She looked back, and saw her footprints in blood leading into the library. At some point during the fight, she?d stepped in a puddle of somebody?s blood. She grabbed the rum bottle, tossed the coffee into a nearby fern, and refilled the mug with rum.
Her hands shook.
Nikki had made countless enemies, but who could know she was here? Who had the means and motive to find and eliminate her? Only the man with the voice. She tossed back the rum. It burned. She coughed, wiped her mouth.
But these men had been no threat. Now that Nikki had the chance to think about it calmly, she realized the men had been laughingly easy to kill. Did the man with the voice really believe these third-rate thugs had a chance to take her? It didn?t make sense.
Still, somebody wanted her dead, and maybe the next hit squad would be more confident. Nikki decided she needed help, somebody to watch her back. And it had to be someone she could trust. Family. But Middle Sister wasn?t answering her phone.
She poured another drink, considered her options. Could she possibly, did she dare, give Baby Sister a call?
Baby Sister was family, but she was also a loose cannon. Baby Sister frightened Nikki sometimes. There was something in the eighteen-year-old hellion that delighted in pain and cruelty. Baby Sister was the reason they?d given up on family pets.
But there was no alternative. Nikki needed a sidekick, and Baby Sister was the only choice available.
Tomorrow morning Nikki would call the asylum.
24
Mike Foley didn?t get far. He didn?t know where he was going.
He couldn?t drive the Caddy with one eye closed anymore. One side of his face was cramping. Both eyes open didn?t work either. Everything went all fuzzy. He hadn?t recovered from the whack in the head Enrique Mars had given him.
So Mike had pulled into a Wal-Mart an hour south of Tulsa, purchased gauze and surgical tape, and taped his bad eye closed. Now it would stay shut without him having to think about it. He didn?t like the way the tape looked, so he bought a black eye patch to go over the tape. He also bought a tube of Bengay.
Back on the road, he caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror.
He drove another hour but had to give it up. His shoulders were tight, and he was finally feeling the hike to the helicopter and back. His knees and lower back were screaming. He pulled into a La Quinta Inn and got himself a nonsmoking room. He rubbed the Bengay into his neck and knees and lay flat on the bed in his boxer shorts for an hour and a half.
He got up and dressed, his knees only marginally better. He went across the street, purchased a meatball sub and a Pepsi and took them back to his room. While he ate, he went over what he?d taken from Meredith Cornwall-Jenkins and Enrique Mars.
Mike had trouble with what he found in the woman?s purse. Was he reading this right? Was she a schoolteacher? The contact numbers for her school and principal were in her purse. Also, a list of substitute teachers and home numbers in case she was absent. A teacher?s union card. Parent-teacher conferences penciled into her schedule book. Was this some kind of cover identity?
He set the purse aside and picked up her cell phone. He scrolled through the recent calls, jotted the numbers down on a La Quinta notepad.
Enrique Mars?s possessions were less revealing. Two credit cars, Visa and Discover. No cash. No business cards. No personal photos. The appointment book didn?t at first seem any more helpful. Names and dates and phone numbers, none of which stuck out as significant.
He showered, let hot water strike his back until it turned cold. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror while he was drying off. Dark circles under his eyes. His white stubble came in like a light coat of frosting. He wished he?d thought to buy a razor at Wal-Mart. He sat on the bed and rubbed more Bengay into his knees.
He spread Mars?s and Meredith?s belongings across the bed. It took about an hour to find it. But after comparing all the phone numbers, Meredith and Enrique had only one in common. A man named Louis Ortega. And Mars?s appointment book even had an address listed.
Mike turned out the light and got a good night?s sleep. In the morning, he checked out of the La Quinta Inn
