A thought sprang to the forefront of her mind and Mary glanced at Nick. “We’ll see what we can find out. If you hear from Chris, will you call us as soon as possible?”
Nick scribbled his cell number on a piece of paper and handed it to Betty. “Lock your doors and windows. If anyone tries to get in, call 9-1-1 immediately.”
“Am I in danger?”
As if sensing her owner’s distress, the yellow tabby wound herself around Ms. Betty’s legs, mewling softly.
“Until we catch Mr. Feegan’s killer, assume the worst.” Nick strode for the door.
Mary shrugged and zipped her coat halfway up. “If someone saw fit to kill Mr. Feegan for harboring my father, who knows what else he might be willing to do? Stay safe. We’ll find Chris.” She hugged her close.
“Would you? I’m so afraid for the boy. He’s never out of pocket without telling someone where he’s going.”
Once outside, with the door firmly closed between them and Ms. Betty, Mary marched for the car. “My bet is that the package contains Frank Richards’ memoirs.”
Nick nodded. “Agreed. And whatever is in them must be controversial enough to kill for.”
“Someone has incentive to stop that manuscript from being seen, but who?”
Nick’s cell phone played the Mission: Impossible theme. He unlocked the car and seated Mary before he answered the call. “Yeah.”
“Got the ballistics on the bullet that killed Frank Richards. It's a match with a murder in Dallas two months ago. The man killed was one of the men in the photograph.
"Have you located the others?"
"Two of the men died of heart attacks within the past ten years and another died in a car wreck shortly after he returned from his tour in Bosnia. That leaves just three."
Nick's fingers tightened on the cell phone as he rounded the back of the car. "Charles Mercer, Taylor Rayburn and Gordon Thomas."
"That's right. And Nick." Royce paused. "Both Richards and the Dallas murders were precision exterminations. We've seen five others like it. Using the same weapon and M.O."
"Are the other victims linked to our men from Charles Mercer's unit?" Nick reached for the car door handle.
"No. One of them was the wife of a foreign diplomat. The diplomat eventually confessed to hiring a hit man to eliminate her. He said he'd hired a man going by the name Cobra.”
Nick's hand froze, anger and fear welling up in his chest.
Mary rubbed her hands up and down her arms to keep warm.
A chill settled over Nick, colder than any arctic blast.
"Nick? Did you copy?"
"Copy."
"Clue Kat in. I'm pulling Sam off his current assignment in Portland. He should be there by tomorrow morning. I'm hopping a plane as we speak. I should be there early tomorrow as well. Don't be a hero, wait for backup."
"Roger." Like hell. If Cobra was anywhere around, every man, woman and child in a one-hundred-mile radius could be in danger. Collateral damage was part of the fun to the psycho hit man.
A wave of anger and nausea rolled over him. Nick’s former FBI partner had gotten in the way of Cobra’s paycheck when he’d took a security detail for a federal witness in a Bethesda, Maryland. The witness, her child and Nick’s partner didn’t live to tell what exactly happened, but the compromised safehouse was a bloodbath on all fronts. An FBI insider had leaked the location but was never identified. He’d arrived at the end of the shooting. Too late to save anyone. Too late to catch Cobra. Devastated and suffering severe survivor’s guilt, Nick lost his stomach for the FBI. He’d turned in his service weapon and credentials and walked away.
Royce had found him working a bodyguard-for-hire assignment in D.C. and offered him a job he couldn’t refuse. Nick never looked back. He didn’t have to look back, images of what Cobra had done to his partner, the woman and the child would live on forever in his memories. And to think, the maniac was here.
Nick jerked open the car door and climbed in. His heart raced, pounding blood against his eardrums.
Mary leaned across the console and laid a hand on his arm.
He inhaled slowly and released the air.
