”
“Get your ass out of bed,” Pitt said.
“What is it?”
“The Grant job. Come to the office for the info.”
Calvin glanced at the bedroom clock. Seven o’clock was way too early for Pitt and he had not gotten over his improbable story about the loan, or his worry about collecting from someone so prominent in Las Vegas. The closest Pitt had come to a big shot was Sanders, who Calvin thought didn’t count.
What was so important that it couldn’t wait until the afternoon?
Calvin hung up without saying goodbye. He’d been through the drill enough times that he knew what to expect. There was no need to panic or rush.
He rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, testing his knee. He looked around the rundown apartment and shook his head. Soon he’d be gone, so the state of the apartment mattered less than ever.
He climbed out of bed, noticing that Rachel was gone already, as usual. Most of the time he kept her away from his apartment because it wasn’t a pleasant place and it put Rachel at risk if someone tried to collect from the collector. But last night, knowing that this would be his last job, he was floating on air. He had been careless.
Still groggy from the painkillers, he walked to the bathroom and stubbed his toe on a fifty-pound dumbbell. “Shit.”
He rolled the dumbbell under the bed and proceeded to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He took a quick shower, then dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt that exposed the intimidating size of his chest
