Little did Mr. Heath know that the employees, upon receiving a tip, broke into song.
Penny scribbled another note, rushed to the door as she spoke. “Mr. Heath, I’ve told you, I have other business with the FBI. I made a deal with you. I won’t go back on that deal.”
The man was right across the street. She’d give him credit for one thing and that was having a spine. He threatened her, broke into her home, flooded the place and then stood on the street outside watching the action.
Sneaky SOB.
She swung the door open and passed the note to Cathy, the-woman-who-slept-with-Russ-first. She nodded, yanked her phone from her belt, and Penny closed the door.
“I know you won’t go back on that deal,” he said. “The tub was insurance. I’ve got you, Penny. I see everything.”
The slam of a car door came through the phone line. Moving again.
Get there, Russ. Please.
“This will be my last warning, Penny. Whatever you’re talking to the FBI about, stop.”
Get there, Russ. She paced the room. Stall. Figure something out. Do something.
“How am I supposed to do that? I’ve promised you I’d make this happen and I will.”
Pause. Where was he? To hell with it. She peeked out the window just as Russ darted across the street. “Hello?”
“Oh, Penny. You’ve just made a serious mistake.”
* * *
R USS BOLTED INTO TRAFFIC and nearly got mauled by a car trying to catch the amber. At least he’d ditched the damned booties and could move faster. Two men stood in front of the ice-cream shop Cathy had just told him Heath called from.
The guy in a white shirt and a blue baseball cap talked on his cell, spotted Russ and moved around the corner. The second guy, that one in jeans and a polo shirt, cut away and went the other direction.
Decision time.
From Russ’s distance and the similar builds of the men, he couldn’t decipher which was Heath. Which one to follow? Who, who, who?
Ball cap.
Heath would try to hide under it. Russ swung around the corner, blew by a woman in a stroller and nearly knocked a businessman on his tail. Still, he kept his eyes on his unsub sprinting to the opposite end of the block. Heath. Had to be. Go, go, go .
He hit the button on the radio Cathy had handed him. “Corner of North Sheridan. Blue baseball cap. Denim cargo shorts. White shirt. White shirt! North Sheridan!”
Heath bolted into the street, running diagonally. A car slammed its brakes and got nailed by the car behind. Oofff! A woman rushed from a store to see the action— move —and Russ skidded around her, bumping a parked car as he spun away from the woman and lost precious time. Damn it. He shot across the street. Ball cap. Where is it? There. Turning east.
At a dead run, he hit the corner, and a mob of people getting off the bus blocked his view. Out of the way. Come on. Come on. He shoved around them, his gaze sweeping the area, checking building alcoves and store entrances. Nothing.
A whooshing sound came from the bus as it pulled away and—ah, dang it—Russ ran next to the bus, scouring the windows. No blue ball cap.
He spun away from the bus, scanned the area where a cab pulled away from the curb. The back of a guy’s head. Brown hair. No ball cap.
Russ glanced in the other direction. Nada. He propped his still-gloved hands on his hips and tapped his fingers. Where’d you go?
The cab was now halfway down the block and his pulse slammed, his breaths coming in short bursts that he knew better to control. He watched the cab shoot down the street and make a right. Did the guy in the cab have a white shirt on?
Damn it .
He checked the curb. Nothing. Garbage can. Right beside him. He peered inside. Blue ball cap.
Every swearword he knew streamed from his lips. Finally, he bit down until his jaw ached. Get a grip here . A pedestrian stepped up to use the trash can. Russ flipped his badge up and waved the woman off before hooking his gloved finger through the back strap on the cap and fishing it out of
Penny scribbled another note, rushed to the door as she spoke. “Mr. Heath, I’ve told you, I have other business with the FBI. I made a deal with you. I won’t go back on that deal.”
The man was right across the street. She’d give him credit for one thing and that was having a spine. He threatened her, broke into her home, flooded the place and then stood on the street outside watching the action.
Sneaky SOB.
She swung the door open and passed the note to Cathy, the-woman-who-slept-with-Russ-first. She nodded, yanked her phone from her belt, and Penny closed the door.
“I know you won’t go back on that deal,” he said. “The tub was insurance. I’ve got you, Penny. I see everything.”
The slam of a car door came through the phone line. Moving again.
Get there, Russ. Please.
“This will be my last warning, Penny. Whatever you’re talking to the FBI about, stop.”
Get there, Russ. She paced the room. Stall. Figure something out. Do something.
“How am I supposed to do that? I’ve promised you I’d make this happen and I will.”
Pause. Where was he? To hell with it. She peeked out the window just as Russ darted across the street. “Hello?”
“Oh, Penny. You’ve just made a serious mistake.”
* * *
R USS BOLTED INTO TRAFFIC and nearly got mauled by a car trying to catch the amber. At least he’d ditched the damned booties and could move faster. Two men stood in front of the ice-cream shop Cathy had just told him Heath called from.
The guy in a white shirt and a blue baseball cap talked on his cell, spotted Russ and moved around the corner. The second guy, that one in jeans and a polo shirt, cut away and went the other direction.
Decision time.
From Russ’s distance and the similar builds of the men, he couldn’t decipher which was Heath. Which one to follow? Who, who, who?
Ball cap.
Heath would try to hide under it. Russ swung around the corner, blew by a woman in a stroller and nearly knocked a businessman on his tail. Still, he kept his eyes on his unsub sprinting to the opposite end of the block. Heath. Had to be. Go, go, go .
He hit the button on the radio Cathy had handed him. “Corner of North Sheridan. Blue baseball cap. Denim cargo shorts. White shirt. White shirt! North Sheridan!”
Heath bolted into the street, running diagonally. A car slammed its brakes and got nailed by the car behind. Oofff! A woman rushed from a store to see the action— move —and Russ skidded around her, bumping a parked car as he spun away from the woman and lost precious time. Damn it. He shot across the street. Ball cap. Where is it? There. Turning east.
At a dead run, he hit the corner, and a mob of people getting off the bus blocked his view. Out of the way. Come on. Come on. He shoved around them, his gaze sweeping the area, checking building alcoves and store entrances. Nothing.
A whooshing sound came from the bus as it pulled away and—ah, dang it—Russ ran next to the bus, scouring the windows. No blue ball cap.
He spun away from the bus, scanned the area where a cab pulled away from the curb. The back of a guy’s head. Brown hair. No ball cap.
Russ glanced in the other direction. Nada. He propped his still-gloved hands on his hips and tapped his fingers. Where’d you go?
The cab was now halfway down the block and his pulse slammed, his breaths coming in short bursts that he knew better to control. He watched the cab shoot down the street and make a right. Did the guy in the cab have a white shirt on?
Damn it .
He checked the curb. Nothing. Garbage can. Right beside him. He peered inside. Blue ball cap.
Every swearword he knew streamed from his lips. Finally, he bit down until his jaw ached. Get a grip here . A pedestrian stepped up to use the trash can. Russ flipped his badge up and waved the woman off before hooking his gloved finger through the back strap on the cap and fishing it out of
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