Exit Strategy by Kelley Armstrong Page A

Baron—his way of proving himself.”
    “Yeah. And there’s more.”
    He turned from a secondary highway onto the interstate. I waited impatiently for him to continue, but he didn’t until he’d merged into traffic and resumed his speed.
    “Couple months ago, Baron went to see a guy. Middleman Saul and I know. Guy named Cooper. Wouldn’t give Baron anything good. Just shit work. Gotta prove yourself, he says. So Baron says fine. Takes him on the street. Says pick a target. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll prove myself.”
    My gut went cold. “Kill a random person on the street. And he did?”
    “Nah. Cooper said fuck off. Prove yourself another way.”
    I sat there for a minute, heart racing so fast I could barely breathe. “Where do we find Baron?”
    “No idea. But I can find Cooper.”
    “Then let’s do that. Where does he live?”
    “Heading there now.”

 
    TWELVE

    Music from the nearby tavern boomed into the streets. Old-time country, the sort that reminds me of howling coyotes. Ask me where I’d expect to find a middleman/ drug dealer and I’d have picked some funky new-age bar, with go-go dancers and bathroom sinks sprinkled with powder that didn’t come from a Javex can.
    Talking to Cooper wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. Yes, he knew Jack. Yes, he’d talk to Jack. But unlike Saul, Cooper couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut, which is why Jack used him for information only.
    Cooper was a businessman to the core. He’d buy and sell anything, meaning he’d happily give Jack what he wanted, only to run out and resell the information that Jack was on the trail of the Helter Skelter killer.
    Cooper had no stomach for violence—so Jack could threaten him into keeping his mouth shut but, as he said, that kind of behavior didn’t foster good contact relationships.
    When I came up with an idea for keeping Jack out of it, I expected him to balk but he’d only said, “Yeah. That’d work. Just keep in shadows. Don’t wanna have to kill him after. Bad for business.”
    So now I was waiting outside this Kentucky bar as Jack scoped it out from the inside. After ten minutes, he exited.
    “Cooper’s there,” Jack said. “Usual place. Now, we need—”
    “A suitable place for friendly conversation. I’ve scouted out two potential meeting rooms already.” I walked to the end of the alley and spokesmodel-waved my hand south. “In that direction, we have the ever popular abandoned warehouse. Spacious, yes, but you run the risk of unwanted roommates, particularly at this time of the evening.” I gestured north. “In this direction you have my personal favorite, an empty shop. Cozy, but secure.”
    “Let’s see the shop.”
    I led him down the alley to a steel door. “The shop fronts onto the street, but I’ve looked through the window and there are a few rooms back here. From the looks of the For Lease sign, it’s been vacant for a while. The only security system is a barred front window.”
    Jack examined the lock on the steel door and shook his head. “Can’t do it.” He lifted the tool pouch he’d brought from the car. “Wrong tools.”
    “That’s okay. I’m sure it opens fine from the inside. Here. Trade.”
    I handed him my purse, took his tool pouch and glanced inside.
    “Perfect.”
    I wriggled out of the tight cowboy boots, flexed my toes and looked up. Ten feet over our heads was an unbarred, unbroken window. I walked to a Dumpster a yard away and climbed onto it. With the flashlight from the pouch, I took a closer look at the wall, locating a couple of toe-and fingerholds, where the brick had broken. Flashlight off and in the pouch, pouch strap looped over my arm, and I crawled onto the wall.
    Once at the window, I grabbed the wide cement sill and hoisted myself onto it. With one hand, I unzipped the pouch. Out came the glass cutter. Out came the suction cup. Then, very carefully, out came the window.
    I slid the pane through the sill and lowered it to the