when pressed directly to the wall; the cameras were positioned to spot anyone moving towards the building, not actually against it. He drew the Beretta, stretched upwards and fired a single shot into the camera housing. Sparks showered and the camera swung lazily to one side, then dipped in the final throes of its mechanical life.
Dantalion sped along the side of the building. At the far corner, he paused, peeking around the back of the house. Glad that he'd brought the ketamine, he lifted the gas-powered gun.
The dogs were penned in a compound. It was too early for their handlers to start their patrols and the two German Shepherds were lying with their heads on their paws, staring back at the house with a patience that had to be seen as virtuous. Dantalion took aim, vectoring in the slight breeze, the loss of velocity of the dart over the intervening space. He checked the gas pressure, flicked it higher. Aimed again. He squeezed the trigger and the gun gave a soft bark. In response both dogs' ears twitched. One of them yelped, swinging up from its crouch, inspecting the tasselled object embedded in its rump. Within the next second the dog dropped to the ground, one paw scrabbling uselessly at the earth. Dantalion had charged the dart with enough ketamine to fell a buffalo, or to give a dozen crackheads the trip of a lifetime.
The second German Shepherd was confused by the conflicting stimuli. It had heard the gun discharge and duty bade it set off a racket, but it also watched its pack mate fall to the ground and moved to inspect it. Dantalion shot the second dog. The dart struck it just below its left shoulder. Angrily the dog turned on the stinging missile, trying futilely to pull the barbed dart from its flesh. It collapsed mid-snap.
Dantalion hurriedly slung the gun over his shoulder, came forwards drawing his Beretta. Beyond the dogs was a space where cars were parked. He moved among them, tempted to shoot out the tyres, but deciding not to. He would need the ammunition for something more important.
21
Bradley Jorgenson returned from Miami looking worn and harassed. Immaculately presented when I'd seen him earlier, he now looked as unkempt as if he'd spent the night on a park bench. He was pale, his reddish hair dark with perspiration and standing up at weird angles as though he'd been pushing his sweating palms through it. His trousers were rumpled and moisture dampened his shirt beneath his armpits and at his lower back. His tie was askew, and the top button of his shirt was open.
Marianne went to him like he was a hero returning from war. He held her, and they cooed to each other. It would have been sickening if it wasn't for the context. Bradley's father had been brutally murdered, after all. I couldn't deny him the measure of comfort.
'We're going to have to make some decisions,' I told him when they finally drew apart.
Jorgenson nodded in resignation. It was as though the return to Miami had brought the enormity of what had happened yesterday to the forefront of his mind. Someone had tried to kill him and Marianne. In doing that the killer had murdered four others — one of them his own father — destroyed a multi-million dollar house, and would have killed the two of them if I hadn't shown up. This killer wasn't about to stop. When he discovered that his targets had thwarted him he'd come again. Who knew what lengths he'd go to this time to achieve his aim?
'The police didn't believe I wasn't at the house on Baker Island. Witnesses saw my boat. I'm under suspicion.' Tears sprang into his eyes and he turned away. He batted at his face with his hands, scrubbed them up and through his hair. When he turned back to me, he said, 'We can't leave the house. My attorney agreed to that and I can't go against the agreement. If I run away it'll look like I'm guilty.'
'Stay here and you'll die.'
'I can't run.'
'You can,' I said. 'And you will.'
Taking Bradley by the elbow I led him to the far side of the room. Marianne made to follow until Rink interposed himself between us. While she was distracted, I pushed Bradley through the open door and into the en- suite bathroom.
'Let's get a couple of things straight,' I said. To spare Marianne, I kept my voice low. 'I don't like you, Bradley. In fact, I'm struggling hard not to put a bullet in your skull. You're scum in my estimation. Do you understand?'
His mouth fell open and the blood drained from his face, leaving mottled patterns in his flesh. He tried to step away but my fingers dug into the nerve at the back of his elbow. He squirmed against the pain, but was unable to escape.
'I don't like what you did to Marianne. Not one bit. Normally I treat men like you as the shit you are. I scrape you off the sole of my boot. But the truth is, I believe that there's someone out there who means Marianne more harm than you've already done her.'
'Marianne?'
'Shut it! Let me finish.' I leaned in, placing my mouth very close to his right ear. 'I came here with the intention of taking Marianne away from you. I'm still going to do that.'
He began to shake his head and I grabbed his arm even tighter, probing for the radial nerve. When I'd gained his compliance, I added, 'And you're going to give me your blessing.'
'What do you mean?'
'You are going to persuade Marianne to come with me. She's smitten by you, afraid to go against you. I want you to tell her it's best that she goes somewhere safe until this is over with.'
'You're not taking her back to her father?'
'I'll take her where I want, but no, I won't be taking her there.'
His shoulders relaxed a little. Was that relief in his eyes, I wondered. I said, 'The man who tried to kill you last night will come again. I can guarantee you that. It would be best if you went somewhere safe as well.'
'The estate is like a fortress,' Bradley said. 'Where would be safer than here?'
I snorted out a laugh. 'If I'd wanted to kill you I could've done it any time I pleased. The man from last night was good. He could get to you too.'
'I'll strengthen my security, bring in more men.'
'The killer could be among them for all you'd know.' Leaning close again, I whispered in his ear. 'Take my advice, Bradley. Don't strengthen your security. Strengthen your options. Take some of your most trusted men and get the hell away from here. Go somewhere you can't be found — it's the only way to stay safe.'
'Why do you care about my safety? You've just made it clear that you don't like me.'
'You're right, Bradley: I don't like you. The only reason I'm interested in keeping you alive is for Marianne's sake. Things are bad enough; I don't want to have to contend with a distraught woman grieving for her dead lover as well.'
Letting him go, I watched him work his sore arm. There was a scent coming off him that I recognised as fear. The patches under his armpits had grown.
'Where will you take Mari?'
'I can't tell you that.'
'Why not? I-'
'If the killer gets to you he could make you tell him where she is. Do you want that, Bradley?'
'No. No, of course not. I… I?…'
'Love her?' My mouth twisted into a knot around the words. 'If you do love her, you'll let her go. The most important thing in the world to you should be her safety.'
'It is.'
'Then we're in agreement?'
He nodded acquiescence.
I shoved him towards the door. 'Go and do it, Bradley. Convince her.'
He paused, looked back. 'I will. But there's something that you've got wrong, Hunter.'
'Yeah? What would that be?'
'Whatever you were told, you're wrong about me.'
'We'll see.'
He pointed a finger at me. 'Ask her. Ask Mari, and she'll tell you.'
