guards took turns at each station to avoid boredom and that sooner or later his blond guard would appear on one of the search crews. Not that it mattered. Even if his guard stayed on the far side of the building, Wallace had chosen this spot because it offered a clear view of the staff parking lot. That meant he should easily spot him heading home at the end of his shift.
Wallace watched the guards working for awhile before grabbing a sandwich and energy drink from the grocery bag. The sandwich disappeared so fast, he became worried he hadn’t taken the time to remove all of the packaging and had simply inhaled the Styrofoam liner along with whatever the processed meat was supposed to be. He contemplated eating a granola bar, too, but a sudden sharp pang of guilt stopped him.
He thought about his sons and wondered if they were being fed. At home, they were constantly eating and yet still complaining about being hungry, and they weren’t even teenagers yet. Alicia kept saying they would soon have to start going to all-you-can-eat buffets each evening to let the boys graze before they ate them out of house and home.
Wallace didn’t know where they put it all. Both boys were lean like . . . well, Wallace patted his stomach, like their father used to be.
When he complained to Crow about the pounds he had put on in the time he was off work, Crow had laughed and told him the extra weight suited him.
Wallace questioned what he meant by that and Crow said, “You’re settling down, becoming comfortable in your own skin. Even when you were bitching about the physiotherapy you had to do on your leg, your outlook was changing. Day by day, I watched you become happier than I’ve ever seen you. Frankly, I was a little jealous.”
Wallace stared straight ahead, lost in thought as though a movie was being projected on the flapping canvas. He wiped a stray tear from his eye.
He had been happy. At the time of the crash, he had been sure he was going to die, but to survive that only to have something even more terrible brought down on his family. It just didn’t make sense.
Why would someone take his family? There’d been no ransom or demands of any kind. In fact, it was the opposite. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get him completely out of the picture.
“And why not just kill me?” Wallace whispered aloud. “If the bastards want nothing from me, why didn’t they kill me?”
There was only one person who knew that answer.
Wallace drained his energy drink, feeling the caffeine and sugar buzz filter through his brain, and returned his attention to the binoculars.
He focused on the busy guards and devastated bystanders whose vehicles had drawn the short straw. He knew the blond guard would relish being part of the wrecking crew, to wield the immense power of the Patriot Act like a sledgehammer wrapped in the Stars and Stripes. He scanned each guard’s face, desperately trying to find him.
And then he did.
Blond. Smug. Muscles bulging as he wrestled the middle seat out of a minivan while a young olive-skinned couple and their three children looked on in terror and confusion.
“If this fucker doesn’t talk,” Wallace told himself. “I hate to think what I’m going to do.”
He heard another voice from deep within his brain say. “Don’t worry. He’ll talk.”
And before he could question it, the voice told him why.
“Because you’re not a nice man,” it said. “Not anymore.”
CHAPTER 26
JoeJoe threw open his door and rushed out of the truck. His lean frame was electrified with anger and his hands automatically curled into tight fists.
He wished he had thought to pack a gun. Make the fuckin’ idiot really crap his pants.
The jerk had almost killed them and now he was —
Grinning?
JoeJoe’s step faltered under the intensity of the man’s unapologetic stare — coffee-brown orbs within an elliptical pool of startling white.
He moved with alarming speed and purpose, every muscle seeming
Wallace watched the guards working for awhile before grabbing a sandwich and energy drink from the grocery bag. The sandwich disappeared so fast, he became worried he hadn’t taken the time to remove all of the packaging and had simply inhaled the Styrofoam liner along with whatever the processed meat was supposed to be. He contemplated eating a granola bar, too, but a sudden sharp pang of guilt stopped him.
He thought about his sons and wondered if they were being fed. At home, they were constantly eating and yet still complaining about being hungry, and they weren’t even teenagers yet. Alicia kept saying they would soon have to start going to all-you-can-eat buffets each evening to let the boys graze before they ate them out of house and home.
Wallace didn’t know where they put it all. Both boys were lean like . . . well, Wallace patted his stomach, like their father used to be.
When he complained to Crow about the pounds he had put on in the time he was off work, Crow had laughed and told him the extra weight suited him.
Wallace questioned what he meant by that and Crow said, “You’re settling down, becoming comfortable in your own skin. Even when you were bitching about the physiotherapy you had to do on your leg, your outlook was changing. Day by day, I watched you become happier than I’ve ever seen you. Frankly, I was a little jealous.”
Wallace stared straight ahead, lost in thought as though a movie was being projected on the flapping canvas. He wiped a stray tear from his eye.
He had been happy. At the time of the crash, he had been sure he was going to die, but to survive that only to have something even more terrible brought down on his family. It just didn’t make sense.
Why would someone take his family? There’d been no ransom or demands of any kind. In fact, it was the opposite. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get him completely out of the picture.
“And why not just kill me?” Wallace whispered aloud. “If the bastards want nothing from me, why didn’t they kill me?”
There was only one person who knew that answer.
Wallace drained his energy drink, feeling the caffeine and sugar buzz filter through his brain, and returned his attention to the binoculars.
He focused on the busy guards and devastated bystanders whose vehicles had drawn the short straw. He knew the blond guard would relish being part of the wrecking crew, to wield the immense power of the Patriot Act like a sledgehammer wrapped in the Stars and Stripes. He scanned each guard’s face, desperately trying to find him.
And then he did.
Blond. Smug. Muscles bulging as he wrestled the middle seat out of a minivan while a young olive-skinned couple and their three children looked on in terror and confusion.
“If this fucker doesn’t talk,” Wallace told himself. “I hate to think what I’m going to do.”
He heard another voice from deep within his brain say. “Don’t worry. He’ll talk.”
And before he could question it, the voice told him why.
“Because you’re not a nice man,” it said. “Not anymore.”
CHAPTER 26
JoeJoe threw open his door and rushed out of the truck. His lean frame was electrified with anger and his hands automatically curled into tight fists.
He wished he had thought to pack a gun. Make the fuckin’ idiot really crap his pants.
The jerk had almost killed them and now he was —
Grinning?
JoeJoe’s step faltered under the intensity of the man’s unapologetic stare — coffee-brown orbs within an elliptical pool of startling white.
He moved with alarming speed and purpose, every muscle seeming
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