The moist cave wall feels cool to his back as Jason positions himself so he can keep an eye on Emma and the mouth of the cave. Though the light is dim, he can see Emma take in his every move. I don’t give a damn. I have the upper hand.
As he holds his right arm across his chest, fingers resting on his left shoulder, his other hand taps an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on top of his thigh. Now and then he raises it to his nose and inhales deeply, relishing the fumes. “So you’d like me to explain why I’m using you as bait. Is that right?” Jason sneers.
“Yes,” she answers evenly, with no trace of emotion in her voice.
“It doesn’t really matter what you know because you’re going to be dead shortly, and I’m the one who’s going to kill you.”
Jason feels excitement tingle throughout his body. Just saying the words brings an explosion of pleasure.
“You’re the ideal bait because I’ve seen how Lover Boy looks at you.” His lips twist in a sneer. “Once he realizes that you’re gone, he’s going to come looking for you, and I’m going to derive a great deal of pleasure watching him crumple as I slit your throat. You’ll be the second person I kill that he cares for.”
“Who was the first?” Emma asks.
“His name was Sam. Poor, unfortunate bastard. He was McPherson’s partner.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A little slow on the uptake, aren’t you?”
Shaking his head in derision, Jason continues. “Five years ago, my brother and I orchestrated a heist involving well over ten million dollars in heroin. The problem was, the goods were in the SFPD evidence lockup. But we had someone on the inside helping us—a dirty cop. Stay wary,” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, “for treachery walks among you.”
He watches with pleasure as Emma rubs the goosebumps on her arms, then continues. “The only thing we had to do was empty the station house. Police are predictable creatures. When an officer falls, they rally. Every one of them.
“All we had to do was kill a cop—any cop would do.
“We used a diversionary tactic to draw a squad car to a bridge. And that’s when I got the driver in my sights and squeezed the trigger. Boom! Sam was out of the game.”
“I don’t understand why you want to kill Mick. He’s off the force. And you got your drugs.”
“Aah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I didn’t get the drugs. My brother was one of three people who got caught. He’s the one who stashed the drugs. He’s the only person who knows their location.”
“And he won’t tell you where they are?” Emma asks.
“Dead men tell no tales,” Jason retorts with an angry snarl. “My brother was killed in jail before he could tell me. So, I’m out ten million bucks, and McPherson’s going to pay.”
“But why Mick?” Emma asks. “You said any police officer would do, and you shot Sam. So why Mick? Why now? Why five years later?”
Jason smirks and says, “Consider it tying up loose ends, just like I’m going to do with you.”
Emma closes her eyes and remembers a captivating article she’d read on the flight from San Diego to Seattle. It discussed the notorious “Golden State Killer” and the difference between sociopaths and psychopaths. It said, “Psychopaths are more dangerous because they don’t feel shame or experience guilt connected with their actions. They point blame instead.” It went on to say, “A psychopath is a human predator who wears a mask of sanity, an aggressor who preys on others merely for the pleasure of it, simply because they can.”
Emma shudders.
Mick approaches Thoreau from the rear. With his weapon drawn, he drops into a half squat and edges his face around the corner. Peering into the solid glass wall, he does a tactical scan. He can see everything inside the cottage except the bedroom and bathroom.
Making his way to the front door, he tests the handle and discovers that it’s not locked.
He enters crouched. Ready.
Pivoting on his heel, he performs a 180-degree sight line. Clear.
He listens for sounds. Nothing.
His senses are on high alert as he makes his way to the bathroom and bedroom. His torso swiveling, his gaze sweeps the space, drinking everything in like a dry sponge soaks up water. Empty.
Satisfied, he stands for a couple of beats taking it all in.
The closet reveals that Jason hasn’t hung any of his clothes.
Mick opens the first of two suitcases sitting on the floor next to the bed. It contains folded clothing, a pair of shoes, and a lightweight jacket.
The second one contains folded white towels that appear to be from a hotel. Divided into two stacks, the top two towels have rectangular name badges pinned to them. The one on the left says Rose and also bears the name and logo of a hotel. The one on the right says Yolanda with a different hotel name and logo.
Lifting those towels, Mick discovers that each subsequent towel in the suitcase also has a name badge affixed. Linh, Teagen, Mai, Teresa, Amala, Veronica, Devi, and Silvia.
The two common denominators that he can readily see are white hotel towels and badges with female names. But each badge belongs to a different hotel.
Racking his brain, Mick recalls dropping Jason off at Thoreau on that first day. In his mind, he pictures him with a suitcase in each hand, and a backpack slung over his shoulder.
Where’s the backpack?
Back in the central part of the cottage, Mick finds numerous empty bottles of Jack Daniels. He also sees the empty boxes UPS delivered with Jason’s manuscript—the pages are nowhere to be found.
I wonder what was really in these boxes?
The cell phone in his pocket vibrates. Mick sees Libby’s name on the screen and answers.
“The police are here,” she says.
“I’ll be right there.”
When the vehicle sensor buzzes in the main house, signaling the arrival of the police, Niall buzzes them in and Libby
