Josh had his answer. Bell had made her decision. He supposed she’d decided to decline the money offer and go with revenge. The bonds of the blackmail that held him so tightly were broken. Josh was free. But he was now in the hands of others over whom he had no control.
He’d gone from the mercy of Bell, his blackmailer, to the mercy of the media, police and anybody
else investigating the claim. He was now fair game to anyone who wanted a piece of him. He’d seen enough and reached for the remote control on the coffee
table.
“I’m still watching that,” Kate said icily.
Josh turned to her. She stared intently at the screen, her face devoid of any facial expression. He left the remote and leaned back into the couch.
The Channel 3 Nightly News team moved onto another story.
“Do you think Belinda is their source?”
“Yes. I gave her the opportunity to make her final demands because I refused to be blackmailed anymore,”
he said.
“What was her final amount?”
“Nothing. She hadn’t given me an answer, until
now.” Josh nodded at the television. “I think she would prefer to see me pay in other ways.” His mind drifted away to his affair with Bell. She had cut some of the puppet strings, but the ones that made Josh dance were still attached.
He continued. “I want you to understand things are probably going to get worse before they get better.”
“Life with you over the past two weeks has prepared me for every eventuality. Shock after shock—the im pact is reduced with every new occurrence. Josh, I don’t think anything would totally surprise me,” she said.
It was difficult for Josh to respond to her coldness.
He composed himself before speaking.
“If someone inspects those apartments, they will find faults and they have a record of my report giving the construction the green light. They’ll have enough evidence to convict,” Josh said.
“What will they do to you?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know what they do in these cases.” Josh was silent for a moment. “What will you do?”
“What will I do?”
Josh moved across the couch to be close to her and took her hand in his.
For a moment, Kate stiffened at his contact, but then she relaxed.
“Will you stay with me regardless of the outcome?”
he said.
Kate looked away.
Josh placed a gentle hand on her jaw and turned her head toward him. “Look at me, please. Will you?”
“I don’t know, Josh.” Tears welled in Kate’s eyes. “I really don’t know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
For Dexter Tyrell, this was a rare excursion from his two usual haunts—his home and Pinnacle Investments.
He’d booked the hotel room for the day although he only intended using it for a few hours. It may have seemed extravagant at five hundred dollars, but in the long run it was a drop in the ocean. The room was for work- related business, but not the sort of business his colleagues would understand. It was better for everyone if his colleagues didn’t observe him.
His subversive program, killing the firm’s viatical clients, was faltering. Two case files worth over six hundred thousand dollars in company revenues were being held up because of the incompetence of the hit man, and that impacted dearly on the disposal of other clients. Tyrell’s decision might be risky, but it would certainly get his project moving.
Slumped in the comfortable padded armchair of the well-appointed hotel room, Tyrell sat cross-legged, his left over his right. The left leg rocked back and forth while he listened to the ringing of the cell phone in his hand. Last chance, my friend. His hit man had one more opportunity to put things right. Tyrell straightened in his chair and uncrossed his legs when the phone was answered.
“Yes?” the professional said.
“I haven’t heard from you in the past couple of days.
I assume from that you haven’t succeeded in your
tasks,” Tyrell said.
“Like I’ve told you before, these things take time.
You just have to be patient. Rest assured, I have laid the foundations.”
Tyrell’s snide remarks failed to raise the hit man’s ire. That pissed Tyrell off. He wanted something out of this son of a bitch.
“My patience in running thin. You’ve had more than enough time to take care of these people and you
haven’t.”
“How would you know how much time it takes?”
Prima donnas, they all think they’re God’s gift, he thought. “Based on your previous assignments. And don’t get pissy with me. I know I haven’t got any experience in your profession, but I do have realistic expectations and you’re not living up to them. How long do
you think it will take until you have completed your assignment?”
“Another week.”
“No,” Tyrell said matter-of-factly. “I have another three targets lined up for you worth over one point five million dollars. I want them all cleared up in the next two weeks.”
“I don’t think I can do that. The plans are laid and they’ll have to run their course. I may be able to advance them a little, but I can’t make any guarantees.”
“I don’t care about your plans. Do something different.”
Tyrell was losing his temper with the professional.
“The time has come for an alternative
approach. I don’t care how you do it, but I want them killed. No more fancy plans for accidents—just straightforward assassinations.”
“Are you suggesting I just shoot them from the nearest clock tower?”
Tyrell ignored the crack. “How many times have we seen tragic house fires? We live in a world of muggings, hit and runs, rapes, murders, et cetera. Pick one. Impress me. You have two days.” He hung up without letting the professional comment further.
The conversation had gone the way Tyrell had expected.
The professional wasn’t the man he’d hired two
years ago. He was incapable of the quick turnaround Tyrell needed. It was time to bring in someone else. A new broom always swept better than an old one and maybe that new broom could dispose of the old broom as well.
“The job’s yours if you want it,” Tyrell said to the other man in the room.
The other man stood in front of the window looking out over the pleasant grounds from the fifth floor room.
The trees and well-manicured lawns were illuminated in the early evening darkness by the security lights positioned all around the premises. He turned his back on
the view and faced Tyrell.
He was a big man, tall and muscular, and his suit did little to disguise it. His crew cut hinted that he might be a military man or some outcast from a government
agency. Tyrell didn’t really care or want to know. He never wanted to get that close to his outsourced talent.
His colleagues were bean counters and analysts, not killers. These people made him uncomfortable, but they were a necessary evil to ensure success. They were resources to be used for specific functions—like a computer or a subordinate, a means to an end. Because of
