John Sandford - Silken Prey

“So . . .”

“I’m gonna take Ron out tonight. I’ll work out some kind of excuse to get him down to his vehicle, and I’ll hit him—”

“The car will be full of blood—”

“No-no. I can do this. There won’t be a speck of blood. We’ve already got the perfect graveyard. I’ll get my pal to carry his passport across the border into Iraq . . . and we’re good. Good forever.”

• • •

A PHONE RANG; for a freaking split second, Lauren thought it was hers and she slid her hand down her leg to the side pocket, but then heard Taryn say, “Wait . . .” and then, as the phone continued to ring, Taryn said, “Damn it, where is it? Okay.”

She’d been rummaging through her purse, Lauren thought. Then Taryn answered the phone and said, “We’re in the back . . . probably pretty soon. Yeah, I’ve stopped, don’t worry about it. Okay, we’re coming out.”

Lauren heard what sounded like a woman dropping a purse on a tabletop, and the door swung open.

Taryn’s voice: “Do it. Do it.”

Then they were gone, still talking, their voices diminishing as they went down the hall. Lauren started breathing again, slipped out from under the bed. The room was no longer entirely dark. She could be seen by the monitors if she stood up. She crawled across the carpet, pulling the pack, to the bathroom, which wasn’t covered by the cameras. At the bathroom, she slipped inside, and as she was closing the door, saw Taryn’s purse on the dresser on the opposite wall.

Thought about it, then went to the window, looked and listened, and satisfied that the guard wasn’t right there, dropped the pack into the arborvitae. Then she went back to the bathroom door, got down on her knees, and then on her stomach, and slipped across the floor, staying close to the wall where the camera wouldn’t see her. It would see her if she stood up at the dresser.

She stayed on the floor to the outer door, reached out and slowly, slowly closed the door. As soon as it was dark, she stood, went straight to the purse, dipped inside, found Taryn’s iPhone, then hurried back across to the bathroom. She peered out the window, then pulled back: the guard was right there, on the lawn, still looking away from the house, toward the trees.

He went on by, slowly, and as soon as he was out of sight, she dropped the tarp across the cut edges of glass, pushed through the window, dropped behind the bush, on top of her pack. She stuffed the tarp into it, took the starlights out and put them on. She wouldn’t wait now: she called Kidd, said, “Running,” and took off, zigzagging between trees, into the tree line, then through the trees toward the street.

At the tree line, she knelt, pulled off her starlights, and stuffed them in her pack, and then the darkened car rolled up. She was inside then, and Kidd did a U-turn and asked, his voice tight, “How’d it go?”

“Pretty routine,” she said. “Hey, slow down. I’ve got to text a guy.”

“What?”

“Give me Lucas’s cell phone number.”

• • •

LUCAS WAS IN HIS LEXUS, alone, waiting for Carver to move again, when his phone burped at him.

Thinking Weather or Letty, he pulled it out and found a message from an unknown number:

Dannon will kill Carver tonight at the hotel and bury him in the perfect graveyard. Best wishes, Taryn.

Lucas said, “What?”

CHAPTER 25

Lucas sat for a minute looking at the message, didn’t understand how it could possibly be right, then called the BCA duty officer on his own phone and asked him to do a look-up on the number: he came back a minute later and said, “Billed to Taryn Grant.”

Lucas said, “Sonofabitch,” to nobody. He couldn’t think what he had to lose, so he redialed the number, and was instantly switched to an answering service, which meant that the phone had been turned off. He said, “Davenport . . . you sent me a message. Call me back.”

He waited four or five minutes, then his phone burped: Del.

“Grant and Dannon and the campaign manager just came out of the house, and it looks like they’re putting a caravan together,” Del said. “I guess they’re headed downtown. I’ve been monitoring Channel Three, and they are leaning pretty hard on her winning. They haven’t called it yet, but they will before midnight.”

“Last time I saw, it was pretty close,” Lucas said.

“Yeah, but the suburbs are in, and the Iron Range isn’t—she’ll be two-to-one, up there.”

“Okay. Listen—are you sure Dannon is with the convoy?”

“Pretty sure. I saw him getting in the truck, he’s driving. That Green chick is in the second truck, and there are a couple more . . .”

“Okay. I’m gonna want you to buzz Grant’s truck once it gets on I-94. I need to confirm that Dannon’s in the truck. When you’re sure, get your ass down here as fast as you can.”

“I can do that.”

Lucas rang off, waited for another call from Grant. Nobody called, until Del came back again and said, “I ran their convoy. Dannon’s driving.”

“Get down here. I’m outside the Radisson parking garage. Drop your car, and hook up with me.”

• • •

DEL ARRIVED TWENTY MINUTES later, walking up the street in a gray hoodie, hands in the front pocket, looking a little like a monk. Lucas popped the lock on the passenger side, and Del climbed inside. “You sounded stressed,” he said.

Lucas called up the message from Grant and passed the phone over to him. Del read it and said, “This don’t compute.”

“I had Dave look up the number. It’s hers.”

“Did you . . .”

“I called her back,” Lucas said. “She’d turned off the phone.”

“This is messed up. This isn’t right,” Del said. “I mean, even if it’s true . . . she wouldn’t send this message.”

“That’s what I can’t figure out,” Lucas said.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Get past the first flush of the party . . . have Sarah and Jane keep an eye on Dannon and Carver . . . and maybe when things have settled down a little, I’ll go in and get Taryn alone and brace her.”

“You’ve been friendly with Green. Is there any possibility . . . ?”

Lucas groaned: “I should have thought of that. Maybe they’re all using phones paid for by Grant.”

“But why did she sign it ‘Taryn’ instead of leaving it alone?”

“Dunno.” Lucas took his cell back and messaged Green: “Did you send me a note about C&D a few minutes ago?”

Del said, “She’s driving, it might take a while for her to get back.”

“She’s a woman, it won’t take—” Lucas’s phone chirped, and he looked at the message screen. It said, “No,” and the incoming phone number was wrong.

He texted back, “Are all your phones billed to Grant?”

Another ten seconds. “No.”

“Any new info on C&D?”

“No.”

Del said, “Something’s happening, and we don’t know what it is.”

They thought about it, and then Del said, “You gotta make a call, here. Do we take it in and show it to Carver?”

“There’s no way he’d believe it: he’d figure we’re trying to ramp up the pressure,” Lucas said. “It’d completely blow the fact that we’re watching them full-time.”

“But if he gets killed . . .”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not worried about him, man, I’m worried about you ,” Del said. “If it got out that you got this message, and then didn’t do anything about it . . .”

Lucas thought about that, then got on the radio to Bradley and Stack. He had to wait until the women got out of sight, where they could use their handsets. When they were both up, he said, “We’ve got a problem, and I can’t really explain it. But: we need to be all over Carver and Dannon. I need to come and talk with Taryn as soon as possible.”