Jeff Buick - Lethal Dose

She walked over to the mirror and adjusted it so none of her natural hair showed. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.

“Not sure. We’ll see if you look different enough with the wig and sunglasses for us to go out in public. A lot of people around Richmond will have seen your picture. If no one recognizes you, we can have dinner before we head for White Oak.”

“You’re sure you’re up to checking out the technology park?” she asked. “It could get dangerous.”

He came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, breathing lightly on the back of her neck. Her body relaxed into his and they were quiet for a minute. “You know, ever since we met, just being near you has been dangerous,” he said.

“I think it may be the other way around,” she said.

“Well, whichever way it is, I’m sure tonight will be no different.”

“She’s in Richmond, at the Fairfield Inn, just off I-64,” the man said. “We had two sightings and a confirmation. It’s definitely her. I just flew in from Washington and I’m on my way over there right now. That guy from Montana, Gordon Buchanan, is with her.”

Bruce Andrews couldn’t help the urge to smile. “Be careful,” he said. “You’re a public figure right now. We don’t need any more press on this.”

“I’ve got two guys with me, Johnny and Ivan. I’ll stay in the backseat, out of sight.”

“Let me know when you’re finished.”

“No problem.” The man snapped the cell phone shut and replaced it in the leather holder on his hip. He glanced at his watch. Four-fifteen. Traffic was just beginning to pick up for the afternoon rush hour. The sun was intense today and the sidewalks in Shockoe Bottom were crowded, a few pedestrians taking their time crossing the road against the DON’T WALK sign. He wanted to jump from the car and kick their asses out of the crosswalk. Picking up Ivan had meant a trip through the crowded streets close to Main Street Station and Shockoe Slip, but he felt the extra time was worth it. He only had two men in Richmond he trusted, and right now he couldn’t be seen abducting Jennifer Pearce from a local hotel. Especially since the police were looking for her, or her body. Way too many questions if he was seen. Even just being in Richmond was risky.

The driver, Johnny Altwater, finally broke free of the traffic snarls and entered the on-ramp for I-64. Rush hour had yet to jam the freeway, and although traffic was heavy it was moving at the speed limit. They took the closest off-ramp to the Fairfield Inn and slowed to the posted speed. The Fairfield Inn grew in size as they approached it, and Altwater glided the car into the parking lot with the slow, sure motions of a skillful driver. He pulled up just short of the front door. He and Ivan checked the pictures of Jennifer and Gordon, took the safeties off their pistols, and double-checked the room number.

“Don’t kill them here unless you absolutely have to,” the man in the backseat said. “Just get them back to the car and we’ll take them to where we’re going to dump them.”

Ivan nodded. “Radio check,” he said into his mouthpiece as he turned from the car toward the hotel.

“You’re live,” the man responded. He watched the two men disappear into the hotel. Putting his own network in place had taken a great deal of time and money, but now it was paying off. He had men he could trust in numerous cities, Richmond included. Most of them affiliated themselves with his little operation more for the thrill of being able to operate outside the usual laws than for the money. But when they did get paid, they got paid well. And that didn’t hurt.

Killing innocent people was a tough sell sometimes and he had to outright lie to his men, spinning yarns about how the person or people they were tracking were clandestine terrorists or something other than simply a threat to his other concerns. He didn’t mind the lies, but they were dangerous. The men he was lying to all carried guns. And they were all trained to use them. Well, no one got rich in this business without crossing the boundaries and taking some risks.

He watched a couple exit the front doors and walk to a parked SUV The man strongly resembled Gordon Buchanan, but the woman was blond. She was about the right height and body structure but the hair was all wrong. He concentrated on her face, the lines of her cheekbones, her forehead, and her lips and chin. He mentally stripped away the hair and the picture fell into place. He touched his two-way and spoke quietly.

“Johnny, Ivan, get down here. They’re outside the front doors.”

He watched as the Jeep backed up and pulled up to the curb at the street. A steady stream of vehicles was passing by and Buchanan had to wait until it was safe to make a left turn. Just as the traffic cleared, the two men came running out the front door of the hotel. They were in the car and into traffic in seconds, Pearce and Buchanan’s SUV within sight. They settled in a few cars back. When the time was right, Jennifer Pearce and Gordon Buchanan would disappear.

But this time it would be for good.

“Where do you want to eat?” Gordon asked as he cut through Court End, a collection of older estate homes on massive lots, and headed for the city center.

“I don’t care,” she said.“Why are we heading into an area with lots of people? Shouldn’t we go somewhere less crowded?”

“I remember reading once that if you want to blend in, the best place to do it is in a crowd. It’s when you’re someplace with hardly anyone around that other people will really look at you. They notice things that they wouldn’t if you were just another face in the crowd.”

“Okay, Monsieur Poirot. Whatever you say.”

“There were a bunch of decent restaurants on Cary Street. Want to check it out?”

“Sure,” she said, adjusting her wig slightly. She lowered the sun visor and opened the mirror. “I think I like being blond. I’m going to dye my hair when things get back to normal.”

“That’ll be nice,” Gordon said. “Platinum blondes always look so classy with an inch or two of dark roots.”

He angled off Canal Street at the Richmond Ballet and headed south under the Expressway until he reached Byrd Street. The traffic was lighter here and they made decent time, passing the old Tredegar Iron Works, the supplier of many Confederate cannons during the war. At Meadow Street, Gordon turned north again and popped out on Cary Street, just at the start of the strip of trendy shops and restaurants.

“I’m impressed,” Jennifer said. “You didn’t tell me you know how to get around Richmond.”

“I’m learning. That cabbie I had before I met you for dinner at Amici was great. Getting around Richmond isn’t too bad, but the traffic sure is.”

“That’s the same everywhere,” she said as he pulled the SUV up in front of Limani Mediterranean Grill. “This looks nice,” she said of the restaurant. A menu was posted on a wooden pulpit. She strained to see it. “They’ve got lots of different kinds of fish-arctic char, swordfish, red snapper. Some Greek food if you don’t want fish. Want to try it?”

“Sure,” Gordon said, slipping off his seat belt. He stopped halfway through the motion, his eyes glued to the side mirror. After a few seconds, he said, “Put your seat belt back on, Jennifer.” The tone of his voice was deadly serious, and she snapped the buckle back into place. He waited for about thirty seconds, then pulled out again into traffic again. He slid in behind a dark blue Crown Victoria and set his pace to match the preceding car. The back window was tinted, but with the sun ahead of them in the west, they could see the outline of three people inside the vehicle. For no apparent reason, the car slowed in the middle of a block and Gordon matched the speed and stayed planted behind it.