Stuart Woods - Reckless Abandon

“There is that,” Stone said. “They might get luckier next time.”

“The Times idea is looking pretty good right now.”

“Think about it,” Stone said. “Suppose you convince the Times , and they run a big story. Then you’ll have a media horde camped on your doorstep-rather, my doorstep-clamoring for interviews. America’s Most Wanted will be after you, as will every supermarket tabloid in the country. You think that will help?”

“I don’t know,” Holly said. “I’m so tired. I feel like I’m still in Santa Fe, with altitude sickness.”

“So am I,” Stone admitted. “Why don’t we think about this tomorrow?”

“Just like Scarlett O’Hara,” Holly said, downing her drink. “Let’s get out of here.”

Stone and Holly were sound asleep in his bed when there was a loud noise in the bedroom. Stone sat up. “What was that?”

A very bright light blinded him. “That was the sound of your body hitting the floor,” a man’s voice said.

“What’s going on?” Holly asked, sitting up and clutching the sheet to her breast.

“Now your little quest is at an end,” the voice said.

“It’s Trini,” Holly said to Stone.

“Swell.”

There was the sound of a semiautomatic pistol having its action worked.

“Could I just point out something?” Stone asked.

“Be quick. I want to kill you, then go to bed.”

“You haven’t committed a crime since you’ve been in the Witness Protection Program-at least not one they can hang on you.”

“They can’t hang this one on me, either,” the voice said.

“Oh, yes they can. The New York City Police Department knows about you, knows where you live. You kill us, and your federal protection will evaporate like the morning mist. You’ll be a fugitive from the Feds as well as the Florida authorities. Your picture will be all over television, all over those most-wanted shows, and there’ll be a big reward out for you. You’ll never have another day’s peace for the rest of your life.”

There was a long silence, then the voice spoke again. “This is your last warning. Next time, you both die, and you know I can do it.” Suddenly, the light went out, and footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

“Now’s my chance,” Holly said. “If I can kill him before he leaves the house, it’ll be a good shooting.”

Stone grabbed her wrist. “Hang on. You don’t know if he has somebody with him. They could be guarding the stairs until he’s out of the house, and you’re not going to have any night vision for a few minutes after having that light in your eyes. Let it go.”

Holly sat down on the bed. “You’re a pretty good lawyer,” she said. “You talked him out of killing us.”

“Next time, he’ll have an alibi, and he’ll kill us.”

“Next time, set the burglar alarm, will you?”

“Yeah, I did forget that.”

“You’re forgiven, since I’m still alive, but if you forget again, I’ll never forgive you.”

Stone got up and went to his safe.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting the Walther out of the safe. He could change his mind.”

“You think you could set the alarm now?”

And he did.

STONE WAS SCRAMBLING eggs when Holly came downstairs, wrapping a robe around her naked body.

“Good morning,” he said.

“No, it isn’t. That son of a bitch would have killed us last night if you hadn’t talked him out of it.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll do the alarm every night.”

Holly picked up a phone and dialed a number.

“Who are you calling?”

“A certain cell phone.” She waited, tapping her foot. “Grant? Listen to me: Your star witness got out of his cage last night, came into my bedroom with a gun, and threatened to kill me. I’m filing a formal complaint with the NYPD about this… What?” She put her hand over the phone and turned to Stone. “Turn on the TV.”

Stone switched it on. “What are we looking for?”

“Try CNN.”

He switched to CNN. A reporter was standing in front of Trini’s apartment building on East Eighty-eighth Street. “So one FBI agent is dead and another wounded, apparently by a man being held as a material witness. We don’t have a photograph yet, but his name is Trini Rodriguez, also known as Robert Marshall. He is in his mid-thirties, six feet two inches tall, one hundred and eighty pounds, and of Latin and Italian extraction. We expect to have a photograph of him later this morning.”

“So,” Holly said into the phone, “you got one of your people killed and another hurt?… Of course you did it! You’re responsible!” She held the phone away from her. “He hung up.”

“So, Trini is on the streets?” Stone asked.

“Since early this morning,” Holly said. “Grant couldn’t tell me anything more than CNN did.”

“You and I go armed everywhere,” Stone said.

“Too right. Where do we start looking for him?”

“Let me call Dino.” Stone dialed Dino’s cell phone number. “I hear our boy is off his leash,” he said.

“And in a big way,” Dino replied. “We’re taking a backseat to the Feds on this, since killing an FBI agent is a federal crime.”

“So you’re not actively looking for him?”

“Oh, sure. We’ve sent a photograph to all precincts and issued an APB.”

“You have any clues to his whereabouts?”

“If I did, he’d be in a cell right now.”

“Will you keep me posted?”

“Sure, that’s my only job, isn’t it?”

“Thanks, Dino.” He hung up. “The NYPD is on it, but the Feds are taking the lead. He’ll turn up.”

“You don’t understand,” Holly said. “ I want to turn him up. I want to find him before they do.”

“And how do you expect to do that?”

“Call your Mafia friend again. Ask him what he knows.”

“I’ll call him, but he won’t know anything. He can put the word out, and if anybody is sheltering him, he might call me.”

“Then we’ll know something the NYPD and the Feds won’t.”

“If we’re lucky.”

“It’s about time we got lucky.”

Stone couldn’t disagree with that.

“Let’s go to Little Italy,” she said.

“After breakfast and a shower.”

Hungry and unshowered, Stone drove slowly up and down the narrow streets of Little Italy. He stopped the car in front of a deli. “Go in and get us a roll and coffee.”

“Keep driving,” she replied.

“This car isn’t moving until I’ve had breakfast.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, getting out and slamming the door. She came back shortly with a paper bag and two cups of coffee.

Stone dug in. “This is when it happens,” he said, looking around the street.

“When what happens?”

“When we see him. When I’m right in the middle of eating. Remember last time? I never got lunch.”

“Oh, stop your bitching,” she said, sipping her coffee. “We’ve got a real chance of catching this guy now.”

“I don’t think you want to catch him.”

“ What ?”

“You just want to go on hunting him. You enjoy it.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve already admitted that you’re bored stiff in your job. You just want to get out of that little town in Florida and see some of the world, and Trini Rodriguez is your ticket.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, but less heatedly.

“If we catch the guy it’s going to be a real downer for you, assuming you survive the experience, which, if the events of last night are any indication, you may not.”

“Oh, I’m going to survive. Don’t you worry about that. Trini’s chances are not so hot, though.”