A pair of feet were propped on an ottoman, crossed, men’s black boots, denim pant legs. The owner of the feet was seated in one of the armchairs whose backs were facing Silence’s window, and the man was evidently slouching, as Silence could see nothing of him over the back of the chair.
Adriana put her hand on the corner of the sofa and faced the armchair, spoke.
Silence reached into his pocket for his listening device. And stopped.
Because the man behind the chair stood up, arresting Silence’s movement entirely.
It was Lowry.
The man who’d kidnapped Adriana’s son. The man who extorted her life savings.
The man who’d sent his thugs to burn her house down little more than an hour ago…
Silence’s hand remained in his pocket, fingers resting on the device.
The revelation blew charged blasts into the storm of his mind. Confusion swallowed him, and he felt his chaotic headspace slipping from his control, assuming a path of its own.
He’d sat with her. Right across from her. He’d not seen it. Seen what? What the hell was this? He’d handed her the card, the damn card, the solemn offer—I’m here to help. The Watchers. Falcon, his boss, had picked this assignment personally, said that it was a perfect Watchers investigation. He’d said innocent people were being hurt. This mansion… Lowry didn’t have the money for a mansion. He wasn’t a mansion type of guy, not with his scruffy face, his thug associates.
Silence was lost in incertitude.
He felt himself drifting.
A man untethered in space, arms and legs kicking, darkness consuming him.
He needed to mind map. No, he needed to meditate. That was it. He needed to—
Focus. That’s what you need to do. Focus, damn you.
He pulled the device from his pocket, grabbed the pair of earbuds that were coiled beneath it, stuck one in his ear.
From the hallway in the back, another person stepped into the room.
And a fresh wave of oblivion crashed over Silence.
No.
That couldn’t be the man it appeared to be.
Silence hadn’t turned on the device yet, and the man’s lips moved noiselessly through a toothy grin as he approached the other two.
Late thirties. A physique that was toned in a country club fitness center sort of way. A short beard with a few grays. Parted hair on a mature hairline. He walked with the weight of someone proud of his surroundings, but the lines at the corners of his eyes spoke to harder struggles than difficult college classes or losing a few grand in the stock market. This guy had a past. Although the mansion was clearly his, he looked ever so slightly out of place.
He couldn’t be who Silence thought he was. No, surely not.
Silence thrust his hand into his back pocket, pulled out the folded section of the newspaper.
Hardin to Bury Hatchet with Mayor Sizemore
The photos beneath the headline. The one on the left.
Commissioner Matthew Hardin.
It was him.
Chapter Fourteen
Lowry hated this.
He hated everything about it.
Sure, the surroundings were glorious, but they were that guy’s surroundings, the douchebag standing in front of him with that cheesy politician smile.
Hardin.
Goddamn Matthew Hardin.
Lowry never thought he and Hardin would be buddies. Of course not. Lowry pursued any fruitful means to further his ever-expanding grip on this city, this little bit of the world, and he’d seen joining up with Hardin as a way of catapulting his growth. But he also didn’t think Hardin was nearly as big of a piece of shit as he discovered him to be.
It was mostly that smile. That disingenuous smile. The guy looked at you like you were a minion, a subject. He was a city commissioner, for Christ’s sake. He acted like he was already mayor.
But there was something deeper to the smile as well. It didn’t say lawyer, which is what Hardin was. It said, I’m more dangerous than you think. That’s what Lowry really despised about the guy, this unknown quality, his X factor.
Something moved.
Lowry turned. One of the windows at the front of the house. There. In those big leaves.
The Quiet Man…
Was that a figure? A man? In the shadows?
He remembered the efficiency with which his three men had been dispatched earlier. Thaxton, yanked back into the trees. Goodman, consumed by a shadow. Poletto, a knife between the ribs, the Quiet Man’s hand clamping on his mouth, smothering his scream.
Lowry squinted. The leaves moved in the breeze outside, artificial light glistening off them. One of the bigger ones slapped noiselessly against the glass.
Paranoia. His imagination getting the best of him.
His encounter with the ghost story of the underworld had made him jumpy. How could the Quiet Man have possibly tracked Lowry clear out here to Hardin’s house? Impossible. Lowry needed to relax.
That stupid politician’s grin remained on Hardin’s lips as he stepped closer to Lowry and Adriana. “All right, what exactly is the issue?”
Adriana, frightened, looked at Lowry. She wanted him to do the talking.
Of course she did.
She was that kind of person. A weakling and a fool. The wrong kind of person to involve in this operation. Which was exactly the reason she wanted Lowry to do the talking.
Idiot woman. Hardin should have never involved her.
Lowry turned a shoulder to her pleading, moist eyes, took a step closer to Hardin.
“The hit never happened,” Lowry said. “We never torched her house.”
Hardin’s smile dipped a few millimeters. The slimeball was talented at putting on appearances, but he wasn’t perfect. A flash of cold crossed his eyes.
“Why not?” he said through the smile.
“We have a serious problem.” Lowry paused. “Someone’s caught on to us.”
Chapter Fifteen
Silence adjusted the volume dial on the device.
It was a Sony unit, a black plastic box six inches long and an inch and
