off of the pamphlet. She frowned. “I thought Reese made you leave your stuff on the front doorstep of the manor in Forest Hills.”
“He did. This is a new phone.” Jack put the device to his ear and waited. “Feel like going to med school, Anderson?” Jack directed the question at Dylan.
Dylan’s eyes widened again and his mouth opened.
Then Jack smiled. “Yes. Hello, Ms. Mason. I need to speak with Dr. Beckman as soon as possible.”
The group waited as Jack listened to someone speak on the other end.
His smile became predatory. “It is pertaining to a sizeable donation, Ms. Mason, and I’m afraid there is a deadline in question. The sooner I can speak with him, the better.”
Jack fell silent again. The group held their collective breaths.
And then Jack’s smile broadened.
“Hello, Dr. Beckman.”
“Wow.” Annabelle gazed at Jack and smiled. “You look… really nice.” Her voice cracked with the last word and she looked away, blushing furiously.
“Thanks, luv.” Jack did his best to suppress the rising thrill of delight he felt at Annabelle’s approval. He watched her blush for several moments more and then forced himself to look away. He turned back toward the mirror in front of him and studied the reflection. He had to admit that Beatrice had once more done a very good job hiding his bruises. She’d always been good at that when they were married.
The mirror reflecting his image was hung on the back of the master bathroom door in their temporary hidey- hole, a sixth-floor two-bedroom apartment in upper city Brooklyn. The apartment belonged to Sam and reflected his tastes. There was little decor on the walls but for a giant brass star of Texas and a painting of a native American woman on a hillside in the sunset. Annabelle guessed that professional killers probably had places to hunker down in most of the big cities.
Reese had been left behind on Sam’s boat, along with two of Sam’s “employees,” whom Annabelle preferred to lump under what she considered the far more appropriate title of “thugs.” In a way, she sort of felt sorry for Reese, despite the whole house blowing-up ordeal. She knew the man probably wasn’t going to be treated with the most Geneva Convention type civility.
“
“Cor, Jackie, you’re lookin’ mighty fitty.” Beatrice came in right behind Cassie.
Clara was next. “Wow, da’. Nice clobber.”
Jack looked to Annabelle, who was biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Clobber is clothing,” he supplied, and Annabelle nodded, still smiling.
Jack did look good. The suit was Armani. Dark, dark blue pin stripes that brought out the stark sapphire in Jack’s eyes. The tie was a deep blood red and stood out in stark contrast to the snow white shirt beneath it. His hair was combed back with flawless precision. His nails were manicured. His shoes were a shining black wing-tip, also Armani.
He looked like a million bucks. Which was fitting, since he was worth that much. Actually, a lot more.
“You clean up nice,” she told him softly, regardless of the others in the room.
He turned away from the mirror to regard her once more. Something flashed in the deep blue depths of his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking.
And then someone cleared their throat. “What, exactly, are you going to do with this guy again?” Dylan asked, a note of irritation in his tone.
Jack turned back to the mirror and met the young man’s gaze in the reflection. He casually worked on adjusting his tie as he spoke. “I’m going to either convince him to tell me all that he knows about Craig Brandt, or I am going to retrieve the keys to his office and we can ascertain the information we need on our own.”
“How are you gonna do that?” Dylan asked.
Jack didn’t answer right away. He finished adjusting his tie and then bent to double-knot the laces of his shoes. The group watched him in silence and growing unease. When he was through with both shining shoes, he stood and opened his jacket to pull out a blue steel M1911 from its holster. The gun had been used by the US Army since 1911, hence it’s name. Annabelle knew this because it was Jack’s chosen weapon. He’d been using it for years. US armed forces now used a newer model of the weapon, but Jack kept the older model.
She eyed the gun from where she stood. Something was different. Her brow furrowed. The gun wasn’t as shiny as it usually was. She moved forward and, without thinking, gently took hold of his hand to get a better look. Jack stopped moving, allowing her to turn the gun over in his hands.
There was a worn, shapely “K” carved into the side of the slide, with a crown carved over it. She had never seen that before.
“What’s this?”
“It designates the gun as a Kongsberg Colt,” he said softly.
“Oh?” She had no idea what that meant.
He smiled. “Made in World War Two at an armory in Norway.”
She nodded, pretending that that explained everything. What she didn’t understand was why he was using a seventy-year-old weapon all of a sudden.
“They used rubber grips in World War Two?” she asked, incredulously.
“No,” Jack chuckled. “Sam changed out the grips.”
Sam. That would explain it. She realized, at once, that it must have been one of the weapons available in Sam’s cupboard on the boat.
“What was a World War Two gun doing in Sam’s cabinet?”
Jack was silent for a moment and she looked up at him. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Out of…
She looked down at it for a few seconds more, noting the fact that the bluing on the weapon was nicked in several places and there was a very worn “No. 2” carved beneath the K and crown.
She didn’t ask any more about it. She’d never been a gun aficionado. She didn’t know anything about them except how to load them, aim them, and shoot them. But something about this gun gave her the willies.
She let his hand go and stepped back. He watched her for several seconds more and then re-holstered the weapon.
“So, you’re telling us you’re going to invite the man out to dinner on the pretext of giving him a bunch of money and then you’re going to pull a gun on him?” Dylan was still staring at him through the mirror. His arms were crossed over his chest.
Jack smoothed his jacket back into place and gave Dylan a close-mouthed grin. Something dangerous flashed in his blue eyes. It had the effect of completely unnerving the boy, who fidgeted and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Of course not,” Jack said. “The gun is simply a precautionary measure.”
“The Colonel and his men are still out there,” Annabelle supplied, giving Dylan a slightly reproachful look. “None of us should go out without protection.”
Dylan chewed sulkily on the inside of his cheek and looked down at the ground, shifting from one foot to the other. He said nothing further.
“None of you will be going out at all. Stay here and wait with Sam. I’ll be back before midnight.”
Annabelle was irritated at the bossy tone Jack had just taken, and her narrowed gaze told him that much when he turned around to face her and the others. His lips cocked into a half-smile and one of his brows rose.
She knew it was pointless to reprimand him for his tone at the moment. Besides, he was right. There was no need for any of them to go out just now. Food and drinks could always be ordered and delivered – and with any luck, they wouldn’t have to shoot the delivery boy. It only took one person to do this particular job, and that person happened to be Jack. Mr. Moneybags.
“Be careful, Daddy Warbucks” Annabelle found herself saying.
