“I love that quote.”
“What does it mean?”
James squinted and stroked his chin. “Doesn’t it sort of fit this situation?”
“I asked you before, what does it mean?”
“I have no idea, Skip. No idea. I’ve just been waiting for an excuse to use it.”
Walking past him, I headed for Conroy’s door, full of bluff and bravado. I didn’t believe I could actually pull it off, but if I didn’t confront him now, I’d never get it done.
Feng appeared from nowhere, holding up his hand like a Gestapo officer, and stopped me as I entered the work area.
“Mr. Moore.” He put his hand on my arm, and I shook him off.
“Don’t touch me, Feng.”
Giving me a wry smile he took a step back. “Speaking of touch, you’re a little touchy today yourself.”
“Somebody fires a gun into your home, you tend to be a little off your game.”
“Someone fired a gun into your home?”
“I feel certain you know about that incident.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t. But let me assure you, if you proceed to Mr. Conroy’s office, your situation won’t get any better.” He crossed his arms, and puffed out his chest. “Whatever you think happened, things could be a lot worse.”
I wasn’t going to talk about it. Play it cool. But I was building a head of steam and this little guy was just the beginning. “How could they get worse, Feng? When someone in a car that looks like yours tried to kill me?”
Feng’s eyes shifted, over my shoulder. “A car that looked like mine?”
“Where were you last night, Feng?” I was way off course. Just get the money, just get the money.
“Mr. Moore, Mr. Conroy is busy. Whatever your problem, it will have to wait.”
“I’m going to see Conroy right now.”
“Oh?”
“If your company doesn’t pay my company the money you owe us, you’ll never get your system turned on.” I was in charge. The Person in Charge of the Project. No one seemed to respect that position.
“You’re threatening to halt the project?”
I hadn’t exactly talked to Wireman about it yet, but Michael had threatened me. I was just passing on the information. Person in charge and all that. “You heard me.”
“Let me understand this.” Feng hooked his thumbs in his belt. “You were shot at last night?”
“I was.”
“And on an unrelated note, you feel someone owes you money?”
I was breathing fast and heavy. “I do. My company does.”
“And you are threatening us with not completing the job if someone doesn’t pay you?”
“You’re brighter than I gave you credit for, Feng.”
“I really am. You’d be surprised.”
I thought of the little guy chasing around a UPS truck with our GPS unit under it.
“The accuracy of the shooter must have been poor.”
“What does that mean?” He was back to the sniper.
“The next time, the assassin who planned your execution should hire someone who has a higher degree of accuracy.”
Feng had pretty much told me that the intent was to kill me. I didn’t know how to deal with that. I brushed past him, half expecting him to draw the pistol from his belt holster. Reaching Conroy’s door, I rapped on the solid wood. Once, twice, three times. The son of a bitch wasn’t in. Or, he wasn’t answering.
I glanced behind me and Feng stood there, his right hand now resting on the butt of his gun.
“Mr. Conroy,” I shouted.
“Mr. Moore, I’m asking you to move.” Feng was seething.
Once again I pounded on the door, finally slapping it with the heel of my hand. There was going to be a bruise there tomorrow. The door flew open and I took a big step back, staggering as Carol Conroy rushed out, looking neither right or left. Spinning around, she stared back into the office and calmly said, “Oh, you’ll give them to me. Yes, you will. Today. Or so help me God, I will bury you.” She blew by me like a hurricane, and before I could think, she was through the work area and into the hall on her way out.
We had already decided she was going to bury him. Now she was making it public. It sounded to me like Sandy Conroy had the codes, and if he did, this thing was going to go down quickly. If James and I were right, Carol Conroy was going to sabotage her daddy’s company and take Sarah and possibly her husband down with it.
When I stepped into the doorway, Sandy Conroy was standing behind his desk, pointing his finger directly at me.
“Get the hell out of here, kid. Now.” Fire shot from his eyes, but couldn’t melt the cold, icy tone of his voice.
I ran back past a table of lab-coated technicians, past James who was standing in the hall with his mouth wide open, and into the lobby where Carol Conroy was exiting the building. Feng had magically disappeared.
I almost ran over Eden Callahan, who started to say something to me, and I pushed open a glass door. She’d only exited seconds ago, but there was no sign of Carol Conroy. There was no sign of a living person in the parking lot. No people, no traffic this morning, just the desolation that is always Carol City. Eerie, depressingly quiet. And then I saw her.
Her head was bobbing, five, six rows away. Her Lexus must be up ahead. I yelled. “Mrs. Conroy.” She never looked up.
I heard an engine roar, breaking the solitude, and saw the car come out of nowhere, streaking down the strip of pavement. As I ran down across the asphalt, between the parked cars I heard the sickening thump and watched her body fly into the air, up over the hood and bounce off the top of the car. I kept running, my lungs burning like the fires in hell.
Now I was in the lane as she rolled on the pavement, and I hoped it wasn’t too late. Her body lay in a crazy, twisted heap. Up ahead the automobile had braked to a screeching halt, the driver realizing that he, she, had hit the woman. I stopped, leaned against a Dodge Viper, and gulped in large mouthfuls of air.
It was then I saw the tail lights flash on and the car went into reverse, gaining speed by the millisecond. I jogged toward the broken body as the auto streaked toward me. At the last second, I dropped, banging my shoulder and feeling the hot asphalt burn my bare arms and face. Rolling hard to my right, I ended up under the nearest vehicle, a Chevy Silverado. I worried about my heart as it banged in my chest, trying to get out. It was the second time I’d been under a vehicle in this same parking lot in the last week. It was the tenth time, twentieth time, thirtieth time my heart had scared me almost to death.
I wish I’d been blinded to the view of what happened, but I wasn’t. I stared out as the gray Honda Accord, swerving back and forth in reverse gear, hit Carol Conroy’s lifeless frame with a bump, crushing her legs and chest. Rolling over the cadaver, the Accord switched gears, and roared out of the parking lot. Everything went silent, and it was as if life went on. Only it didn’t.
I shuddered, rolling out and running back to the building, bursting in and gasping for air.
“Call nine one one. Now. Carol Conroy’s been in a serious accident.” Serious accident? “She’s been killed.”
The girl behind the desk, Daliah or something like that, dropped the magazine she’d been reading, and punched in a number as I grabbed the reception counter and tried to catch my breath. She spoke briefly as I huffed and puffed. Serious huffing and very serious puffing.
“Moore.”
I looked up and Feng was standing there. “Suppose you tell me what happened.”
Between gasps I said, “Suppose you tell me what happened.”
“You told Daliah to call nine one one?”
I couldn’t talk. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, hell, not enough oxygen in the world, to fill my lungs. Breathing heavily, I leaned against the receptionist’s counter.
“Moore. Tell me what happened.”
“I,” gasping, “just,” taking two huge lungfuls of air “saw you.”
