Jan Burke - Nine

“You’re, like, worried because the guards might catch the news and start freaking out. But you know what I think?”

Everett gave him a hard look. “Enlighten me.”

Morgan swallowed hard. “Just that-you’re giving them a ton of money, so they have to know something big is going down.”

“Exactly,” Everett said.

Frederick watched as Morgan turned as pink as a little schoolgirl, a little teacher’s pet who had just given the right answer. Frederick thought of making a kissy sound but was afraid Everett might not like it.

“Besides,” Morgan added, encouraged now, “it’s only a matter of time before the FBI or sheriff’s department starts offering money, too.”

“I’m not worried that they’ll outmatch my counteroffers,” Everett said. “Still, one of the guards might decide to try to milk a little more out of both sides.” His eyes narrowed. “I could replace them with members of this team, but I’m afraid the two of you have lost interest. You’re taking on projects of your own.”

Frederick felt himself break out in a sweat. “We just switched places.”

“Frederick,” Everett said. “Please. I know you, don’t I?”

Frederick nodded.

“How long have I known you?”

“Since…since we were at school. At Sedgewick.”

“Does anyone understand you better?”

Frederick shook his head.

“No, no one does. I even understand your need to rebel from time to time. As I do yours, Morgan.”

Morgan opened his mouth-probably, Frederick thought, to tell some big fucking lie. But apparently he thought better of it, because he snapped his mouth closed again.

Everett smiled at him, then turned to Frederick. “I think the biggest problem is that I haven’t given you enough to do lately. You’ve grown bored while Cameron and I pursued number five. Perhaps you believe that I don’t appreciate your skills?”

This was exactly what Frederick felt to be the problem, but he said, “You know best, Everett. I know that, but when you’re gone-”

“You grow restless.”

“Yes. I’m sorry about losing track of Meghan.”

“Cameron,” Everett said, without taking his eyes off Frederick, “what make and color is Kit Logan’s vehicle?”

“A dark green Suburban.”

Frederick looked anxiously between them.

“Yes, Frederick. And he has a young boy living with him.”

“But he’s in Colorado!”

“Obviously not anymore.”

“How did he get in touch with Meghan?”

“I suspect they’ve never been out of touch since high school.”

“He’s boffing Meghan?” Morgan asked.

Everett’s hands curled into fists as he turned to Morgan. Frederick thought Everett might have been angry before, but there was no doubt about it now. He was definitely giving Morgan the stink eye. Everett had major attitude when it came to Meghan.

“That-that eunuch hasn’t got the nerve to have sex with anyone!”

Everett drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He looked down at his hands and opened them. He seemed to regain control of his temper. He turned to Cameron and smiled. “Not anyone living, anyway.”

Cameron smiled, too. Frederick felt uneasy, seeing that smile. You never knew what might amuse Cameron.

“One of the two of them knows where Gabe is,” Everett said. “If they are together, I’m even more convinced that Kit and Meghan know where he is hidden.”

“You think Gabe is still in California?” Frederick asked.

“We lost track of him here. But even if he is elsewhere by now, we’ll have the bait that will lure him out of his hiding place.”

“Kit’s the bait?”

“Yes. Half of it, anyway. That’s why Cameron made sure he’d come here.”

“The dog,” Frederick said, understanding dawning. “He killed his stepfather because the old man kicked that dog, right?”

“Stepfather?” Everett chided. “Rumor has it that Naughton was actually his father all along.”

Frederick almost snorted. He knew exactly who had started that rumor. Who was Everett trying to kid?

“What if he’s like his old man, then?” Morgan asked. “Maybe he’ll hang Meghan upside down over a tub.”

Again Frederick saw the flash of temper cross Everett’s face. Again, Everett brought it under control. “Maybe that’s exactly what she deserves, then, for listening to him.”

Frederick knew that Everett blamed Kit Logan for Meghan’s refusal to go out with him. Frederick had all sorts of wonderful sexual fantasies about Meghan himself, most of which involved her begging for more after submitting to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to wish her hanging upside down over a bathtub with all her blood spraying out. He didn’t think Everett really meant it, either. Everett hated her, but that was because she had dissed him. Everett never gave up easily on anything. Still…

“None of that need concern us at the moment,” Everett said. “It will all play out as it should. We have a great deal to do in the meantime.” He smiled. “I have special assignments for both of you. Cameron, would you please brief Frederick while I work with Morgan?”

When he left the house an hour later, Frederick felt that same mixture of fear and excitement that came to him whenever Everett entrusted him with this sort of work. He climbed into the empty van-whose cargo from the airport now joined another former fugitive in Everett’s walk-in freezer-and looked into the rearview mirror.

“I have killed, and I will kill again,” he said to the assassin who looked back. Then he sighed. The assassin’s hair really was fucked up. He’d have to change that before he did anything else.

Cameron hung up the phone and turned back to Everett.

Everett raised a brow.

“The guard will stop the morphine immediately. By the time he gets there, most of its effects will have worn off.”

“Thank you.” He watched Cameron for a time, then said, “Are you tired?”

Cameron shook his head.

“I was thinking of inviting the twins to come over.”

Cameron smiled. “Are you sharing?”

“Of course. But do you prefer before or after?”

Cameron considered this. Everett thought that one of Cameron’s best traits was that he seldom blurted out an answer to a question.

“Before, I think,” he said at last. “It will be a long day, and I’d hate to make you wait.”

“You,” Everett said, standing up and stretching, “are always so thoughtful. Yes, before is better. We can enjoy a little sport before we load the van.”

He walked to the phone but paused before lifting the receiver. He turned back to Cameron and asked, “Did Morgan tell you how he cut his thumb?”

“Said he was slicing a loaf of that hard bread he buys at the organic food store.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No.”

“Funny, neither do I.”

The Law Offices of Blaine, Willner, and Blaine

Century City, California

Wednesday, May 21, 1:08 P.M.

“Yes, Mr. Whitfield,” the lawyer said. Mr. Blaine-at fifty-eight, the younger Mr. Blaine-tried hard for patience. “I have long thought you should have a will. I’ve been urging that from the day we settled your grandmother’s estate. But to act so hastily-”

“Look, I’ve got like a really busy day ahead of me, okay? You are making me really late. Can you write this fucking will now, or not? If not-”

“I can, of course,” Blaine said, thinking of the surcharge he was going to add to this young fool’s invoice. He had already rescheduled two other clients to see his wealthiest and most impulsive one.

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Frederick said. “My grandmother hated my dad, right?”

“I don’t know if I would say-”