West stands up, shoves the handkerchief back in his pocket. “You know, you should pity me. I’m slowly destroying everything I’ve spent my entire life building.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
West points out to Manhattan.
The three towers of the new Élan building rest perfectly within the center bedroom window.
“At least you’ll have the best view in the city,” he says.
Josh looks out the window, then pulls on his restraints. “No! Mr. West. Whatever it is you’re planning, please don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” West walks toward the exit, kicking the photo of his son and daughter. He grabs the SSD but leaves everything else. “None of it.”
“I know about the gas lines.”
West stops.
“So does the FBI,” Josh adds.
West puts his hand on the doorknob.
“Mr. West, I know you wouldn’t kill anyone yourself,” Josh says. “Ever.”
West twists the knob.
“There are thousands of people there by now,” Josh pleads. “Thousands, James. Women, children. In their homes, in their offices. In the hotel, the mall. Please. You’re not this person.”
West opens the door. “I’ve always been this person.”
C h a p t e r 5 4
“JUST GOT A confirmation on Josh Harrison’s GPS tracker. He’s definitely up there in West’s condo.”
Agent Pillsbury presses the elevator button, then turns to the five men beside her in James West’s lobby, four agents and an older bald man in a scarlet-red jacket and tie. “Our wonderful doorman friend—”
“Bob,” he says.
“Bob. Bob says the perp lives on floor thirteen. I need one of you down here to make sure he doesn’t come down while we’re in transit. Once we’re inside, we’ll split in groups of two, search the place for the vic. Any questions?”
“How long’s this elevator going to take?” one of them asks. “Thirteen floors are not that many. Let’s take the stairs.”
“It won’t be too long,” says Bob the doorman.
Agent Pillsbury looks up. The elevator is heading down from the twenty-fourth floor.
C h a p t e r 5 5
WEST CLOSES THE bedroom door. “Hey! Where are you?”
West’s limo driver comes out of the bathroom. “Sorry, had to take care of some business.”
“Take care of him.” West nods in the direction of his bedroom, walks to the kitchen counter. “I told him a bullet to the neck. Grab a tarp from the floor of the pantry. I think the painters saved a couple from our kitchen renovation a few months ago.”
West grabs his keys, walks to the front door. He sees his driver walking down the hall toward the bathroom again.
“Hey!” West yells. “Other direction. Now. Do it now.”
“I need to go to the bathroom again.” He holds his stomach. “And I left my hoodie in the back bedroom. He might recognize me.”
“You’re about to kill him, Billy.” West opens the front door. “Fucking idiot.”
Billy Donovan scratches the bandage on the side of his face, heads toward the pantry. “Good point.”
“Text me when it’s done,” he says from the doorway.
“I don’t have a phone anymore, fucker.” Billy enters the pantry, bends down. He talks to himself under his breath. “I’m supposed to be dead. Remember? You had me torch some random homeless man.”
The front door slams.
“Watch your tone, you piece of shit.” West walks to the pantry. “Remember where you came from. I pay you more than any of the others, remember that too.”
“Yessir, sorry, sir.” Billy’s stomach growls.
“I have a burner phone in the top drawer of my dresser,” West says. “Find it. Use it.”
“I don’t have your cell phone number anymore, sir.”
“Jesus Christ, Billy.” West takes his wallet out, grabs a business card, hand writes his cell phone on it. “There.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Stop with the sarcasm, Billy.” West brushes by an empty pizza box on the counter on his way back to the front door. “And clean this up. No wonder your stomach is a mess.”
WEST SLAMS HIS front door, enters the elevator foyer, presses the down button. He looks up, notices the elevator is on the ground floor.
He looks at his watch. “Screw it.”
He opens the stairwell door, and heads down to the parking garage.
C h a p t e r 5 6
AGENT PILLSBURY, THE agents, and the doorman exit the elevator on James West’s floor.
“This his door?” she whispers to the doorman.
“It’s soundproof,” he says at a normal volume. “But yes, that’s his.”
Agent Pillsbury and the other agents pull their guns out. They stand back as the doorman is about to swipe the key.
Bob the doorman turns back to her.
“Go on. You can do it.” Agent Pillsbury nods at him. “Yep, just slide the—yep, there you go. FBI!”
Agent Pillsbury walks in first, the other three agents begin to enter one behind the other, securing the perimeter. She checks the living room, behind the couch, behind the curtains, out on the patio overlooking the city.
Nearby, another agent checks the kitchen, jostles the door to the pantry.
“Locked,” says the agent.
“Shh.” She hears a faint thud through the door off the living room, and maybe a voice. She can’t be sure.
“Back bedrooms are clear,” says the agent coming into the living room from the hallway.
“Bathroom’s clear,” says the other. “Recently used though. Jesus.”
“Everyone, shh!” She walks to the door where she hears the commotion, motions for them to get in formation. She holds up her fingers. One, two, three. “FBI!”
“JESUS CHRIST!” JOSH yells. “Oh, thank God.”
Agent Pillsbury rushes to his side. “Glad you’re still with us.”
While two agents secure the bedroom, the other one pulls a switchblade from his pocket and releases Josh from the ties.
“Thank you,” Josh says, then turns to Pillsbury. “I thought you were the limo driver. West was about to send him in to kill me.”
Agent Pillsbury presses her ear to talk to her agent downstairs. “Any sign of the perp?”
Josh hears her sigh. “He has a car.”
She presses her ear again. “Check the parking garage. Now!”
“He just left,” Josh says. “He’s probably still down there.”
Agent Pillsbury lowers
