it took to one day run the CBI or CIA or whatever she so desired.
“Won’t slow him down much, but at least it’ll let him know that we’re engaged. These types tend to get trigger-happy if they think the other side is slacking off.”
She filled up the sink, dropped the devices into the water, and peeled off the surgical gloves. “Under normal circumstances I’d take these in, but if I’m right, the FBI has jurisdiction. They would scream bloody murder. First thing in the morning, I’ll call my office, explain the situation, and then let Milton’s office know of my involvement. Not that they will care—I guarantee that the town will be crawling with agencies by morning. I’d have a better shot working on my own than through them anyway.” She was talking to herself as much as to him. “You said they’d be out first thing to sweep for bugs?”
“Yes.”
“Tell them you found these lying around. I’ll make sure they dust for prints. At this point you have nothing else to tell Milton, so let him do his job, and try to stay out of his way. When the FBI makes contact, cooperate. I’ve got a few other things I want to run down first thing. We tracking?”
“And if he calls?”
“If I’m not here, you call my cell immediately. We’ll go from there.” She started for the door and then turned back. “Slater will call. You do know that, don’t you?”
He nodded slowly.
“Get some sleep. We’ll get him. He’s already made his first mistake.”
“He has?”
“He pulled me into the game.” She grinned. “I was born for cases like this.”
Kevin walked over, took her hand, and kissed it. “Thank you.”
“I think it would be better if I crashed down at the Howard Johnson. No offense, but you don’t have a second bed and leather couches remind me of eels. I don’t sleep with eels.”
“Sure.” He was disappointed only because he felt so alive around her. Secure. In his mind, she was absolutely perfect in every way. Of course, he wasn’t exactly a Casanova, groomed to judge these things.
“I’ll call you.”
Then she was gone.
Slater sits in a red pickup one block from Kevin’s house and watches Sam back out of the driveway then drive south. “There you go; there you go.” He clucks his tongue three times slowly, so that he can hear the full range of its sound. There are two sounds, actually—a deep popping as the tongue pulls free from the roof of the mouth, and a click as it strikes the gathered spittle in the base of the mouth. Details. The kind of details most people die without considering because most people are slobs who have no clue what living is really all about.
Living is about clucking your tongue and enjoying the sound.
They had found the bugs. Slater smiles. She has come and he is so very glad she has come quickly, flaunting her skinny little body all through the man’s house, seducing him with her wicked tongue.
“Samantha,” he whispers. “It is so good to see you again. Give me a kiss, baby.”
The interior of the old Chevy is immaculate. He’d replaced the black plastic instrument panel with custom-fitted mahogany that shines now in the moonlight. A black case beside him carries the electronics he requires for his surveillance—mostly extras. Samantha found the six bugs he’d expected the cops to find, but there are still three, and not even the FBI will detect those.
“It’s dark down here, Kevin. So very dark.”
Slater waits an hour. Two. Three. The night is dead when he eases himself out of the cab and heads for Kevin’s house.
8
Saturday
Morning
J ENNIFER CROSSED HER LEGS and stared at Paul Milton across the conference table. She’d made the trip down to Long Beach the previous evening, visited the crime scene where Kevin Parson’s Mercury Sable had blown up, made a dozen phone calls, and then checked into a hotel on Long Beach Boulevard.
She spent the night tossing and turning, reliving that day three months earlier when Roy had been
“Won’t slow him down much, but at least it’ll let him know that we’re engaged. These types tend to get trigger-happy if they think the other side is slacking off.”
She filled up the sink, dropped the devices into the water, and peeled off the surgical gloves. “Under normal circumstances I’d take these in, but if I’m right, the FBI has jurisdiction. They would scream bloody murder. First thing in the morning, I’ll call my office, explain the situation, and then let Milton’s office know of my involvement. Not that they will care—I guarantee that the town will be crawling with agencies by morning. I’d have a better shot working on my own than through them anyway.” She was talking to herself as much as to him. “You said they’d be out first thing to sweep for bugs?”
“Yes.”
“Tell them you found these lying around. I’ll make sure they dust for prints. At this point you have nothing else to tell Milton, so let him do his job, and try to stay out of his way. When the FBI makes contact, cooperate. I’ve got a few other things I want to run down first thing. We tracking?”
“And if he calls?”
“If I’m not here, you call my cell immediately. We’ll go from there.” She started for the door and then turned back. “Slater will call. You do know that, don’t you?”
He nodded slowly.
“Get some sleep. We’ll get him. He’s already made his first mistake.”
“He has?”
“He pulled me into the game.” She grinned. “I was born for cases like this.”
Kevin walked over, took her hand, and kissed it. “Thank you.”
“I think it would be better if I crashed down at the Howard Johnson. No offense, but you don’t have a second bed and leather couches remind me of eels. I don’t sleep with eels.”
“Sure.” He was disappointed only because he felt so alive around her. Secure. In his mind, she was absolutely perfect in every way. Of course, he wasn’t exactly a Casanova, groomed to judge these things.
“I’ll call you.”
Then she was gone.
Slater sits in a red pickup one block from Kevin’s house and watches Sam back out of the driveway then drive south. “There you go; there you go.” He clucks his tongue three times slowly, so that he can hear the full range of its sound. There are two sounds, actually—a deep popping as the tongue pulls free from the roof of the mouth, and a click as it strikes the gathered spittle in the base of the mouth. Details. The kind of details most people die without considering because most people are slobs who have no clue what living is really all about.
Living is about clucking your tongue and enjoying the sound.
They had found the bugs. Slater smiles. She has come and he is so very glad she has come quickly, flaunting her skinny little body all through the man’s house, seducing him with her wicked tongue.
“Samantha,” he whispers. “It is so good to see you again. Give me a kiss, baby.”
The interior of the old Chevy is immaculate. He’d replaced the black plastic instrument panel with custom-fitted mahogany that shines now in the moonlight. A black case beside him carries the electronics he requires for his surveillance—mostly extras. Samantha found the six bugs he’d expected the cops to find, but there are still three, and not even the FBI will detect those.
“It’s dark down here, Kevin. So very dark.”
Slater waits an hour. Two. Three. The night is dead when he eases himself out of the cab and heads for Kevin’s house.
8
Saturday
Morning
J ENNIFER CROSSED HER LEGS and stared at Paul Milton across the conference table. She’d made the trip down to Long Beach the previous evening, visited the crime scene where Kevin Parson’s Mercury Sable had blown up, made a dozen phone calls, and then checked into a hotel on Long Beach Boulevard.
She spent the night tossing and turning, reliving that day three months earlier when Roy had been
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