hadn’t done her sleep any good, either. When he had finally gotten back to sleep, Alex had carried him to his own bed. By then, it must have been two thirty or three A.M.
Yeah, he’d sleep until nine or ten. Toni wished she could stay in bed a couple more hours herself. They never told you that when you had a baby, you’d be in sleep-deficit for the next two or three years…
“Okay, I’m gone. Are you going to need a ride home?”
“No, ma’am. My mom is picking me up. I’ve got shooting club practice tonight. My pop got me a new pistol, and I get to try it out this evening.”
“Great. Okay. I’ll be back around one. Anything you need…”
“Yes, ma’am. I expect I can still operate the phone.” He grinned.
She returned the smile as she headed for the door. He was really a sweet kid. John and Nadine Howard had done a good job. She’d be sure to tell them that the next time she saw either of them.
She was in the car and rolling two minutes later, her mind already on the day’s work. The FBI had been pleased enough with the information she and Jay had developed on Marcus Boudreaux, and while they hadn’t apprehended him yet, they were working on it.
They hadn’t mentioned anything about Ames yet. All they had so far was the coincidence of his name showing up at a shooting club where Marcus Boudreaux was a member, and the word of a computer hacker. For just about anyone else, that would have been enough. But not for Mitchell Ames. Not for a high-level, almost celebrity-status attorney. And certainly not for a high-level, celebrity attorney who was currently suing Net Force.
No, they had to have everything nailed down perfectly before they even breathed a word about Ames.
In the meantime, Jay was digging into Ames’s personal life like a rabid steam shovel, looking for any hint of a connection with Boudreaux.
On a more personal front, Guru would be home tomorrow, she’d said. Her great-grandson was out of the woods, well enough so they had sent him home from the hospital. It was a hot, but not-too-smoggy sunny day.
Things were going along pretty well at the moment, she had to admit. But she couldn’t wait to get in to work.
Michaels leaned back in his chair and nodded at John Howard. “So that’s the situation, General.”
Howard nodded. “You really think Ames is involved in this?”
“I’m sure of it.”
Howard chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be something, Commander? Busting the guy suing you?”
Alex grinned. “I would think it would go a long way to making his case look bad to a jury. A lawyer with his own hit man?”
“I thought they all had hit men,” Howard said.
Michaels laughed.
“Well, I suppose there won’t be anything for me to do, once we’re ready to go with this,” Howard said. “I’d guess the New York police would frown on a Net Force team storming a Park penthouse.”
“Probably,” Michaels agreed.
Howard left, and Michaels took another moment to relish the idea of sending a crooked lawyer to jail. Even if it turned out he wasn’t guilty, it was a nice fantasy for a summer morning…
36
Just after noon, Junior cruised past the house to get a good look at it.
He took deep breath. This was too hurried-up to suit him, but sometimes you had to make do. Might as well get to it.
He called Ames on the throwaway.
“Yes?”
“I’m starting that job now,” he said.
“Right now?” Ames’s voice was a bit crackly on the throwaway.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Call me when you get things squared away.”
Junior hung up. He circled the block, then parked the rental car a couple houses down, got out, taking his time.
A cowboy suit would stand out too much in this neighborhood, so he wore a baseball cap, sunglasses, his fishing vest over a T-shirt, and shorts. Just another average Joe.
Well, okay, another average Joe with two guns hidden under his vest.
He walked to the place, looked around, still in no hurry.
He didn’t see any neighbors watching him. He tried the front door, but it was locked. He circled around, found a gate in a fence to the backyard, also locked, and climbed it. No dog started barking, which was good.
He went to the back and saw a sliding glass door into a kitchen. It was closed, and the sound of a big AC rumbling on a concrete pad around the corner meant the windows would be closed, too, but unless they had a broomstick in the track or a backup lock, opening a sliding door like this was easy enough.
Junior carried a titanium “business card” in his wallet for just such occasions. The card was thin, flexible, tough, and it would take maybe fifteen seconds to jimmy the latch.
It took half that.
Michaels was on his way back from lunch when his virgil chirped. He pulled the unit from his belt. No caller ID, but only a handful of people had this number. He thumbed the connect button.
There was no visual.
“Yes?”
“Alex Michaels?” said a breathy female voice.
“Yes, who is calling, please?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is, there’s a man breaking into your house right now who means to kill your son.”
The caller discommed.
Michaels felt a blast of cold fear slap him. Alex was home with Tyrone, Toni was still at lunch!
He pushed the call button and said, “D.C. Police, emergency!”
Junior smiled as he slid the back door open. He thought he caught a hint of movement, just a glimpse, but it was gone before he could get a real look. Did he really see somebody?
He shook his head. He would have sworn he’d seen a black kid, skinny, a teenager. He shook his head. Could he have the wrong house? The address checked out, but far as he knew, Alex and his family were all white.
He waited, holding his breath. Nothing.
Must be his imagination.
He slid the door closed carefully behind him and stood there for a few seconds, listening. He heard the hum of the refrigerator, the more distant drone of the air conditioner. Nothing else.
Junior pulled his right-hand revolver. It wouldn’t do to get bashed by the wife or a baby-sitter swinging a frying pan. And since the guy whose kid he was after was a fed, he might have a gun at home. If Junior saw somebody pointing a gun in his direction, he’d cook ’em, no question.
He eased his way through the kitchen to the hallway, peeped around the corner, and pulled his head back real fast.
Nothing.
