Matt Hilton - Slash and burn

'I thought you wanted this Ballard woman dead, boss,' Cal Burton said.

'I do, but only after I've had a long talk with her. She has evidence against me that I need to get back. If she's dead she can't hand it over.'

'You think Hunter will actually deliver her to you?' Wicker shook her head slowly. 'The way he's fighting for Kate Piers, it's unlikely he'll be the type to hand another woman over to you.'

'Ballard is a stranger. She means nothing to him. But I believe that Kate is another story altogether.'

'They're sisters, aren't they?'

Huffman looked over at Souza. It was the first time the man had shown any interest other than in matching Larry for bicep size.

Souza unfolded his arms. 'He's hardly going to hand over the sister of the woman he's protecting. Something like that isn't going to endear him to his girlfriend, is it?'

'Can I ask a question, boss?'

Huffman looked at Cal Burton. The man did that infuriating roll of his tongue, saliva cracking as a bubble popped. Cal ran a hand through his scruffy hair.

'What would you like to know?'

'If it's so important that you get Imogen Ballard alive, why'd you want us to kill the man who's best placed to bring her to you?'

'He's far too dangerous to be allowed to live. If he handed over Imogen in exchange for her sister, how long would it be before we were back to square one? He'd come after Imogen with as much determination as he's already shown.'

'You said a minute ago that he didn't know or care about Imogen,' Wicker pointed out. 'Why would he come after her?'

'Because Kate would ask him to.'

'So why let Kate live?' Molloy asked. 'Why not gut the bitch and show this Hunter what'll happen to him if he doesn't hand Imogen over? Give her to me: I'll do it for you.'

Wicker turned angry eyes on Molloy.

'You're a pig, Molloy. I'd call you a misogynist but you probably wouldn't understand what I was talking about.'

'I like women just fine,' Molloy told her. 'So long as they keep their feckin' mouths shut!'

'You know something, Molloy,' Wicker said. 'If every man was like you I would become a lesbian.'

'Shit, I thought you already were.'

'OK, that's enough!' Huffman stood up and placed the cigar between his lips. Around the cigar, he said, 'Fighting each other, you're making it easier for Hunter.'

'Get Wicker the hell out of here then,' Molloy said. Turning to Charles Grade, he added, 'And you'd be better getting shot of that old man. He's only going to slow the rest of us down.'

'I've a better idea.'

The Irishman began to turn towards Huffman's voice, just as Huffman whipped his right hand across his throat. A silver flash at the end of his fingers seemed to caress Molloy's skin. Molloy's eyes went wide, then the flesh in his throat gaped and a flood of blood was pouring down his neck. The gash widened further and Huffman had to step away to avoid the squirt of blood from a severed artery.

Molloy realised he was dying.

He grabbed at his throat with both hands. It was pointless. He stumbled to his knees. He tried to scream at those standing immobile around him, but the razor had sliced through his larynx and all that came out was a gurgle. Blood squirted again, in time with each faltering beat of his heart. He collapsed face down.

Huffman eyed each of the others in turn. 'I've had enough insolence out of that asshole. Anyone else here who thinks they can talk to me like that?'

Burton rolled his shoulders in a shrug. Wicker stared down on her tormentor with a look of smug satisfaction. Only Souza looked perturbed, but not from any love of the Irishman. Grade was actually smiling.

Grade said, 'That Hunter is one bad bastard. Poor Paddy there didn't stand a chance. I'll make sure his people know he died a hero, boss.'

'Thanks,' Huffman said with a cold smile. 'Appreciate it, Grade. Anybody else see anything differently, now's the time to say so.'

Three of them seemed pleased with the outcome. Only Souza stirred, but just to cross his arms again.

'Problem?' The razor was still a pale blur in Huffman's cupped palm.

'No, boss, of course not. Molloy was a liability,' he said. 'He would've sacrificed the rest of us to get his own way.'

'Yeah,' Larry Bolan rumbled from behind him. It was the first time Larry had entered the conversation. No one else caught the meaning in that single word, but Huffman looked across at the big man.

'Do we all think we can work together now?' Huffman asked. No one declined. 'Good. Let's get started then.'

Huffman crouched down and wiped the cut-throat razor clean on Molloy's trousers. He slipped the blade up his sleeve and into its holder before standing up. Throughout the meeting his hired hands had stood silently at the outside of the ring of killers. He indicated two of his men over. 'Take this piece of shit out of here.'

'What will you do with him, boss?' Wicker asked, watching with an unhealthy interest as the two men lifted Molloy from the floor.

'He'll go where the others went. To the slaughterhouse.'

You can disappear for a week without really trying. As long as you don't make contact with anyone, and you don't lay down a paper or electronic trail, then you can skim along below the radar. Imogen Ballard had done just that without any great effort.

For the past seven days she'd been an anonymous passenger on a cruise ship that had taken in the Caribbean Islands, visiting Puerto Rico, St Thomas and St Maarten. She had stayed on board on an all-inclusive basis, avoiding disembarkation where she would have to show her passport or where a record of her boarding card would be kept. An imprint of her credit card had been taken when she had originally boarded the cruise ship at Miami, but until it was time to leave she'd used only an on-board charge card. No record of her transactions had entered her banking system until she was back on dry land, and even then it would possibly take days before the record was updated. The original booking had been made and paid for in cash. Only someone with access – and the time – to enter all tour operator systems would have been able to uncover her whereabouts. It was something that Huffman had not thought of.

Neither had I.

I met Imogen at Dallas Fort Worth International. When she walked out of the arrivals lounge at terminal C, I immediately recognised her. She had changed her hair since the photograph on Kate's phone was taken. She'd cut it short and coloured it darker and she was tanned from sub-tropical sunshine. Sunglasses concealed her eyes. But I knew her. She was the double of Kate. Slightly shorter, slightly heavier of build, but she would have passed as Kate's twin rather than her older sibling.

'Hi, Imogen,' I said. 'I'm glad you came.'

'If what you say is true, how could I stay away?'

As was to be expected, Imogen Ballard was very nervous. She had only my word that I was her friend and this was a woman who'd been running for her life for the past week. She studied me from behind the sunglasses. 'I remember you from Jake's funeral. It's weird meeting you again after all these years.'

'I'm only sorry that it's under these circumstances.'

'Me, too.'

Taking her luggage from her, I turned towards the parking lot. I'd commandeered the Windstar from my friends, leaving Rink and Harvey to make plans back at the cabin on the lake. I just walked, trusting that Imogen would follow.

In terms of area DFW Airport is the second largest in the United States, encompassing ground between both cities from which it takes its name. We came out from the terminal and headed off to pick up the road north for Pilot Point. We didn't speak for the first few minutes. She was jumpy; I could be another ploy of Robert Huffman's to get his hands on her – which to be fair I was, in a way – and could be driving her to him right now. She was putting a lot of faith in a man her deceased brother could no longer vouch for.